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A trip to Vienna in July to celebrate a special anniversary, revealed wonders not previously seen.
The exhibition of ‘New Objectivity’, German art in the Weimar Republic, (1918 – 1933), at the Leopold Museum was the most disturbing. To quote from the catalogue: “The physical and psychological injuries and abysmal experiences of World War I, which claimed the lives of more than nine million people and left over twenty million wounded, called for new depictions of reality in art.” Some of these ‘new depictions' really were quite unsettling. Far less disquieting but fascinating nevertheless—in the top floor of the Vienna Museum—was another art exhibition, this was of the Successionists. They were the new art movement dating from around 1900 in Germany and Austria, which numbered Gustav Klimt as a central figure. For the most part these were somewhat more naturalistic than the art from the time of the Weimar Republic, but immensely compelling. The Vienna Museum charts the history of the city over the ages, and most interesting is how it deals with the dark period, 1938 – 1945. There were ghastly antisemitic posters—apparently even the NAZIs were surprised at the vehemence of the Austrians against their own Jews. There were photographs of Hitler addressing the masses after his troops marched into Austria in 1938. And then a glass-topped case caught my eye. It seemed to be haphazardly piled with junk; there was a framed picture leaning over against something almost hidden—it was a bust of Hitler, on its back, heaved into a cupboard as it were and forgotten. An excellent way of dealing with a very painful period of history. Then there was the Museum of Music, original home of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, with a small cinema showing repeats of the New Year’s Day concerts at the Musikverein, as well as the open-air summer concerts from Schönbrunn. Each of the main Viennese composers had a room with memorabilia and artefacts. My favourites were Beethoven, Schubert, and Gustav Mahler. After that we visited Sigmund Freud’s house which we have seen before but which has had a recent major makeover. Much fascinating material was on display but most poignant was Freud’s family tree. Freud left for England in 1938, but his four elderly sisters stayed in Vienna. One died in the Theresienstadt Ghetto and the other three, in their late seventies and early eighties, were murdered by the NAZIs at Treblinka. Walking to the Vienna Museum, my wife spotted that we were in Bösendorferstrasse, and there we came across the showrooms of that famous Viennese piano maker. Looking at some of the wonderful grand pianos on show, it became clear that each one is a work of art in itself. From the magnificent cast-iron frame, left for six months to fully anneal, finished to perfection, and strung with golden strings, to the beautiful polished wood case, and the tiers of wooden levers and hammers forming the action. Of the latter there was a model on show, and I spent ages pressing the key and trying to understand how it all worked. The action of a grand piano is a minor miracle of mechanical engineering, albeit mostly in wood and felt. An amplifying linkage of several levers from the piano key causes the hammer to strike the strings and immediately fall back to avoid damping, while being able to repeat the note around ten times per second. The low inertia of the wooden linkages allows this high speed. While all of this is going on, other linkages operate the dampers, either from the individual key being pressed, or from the foot pedals. And these structures are replicated, side by side, eighty-eight times in a modern grand... There are many diagrams and explanations online, but the best animation I have seen is here: https://sketchfab.com/3d-models/steinway-sons-grand-piano-action-model-a1637020eeea4033a5ec611b50cbf045 This was a most stimulating visit to the old imperial capital of Austria-Hungary and the catalogues of those two art exhibitions provide much to study and ponder. The memory is somewhat overshadowed though by knowledge of the fate of Sigmund Freud’s sisters. I will never understand how any political philosophy can be satisfied by the cold-blooded State murder of several harmless and respectable elderly ladies.
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This year has been an exceptional Prom season, and it is not over yet. I have attended four concerts so far—one more to go—and each one has been better than the one before. The last-but-one, where a very frail Daniel Barenboim conducted the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra doing Schubert’s great C-major ninth symphony, I thought was the apotheosis of the series. Barenboim is a Jewish Israeli citizen, but he also has Palestinian citizenship. The Divan orchestra was set up by him and the Palestinian-American academic Edward Said twenty-five years ago, and comprises musicians from Israel and many of the surrounding Muslim countries, although it also includes other nationalities. This was a magnificent performance of a wonderful piece that had never been performed in Schubert’s lifetime, made so much more poignant by the on-going appalling Middle-East conflict between the countries whose nationals were playing in the orchestra. I wondered for a second why the Promenaders applauded the orchestra when its members came on stage, but of course it was recognition that friendship and brotherly love through art transcend all other considerations.
