Stan Qualen

 I've been away, but I'm back. While I get myself sorted out here's some music from a band I saw a couple of weeks ago:

I'm thinking of wearing my hair like that.

Tell It To Me Slowly

 I write this in response to the blog having supposedly received 4,000 views in the last twenty four hours, a figure which is beyond implausible. Inasmuch as there are ever any views it's due to neither the frequency of posting nor the quality; it's simply that I've been going a long time so there plenty of opportunities for stray internet searches to hit a past post. I'm going to revisit two of those past posts myself, following a bank holiday weekend of gig going.

Firstly the Paperboys, ten years after having last seen them, and very good they were too. My companion on that occasion, the estimable Coral Laroc, didn't care overmuch for the trombone and the first thing said during the interval by the lady accompanying me this time was "What's with the trombone?". Plus ça change. Speaking of Coral, she was last heard of at the beginning of the month swimming in the sea off Redcar, following which she complained that something in the water had made her ill. Does she not read the newspapers?

I've also seen the Zombies, this time after a gap of eleven years. Back then I hinted at some surprise that Colin Blunstone's voice was in such good shape. It now occurs to me that at the time he was the same age that I am now - i.e. in his prime - and that therefore there was nothing remarkable in the fact that he could still cut it. I am delighted to report that all remains well vocally. And indeed musically, because it was an outstanding gig, with 'Time of the Season', 'Hold Your Head Up' and 'She's Not There' being the unsurprising stand-outs; excellent stuff and if I never see them again - which seems probable - it was a very good way to leave it. 

PotCXXIIIpouri

 “People have forgotten this truth, but you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.” 

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

It's been a while since I mentioned the pigeon. "Wait a minute," I hear you say "you've never mentioned a pigeon." Well, actually I have, you just weren't paying attention. A couple of years ago a pigeon with an injured wing landed in my garden and hasn't been able to leave. International Pigeon Rescue let us down by failing to send their operatives and I don't have it in me to wring its neck, so I've been feeding her ever since. My garden is surrounded by high stone walls and is never visited by cats and so she's still here. Last year she attracted a mate and reared a chick. I'm pretty sure I had never seen a young pigeon before. However, tragedy has struck. Her beau - and they mate for life - is no more, seemingly having flown into one of the same walls that has been protecting them. The original bird has gone full Greyfriars Bobby and has been sitting in the spot where he fell (I've obviously removed the remains) ever since. I shall have to put up a memorial to her. As none of the people to whom it is variously attributed once said "Sometimes you're the pigeon and sometimes you're the statue".

I was sorry to see that Tom Priestley, son of the great John Boynton, died on Christmas day. I met him once a few years ago. Most of his obituaries mention the problems he faced in being the son of a distinguished father, but he had great success himself. He was the editor of many films that you will certainly have seen, being nominated for an Oscar for 'Deliverance'. 

My health continues to improve to the extent that I have both been on a demonstration and been to a gig. Here's Brave Rival with 'Bad Choices':

There ain't no goodhats...

 An intermittently recurring feature on the blog has been bands I wish I'd seen forty or fifty years ago, didn't, but now have. Latest to join this illustrious list is Wreckless Eric, a name he spent decades trying to avoid, but has now reclaimed. It was worth the wait:

He was supporting Dr Feelgood, who I probably would have gone to see anyway. The issue of whether I'd ever seen the original line up has now been resolved (although I can still remember absolutely nothing of the event) and this latest gig turned out to be 48 years all but one day since that previous occasion. That, I think is the longest period between my successive attendance at gigs of the same band, always assuming that you count them as being the same band. This lot are a bit of an odd mixture between being a proper band (they released an album of new material last year) and a tribute act (they play all the old favourites), but however you classify them they are bloody good and well worth seeing. Not, though as good as Wilko Johnson, Lee Brilleaux, John B. Sparkes and The Big Figure, so here they are:

Someone else who I've seen live this week is Tom Robinson, who I last saw in either late 1977 or early 1978, so not quite as big a gap. He was also excellent and extremely engaging; his anecdotes being almost as good as his music. I particularly liked the one about the time the Sunday People described him as 'Britain's no. 1 gay' when they 'outed' him for being in a relationship with a woman. Wreckless Eric's best anecdote was about Kevin Coyne, but he was perhaps topped by Maddie Prior of Steeleye Span - also seen by your bloggist with the last seven days; I am ceaseless in my search for material with which to entertain you - whose story concerned both Peter Sellers and his ukulele.

