The start of Hastings Stanza

JD Bar Bistro, Claremont, Hastings - venue for Hastings Stanza meetings

Stanza groups are offshoots of the Poetry Society, and consist of people in a given area who come together to talk about poetry - whether to workshop their own work, hear readings or talks by poets, or discuss poetry generally.  For almost two years now I've been attending meetings of Brighton Stanza, which has workshops each month, and have found it enormously helpful with my own writing.  One or two people then suggested I might start a Stanza in Hastings, and after a contact with the Poetry Society to try and gauge the extent of interest I took the plunge and organised a meeting a couple of weeks ago.  I'd been tipped off about an available space at JD Bar Bistro, so seven of us congregated there for the inaugural meeting.  I'd suggested we follow the Brighton pattern of workshopping our poems, which everyone seemed to be happy with, and the result was an interesting evening with very varied work.

Hastings isn't Brighton, and it's going to be interesting to see the direction we take as time goes on.  The Brighton Stanza is well established after eight years or so, and attendances, while varying, are usually in the teens - on one occasion there were twenty-three of us, which is rather more than ideal.  There's a good spread of both age and talent, which makes meetings stimulating.  Our little fledgling in Hastings has a long way to go before we have that kind of zing, but I have every hope we'll get there.  After our first gathering I just felt delighted that I'd set the ball rolling.  Meetings are now to take place on the second Wednesday of each month, and I'm already looking forward to May 14.

Antony Mair

Haute cuisine on TV, junk on the motorways

Last week we watched a Masterchef  programme, in which a group of amiable young-ish people produced a series of elaborate dishes judged by experts on grounds of presentation, combinations of flavours and general technique.  I am newly aware of the perils of a split sauce or a cardamom crême anglaise that's not thick enough.

The following day we set off for Holyhead, 375 miles northwest of Hastings.  Our journey involved calls at various service stations for refreshment along the M25, M40 and M6.  Nothing could have better illustrated the gulf between the cooking programmes on the television and the brutal reality of daily eating on the country's motorways.

Franchises to Costa's, Starbuck's, McDonald's and the like result in a variety of processed foods without either taste or originality.  "Welcome Break" announced one of these refuges.  "Welcome to whom?" I wondered, as we ate a burger from a cardboard box - the bun was like a wrung-out flannel, the meat indeterminate (I am hoping it was cow rather than horse), the vegetables tasteless.  The accompanying chips were good.  Cutlery is considered superfluous, or perhaps it's felt that customers don't possess the necessary skills to handle a knife and fork.  If I'd raised the point with the establishment, doubtless there would have been references to "street food" - the growingly fashionable pretext for cutting corners by modelling our eating habits on the third world's poor.

These are seriously depressing places.  Our fellow-customers - a cross-section of the modern British? - were in many cases grotesquely overweight, hunching myopically over the sugar, carbohydrate and emulsifier concoctions on their trays with a weary apathy before waddling out, like so many penguins, to their oversized vehicles.

Perhaps it was always thus: the all-day breakfasts of transport caffs have merely been replaced by a more homogenised version, more slickly marketed.  There was no sign of a freshly made crême anglaise, let alone a sauce out of anything other than a sachet or branded bottle.  Seen from the motorway, Masterchef appears like an encounter with an alien species, heading alarmingly for extinction.

Antony Mair

College reunions - a good thing?

The cloisters, Hall and chapel, Magdalen College, Oxford

To Oxford, last weekend, for a Gaudy at Magdalen.  It's difficult to believe that it's fifty years since I started my degree there.  I'd only been to one Gaudy before, after which I concluded that I'd been right to keep up with the people I had and not more.  That was the best part of twenty years ago, when I was still in the City.  It seemed churlish not to go along with the suggestions of old friends and try again.

I'd been given a room that was a sort of semi-underground burrow, with the luxury of an en suite shower room but a carpet so filthy I wasn't inclined to walk on it in bare feet.  The profusion of cream paint brought back vividly the terrible drabness of so much college life.  Conversation at dinner was uphill work.  The speeches, by the President of the College and a knight of the realm respectively, were only semi-audible, and after straining to catch words of wisdom I concluded it wasn't worth the effort.  "The trouble with men is that as they get old they either die or grow pompous," said a woman I once met.  I'm not sure about the pomposity.  It may be that dull is a more appropriate word.   

An alarming reminder of what I was like as an undergraduate occurred when two men a little younger than me introduced themselves and asked me if I recalled their frequent visits to my rooms for coffee in my third year.  Scarily, I had no recollection of either of them. One said "You were so wonderfully opinionated".  So some things don't change.  

I had no thrilling encounter with anyone I hadn't seen for years and who will be my new best friend.  The most interesting part of the weekend was the light it shed on the tricks of memory.  I had forgotten the misery of much of my time there, when I felt inadequate and depressed by the medieval melancholy of the environment.  I had not realised how much of that time I had blotted out when looking back.  The whole experience was amazingly valuable, and a great privilege.  But I'm glad to have moved on.

