Auld Lang Syne Choral Text

A friend here on the island asked me to render Burn's poem Auld Lang Syne as a beat style poem for an event at which she and three others are performing.

This odd little number is my variation on that theme...

Auld Lang Syne

A Choral Text For 4 Voices

Key: Bold = Indicates stress
- = Mark the beat
/ = Follow on immediately, almost overlapping.
[p] = Softly

Notes: I think it likely that standing still in a particular configuration, perhaps like pins in a bowling alley, may help the audience’s interpretation of this piece. The final part of the last section, H, should possibly be said in a very straight way, as if returning to normality.

[Prologue]

1: Forgot.

2: Forgot.

All 4: Forgot.

2: Wandered

3: Wandered

4: Forgot.

4: Forgot

1: Forgot

All 4: - - - Seas.

2: Acquaintance

1: Wandered

3: - - - Forgot.

[A]

1: Should old acquaintance

2: Be for-got

3: And

4: Never

All 4: Brought- to- mind

2: Should

1&4: Auld – Acquaintance

3: Be - - - forgot

4: And - - -

1: Auld/

2: Lang/

3: Syne.

[B]

1&3: Tak a cup o’/ Tak a cup o’/ Tak a cup’o/ Tak a cup o’

2: For auld lang syne,
my jo,

4: For auld- lang -syne,
we’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ kindness - yet

1: - - - For

2: Auld/

3: Lang/

1: Syne - - -

[C]

2: We twa hae run/

1 & 3: Aboot the braes

4: And pu’d the gowans/

1 & 3: Fine

2: But - - -

3: We’ve wander’d mony a weary/

1: Foot,

4: - - - Sin auld lang syne - - -

[D]

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind

1: For auld lang syne,
my jo,

2&3: For auld- lang -syne,

4: We’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ – kindness - yet

3: For

1: Auld/

2: Lang/

3: Syne.

[E]

4: We twa hae paidl’d

1&3: I' the burn,

2: Frae morning sun

2&4: Till dine

3: But seas between us braid

1: Hae

All4: Roar’d

1 & 3: [p] - - - Sin auld lang syne.

[F]

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

1&4: Tak a cup o’/

2&3: Kind/

1&4: Ness/

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

1&3&4: For auld lang syne,

2: My jo,

1&3: For auld- lang -syne,

2: We’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ – kindness – yet

3: For

1&2: Auld Lang/

4: Syne.

[G]

3: And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!

1&2&4: And gie's a hand o’ thine !

1: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught/

2: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught/

3: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught/

4: And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught

1: [p] For auld lang syne.

[H]

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

1: Yet

1&4: Tak a cup o’/

2&3: Kind/

1&4: Ness/

3: Yet

2&3: Tak a cup o’/

1&4: Kind/

2&3: Ness/

4: For auld lang syne,

2: My jo,

3: [p] For auld- lang -syne,

1: We’ll

All 4: Tak a cup o’ kindness yet

2: - - - For

All 4: Auld Lang Syne.

Explosions in the Night

Tinkering around with a few wee ideas....

It was in the night that we first heard the explosions.

Lying there, eyes closed, on the verge of sleep.

At first I thought it was a door that had been left open, flapping in the wind.

When they started to get louder, and more frequent, we opened up the blind and looked down the sound.

In the distance we could see a dim light that pulsed intermittently, and as it pulsed, grew brighter at each turn.

The banging grew louder and louder, the light grew brighter and brighter.

It looked like the city over the hill, down the sound, some thirty miles away, was on fire.

As a child I remembered hearing tales about when the sugar factories were hit in the 2^nd world war, and how they lit up the sky with a pink and orange glow.

And so it was here and now. The glow from the explosions filled the sky, like a sunrise, creeping up from the south east, silhouetting a radio mast against the changing colours.

Then we saw the flames. Like you would nurture the fire in the grate until it became a roaring blaze, the flames licked over the brow of the hill, small ones at first, then great leaping towers of orange and yellow, dancing like dervishes, displaced from home.

We looked at each other, and spoke for the first time, barely able to hear each other under the explosions.

“Oh my God.”

“Oh sweet Jesus”

The explosions were now so loud that the whole earth seemed to thud and move with them. The flames beat their pulse, becoming more and more in snyc the closer they got to us.

“What - What is it?”

