Maggi Hambling, Edge, Marlborough Fine Arts

 In recent years it's been waterfalls, waves and the power of the sea that have dominated Maggi Hambling's work. Edge continues with those themes and expands in various directions that are implicit in the title, the edges represented by seascape horizons, the edge of humanity in Syria and the refugee crisis, the edge of environmental change as well as the edge of civilisation or anything that can be taken for granted.
There is more sea but this may be melting ice-caps, a boat adrift on wilderness of water and there are portraits, of Beethoven, Hamlet, Leonard Cohen and herself, some more recognizable than others. And there is war-torn Aleppo with figurative traces of architecture in the proces of being degraded.
If much that might be identifiable, it is often obliterated by brushwork that leaves her self-portait Hangover as a disfigured character and Hamlet as inconclusive but possibly incendiary at the same time.
A clue in Ghost, which is another self-portrait, might tempt us to think it is not the only painting that has 'gone beyond' the reach of our accustomed consciousness to something only to be understood as visceral power but Aleppo IV and a couple of the Edge paintings lack the flecks of colour that appear in most of them -oranges, yellows, reds- to present bleak canvasses in which the paint left to run down them are more than subliminally tear-stained and ruined.
They are haunted by thoughts of apocalypse, that perhaps it is too late and the world is beyond redemption which hasn't always been the implication of Maggi's work in which power, the energy of life and nature and celebration of such elements have been more in evidence. In the catalogue, Hangover, with its Marlboro set into the oil, is opposite Lungs with obvious implications.
Never less than powerful and uncompromising in her painting, and one can make out a gnarled head in the grotesque sculpture called Politician, this latest exhibition is as unrelenting as ever and however grim the prognosis appears to be, it is nonetheless compelling and admirable for that.  

Edge V here is lifted from the Marlborough Fine Arts website. I hope they don't mind. They are a class act, providing me with a lovely ethically-sound canvas bag to put the catalogue in, and not even charging 5p like Tesco does for a plastic carrier bag and the catalogue, for a tenner, is wonderful. It was a tremendous bonus to be able to fit this into an itinerary based on a trip to the Wigmore Hall, as above.

Oh Babe, What Would You Say

Although shelf space is becoming a critical issue, it doesn't mean the acquisitions of books and records is likely to be subject to any spending restrictions. Although there are now three casual purchases that are increasingly unlikely to get read up there, the awesome glory of the Complete Buxtehude, the Schumann concertos, the Dvorak symphonies, the Nataslie Clein disc and all such things turn out to be such great successes that it only encourages me to buy more as belated compensation, now that anything is affordable, for the austerity of those teenage years when such purchases had to be carefully considered.
At least it meant they were played regularly enough to be imporinted on the memory for good.
But the consequences could be disastrous. Prompted to find myself Dylan's Street Legal on CD ahead of the original plan to collect Joni Mitchell, I am deeply enamoured of it, probably because it triggers all the residual memories of it except that it turns out to be even better, if possible, than I remember it. The potential disaster looms up when I find myself thinking that the next project, having dutifully produced 50 thousand words that rtepresent some kind of novel, could be to write an album. Not songs for someone else or with anybody else but the album of songs I might do myself. And so I scroll through guitars on the internet, delighted to see that they are all eminently affordable, as if it's only a matter of time before I have a set to compare with The Changing of the Guards, Baby Stop Crying, Is Your Love in Vain, etc.
I had thought that Bob Dylan couldn't sing but got away with it and so might I but on Street Legal he is majestic and however easy he makes it look to knock out a masterpiece album, that doesn't transfer to anybody who just happens to find themselves profoundly liking it.
Having been impressed by Julian Barnes but then having to console oneself that a lousy story that only ever aimed to fulfil the barest qualifications for novel status, it would be a dreadful folly to invest the next six months in making an album of twelve songs that will inevitably be laughable from one who genuinely can't sing and is no musician only in order to say I've done it. I hope common sense will prevail and I can return to The Perfect Book of poems rather than think that every genre is just another waiting for my inexpert contribution. It would be inexcusable to carry on saying there was too much of everything being produced while being guilty of producing the very worst of it myself.
It ought to be possible to happily admire wonderful things and not have to imitate them all myself. Luckily, seeing Steven Isserlis for the third, ever marvellous, time has not yet made me want to buy a cello.