PotCXXIIpouri

I have had Covid again. That's the second time this year, which seems a little self-indulgent for a man my age. I seem to have picked it up at a university reunion, along with more than half of those attending, demonstrating once again the truth of the adage that one should never go back. Prior to testing positive I went to a Fairport Convention gig in Settle; I can only hope that I didn't act as a super-spreader among the, let's face it, rather elderly audience. Now I think about it, that was also the second time I'd seen Fairport this year. Coincidence? Or something more sinister?

Actually, there's been a bit of illness about, causing a pause in the Peninsular campaign. Prior to that occurring I found myself as stand-in commander of - checks notes - O'Donnell's force defending Tarragona against French assault. It was a highly entertaining game, with the final outcome only decided on the very last roll of the very last action on the very last card turned. However, in my opinion although not necessarily that of others, this was entirely down to luck being very much skewed in favour of the Spanish rather than being a positive reflection on the way the campaign rules handle such scenarios. Some changes have been mooted and we shall have to wait to see what effect they have. 

Returning to Fairport, they, playing as four-piece because their drummer Gerry Conway has retired (*), were as excellent as one would expect. Also excellent was Lauren Housley and the Northern Cowboys who I had seen a couple of days earlier whilst I was still bursting with health. Ms Housley mainly performs her own material, but included a couple of covers: Little Feat's "Willin'" and John Prine's "Angel From Montgomery". However, I'm going to include this Fairport Convention song, which they also included in their own set:

* His retirement is of a kind which will not, I expect, prevent him from appearing onstage at a gig which, viruses willing, I intend seeing in a week or so.

PotCXXIpouri

 My absence from the blogosphere has not been entirely due to scorchio, my broadband hasn't been working properly either. Obviously too much has happened in the Casa Epictetus during that time to include all of it in detail here. Most notably there was a visit from the blog's Luxembourg correspondent involving food and drink aplenty and an erudite conversation which ranged from Qatargate to the dynamic pricing of tickets for Springsteen's Munich concert via Piltdown Man. There has also been a variety of musical and theatre entertainment of equally varying qualities. But you're all here for the wargaming.

First up was a run out for James' new Spanish Army for the Peninsular war. Given that they were newly painted and that they were Spanish troops in the Peninsular war, they inevitably ran away. But quite a bit of luck with the dominoes meant that they hung in there for longer than anticipated and a good time was had by all. The picture above shows a Spanish cavalry unit which having unexpectedly routed their opposition in melee were then effectively destroyed by what seemed to your bloggist to be a very harsh pursuit check rule. 

Next up was the battle of Harran using To the Strongest!, the outcome of which was a defeat for the forces of Outremer, just like the original. The photo is of Bohemund, who despite being the main hope on his side never really got going. A combination of the Armenians to his left suddenly going into an uncontrolled advance - which unsurprisingly ended in disaster - and me constantly choosing the wrong order in which to activate commands, took away all his room for manoeuvre. Not that Baldwin or Tancred did any better mind you. It was a very bad day for the forces of Edessa and Antioch.

PotCXIXpouri

 “Don’t repeat yourself. It’s not only repetitive, it’s redundant, and people have heard it before.” 

-Lemony Snicket

The lack of posts here is not because I begrudge the time to write them, or indeed the sheer hard work necessary to maintain the high standards for which this blog is known. It's not even because I'm not doing stuff, it's more that I've not only done that stuff before, but increasingly I have also written about doing it before.