Bang, thud, crump.

The windows in the house started to balloon in and out almost in time with the explosions.

We could feel the pressure in our ears mirror the movements of the windows.

“Under the bed!”

I followed her.

Thump.

Crump.

Thump.

We scrambled under the bed, compacting old bags, sleeping bags and yoga mats in to a heap in the middle in our haste to get to shelter.

Louder. Louder. Louder.

I held my head in my hands, I couldn’t bear it – the pain was too much – the explosions were now inside me. My breath taken from me with each new blast.

The whole room shook. Shook again.

I couldn’t hear anything at all now, too afraid to open my eyes I could only feel the heat coming from her, as I pressed in beside her.

The house jolted from side to side. There was nothing to hold on to.

And then it stopped.

It just stopped.

Where the Wild Things Are

I'm very, very excited by the prospect of this film.
For me, it's pretty much the best book ever written.

Dave Eggers & Spike Jonze have scriopted it, so it could be very interesting indeed.

Dance in the moonlight Max, and let the wild rumpus begin!

The embedding from youtube hasn't come through, so have a look at the following link.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NOkQ4dYVaM

The Fountain

When I first moved to the island of Mull I started listening to the radio in earnest.

One of the first programmes I remember hearing was something along the lines of Front Row or Saturday Review on Radio 4. In it the reviewers talked about Darren Aronofsky's film, The Fountain.

It seemed to divide the reviewers, some thought it utter tosh, while others thought it well worth a look.

It sounded like a mad conceit – two characters spread out through three eras, on the quest for eternal life.

The only other thing I'd heard that had divided the reviewers in such a way was Jonathon Strange and Mr Norell, by Sussanah Clark. It so happened that I got a hold of said book not long after the programme and fell totally in love with it.

So I thought The Fountain may, perhaps, be worth a gander.

For a couple of years now, while it's been out on DVD, I've heard friends talk about it in shocked tones, not quite knowing what they make of it, loving it or hating it. Some fell for it totally, others were not so keen.

The Fountain finally arrived via my love film account a few days ago, and last night Georgia and I sat down to watch it.

Firstly I must say that it is flawed. There are some moments of it that are just a touch too sentimental, too over played. But it is brilliantly flawed. Those moments pale in to insignificance beside the sweeping majesty and sheer joyful nonsense of the tale.

It feels like a very personal musing on love and obsession to me, much like Soderbergh's superb remake of Solaris (which I much prefer to the original, as it leaves so much to your imagination).

Hugh Jackman is just brilliant as an the threefold man Tom (possibly four fold if you consider what he's revealed to be). He must have had a great, crazy time making this film. He's always good value for money, but boy is he suoperb in this. He completely enters in to the madness and obsession of the character.

Rachel Weisz is ethereal, enigmatic and stunningly beautiful in this. She captures a great tenderness in the threefold character (possibly fourfold too), sparkling as Izzi in the modern day section. It's from her side that you really feel the relationship between the two characters. Where Jackman is focused and obsessed, she floats realistically at his side, driving him on subtly by her wonderful presence.

The music of The Fountain is totally intoxicating. It gives the images so much space to breath, it's quite brilliant. I've listened to the soundtrack twice today already. I bow down before Clint Mansell and doff my cap at his toes.

But what is it about?

God knows.

If you sup of the tree do you become at one through several points of time – and also the others who, too, supped? From the creator of the tree all the way to the end of the star?

Is God, an ecumenical sort, the absent character in the piece?

Or is it there all along?

It quite clearly states there is something bigger than all of us put together going on.

But what?

The images of this film will stay with me for ever. The macro photographed scenes of petri dish based outer space blew my mind.

The ending as the ship arrives at Xibalba and the attending silence made me whoop and cheer.

How that ties in to everything else is quite simply superb.

I'm not going to rant on about this film any more, but bloomin heck, I'm going to be digesting it for a long time to come.

Superb.

The Future of Drama Training?

Some rambling thoughts on the future of drama training.

Please excuse me if I'm talking from a performance based perspective, and don't mention the technical and production based sides of the industry in depth, but I think that the broad ideas of what I'm talking about here apply across the board.

It seems that the conservatoire approach to actor training is very much under threat these days. Look at the storm that the RSAMD recently weathered, and the desperately sad path that QM is following.

What is the future for the potential drama students of 5 or 10 years time (perhaps less)?