One of the best things about the weekend was the poster at Oxford Station that I saw while waiting for my return train.  "God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us" it proclaimed.  Then "To know more phone Jeff", with a telephone number and a picture of Jeff at the side.  I am keen to know more about Jeff.  Is he a person or a trade name - an acronym, even, for something like "Jesus Evangelises For Free"?  I have a phone call to Jeff on my To Do list.  Surely he tweets for Jesus?

Antony Mair

Vocal Explosion in St. Clement's Church

 Juliet Russell, of Vocal Explosion - courtesy of their website

We found ourselves last night in St. Clement's Church, in Hastings Old Town, to hear a programme of gypsy music from the community choir Vocal Explosion.  We hadn't ventured inside this fourteenth-century gem before, but had read about its refurbishment (which aroused the usual mix of "they've ruined a lovely church" and "what an improvement on what was there before").  Personally, I quite like a mix of ancient and modern, so was not offended by the renovations.  It makes a good concert venue, and the assembled ladies and gents of the community choir filed in happily to the chancel, for a programme of gypsy music from Spain to Romania.

Community choirs make no pretension to be grand opera, the purpose being to have a good time with the music as much as to produce a decent sound. The men were, as usual, vastly outnumbered by the women - to the point where, from our position half behind a pillar, the former were completely invisible.  But the women - dressed for the occasion in "sunset" colours of orange and red, some with roses in their hair - certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves, swaying and smiling in a Carmen-meets-the-WI fashion.  The choir was led by Juliet Russell, who had two roses in her hair - a little offputting since from the rear they looked like a couple of stick-up ears, and reminded me slightly of Bambi, for some reason.  Our neighbour in the audience, who told us she had sung with the choir for nine years but was taking a break from it at present, said that Juliet Russell composed some of the numbers herself.  If so, she'd done a good job.  Some of the harmonies were powerful - particularly in an opening number called Asla, which sent shivers down my spine.

The slight tendency towards a revivalist meeting became more pronounced after the break, when Juliet Russell encouraged the audience to clap rhythmically and access their inner power (I may have got that last bit wrong, but you probably get the drift).  In the last number, where the choir was swaying and the audience standing and clapping I warned Paul that I might soon be speaking in tongues.  The man in the row behind us said he wished the Sunday service was as lively.  

I have my reservations about gypsy music - it can sound a bit same-ish after a while, and I can only take so much of dancing beside bonfires.  But the rhythms were good, Juliet Russell impressed as a husky-voiced Carmen and the lady beside us was whooping with applause like any teenager.  I expect to see her with a rose in her hair next time round. 

Antony Mair

And the winner is...

Taek Gi Lee playing Rachmaninov's 3rd Piano Concerto                          Photograph: John Cole

At the end of the semi-finals of the Hastings International Piano Concerto Competition the generally accepted view seemed to be that one of the two South Koreans - Yekwon Sunwoo and Taek Gi Lee - was likely to be winning the prize.  It came as no surprise that they were two of the three finalists.  Marcin Koziak, from Poland, was the third finalist, but was thought to have only an outside chance of coming out top.  Of the two South Koreans, it's fair to say that Yekwon Sunwoo, with his considerable stage presence and the greater maturity that comes with being 25 as opposed to 17, was thought to be marginally the more likely contender.

The final was made the more interesting since both Yekwon Sunwoo and Taek Gi Lee were playing Rachmaninov's 3rd Piano Concerto.  I invariably think of this as the "Rack 3", after John Gielgud's repeated warnings in the movie Shine that this concerto had been the downfall of many a pianist - as it proved to be for David Helfgott, the main character.

Audience at the White Rock Theatre           Photograph: John Cole

Yekwon Sunwoo was first off the starting block on Saturday night.  Starting slightly nervously, he failed to convey much expression in the first part of the first movement, but gradually got into his stride.  The Rack 3 is an immensely showy piece with a series of solos and cadenzas.  Yekwon Sunwoo's performance reminded me very much of a mountaineer in the Alps, climbing one height after the other, only to find another one beyond.  It was technically brilliant, and the final movement was a showstopper that brought tears to the eyes.  He was followed by Marcin Koziak playing Tchaikovsky's 1st Piano Concerto, which I found competent but a little unmoving after the tumult of Rachmaninov.

  

When Taek Gi Lee stepped onto the stage I had little fear of him collapsing in the manner of David Helfgott. But I was totally unprepared for the ease with which he played - where Yekwon Sunwoo had been a mountaineer, Taek Gi Lee seemed to be taking a walk in the park.  From the moment he first touched the keyboard, there was an astonishing fluidity and lyricism in his playing that captivated everyone in the theatre, bringing a number of members of the audience to their feet.