One area in which that doesn't particularly apply is boardgaming, where I have played a fair number of new-to-me games recently, and I shall return to that subject shortly. One of those games had a Wars of the Roses theme, which reminds me that the new version of Kingmaker was released last week. It looks good in the photos and some of the revisions seen intriguing - pre-packed factions for example. However, the estimated playing time is up to five hours, and that alone means that I shan't be bothering.

Anyway, back to stuff I've done before and have now done again. Firstly there was the Stephen Daldry production of 'An Inspector Calls', which was just as good as ever. Secondly there was Walter Trout, who was...etc. etc. Trout, who looks in remarkably good nick for a man in his seventies with a transplanted liver, played at the King's Hall in Ilkley and rather bemused the audience by referring to the great views as the band drove over the mountains to the town. The views are indeed great, but you would have thought that someone from a country where they really do have mountains would have spotted that Ilkley Moor is relatively low rise. 

Last but not least there's wargaming, where we trotted out that old favourite Möckern. Actually, it's not particularly a favourite of mine; the French always win. However, there aren't that many published scenarios for Epic C&C Napoleonics, and even fewer for which I have the figures. On top of that I already have the map and OOB printed and to hand so laziness won out. It still gave an enjoyable game though. I shall only include the one photo, but it does show the defining moment of the evening. For those not familiar with the Epic rules, two cards are played each turn; one from your hand and one from a shared tableau. Peter, playing the French, chose Cavalry Charge from the table and followed up with Bayonet Charge from his hand. If you're going to play, play aggressively. 

PotCXVIpouri

 I have been to the cinema to see 'Glass Onion', the second Benoit Blanc murder mystery. Whilst I didn't think it was as tightly plotted as 'Knives Out' it was nevertheless highly entertaining, not least for Daniel Craig's accent. It featured a few surprise cameos including Angela Lansbury. Lansbury of course died last month, and had the sort of career that means much information of interest to your bloggist was often left out of her obituaries. It was mentioned in a few places that her grandfather George Lansbury was the leader of the Labour Party in the early 1930s, but I don't recall reading anywhere that Oliver Postgate, the Noggin the Nog and Bagpuss supremo, was her first cousin. The blog pays its respect to them all.

Someone else who recently left us was Wilko Johnson, who I may or may not have seen with the original Dr Feelgood (*). 

I went to see Eliza Carthy last week and she dedicated a song to Johnson, explaining that she had played with him and that he and her father, Martin Carthy, had been close. This threw me momentarily because Martin Carthy is, well, old. But then I remembered both that Wilko Johnson himself had also been old, and that indeed so am I. Eliza Carthy and her band, the Restitution, were great. Here's one they did:

* For anyone who followed that link, new information has come to light and it would seem that the gig in question was actually at St George's Hall in Bradford rather than at Huddersfield Poly.

Kids in Bavaria

 It's been over a year since The Heimatdamisch, and Conny Kreitmeier in particular, featured in the blog, but I'm glad to say that she's back.

Apologies for the poor picture quality, but I took it on my phone in the Brudenell last night, the second date of their first UK tour. They were billed as 'the ultimate live party band' and judging by the way they were received by the packed and diverse audience there was some justification in that. For those who don't know Leeds, the Brudenell is bang in the middle of the main student area and one easily can see why the band might appeal to that demographic, and indeed why Conny plus half a dozen blokes in lederhosen would attract those whose taste runs to a bit of camp. Both I and my companion for the evening thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, although she did make one or two remarks about my obvious admiration for Bavaria's finest pair of lungs. Their repertoire ranges from AC/DC to Taylor Swift; here's the latter (for the avoidance of doubt this isn't West Yorkshire):

Da Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da Da

 Earlier this year an oblique reference to The Proclaimers led a fellow blogger to report having seen the Reid brothers in concert. I have now joined him in ticking off that feat, and whilst it wasn't my idea to go I can report that they were rather good. I remember hearing Tom Robinson say that he had made a career out of having written two good songs, and the Reids have at least three in their quiver. 'Letter from America' (as featured in that previous blog post), their most famous song (lyrics quoted in the title to this blog post) and 'Sunshine on Leith' (which is my favourite I think).