How will they be able to start to learn their craft?

Where can they go to get that first foot in the door, to feel empowered and enabled enough to start to explore their creative selves?

I think that some of the most important aspects of a training environment are space, time, security and exposure.

What I mean by these words, if you'll excuse my slightly esoteric ramblings, is:

Space – An actual space to play in and work, a space to learn how things work, a dedicated space that is for theatre training, not a classroom that the computers have to be moved around to get enough room to do anything.

A great space can be just as valuable to the student as the teacher. A space will ask things of you, talk to you, demand that you justify your presence there.

Time – That you get a set block of time, be that years, months, days or whatever that are specifically dedicated to the growth of your craft. Psychologically that's very important for the student actor. Do what you can to survive outside the hours of training, but when you're in the training environment you're there for that purpose, and you better bloomin' well justify your presence there.

Security – The security to fail. Possibly the most important aspect of this train of thought, for me. If you've got dedicated time and space set out to your training, you can then start to apply yourself to it, and to really learn, and, unless you're some sort of phenomenon, you're going to fail and fail again, for other reasosn as your learning progresses. Building on from those failures in a safe environment can give you such a massive frame of reference for the outside world.

Exposure - Exposure to an audience. It's the very essence of the performer's craft. It's where the greatest amount of learning takes place. In a solid establishment the frameworks that you need in place for a performance to happen are there, the student doesn't have to worry about marketing, front of house or anything like that, they rehearse and then they perform. The lucky things.

Take drama training out of such a secure environment, and the suddenly the pressures on the student surely become much greater, and the likelihood of exposure to an audience lessens considerably.

So what is the future for drama training?

Are there other models out there for how a student actor may start to learn their trade?

Do we go down the route of apprenticeships?

There's a lot of governmental talk about apprenticeships these days, but can that be applied to theatre? That would require a reshaping of the funding environment to see such a thing brought out across the board.

There's the oriental model for such a training, and, broadly similar the medieval route. But what would be a good approach for Scotland, now?

A centralised apprenticeship agency or two, providing groundwork classes and then sending apprentices off to study with companies?

Do we see the rise of private theatre schools, following the Lecoq / Gaulier style model, where the students pay large fees and are worked solidly for half the day, then go off for the rest of the day to earn their crust? Mind you, the paying of large fees seems to be a universal thing these days.

Perhaps a school on wheels? A roving set of foundation and skills workshops that travel the country from town to town, meeting for month long bursts of time in village and town halls?

Do theatre companies create short schools?

Does Berty the Magic Theatre Banana go and tap people on the head an make them in to performers?

The one thing that definitely needs to be in place for what ever the future may be is a system of quality approval. The training needs to be of high quality, and the more fractured that the training environment becomes, the harder it may be to assure such quality.

Performance Poyum

Enough is enough, thank you.

No, honestly, I couldn’t.

Not at all.

No, really.

Honest.

Well…

I shouldn’t really…

You know how it is…

But, I can’t say that I haven’t –

Go on then.

Just a wee bit.

Just dip it in the sauce.

Lovely.

Oh that’s good.

Oh that’s very good.

Why didn’t I try that one earlier?

Oh I like that one.

But this one’s my favourite.

Oh, yum.

Yum.

Yum, yum, yum.

I do like that one.

But, what about that one, the first one.

Oh it’s tasty.

I’ll just try one of these in there, in that first one.

Oh now, that’s just the ticket.

Will it taste the same with one of these in that sauce?

Oh!

Oh!

Goodness!

I like that, oh I do like that.

What happens if you mix the two together?

Oh yes, I like that too!

Mhmmm.

There’s not much of it left, I may as well finish it off.

Ach what harm will it do?

It’s just a wee bitty.

There.

Just like that.

And that.

And… that…

Now…

Aw.

There’s none left.

Aw.

I don’t feel well.

Bachelorhood

I guess I kind of set it as a marker of sadness, or perhaps just simple singularity of masculinity.
I always thought that those kind of people who buy Star Trek series on video or DVD are standing out as archetypal bachelors.

Well.

I've just ordered the 1st Season of Star Trek The Next Generation on DVD.
In my defence it was cheap-ish, and it's been at least 10 years since I've seen any of it.

But does this mean that I'm a sad bachelor pushing 30?

Oh jings....