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.

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.