Terry Brotherstone
insists the festival director is
doing a good job
Also on this page:
Hugh Kerr
who very much doubts it
‘El Nino’ at
the Usher Hall
The festival opened with ‘El Nino’, the oratorio by John Adams, the American minimalist composer.
The opening concert used to excite and uplift the festival audiences with great music and singing from the soloists and the Edinburgh Festival Chorus. However the festival director has changed that tradition to one where the works fit the themes of the festival rather than uplift the audience.
‘El Nino’ was, as expected, dominated by the heavy repetitive minimalist characteristic of John Adams. The BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra seemed less than certain about what it was playing and, while the chorus was lusty, indeed on occasions painfully loud, there wasn’t too much melody in the first half.
The concert was saved after the interval (during which quite a few people left) by some more melodic singing from the soloists, in particular the heroic singing of the great bass baritone Willard White. ‘El Nino’ got a respectful reception from a first night audience but I couldnt help thinking that this was not an appropriate work with which to open the festival.
Jonathan Biss
at the Queens Hall
The Queens Hall series of concerts marks the beginning of each day for the festival’s music lovers.
From 11am till 1pm you get two hours of music – piano, string quartets, singers or small orchestras – all for as little as a fiver. It makes the Fringe look expensive by comparison.
This year’s series of 21 concerts began with Jonathan Biss, a fine young American pianist, playing Kirchner, Schumann, Mozart and Beethoven. Some SR readers may have seen him feature recently in Daniel Barenboim’s ‘Masterclass’ on BBC 4, where he got high praise for his technique.
He opened with the Mozart Adagio in B minor which was very delicately played, indeed Mike Tumelty of the Herald, who is a pianist, said he held his breath throughout in astonishment. His rendition of Beethoven’S Appassionata was indeed full of passion and showed that he is clearly a pianist to watch.
Islay McLeod’s Islay
II. Bowmore harbour
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Nick Lyth
Modern football exemplifies those qualities that are among the most base, anti-social and wicked, qualities that every aspect of our moral code teaches us to abhor. It is astonishing that we allow this to happen. It is a reflection of how degraded and decayed our social systems have become. The following observations characterise the game in every Western European state.
Disloyalty. No player or manager stays with a club when greater riches are offered elsewhere. No club sticks with a manager through a run of poor results. Disloyalty is barely worth a comment. This is a world in which loyalty has no meaning whatever, on either side.
Abuse of authority. The sport is characterised by routine contempt for referees. This does not even invite comment these days. If a referee awards a penalty or sends off a player, it is expected that he will be surrounded by protesting players arguing with him, even though each knows that he will not change his mind. Their language, posture and attitude are that of derision, if not hatred.
Aggression. Abuse and aggression are also a matter of routine between players, between players and the referee, between players and the crowd, among the crowd itself. Rival supporters are not allowed to sit with one another because they are expected to be unable to control their aggression. The aggression is triggered by their wish to win, either as players or supporters. The concept of a ‘game’ has become completely distorted in their minds. Bill Shankly made the remark about football’s importance. It has lost its ironic significance, and is quoted today as if it was meant literally. People forget that the remark made us laugh when Shankly said it, which is as he intended.
Greed. Modern football is a grotesque symbol of modern greed. In Western Europe, we live in a world of privilege, where modern comforts give us all that man needs to survive, and so much more. We are very lucky people. The people in modern football want more. They have joined the parasites in the financial services in their determination to rip the back out of capitalism whilst it is still there. Their unlicensed greed is quite horrible to watch. Their salaries should be a matter of shame. As with the other personal qualities exhibited by those involved in modern football, their greed goes unnoticed.
Cheating, lying, dishonesty. These are all part of the same sorry spectrum of untrustworthiness that we accept in the person of the modern footballer. He has no respect for the truth. In cricket, the concept of ‘walking’ when you know you are out exemplifies the code that underpins civilisation. Without this basic shared value – respect for the truth – we lose all that holds society together. It has long since fled the football arena. The litany of casual lying, cheating and dishonesty that characterises the modern footballer is long. Its tolerance is nowhere better shown than in Maradona’s small, portly figure strutting the touchline in recent World Cup matches. The cheat rewarded.
Self-glorification. The modern footballer reveals his attitude to himself whenever he scores a goal.
Unkindness. At the same time, he reveals his utter carelessness for his opponent’s feelings.
Violence. The violence associated with modern football is a consequence of all the above. Violence of thought, feeling and action are more closely associated with football crowds than with the footballers themselves. But they are linked, and are a consequence of the vile beastliness embodied in the footballers and managers responsible for the game. We reached a low point when we had to separate spectators of rival teams. It is possible to go lower, but not much. It’s called civil war.
This gruesome spectacle is surely the product of decadence – economic, social, cultural and moral decadence of the worst kind. If civilisation moves in cycles, as the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman experience would seem to suggest, we are most definitely on the way down. There would seem to be nothing we can do about it. Our leaders not only fail to curb these horrible trends in behaviour, they not only fail to comment on the wickedness of them, they actually support and endorse them. Most modern leaders will readily be shown at a football match, associating with the worst of these people as if they are all in the same boat. Perhaps they are.
Nick Lyth is director and founder of the International Resources and Recycling Institute, a new Scottish charity which works with European organisations to find innovative solutions to resource use problems.
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Rear Window
Tom Wright, 1923-2002
Tom loved company in the Scottish sense of the term, and was himself no mean entertainer, albeit no cook. His proud claim was that ‘I do a good buffet’ – pronounced ‘buff-ett’. Several of us enjoyed his hospitality at his Churchill Street flat over the years, where a range of cheeses and salamis, and fresh bread and butter, would be laid out in their original paper on the steps of his library ladder along with a staggering array of fine wines.
Tom was a great flyter, with a considerable sense of mischievous wit, and on more than one occasion, I have seen him hold forth on some obscure topic, only to realise that he was making it all up as he went along. He disliked snobbery in all its forms, and was a quick deflater of balloons. But ironically, for a man who earned his living by communicating, he had a somewhat unclear and unquiet diction, and one had to make an effort to hear him. Many people could not be bothered to make the effort; they never knew what they were missing.
Tom was best known, of course, for his writing. He liked to relate that there had been a time in the 1950s when he had earned half-a-guinea a week from his poetry, which made him one of the best-paid makars in the land.
Sean Damer, SR autumn 2002
More about Tom Wright tomorrow