It's good to talk?

Am breaking my own house rules today by writing about an event away from Frome, but the issue is the same whether the subject is the River of Music or Nunney Rocks...

In the capital for the aforementioned 'River' - an ambitious 'London 2012' world music festival taking place at various outdoor venues this weekend along the Thames, from Battersea in the West to Greenwich in the East. My gripe is not restricted to this event, but applies to all such concerts. What is it that makes certain people behave in the open-air the same as if they were sitting in front of the telly at home? That is, to chatter incessantly throughout the performance. Now, no-one expects church-like silence at a gig 'en plein air', but why bother to make the effort to come along if all you want to do is natter to your neighbours? It's disrespectful to both the performers and your fellow audience members who might, just might, want to listen to the music they've paid to hear.

Kayhan Kahlor - stoic in the face of incessant nattering

Now, if it's Bruce Springsteen banging out his rock 'n' roll at x hundred decibels (before the plugs were pulled, of course), that's one thing. But these particular chatterboxes yadder-yaddered their way through half an hour of exquisite Persian traditional music in Battersea Park yesterday afternoon. Maybe they were simply taking their cue from the incessant messaging we also had to endure throughout the day from the event's sponsor. And that was?  BT.

There are fairies at the bottom of the garden...

A quick round-up of our final few events...

Ian McMillan and Luke Carver Goss at Rook Lane: the boy peaked too soon. Less poetry reading with music than stand-up-meets-primary school, the first half-hour was utterly, utterly hilarious. Based mainly on signs McMillan had er, "acquired" from various venues around the country, he spun a web of side-splitting comedy around just a handful of sheets of paper. But after this uproarious start, there was nowhere else for him to go. There was surprisingly little poetry and the so-called interactive finale (where the audience contributed to the composition of an instant verse) looked to have been lifted from one of the poet's school visits rather than something designed for a more grown-up audience. McMillan is a great entertainer, but he badly needs a director.

Also, a quick thought for promoters putting on speech events at Rook Lane - when Ian left the mic to wander the stage or the auditorium (as he did frequently), he could not be heard from under the balcony. Something to do with the building's unique interior/acoustics. A lapel/radio mic would have solved this problem.

The North Sea Radio Orchestra at Rook Lane: too cool for their own good? Having heard some examples of their recorded material, I was rather intrigued by the "chamber pop" of this eight-piece which the Festival programme described as "like Kate Bush meeting Vaughan Williams". Mrs W wasn't keen and had to be dragged, kicking and screaming up Bath Street. Well, surprise, surprise, she loved them, and I was left rather cold. Their settings of poetry by the likes of Yeats, Tennyson and Blake were somewhat uncomfortable, and while the more recent songs that featured their own lyrics were much more effective, their on-stage aloofness was alienating. True, they were somewhat cramped on Rook Lane's tiny platform which may have contributed to their unease, but I took it to be a more calculated kind of cool - which turned out to be profoundly "uncool". Curiously, singer Sharon Fortnam was the exception, wrapped up in the emotion of it all, gripping her skirt in both hands and swaying in a sort of semi-orgasmic reverie, completely at odds with what was going on around her. I shall return to their latest album where their attractive, whimsical fusions are attitude-free.

Laurence Parnell at Holy Trinity: a charming guitar recital of (mostly) self-penned compositions, gently melancholic with Celtic touches. A little more light and shade and variation in tempi would not have gone amiss, but Laurence is a likeable and talented performer (who also makes guitars). The accompanying poetry readings on the theme of music were a little superfluous. However, they were well-performed, although microphone technique was somewhat lacking. Overall a delightful way to spend a lunchtime.

"I'm a fairy, get me out of here"

Nunney Players - A Midsummer Night's Dream in the grounds of Rockfield House, Nunney: let's just say that visiting the extremely posh mobile loos (complete with piped music) on our way out at the interval was the highlight of the evening. I don't like admitting defeat at the theatre, as you never know what might be just around the corner in Act II that could save the day. And I really am sympathetic to the particular challenges faced by amateur companies. But this was not good - the main problem being that it was the most anaemic production of one of the Bard's sexiest plays. Mind you, the actors cast as the lovers were so young that the merest hint of any physical attraction might have led to an arrest by the Vice Squad. The chap playing Puck managed to capture the spirit of the play, but sadly one fairy does not a Dream make...

So a rather unsatisfactory end to what had been a very good week of festival-going. But at least it had stopped raining.

All Fired Up

First of all, thanks to Anon for your background on the Fashion Show (once again Blogger is not allowing me to respond to your comment directly for some reason). I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the Richmond Park dog's appearance at The Cornerhouse!

Readers of this blog will, I trust, be aware by now that I am not prone to attacks of hyperbole. But at Stonehenge on Wednesday night, it was a privilege to be part of a truly historic event. Images of ‘Fire Garden’ by the French troupe, Compagnie Carabosse, have been well disseminated already by the media, so you probably don’t need a blow-by-blow account of what it was all about. But for the first time in many a year (outside of the organised "Stone Access" visits), one could wander inside the circle, rather than be restricted to the perimeter path, with only two small areas of fallen stones roped off. (Despite this, Mrs Weekender managed to bash her leg on one. But in the spirit of the Cultural Olympiad, we won’t sue. Unless we can blame McDonald’s, that is...)