The evening also provided yet another example of how despite being well into my seventh decade I can sometimes still find myself in situations for which life has not sufficiently prepared me (feel free to compare and contrast what follows with this previous example). My companion for the evening and I were in the Kash - compulsory for a cultural outing in Bradford city centre - when we bumped into a colleague of hers. He mentioned that he had been out for lunch to say goodbye to a friend who was leaving for Switzerland. "Lucky him," says I "I'm sure he'll prefer it over there to over here". 

The chap to whom we were speaking gave me a pained look and said "Well, he's been ill.."

"Even better," I replied "The air is so much cleaner and fresher in the mountains, he'll feel so much better in no time."

My companion was by now also giving me odd looks, but it was only when I heard the words "In fact, he's been so very ill that he feels that this is really the best option..." that it began to sink in that 'going to Switzerland' had, in this context, a specific, no need for a return ticket, sort of meaning.

Once again, not cool dude, not cool.

Road to Trojan

 Yesterday was the 60th anniversary of the independence of Jamaica, and I went along to a celebration. It was rather a large gathering because there a fair number of people with Jamaican heritage in Leeds, including a 96 year old who sailed on the Windrush. I was left a bit unclear as to whether he was actually present last night, it seemed to all depend on whom one spoke to. I hope he enjoyed himself, wherever he was.

First up were the Jamaica Jazz All Stars featuring Brinsley Forde as guest vocalist, very good and very tight. They reminded my of a sort of Jools Holland Big Band with reggae replacing the boogie-woogie. The headliners were Dennis Alcapone, whose birthday it also was, but who was undoubtably a fair bit older than the country, and Freddie McGregor who I had assumed was old, but worryingly turned out to be younger than me.  Anyway, they were both every bit as good as I hoped and I'm glad I've seen them.

The band backing Mr Alcapone in the above clip is the Cimarons, who have previously been mentioned in this blog.

PotCXVpouri

 Life carries on here much as usual: BT have given me another seemingly arbitrarily precise compensation payment, £26.24 this time; another family of mice have appeared, necessitating more poison to be laid out; I have spent an inordinate amount of time in the dentist's chair due to problems with decades old crowns; and I have ordered another set of rules for the Mexican Revolution, despite it being a period which I never intend to game. I shall no doubt return to the last of those when they turn up.

I mentioned in a recent post that 'The Book of Mormon' contained songs on all sorts of potentially offensive subjects. I have now been to see the much more mainstream 'Sweeney Todd' - by the late, great Stephen Sondheim - and find that much of the lyrical content is about murder and cannibalism, so not offensive at all. It was very good though.

I've also been to see Steeleye Span's 50th anniversary tour. The band are, as Maddy Prior pointed out, a 'Ship of Theseus' with not many original members remaining. Indeed two of those in the official 2022 tour photograph above weren't there. Still, they were also very good. [Note to self: see if you can think of some more exciting descriptive words before writing your next review] Anyway, being folk music, the lyrical content was all a bit grim: cruel killings, seduction and abandonment of innocent maidens who then perish, hauntings by headless monsters etc. There seems to be a bit of theme developing here.

Musicians often refer on stage to others they have interacted with. Recently Nick Lowe spoke about Mavis Staples, which certainly impressed me. Maddy Prior out-namedropped them all by telling us what the Queen said to her, which was apparently: "Such jolly tunes". Still, if my ancestors had carried on in the same way as those of Her Maj, then I might also have a different threshold as to what constituted 'jolly'.