But it was the Prom last Wednesday, whose climactic theme was friendship and brotherly love, that eclipsed even Schubert, Barenboim, and the Divan Orchestra. Nicholas Collon was conducting the Aurora Orchestra, the National Youth Choir, and the BBC Singers in a performance of Beethoven’s ninth symphony from memory... Where to start? This year is the 200th anniversary of its first performance in Vienna. Beethoven was so deaf, that a member of the orchestra had to turn him around to face the audience so that he could see their rapturous applause. Wednesday’s Prom started with a staged re-enactment by actors, some of whom were deaf themselves, of ‘conversations’ the composer had via his notebooks. He was so deaf that he had to converse via written messages. Then, the conductor deconstructed the symphony by having the orchestra play bits of it and describing how they came about and all fitted together. The climax though was in the second half when they played the symphony through. There was no printed music on stage, so all the musicians, except the cellists and possibly the double bassists, were standing, unconstrained, and able to move as the music took them. Furthermore, not all of the players were on stage all of the time—they came and went as their musical parts required. And when the fourth movement started, I lent to my daughter-in-law who was with me and whispered “There’s something I don’t understand... Where’s the choir?” Only the orchestra were present. Then they silently walked on stage just before the singing started, and now commenced pure magic. For the fourth movement of his ninth symphony Beethoven set Schiller’s poem, An die Freude – Ode to Joy, to music. Ode to Joy is a paean to brotherly love, which God knows we need in the world today. The choral movement includes four soloists, and they moved around the stage, at one point making way for a marching band! Part of the fourth movement sounds just like a German marching band and there they were, strutting along, being led by a musician playing a side drum. And just when it seemed there could be no more, the choir started to ‘sign’ some of the words they sang using sign language. I was quite overcome by the end and quickly wiped my eyes so that my daughter-in-law could not see the tears and thus ruin my studied cynical persona. When the final crescendo was over the entire audience at a packed Albert Hall immediately rose in a spontaneous standing ovation. It was an experience I shall never forget. My first Prom of the season last night. The start was not auspicious when the Royal Albert Hall refused me entry because I had a glass or so of white wine in a flask in my bag left over from a picnic dinner on the Albert Memorial steps. And I was more than a little miffed later to have to pay £4 for a small bottle of water during the interval, which had been the intended occasion for finishing the wine. However the evidence was quickly disposed of in a not unpleasant way and I was admitted.
The programme was first class. It started with the usual ‘difficult’ contemporary piece at the Proms which turned out to be not difficult at all. The unlikely named Erkki-Sven Tüür’s Aditus, which means entrance or approach in Estonian, was noisy, raucous, and very entertaining. Next was a real treat. After the Prommer’s traditional “Heave!” from the auditorium, to be answered by “Ho!” from the gallery as the piano lid was raised, and applause as the leader played the ‘A’ to allow the orchestra to tune, we heard Beethoven’s fifth piano concerto. The last time I heard the Emperor at the Proms, many moons ago, the playing was so strident that I wondered that the Chinese pianist didn’t damage the Steinway during the performance. This time a young Korean, Yunchan Lim, absolutely wowed the audience—and me—with his sensitivity. I have never heard this Beethoven piece played with such love and tenderness. He rightly received enormous applause. The Bruckner, his first symphony, I was not familiar with although the style was unmistakably his. I’ll admit to some trepidation, and I noticed a few seats had emptied at the interval—two girls clutching their iPhones even left after the first movement... But it was good. Plenty of repetitive crescendos, what the Prommers love, and it felt comfortable; traditional Proms fare. All in all a very enjoyable evening notwithstanding the faltering start. Furthermore I found myself sitting next to a well-known—to the Albert Hall—Italian gentleman who has attended around 1,800 Proms. My extremely rusty and halting Italian got a real workout. The Law of Unexpected Consequences frequently works to frustrate human endeavour, but it might just have worked for the public good. Much has been made of the fact that the Labour Party polled fewer votes in last Thursday’s General Election than in 2019 when Corbyn was in charge. He was campaigning against Johnson who subsequently won an 80-seat majority. That result was skewed by several factors. Corbyn and Johnson were both divisive in their different ways, voters either loving them or hating them. Johnson’s showy cosmetic charm and bonhomie endeared him to many voters and revolted others. Likewise Corbyn’s agitprop socialism generated adoration and loathing. Crucially though, Farage’s B****t party refrained from standing in seats where Conservatives were likely to win. This time, notwithstanding Starmer’s total rebuild of the Labour Party, ‘Fag-Ash’ Farage took the gloves off and was undoubtedly responsible for the Tories’ rout. This was an election lost by the Conservative Party, and only won by Labour by default.