In amongst the stones were what can only be described as huge vests, suspended from poles with a candle inside each. The symbolism of this passed me by, but the images were startling. Outside the circle sat various vaguely industrial fire machines, spouting out flame and sparks, along with braziers, kinetic sculptures (the shadows of which were thrown against the stones) and huge globes of fire, flames fizzing from flower pots attached to their frames. There was also live music – a one-man band producing a completely appropriate, melancholy sort of world fusion.  It was quite, quite, magical – not in a fairies-dancing-in-a-ring kind of way, but lo-tech, rusty, slightly dangerous... and thrilling. 


Hats off to London 2012 for commissioning this.

Coming next – back at the Frome Fest, Ian McMillan at Rook Lane.

Brenton v Brenton v The Dempseys

The Frome Drama Club's Festival offering is a late-night one-acter at The Cornerhouse: David Tristram's "Brenton v Brenton".  It's great fun - nothing more, nothing less.  Plundering American soaps, cartoons, "Kramer v Kramer" and even "The Importance of Being Earnest", it's an OTT parody of the American advertising business of the 1980s: Mad Men, twenty years on, and with condom jokes.  Subtle, it ain't, but the production captures the tone perfectly.  The cracking pace lapses only once in a curious sequence where, ironically we fast forward several months. Otherwise the gags come thick and fast (not always hilarious, but consistently smile-worthy) and on Monday night the company battled personfully against the noise of the band that was playing on the ground floor.  And it was to their credit that we believed this was clearly all part of the show, and The Dempseys had simply been hired to provide some Chicago club-next-door atmosphere. Recommended.

Less successful was the Fashion Show.  This must be one of the most inclusive events of the Festival in terms of the breadth of the audience, so it was a shame that those who attended this (and perhaps nothing else?) experienced something that was so uneven.  The models were great - all amateurs, all ages, all shapes and sizes and all very happy in their (sometimes well displayed) skin.  The design work of Frome College was most imaginative, particularly the comic strip skirts.   And the opening dance number (from 'Chicago') was great - sexy and skilfully done.  But technically the evening was rather a mess and the presenters did not appear to be entirely in control of proceedings - though to be fair, one of them (whose name I did not catch) was a last minute stand-in.  It all looked dreadfully under-rehearsed. A shame.

Sensationalism (failed)

Just wanted to share a quote from the Toolshed's blurb about their current exhibition which requires no further comment from me...

Peter Conway is a self educated Human Printer originally from Ipswich ... After years of drawing penises in a vain attempt to be sensationalist, he now makes experimental print works and writes about himself in the third person.

Coming soon - thoughts on 'Brenton v Brenton' at The Cornerhouse...

Heads, Hans and quite a Feat

A second visit to 'Frome Facebook' and Hans kindly let me take some photos. 

Do go and see it.

The Silk Mill, Saxonvale until the 15th, 11 - 5  daily.

And the rain, it raineth every day?

Thoughts on the first weekend of the Frome Festival.

Swan Lake, Frome Feast-style. No need to add water.

It rained, it poured, it bucketed down. The Frome, brown and foamy, raced through the town. The drain cover outside the Archangel could not contain the torrent below. The acts at the Festival Feast moved into the shelter of the Cheese & Grain, but the food stalls stayed outside and the hardy punters queued in the monsoon for Kenyan curries, Mexican burritos and pasta alla Fromiata. Numbers were inevitably down on last year (when the sun shone), but Fromies were not to be denied and a good time seemed to be had by all, despite the lack of Gulf Stream meaning our parade was most definitely rained on.

Then to The Cornerhouse to catch some Gipsy Jazz, but the place was so packed that you could neither see nor hear the band. The Rich’s (on draught) made up for it though.

To the Green Fair at the C&G where a copy of The Somerset Cider Handbook was acquired and will aid and abet my research into the most benevolent sacrifice any apple can make.

Visual arts highlights –

‘Facebook Frome’: Hans Borgonjon’s ‘life masks’ of Frome folk, gathered over the last few months and now on show at the stunning Silk Mill. They inevitably remind you of death masks, but these are Momento (Momenti?) Vitae. They are intriguing, absorbing and ever so slightly creepy.  And it’s good fun to try and spot familiar faces. Next door is The Tool Shed, a new gallery space in this former industrial complex. Beatrice Haines’ ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ is a wide screen representation of a cactus – extraordinarily detailed and both inviting and intimidating; Mark Kasarick’s ‘To Aphrodite’ also manages to be unsettling and attractive – roses and (real) nails make unlikely bedfellows.

Also highly recommended – Ellen Tovey’s startling portraits on show in Lower Keyford, Amy Yates’ semi-abstracted Frome townscapes which can be seen at The Limes and Clive Walley's video installation in Michael Bennett's studio above the museum - a meditation on art and nature, serene and thoughtful.

The afternoon after the night before. But there's a banner!

  

Oh, and further to my post about banners… I’ve spotted three. But the Half Marathon has upstaged the Festival and nabbed pole position…

Festival Fever?

So the Frome Festival is just under a week away, and I have to say I'm getting quite excited in an understated, English sort of way...

Mrs W and I have tickets to a variety of events from Ian MacMillan to the Fashion Show, from the North Sea Radio Orchestra to the Alternative Guide to Frome. One of my recollections of spending the first weekend of the event in the town last year was that there was very little evidence of the Festival actually going on, if you just happened to be passing through. Where were the banners, the flags, the bunting, the outward signs of inner celebration?  Even the local drama and operatic societies manage to string a banner across Stony Street or Cheap Street to promote their productions.

Rue du Roi - pas en fête

I know all this costs and times are currently hard, but hopefully when we roll up on Friday it will be plain to resident and visitor alike that Frome is truly 'en fête'. And, who knows, a few passing punters - otherwise unaware of the riches on offer  - might then be tempted to investigate further...


www.fromefestival.co.uk