And so it goes

I have once again had the opportunity to see live a musician whom I would love to have seen forty years ago, but for some reason didn't. This time it was Nick Lowe, or 'Nick Lowe, Nick Lowe' as he is known to anyone who listened too much to the 'Live Stiffs' album in the mid-seventies. He was every bit as good as I had expected and I don't think that's just the nostalgia talking. He performed songs from a number of his incarnations, with perhaps just a hint of bias towards those which lyrically resonate with his increasingly aging audience. This Johnny Cash influenced number for example:

And then for those of us who did indeed remember the brides when they used to rock and roll, there was this Chuck Berry homage:

But Lowe's songwriting skills run to more than mere pastiche. After he played the next song to a silent and reflective City Varieties, he expressed a wish for a world in which its message was no longer required:

I Don't Want To Know About Evil

 I saw more films in January than I saw in the whole of last year. Among them was 'Belfast', which I really enjoyed. My companion for the evening took a different view, complaining of a lack of realism. She even donned a metaphorical anorak and question the accuracy of the way that the buses were portrayed; for the record, I have no reason to believe that she has any particular knowledge of public transport in the Northern Ireland of the 1960s. For me the fact that the film was a view through the eyes of a nine year old meant that one wasn't meant to take certain things entirely literally: the unfeasible good looks of the parents; that a miscast Dame Judi Dench is at least a generation too old for the part; and, OK fair enough, the unlikelihood of the airport bus leaving from the end of their street (*). I also felt that the music of the genius that is Van Morrison added greatly, whereas she felt unable to look beyond the pandemic having led to him completing his journey from curmudgeon to dickhead. 

This dichotomy between the teller and the tale also came up when I recently saw Sarah Jane Morris in concert, as in the first set she concentrated on the songs of John Martyn. Martyn was a sublime practitioner of jazz tinged singer-songwriting; he was also an alcoholic drug-user well known for inflicting physical and mental cruelty, especially against the women in his life. Morris didn't avoid that aspect - she is personally close to some of Martyn's surviving family -  but chose to focus on interpretation of his soulful, and often sad, lyrics.

She was backed by distinguished guitarist Tony Rémy (who has played with Herbie Hancock and Jack Bruce amongst others) and, to my surprise, the wonderful Marcus Bonfanti. I've only come across him before in a blues context - he is a member of the current incarnation of Ten Years After - but he demonstrated that he has the jazz chops as well. In the second set they played a wider variety of music including fine covers of 'Imagine' and 'I Shall Be Released'. The song I think I enjoyed most was 'Piece of My Heart'. Mostly associated these days with Janis Joplin, it was first offered by Bert Berns (who co wrote it with Jerry Ragovoy) to Van Morrison, Berns being Morrison's producer at the time. Morrison declined it, probably grumpily; dickhead. 

Not at all grumpy was Sarah Jane Morris, whose between song monologues about acts she had worked with, activism, and karma added much to the gig,  which I very much enjoyed. In case you are wondering where you have heard that name and voice before, it was her that duetted with Jimmy Somerville on the Communards' 'Don't Leave Me This Way'. Here they are, lip-synching creatively:

Great hat.

* Although, as it happens, in real life the airport bus leaves from directly outside my front door.

2021

 I mentioned in a recent post that this is a time of year for tradition. The context when I wrote it was that I found myself, not for the first time, suffering a dental problem at a time of year when one can't get an appointment with a dentist. That has been swiftly followed by my central heating playing up at a time of year when one can't get hold of a plumber, again not without precedent. So, in order to try to keep warm by typing frantically I am going to revive the annual review of the year, which I couldn't be bothered to do last year. There has certainly been a little bit more to look back over this year, and thankfully quality was mostly high even where quantity was not.

Opera: I saw nine, plus a ballet, and I'm going to give top spot to Opera North's socially distanced 'Fidelio', in large part because it was the first that I had seen for a long time and because it's about freedom. I must give an honourable mention to 'A Little Night Music' in the year that Sondheim died, plus Mahler's 2nd Symphony. I know that's not an opera, but it's my list.

Theatre: I only saw four plays, and the best was 'Wuthering Heights' by the Wise Children company. I note that I also rated them the best in 2019. This production is transferring to the National Theatre in February; you should go. Incidentally, had I bothered to give my views for 2020 the top spot would have been shared between 'Kneehigh's Ubu' and 'Pride and Prejudice* (*Sort of)'. The former starred the wonderful Katy Owen as Pere Ubu, and she also featured prominently in 'Wuthering Heights'; the latter is also just about to open in London's West End and, once gain, I would urge anyone within striking distance to go and see it.