But the TLS featured a great poem by Clive James recently, Anchorage International. I had always admired his commentary on poetry ahead of his poems. His ongoing farewell has been a powerful and moving process, heroically sane and measured in contemplation of the impossible. Circumstances invite the best to find the better still within themselves. If something's worth doing, it's worth doing well and not just for the sake of it. 

Cheltenham Preview 2017

It's not obvious what to make of the festival even at this stage when all the big guns have done all their preparatory racing and all the evidence is in the book. The number of absentees from the Mullins stable must be a concern and the fact that many big players still have multiple entries makes it hard to say what will run in which race and the 'non-runner no bet' guarantee is welcome insurance but doesn't encourage ambitious little trebles that might be reduced to inconsequential singles.
The Champion Hurdle on Tuesday looks a sub-standard renewal and while one can have doubts about the credentials of all the top horses in it, that also means that one of them might be made to look special if the doubts about the others are well-founded. Yanworth keeps winning but not always impressively; Buveur d'Air reverted to hurdles and won apparently in second gear; Limini is a contender having recently run above expectations; Yorkhill has flopped before and the majority of his wins have been at long odds on and is almost favourite under sufferance. So I'll take the handicap form of Brain Power to be promising enough to come out of the pack and be sufficient.
If Limini runs in the Champion Hurdler then Vroum Vroum Mag has to be worth the NRNB price available at the moment in the Mares race even if a further distance might be preferable against better class opposition.
Neon Wolf ought to be backed in whichever novice event he runs in and that is likely to be the Neptune, on Weds, judging from the markets and anything more than 2/1 looks fair enough. His last run was as impressive as anything seen in the division this season and he looks like a potential champion until there's evidence to the contrary.
And I'll take Might Bite to repel the Irish invader in the RSA Chase, who owes me for having reduced a vast pay day to a merely excellent one by not successfully giving away weight in a handicap hurdle last April. Going chasing has made him look even better if we excuse his fall on Boxing Day when he had the race sewn up.
At the risk of nominating too many favourites, Unowhatimeanharry is an obvious banker in the Stayers hurdle on Thursday and so I'll take on some market leaders with the profit we will have built up by Friday by suggesting Mega Fortune in the Triumph Hurdle; West Approach in the Albert Bartlett where I reluctantly desert Wholestone who has done me a few favours but there is reason to think West Approach can turn it around and Native River has to be the Gold Cup selection because Djakadam is an each way horse at best in that and Cue Card isn't going to get a fairytale end to his tremendous career.

Thus, Neon Wolf (Weds, 1.30, nap), Native River (Fri, 3.30) and Unowhatimeanharry (Thurs, 3.30) make a tidy treble in excess of 30/1 and that will do for me.

And here's The Professor on the line right now who nominates his treble- Native River (Gold Cup), Buveur d'Air (Champion Hurdle) and Let's Dance (Mares Novices Hurdle, Thurs).
Thanks, Prof.

Oh Babe, What Would You Say

It is vaguely reassuring when something becomes identifiable enough to be a syndrome. It's not my problem anymore. It's known about. It can't just be me that gets cross about it.
In The Observer's TV review on Sunday, on the subject of last week's programme on political correctness by Trevor Phillips, was the first time I'd seen the idea of 'virtue signalling' specified in quite such precise terms. It is defined as 'ostentatious sensitivity'.
I'm sure we've all found ourselves in circumstances where we've had to express more concern that we actually feel, for the sake of appearances and that is thus a social nicety but the problem is those whose personality is made up of chronic or wilful caring beyond the call of duty.
It might make one appear a heartless curmudgeon to object to such a thing until it becomes an overwhelming theme or a deliberate play for the adsmiration of others. It might seem preferable that someone goes out of their way to express sympathy for others as the world turns towards self-interest, self-promotion, Trump, supremacism and isolationism but in the end it is not much better than a sinister attempt to gain favour by other means.
It makes for bad poetry if we are asked to admire the poet's precious feelings more than their use of language and, in a wider context, it makes one suspect that the virtue being signalled is not a real virtue in the first place.