I wondered whether my judgment was affected by bias - Paul had been ferrying Taek Gi to his rehearsal venue earlier in the week as well as on the Saturday and had got to know him a little.  But it became clear that everyone - including the judges - was of the same mind.  He goes away with the first prize and my hope that his prodigious talent is carefully nurtured to enable him to retain a place he has now earned on the world stage.

Antony Mair 

  

Taek Gi Lee receiving his prize from Dame Fanny Waterman
Photograph: John Cole

A feast of music at the Piano Concerto Competition Semi-final

   Yekwon Sunwoo (South Korea)                                                                       Photograph: John Cole

The semi-finals of the Hastings International Piano Concerto Competition brought a feast of music for those of us in the White Rock Theatre last night.  For the laughable cost of £8 per seat we were treated to seven mini-recitals by a quite remarkable array of young players ranging in age from 17 to 27.  There were originally intended to be six in the semi-final, but the judges considered the standard so high that they stretched it to seven.  Each played a small programme of their own devising, for just under half an hour.

Marcin Koziak (Poland)                                       Photograph: John Cole

The choice of music was wide, from Bach through to Ligeti.  The players had deliberately chosen music to demonstrate their range - Marcin Koziak, from Poland, for example, played a Haydn Sonata, followed by Debussy's Prelude La Cathédrale Engloutie and ending with a virtuoso performance of Bartok.  Similarly, Taek Gi Lee, from South Korea, played a Bach Prelude and Fugue followed by a spectacular Fantasy by Liszt.  Asaki Ino, from Japan, gave a beautiful interpretation of Clara Schumann's Variations on a Theme of Robert Schumann before thundering through a Berg sonata.  The Russian Ekaterina Litvintseva seemed to prefer power over expressiveness in her pieces by Rachmaninov, Chopin and Prokofiev.

One of the more interesting moments occurred when Yekwon Sunwoo, also from South Korea, played Ravel's Valse.  It wasn't a piece I knew, but it had been played a little earlier by another competitor, Angie Zhang from the USA.  For an eighteen-year-old, she had demonstrated astonishing power - but I found myself wondering, in the course of her performance, what had happened to the dance in the title.  I thought that perhaps Ravel had composed a modernist interpretation of the waltz, which broke in at odd moments.  Then came Yekwon Sunwoo, who played the piece more subtly, so that the waltz rhythm was clear all the way through, with remarkable light and shade - suddenly the music was perfectly Parisian. 

Taek Gi Lee (South Korea)                                 Photograph: John Cole

The two South Koreans and Marcin Koziak go through to the finals on Saturday, with Koziak playing Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto, and Yekwon Sunwoo and the astounding 17-year-old Taek Gi Lee both playing Rachmaninov's Third.  Yekwon Sunwoo, 25, has remarkable stage presence and the smile of a schoolboy rather surprised to find himself the centre of attention.  His compatriot Taek Gi Lee packs far more  emotional punch in his playing than you would expect from someone his age.   The comparison between the two South Koreans playing the same Rachmaninov piece promises to make for an interesting evening.  As for Koziak, tall and unassuming, with the classic long hands of the pianist,  his Debussy was very beautiful and I've no doubt he'll bring out the full emotion of Tchaikovsky's score.

I confess to one disappointment.  I'd shepherded Annika Treutler, from Germany, to rehearsal in St. Mary in the Castle and then to the White Rock in the first round.  I was delighted to see that she'd made the semi-final.  She played a Schumann Fantasy very beautifully last night but was trounced by the men.  The standard is, indeed, amazing.

Antony Mair   

The judges                                                                   Photograph: John Cole 

  

Promoting the Piano

Ethan Richardson playing in Priory Meadow                                            Photograph by John Cole

The Hastings International Piano Concerto Competition is now upon us.  As a warm-up and a way of involving the local community, a Yamaha baby grand was placed in Priory Meadow shopping mall over last weekend and a series of players of all ages showed their skill on the keys.

Paul and I were on duty as stewards on the Sunday afternoon.  A shopping mall is pretty soulless at the best of times, and Priory Meadow more so than most.  Vicious draughts have a way of whistling round corners and hitting your back, and a lot of the shoppers look as if they are there as a last resort.  But it was wonderful to see the power of music captured on the faces of passers-by, some of whom sat, quietly attentive, on the handful of chairs provided for the purpose.  People of all ages and classes were spellbound, and I've never been so struck by the way in which music winds itself into the psyche.

Today the Competition started in earnest, with forty competitors from all over the world performing in front of a panel of judges in the White Rock Theatre.  I accompanied one candidate and her accompanist (who plays the part of the orchestra, scored for piano) to St Mary in the Castle for some thunderous rehearsal of Prokoviev, then back to the White Rock Theatre where she acquitted herself admirably in front of the judges.  Semi-finalists are announced on Wednesday.  The six semi-finalists perform a series of recitals on the Thursday evening and are then narrowed down to three finalists, who play with full orchestra on Saturday.  I'm looking forward to every minute.

Antony Mair   

Isobel Richardson playing in Priory Meadow

Photograph by John Cole