Music: A paltry two gigs to choose from, and I'm going with Martin Simpson, again largely because it was the first in a long time for him as well as me. There might be more of that line of thought in these lists.

Film: A mere three films in the cinema, and the jury has decided to withhold the prize for this year. One of the three was the Bond film: what a load of old tosh, although I did rather enjoy the action sequence in the Italian village near the beginning.

Talks: Talks mainly moved online, and I moved with them. I saw twenty nine, only two of which were in person. The best I think was one on building ventilation given by a member of the government's SAGE advisory committee; I may live the rest of my life outdoors. On a less gloomy note, I very much enjoyed the Royal Armouries talk on 'The Life and Career of Captain William Dawson RN'. The worst talk by some way was 'The Jewellery of Downton Abbey'; what was I thinking?

Books: I read 118 books, it clearly being something that one can do without leaving home. Books of the year were: for fiction 'The Good Soldier Švejk'; and for non-fiction David Hepworth's '1971' about rock music's greatest year.

Boardgames: Apart from the expansion to 'Maquis' - where I'm sorry to say that the French Resistance is not prospering under my leadership - I have only played two-player games. Of those I played 14 different games 84 times. I think I might do a separate post about which of those I would recommend. The local boardgaming club has resumed weekly sessions, and I trust that at some point in 2022 circumstances will be such that I feel comfortable in joining them.

Wargames: I think there were ten wargames played or umpired, although this seems to be the one area where my compulsion to keep records doesn't apply. They were mainly Piquet and its variants except for one game of To the Strongest! and one of X-wing. I enjoyed them all but probably for me the siege games had the edge; possibly because the rules gave a much more enjoyable game for the defender than I thought they would when I read them. During lockdown I have built up a mighty pile of new, unplayed rules and would hope that: a) I can get one or more of them to table in 2022; and b) they work half as well as these did. It was good to see Mark back on a regular basis as well.

Event of the Year: I am very tempted by the time I saw armed police intervening in a queue jumping dispute in a branch of Greggs, which for some reason I neglected to post about at the time. However, really it has to be the first wargame after a hiatus of more than a year. Just because.

I wish you all love in a peaceful world.

Rockit

 Matt Hancock may have been a lousy Health Secretary, but his dad is a top jazz pianist.

I saw him in 1983 or 1984 at the Hammersmith Odeon and my main memory of that night is of the legs from the video above dancing across the stage. 

PotCVpouri

 The Yarkshire Gamer has announced the end of the golden age of wargames blogs, although I can't help noticing that he did so via a wargames blog. Rest assured that this blog will continue its proud record of publishing top-notch, wargame-related stuff every single day and often even more frequently. And that, dear readers, is an aspiration rather than a promise.

So, I haven't been here for a while; what's been happening in my life? Not wargaming, that's for sure. I think I mentioned that I had bought a pressure washer. I have been dodging the showers and trying it out. I had never done any jet/pressure/power washing before and was interested to discover that it is a metaphor for life itself: everything is a complete mess and at the end you stand back and ask yourself "Is that all I've achieved?". 

On a brighter note, cultural activities have resumed. In my capacity as a man-about-town I was invited to a reception to mark the reopening of the Tetley Gallery in Leeds city centre, a very pleasant Art Deco building which was formerly the offices for the brewery. The current exhibition is by Mel Brimfield and is entitled "From This World, To That Which Is To Come", a quote from "The Pilgrim's Progress". The artist gave a talk, but as she did so whilst wearing a mask I am unable to tell you what she said. The piece above was singing to me whilst I was taking the photo (N.B. this is very different to the idea of it 'speaking to me', which it most certainly did not) and is, I believe, about the concept that our mental and emotional health would be better if we would only all help one another; amen to that. The best piece was a cartoon which suggested that the Adventures of Tintin were the delusions of a psychiatric in-patient, that Professor Calculus was his doctor, and that Snowy was in fact his pillow rather than his dog. All of which makes more sense than the books. 