--
But, more rewardingly, I've been thinking about Robert Schumann following last week's encounter with the wonderful Steven Isserlis who cites him among his favourite composers.
As I pointed out a little while ago, it is hardly Buxtehude's fault that he came before Bach. Great things are achieved 'on the shoulders of giants' and Johann Sebastian would not have done what he did without Dieterich as a precursor. And so, in a similar way, it is not Schumann's fault, or Mendelssohn's, for that matter, that they arrived after Beethoven.
What were they supposed to do after such a monumental presence. But what they did was admirable and honourable and however overshadowed by such a majesterial achievement, they produced lyrical, gorgeous music of their own that owed a debt to the colossus but didn't attempt it on quite such an outrageous scale. In the same way, perhaps, as generations of post-Bowie pop artists learned from him and developed out of an appreciation of one part of his work and maybe Suede are an adorable example of that.
One can only work in the times one lives in and in the context of what has gone before and sometimes it's not possible to outdo what has gone before and so one has to do what one can do. There's nothing wrong with that and if Schumann and Mendelssohn are not quite Beethoven they are still marvellous in their own right. 

The Jess Davies Band

It is 40 years since a song written by me was performed in public. The legendary Emergency Exit, who were my mates from school,  played a church hall in Gloucester and the highlight of their set -for me at least- was my anthem of teenage anxiety, Everyone's An Onion.
But last night progress towards a number one hit or a place in the songwriters hall of fame resumed with The Jess Davies Band's premiere performance of Someone Somewhere (Davies-Green), where Jess does a fine job on the words I provided.

The next date on their itinerary is the Aurora Cafe Bar, Albert Road, Southsea, Fri 10th March, so get there if you can. Having checked out the website and seen the price of drinks there, I'll be glad of anybody who'll buy me one.

http://jessicadavies.co.uk/theband/ 

Time After Time

And so, there it is.

Begun in September and finished with a big effort today, I can now say I've written a novel.

Or I have at least ground out 50 thousand words that ostensibly tell a story.

It probably wasn't worth the ink it took to print it out but at least it has a soundtrack.

 

Isserlis/BSO

Schumann and Wagner, Steven Isserlis, Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/Karabits, Portsmouth Guildhall, Feb 23rd.

It's always great to welcome Steven Isserlis back to Portsmouth, especially when one is in the right place at the right time to do it personally. There we were having a quiet Guinness before the show and, bless my soul, that's not Brian May, is it.
I was able to over-ride any embargo on Wagner in order to get better acquainted with Schumann on account of there only being 11 minutes of his music and, to be fair, it wasn't too much of the customary unruly din and nobody suffered too much.
The Schumann Cello Concerto is a great pleasure with its singing lines over a mosaic of orchestration in which different parts of the orchestra provided the interplay with the soloist and the themes. The middle section of the unbroken three movements was more intricate and intimate, contrasting the more agile fingerwork with the flowing melodies before more flourishes led towards a standard post-Beethoven climax and a smoothly satisfying piece that enhances Schumann's position in that overcrowded middle division of much admired if not often enough played composers. I can soon rectify that.
I would have used the phrase 'cantabile' for the concerto had Steven's encore not been Tchaikovsky's gorgeous Andante Cantabile, ostensibly variations of the Volga Boat Song, I like to think, with its hymn-like theme and a rich tone from the cello, that annexed the 'cantabile' for itself. It was hard to separate out enjoyment of the piece from luxuriating in the instument so it's lucky that one doesn't have to and the coming together of various such features is surely what music is.
There is a similar lightness of touch to much of the Rhenish Symphony, no.3 and one quickly realizes one shouldn't be finding a place for Schumann somewhere between Brahms and Mendelssohn but allow him to be Schumann and be glad of him. Profound, broader passages emerge later in the five movements before the stirring brass finale and it is all a gentle enough lyrical excursion to revisit. I had memories of having heard the piece and thinking of a river, having taken no short cut through the title but if a lot of music could evoke rivers, not all of it makes me note the word 'flow' quite so readily to describe it.
So maybe Schumann's symphonies edge ahead of Brahms' in my ongoing project of box set collecting every time a specially selected horse does the business round Newbury or Newton Abbot.
And, what a wonderful added bonus to get my programme signed. That charming man.