Frida

 And so to the opera. Earlier in the summer I went to see 'In Dreams', a musical using songs by or associated with Roy Orbison. It was very, very good and I'm not entirely sure why I never wrote about it at the time. It was set in New Mexico and many of the characters were of Mexican origin; inevitably the 'Day of the Dead' loomed large. The reason I mention it now is that I have been to see the first production in the UK of 'Frida', the opera by Robert Rodriguez portraying the life of the painter Frida Kahlo and, sure enough...

photo credit Rhian Hughes

I don't know how accurate the retelling of her story was. I have always taken issue with the widespread assumption that she was overlooked as a painter because she was a woman; given that her husband, Diego Rivera, was a far superior artist (*) it is at least possible that the only reason for her being so well known is actually because she's a woman. Based on the version told in the opera the thing we should most admire her for is the overcoming of innumerable physical disabilities and illnesses. In any event, what happens here - and I've no idea whether it happened in real life - is that her success comes about because Rivera sells several of her paintings to Edward G. Robinson rather than selling his own. Robinson is one of a number of eclectic characters who pop up, including Henry Ford, Nelson D. Rockefeller and of course the Trotskys. The latter give rise to a slightly odd design choice; when Natalia Trotsky first appears she is wearing a fur hat, presumably to underline just how Russian she is rather than it being strictly necessary under the Mexican sun. 

I enjoyed it all immensely. Any show that contains marching soldaderas carrying banners saying 'Tierra y Libertad' and singing 'Long live Zapata' is going to be OK with me. Add on to that a bus crashing into a tram and the assassination of Trotsky and you have all the makings of a good night out.

* In your bloggist's opinion obviously.

Suddenly I See

I have been to see KT Tunstall, and it was, well, it was OK; which is to say that I was a bit disappointed that I didn't enjoy it more. I hope that makes sense. She has an engaging stage presence, plays a mean guitar and was wearing a pair of shiny trousers that looked as if they had been sprayed on, but somehow it all fell a bit flat. She has abandoned playing with a band, instead using a loop pedal arrangement to accompany herself taking what she does away from folk/blues into folktronica or techno-folk or something similarly made up. Other than one or two highlights - notably 'Black Horse and the Cherry Tree' - it didn't really float my boat.

Less hi-tech and all the better for it were Coope, Boyes and Simpson. A male acapella trio they are definitely within the folk tradition despite writing much of their own material, often political in nature. They have become associated in the last few years with songs about the Great War and did a selection of such material, including a couple of self-penned numbers about Major Valentine Fleming of the Queen's Own Oxfordshire Hussars. Fleming was in many ways the epitome of the sort of person they - and your bloggist - dislike on principle (Eton and Oxford, Conservative MP etc), but there is no denying his bravery, which ultimately was to cost him his life. Apparently he and his fellow officers tried hard to ensure that those one hundred years on would have strongly mixed feelings about them despite their heroism, by transporting their horses and hounds to northern France and spending their time when not in the trenches by hunting; there is no record of whether or not they hunted for monkeys. Fleming, whose son was of course the creator of James Bond, was born on the banks of the Tay and another of the songs the threesome sang, written by Michael Marra, was about an imagined trip by Frida Kahlo to Dundee. Other, perhaps more likely, subjects varied from the refugee crisis to the return of fascists to political power (a song which reminded me, and probably only me, musically of 'Yours Is No Disgrace') via a lament for Kurt Cobain. A mention must also be made of a song about the environment, which concluded with the refrain 'one million plastic bottles' sung to the tune of 'ten green bottles', but which thankfully they didn't sing to a conclusion.

A Revolution in Art

I have been to the Royal Academy's exhibition of Mexican art from the period 1910-1940. The title obviously alludes to the 20th century's first great revolution, which convulsed the country between 1911 and 1920, but also to the fact that Mexico played an important part in the development of art globally during the period covered. The upheavals in the country fed into the art which in turn played a key part in the social changes taking place as it sought to reflect the real Mexico of indigenous peoples and geographic variety. All of this attracted overseas visitors: artists, photographers, writers and the like who saw what was going on and took it back with them when they returned home.

The exhibition, which it must be said is quite small, contains artists of whom you will have heard - Diego Riviera, Frida Kahlo, Cartier Bresson, Robert Capa - plus many that you won't have.

The relatively limited size of the exhibition prevents me from recommending a long journey to see it, and in any event it closes in two weeks. However, if one is doing a Burlington Bertie along Piccadilly (having risen at ten thirty, natch), then it would be well worth popping in.

The People's Front of Judea

Maybe readers will wonder about my views on the implosion of the SWP; or then again. possibly they won't. I will keep it brief. In my view these are the chickens of the First International coming home to roost.

A chap with a beard

 

I once went to the Casa del Trotsky in Mexico City. Whilst I don't recall seeing any sign of chickens I did have my picture taken next to the great man's rabbit hutches. The house is just around the corner from Frida Kahlo's so we went there as well.

A woman who could probably have grown a beard had she felt like it