I have also been to my first gig in over a year, the great Martin Simpson. I have of course seen him many times before, which I think helped to bridge that gap and make it seem like just another concert. Not so for him, I think. It was his first appearance in a long time and he said that it was impossible for him to express what it meant for him to be on stage again, "reminding myself of who I am" as he put it. He played the usual mix of originals, traditional songs and covers, including songs by: John Prine - sadly lost to Covid last year; Dylan - eighty in a couple of days; and this one from Robb Johnson - my old comrade from days gone by.

At the end of the day

I have been to see Fairport Convention on their wintour, which has been so regular an occurrence over the last few years that it's almost not worth mentioning. Just for the record I didn't go last year. It was much as always, that is to say excellent, although they do look like they are getting old; perhaps I should pass on to them my secret recipe for never looking any older.

You would never believe that I'm in my sixties

They performed a number of songs from their latest CD 'Shuffle and Go', a number from the 'Full House' record, plus inevitably enough a couple from 'Liege and Lief', including of course 'Matty Groves'. I liked the new stuff, although obviously not sufficiently to buy a copy of the album. I was especially taken by a song about Michael Collins (the American astronaut rather than the Irish revolutionary) which songwriter Chris Leslie (the talented multi-instrumentalist rather than the failed centrist politician) introduced by pointing out that those of us of a similar age (*), he was a child of the Apollo era. Still, given the current political developments in Ireland and the upcoming centenary of his assassination, perhaps there would be a market for a companion piece about Mícheál Ó Coileáin as well. 

Coming back to 'Matty Groves', there has been sufficient time since what I shall refer to as 'the events' for me to once more listen to the song with equanimity. Which is just as well, because it was also played by the Sandy Denny Project when I saw them a week or so earlier. I didn't know what to expect from the gig as Ms Denny had a unique and beautiful voice and mere imitation didn't seem a fruitful route to take. I needn't have worried as the six piece band both shared vocals around and gave us their own interpretations of material written by and associated with the late singer rather than carbon copies. Probably the majority of vocals were taken by Sally Barker, who I had seen supporting Fairport in 2017, and she did a good job. However, at the end of the day there was only one Sandy Denny.

* including those of us who don't look it.

2019

I don't often get predictions right (you will recall that a couple of months before the election I forecast that Jezza was about to resign), but I was bang on the money this time last year when I said that 2019 would be even worse than 2018; by and large indeed it was. Perhaps that's why this year I have been unusually reticent in inflicting on you my opinions of all the plays etc wot I have seen, but let's have a quick retrospective summary now; be warned, for some reason this is all a lot more quantitative than it is qualitative.

Opera: I saw twenty six operas this year, plus two ballets and a sprinkling of classical concerts. The operas ranged in obscurity from Pfitzner's 'The Christmas Elf', of which I saw the first ever UK performance, to La boheme, which is - I think - the most frequently performed opera that there is globally. My favourite was Vaughan William's 'Pilgrim's Progress' with a nod to Janáček's 'Cunning Little Vixen' and Martinů's 'The Greek Passion'.

Theatre: I saw fifty two plays and musicals of which my favourite was 'Wise Children' from the wonderful company of the same name. A very honourable mention must go to 'Tuesdays with Morrie'. My favourite Shakespeare (out of the thirteen that I saw) was a toss up between 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' at the Globe and Northern Broadsides' 'Much Ado About Nothing'. This section seems an appropriate place for the following photo, which I have been looking for a chance to use for some months and which if nothing else illustrates that Chekhov can actually be made interesting:

Music: I only went to twenty three gigs, which is pretty pathetic really. My favourite were The Stumble whom I saw twice. Their live performances do not translate into their recordings, which is often the case and another reason why I should go to more live shows.

By the way, the lady on your bloggist's left in that photo is a regular, and somewhat wild, audience member at blues gigs around here, indeed she is the instrument fingerer mentioned in this previous post; I could tell you some stories about her, but frankly she terrifies me so I won't.