However what do we see? Outgoing Sunak and Hunt have dubbed Starmer a ‘decent and honourable man’ as if that were an unusual trait in a Prime Minister! The new health secretary is sitting down next week with the junior doctors to try and resolve their dispute—scandalous that the Tories cynically allowed it to drag on for so long. The disgraceful Rwanda scheme goes into the dustbin of history, and Starmer is doing the rounds of the Union to cement his inclusive attitude to the four nations. Make no mistake the new government have some very difficult challenges: the health service, community care, the cost of living crisis, housing, prisons, and of course immigration, all with very little financial room to manoeuvre. If they can make some progress that people can actually see over the next few years, then Fag-Ash’s declared aim for a take-over in the 2029 election will wither on the vine. He gambled in 2024 and achieved his immediate objective. But he also allowed decent people into government whose efforts, if they succeed, may well condemn him and his band of bigoted, xenophobic, nationalist cronies to join the Rwanda scheme where they all belong. As an addendum to these thoughts I listened to a very interesting discussion on the BBC this morning. It was to the effect that the Europe of now is very different from the Europe that this country voted to leave in 2016. There is a definite surge to the right in a number of countries—anti-EU, anti-immigration, equivocation on Ukraine etc. Interesting times. For the record, last week I formally applied for citizenship of Austria. I’ll do a modified ‘Vicar of Bray’ for as long as they’ll let me and keep a foot in both camps.  “...And the skies over England were dark with lame ducks—the streets were clogged with chickens coming home to roost...”
(An unfortunate juxtaposition with the title of the previous post which I have only just noticed... I'm sure my reader will be suitably amused.) What is going on in the Sunday Telegraph? Quoting Stalin? Initially I was perplexed. Having thought about it, the reason appears to be quite sinister.
The solution to today’s ‘Quote down’ word puzzle is an epigram attributed to Joseph Stalin. It goes: “Those who cast their votes decide nothing. Those who count the votes decide everything.” Reprising this hyper-cynical notion immediately before an election that is likely to see the paymasters of the Telegraph organization thrown out on their collective ears, suggests a rather Trumpian disregard for the democratic process. The so-called debate between Sunak and Starmer on the BBC last night was very unsatisfactory. I’m tempted to repeat the sentiments of one of the audience who asked a question something like ‘Are you two the best on offer?’ They frequently talked over each other, and on several occasions the two of them and Mishal Husain were speaking simultaneously. Sunak though was the worst by far; constantly interrupting and talking over the others. With the state of the polls he has nothing to lose. And in almost every sentence he told us that he was going to cut taxes; Labour was going to raise them.
I wondered why Starmer hardly challenged him on that point except when he repeated the £2,000 tax lie again. The truth is, and this has been pointed out elsewhere, that neither of them has any choice in the matter. The country’s finances are in a perilous state—the on-going cost of the financial crisis, Covid, Ukraine, poor productivity, and losses from our departure from Europe. Whichever party forms the government—and I would love to see a coalition to force the buggers to work together for the public good—they will have stark choices. The public services are on their knees and money can come from only three sources: further cuts in public services—unthinkable; more borrowing, or increased taxes. There is also the uncomfortable—and unavoidable need to increase defence spending. In my view neither leader was telling the truth about the finances because for either to admit it, would be to commit instant political suicide. The other issue was immigration. Once again, neither of them told the truth. Legal immigration, at an all time high, outweighs so-called illegal immigration—those who arrive on small boats—by more than ten to one. But there are still the 50,000 or so asylum-seekers who are here, not permitted to work, and being housed at government expense. From what I have read, I believe that the overwhelming majority, once processed, are granted asylum. Sunak wants to fly the lot to Rwanda, a policy that would have done credit to the Third Reich. Starmer pointed out the reality that a) the deterrence is clearly not working since they—the asylum-seekers—know that only a very small majority will be denied asylum and flown to Rwanda, and b) in any case the process would take three years and they’re still coming... For his part Sunak repeatedly asked Starmer what he would do about them and answer came there none. Neither of them risked declaring the truth that without immigration our public services, service industries, and farming would collapse for lack of manpower. It is difficult to see how the next government can possibly be worse that the current one, but I fear that things are not going to get better any time soon and will probably get worse. One of the very first Italian words I learned in Rome in the summer of 1965 was “Frocci”, an insulting term applied to me and my fellow band members on account of our long hair. We were told that it meant “Queers”. The word recently used by Il Papa, “Frociaggine”, Google Translate renders as “smoothness”, clearly a word related to “Frocci” betraying its etymology.
It really isn’t a great advertisement for Pope Francis to use such language, particularly since his native tongue is Spanish. Furthermore, to use the word when addressing a collection of Catholic bishops, and in camera, betrays an astonishing level of hypocrisy. I’m surprised and yet not surprised at this, since it just confirms my own views about The Church. Any attempt to portray recent popes as having dragged Catholicism out of the Dark Ages is shown to be entirely spurious. I wonder how many people hung up their rosary beads as a result. For the best part of sixty years I have been fascinated by philosophy. My bookshelves groan under the weight of publications on the subject, from Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations, to Cathcart and Klein’s Plato and a Platypus go into a Bar. Of the former I got lost on page 6—and pages 1-5 were the preface... Plato and a Platypus is quite hilarious, and is an exposition of philosophy through mainly Jewish-American humour. I have read many other similar books, but to date the only knowledge on the subject that I have firmly committed to memory, is Monty Python’s Philosopher’s Song.
I’m now trying—for the umpteenth time—to read Bertrand Russell’s surprisingly accessible History of Western Philosophy. I have reached the point where he is expounding the theory that Plato might well have ‘invented’ Socrates. The argument is that what he (Plato) says about Socrates conflicts with Xenophon’s version of the man. Xenophon, like Plato a pupil of Socrates, was ‘not very liberally endowed with brains’ and ‘conventional in his outlook.’ Russell’s thesis is that the Platonic Socrates—the Socrates described by Plato—was a fascinating and most interesting character, substantially embellished, Russell suspects, by Plato’s considerably literary and intellectual talents and possibly even expressing Plato’s own ideas. It is fascinating stuff but by tomorrow I shall have forgotten it. I am reminded of an incident during my graduate student days. I was most fortunate to have Professor Alan Gibson, FRS, as my supervisor. He was an astonishing man; not only a gifted scientist and educator but also a very able administrator. I struggled during my research project which did not start well when I made it very clear to him that I did not understand Ohms Law... We were at an Opto-Electronic conference in Manchester. Alan was due to present a keynote paper first thing in the morning that followed an evening spent by me carousing in the bar. On going to bed I wondered why my travelling clockwork alarm clock was showing the completely incorrect time. I reset it, adjusting the alarm to wake me up in good time for Alan’s lecture. It did wake me up, but it was only that evening on coming back to the room that I realised that the reason the clock appeared to be wrong was that I had placed it upside down... There must be a wonderful metaphor there, but for the life of me I cannot find it. Anyway, I attended Alan’s talk and it was one of those rare Damascene events. As I listened to him explaining with complete clarity a most abstruse and subtle point, the scales were lifted from my eyes and for a few precious moments I was able to understand something that until then had completely eluded me. I never forgot the incident, that is to say the magical feeling of comprehension; the point itself was lost to me by lunchtime that day. I shall soldier on with Russell. At the very least having forgotten it all from the previous reading, every new idea comes as an exciting revelation. In our Time, the regular discussion programme chaired by Melvyn Bragg, is the very best of BBC Radio. Each week three working academics are assembled to discuss a topic chosen from an enormously diverse range of subjects in the arts and sciences. Some weeks are better than others. Sometimes an interesting subject is spoiled by poor communicators; likewise, an apparently dull topic can be made fascinating by gifted and informed academics. Occasionally, and last Thursday (29 February) was an occasionally, a set of great and knowledgeable communicators discuss a really fascinating subject and the programme positively catches fire.
The subject in question was Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. The academics: Fay Dowker from Imperial, Harry Cliff from Cambridge, and Frank Close from Oxford, were at the absolute top of their game. Apart from the thoroughly lucid way each one of them dealt with the subject, they were relaxed, there were a few jokes and some light-hearted banter, and some superb analogies: atomic and molecular spectra were likened to a bar code. Quite brilliant! The Uncertainty Principle states that if you know the position of a particle fairly well, it’s momentum is uncertain. Likewise if you know its position in time accurately, you don’t know its energy. The consequences of this for many aspects of science are huge. I think it was Harry Cliff who cracked the joke: Heisenberg gets stopped for speeding. “Do you know how fast you were going?” Says the officer. “No”, he says, “But I know exactly where I was...” I have listened to the programme twice now—including the extra minutes on iPlayer—and I can say with some confidence that for anyone who is interested in science, cosmology, or even philosophy and religion, this programme is a must. I think it is probably the best In our Time ever. |
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August 2024
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