Film: I've seen sixteen films and am going to choose 'Stan and Ollie' as my favourite; what can I say, I'm a big softie. I made a special trip to the Imax in Bradford to see 'Apollo 11' on a big, big screen and am glad that I did. Still today, after fifty years, it's just an astonishing achievement and spectacularly documented in the film.

Talks: The quantity of gigs may have declined, but for some reason the number of talks attended has increased markedly. The best two were both on painting, one on Klimt, the other on Tom Thomson and the Group of Seven. A prize for making a little go a long way goes to Ian Bottomley, Curator Emeritus of Oriental Collections at the Royal Armouries who managed to speak very entertainingly for an hour on the subject of the current whereabouts of those small number of suits of armour which were given as diplomatic gifts to various European royal courts by Japanese trade missions in the sixteenth century. The most irrelevant and off subject question from an audience member - a category that is very keenly contested every year - was the chap who, at a talk about Nietzsche, asked why god had created gay animals in species other than humans. My own unassuming interventions - the incident with the light cavalry sabre notwithstanding - were, of course, always entirely intended to add to the collective enlightenment rather than allow me to show off my own erudition and knowledge.

Books: For those concerned about my apparent compulsion to count things, I don't really; I work it out retrospectively from my diary. The exception is books, where I kept a specific record this year because I thought it would be interesting. Obviously it wasn't in the slightest bit interesting, neither to me nor anyone else, but despite that I now know that I read one hundred and thirteen books, the pick of which was 'Winged Victory' by V.M. Yeates, which of course has a wargamer friendly theme. Another book I very much enjoyed which falls into that category is 'The March' by E.L. Doctorow; the march in question being that of Sherman.

Boardgames: I played fifty eight different games seventy eight times (figures courtesy of boardgamegeek). Top marks for a game I hadn't played previously go to Quartermaster General: Cold War, which I have no qualms in recommending to wargamers, and the same is true of my top solo game recommendation, Maquis. I hope to step up my boardgaming a bit next year, although the Monday night Yew Tree group has become very dull and cliquey so I may have to look elsewhere.

Wargames: I played or umpired in, I think, twenty three games, many of which were played over two or three weeks. They focussed mainly on James new Peninsular war collection plus, it shouldn't be forgotten, his new bridges. In the annexe it was mainly Great War, but there was a smattering of other stuff as well. My favourite game, apart from my one-sided triumph at Fiasco, was the relatively recent Battle of San Winnoc.

Event of the Year: Newspapers and magazines inevitably have to choose their picks of the year early in order to meet deadlines. Your bloggist has the luxury of posting this on the afternoon of December 31st and can therefore make sure that nothing will overtake what he writes. Or so you would think. Last year I was awakened at 23:45 or so - being teetotal I avoid going out on New Year's Eve and therefore retire early - by the younger Miss Epictetus who wished to inform me that she had got engaged, an event which clearly would have merited inclusion right at the top of my round up of 2018 had she told me a tad earlier. So, this year's choice is caveated by pointing out that it is subject to nothing better happening in the next few hours. However, I think it unlikely that anything will beat this:

Finally, let's hope next year is better than we're all expecting, especially for you and yours.

Peace and love to all.

Hey Lord, don't ask me questions

After forty years and two false starts I have finally seen Graham Parker play live. As David said here Parker has aged along with the rest of us. In fact I'd go so far as to say that he now looks like Alf Garnett. Given his origins he also unsurprisingly sounds like the man as well; or at least he would if Johnny Speight had made his character an enthusiast for recreational drugs instead of West Ham. Still, despite his tour-strained voice the wait was well worthwhile:

Another act from the distant past that I'd never seen before was Wishbone Ash, who I have caught on their current 50th anniversary tour. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, their original bassist and vocalist Martin Turner is also touring and playing only the band's songs, so I went to see him as well. Both shows were excellent, although I would just give the edge to Turner's, oddly enough for music that is all about the guitars that's because his singing was better. The audience for both - and I don't imagine I was the only overlap - was essentially grizzled old men, and it was rather amusing when they all - including me - leapt into a bopping frenzy at the appropriate point in this song; it certainly takes me back: