Sunday, September 25, 2011
This happened on the night of the 16th but I'm just now getting around to posting it....
Last night I woke up sweating from a nightmare at 3 in the morning and it was so strange a nightmare to have on the eve of a big gala performance of my opera in London that I would like to share it with my friends....
So in this dream I am conducting a performance of Bach's St Matthew Passion in a church. It is a small church somewhere in Europe, with a steeple. I am doing it as a special favor, it is some kind of very special occasion.
Well, in the middle of the opening chorus (Kommt, ihr Töchter) pandemonium breaks out outside the church. There is a park there. A group of Muslims is violently protesting my performance. They are screaming that the music disturbs them and i have no right to perform it because it isn't my culture. A big guy dressed in some kind of chieftain or sheik's costume begins to argue with me. Finally I asked him what music he would prefer. I said I could do some Muslim music if he wanted I could sing a qawwali. (This is sacred Pakistani sufi-influenced music ... incredible stuff.)
The chieftain said "I'm North African. You're still wrong. You think we're all alike."
Nevertheless to please him, I start to perform a song by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan called Allahu. I enlist the help of one of the kids from the children's choir of Mae Naak.
"No, no," said the chieftain, "our music is tribal. With big drums." The entire crowd begins to pound on the drums, singing vociferously while I and the chorister attempt the transcendent ecstatic melismas of the qawwali.
And then I wake up.....
And you see this is intimately connected with a dream I had last month. This is how it went:
I am performing in an opera which takes place in the parking lot of a church in suburban or rural England. As I get to the last act, Stefan (the opera director) who is in the opera announces to me that he simply can't remember the last act and must go on stage with the score. I realize that I too have forgotten how the piece goes. However, I find an old airmail letter written in a meticulous hand in blue ink and I stuff it in my score so that I appear to be reading the letter during the scene, making it slightly more convincing.
However in the middle of the act I look out where the audience should be and I see a stone wall.
The final scene is a wedding and I play an Anglcan priest. I have got into my black cassock and when I come onstage, I see that here is another priest dressed in the gaudy green and gold robes of a Catholic mass celebrator. I wander through the pews trying to see who I am marrying while the other priest seems to get on with it. Eventually I reach the altar and get to work.
At the end of the opera there has been an audience after all, including my old friend J William Middendorf II whom I haven't seen in 40 years. To my absolute astonishment, he comments, with great earnestness, "It was 100% thin."
We go out into the parking lot as I wake up.
Both dreams are about performing, and somehow delivering something completely different from what was intended. Somehow, a church is involved in both dreams. Europe is involved in one way or another.
I find it all most confusing.... and this piece of art which is hanging from the side of a house in my old school (not there when I was there) seems to say it all. For many it is a miraculous creature defying gravity, jutting out over the precipice of ... I don't know.
But to me the sculpture looked like someone about to commit suicide.
Today I am having serious doubts about the world. It is something to do with my return to Thailand; I was only gone for two weeks, and I haven't spent more than a day or two in England in about forty years but coming to Thailand felt for the first time like it felt in the 1970s .... like I was leaving home, not coming home.
I've been here for ten years now, and I'm suddenly worried about whether my head has dented the brick wall or not. I suppose I shouldn't think about it too much ...
It;s 5:03 am. I think it will take a while to recover from this jet lag. And longer to get over the post partum of our huge UK tour.
Posted by Somtow at 5:05 AM
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
|New wing of Music Schools at Eton|
Yesterday, however, I had an exorcism of another ilk when I returned to my old school, something I have not done since around 1971. My visit to Eton at that time was curtailed when my former housemaster summoned me to his office and told me I should get going because my presence would disrupt the delicate balance of the school. This was, of course not really true, and no other teacher would have made me feel so unwelcome, and this is, I suppose, what the exorcism, forty years later, is really about.
My sojourn at Eton was extremely mythic in that I was literally caught between heaven and hell. Heaven was in a sense the school itself: the boundless opportunities, the resources, the unlocking of so much creative potential. This was personified most clearly in Michael Meredith, my tutor at Eton, who went out of his way to develop my artistic sensibilities. When I composed my first opera, Brand, Michael lobbied the school to have the entire ms. xeroxed (not a cheap thing in the 1960s) and shipped off to an opera house to be looked at. He was uncompromisingly critical of my poetry and short fiction in a way that always forced me to examine my motivations and become more honest with myself. There were also incredible friends, great music, art, drama, and literature all around me, time spent handling real-live mummy parts in the Myers museum, performing in a real opera in a theatre with an orchestra pit with a cast that included future world-class opera stars like Michael Chance, and so on. Then there were the trips to Glyndebourne that included dinner with Sir George Christie, being taken by Michael Meredith to Ian McKellen's live performances as Edward II and Richard II in London, visits to the school by such celebrities as the James Blades, one of the world's greatest percussionists, and so on. In the "heaven" part of my experience, my horizons were being expanded on an almost daily basis.
Hell, you see, was the house I was assigned to ... whose housemaster was the notorious D.P. Simpson. I don't really enjoy speaking ill of the dead but in this case I must. Simpson ran a Dickensian horror of a house which was an island of Stalinist repression within a universe which, despite a system of Victorian punishments such as flagellation and writing out lines of Latin poetry, was in its own way fiercely liberal and totally committed to a forward-looking style of education. It is in fact not possible, unless you were there, to imagine the atmosphere in that house ... Simpson thrived on belittling his boys, cutting down their egos, preventing them from exercising any creativity. He told me for instance I must remove all imagination from my writing if it was to be acceptable to him. Life in that house was driven by fear. I would never allow a child of mine to endure what it was like there.
On this trip to England to do the opera, I was delighted to meet the Harding brothers who were at that house with me. David Harding told me that some boys had been destroyed by the experience. David told me about one boy who snapped and ended up punching out Simpson; he has ended up in a bad way, with a terrible drug problem. Another boy, David Cruikshank, ran away from school. I was sad about this because I really liked and admired this kid. David Harding told me that David C. is now working with troubled kids. I thought that was very fitting and it showed me that he had turned the trauma into something positive.
I found myself fighting back in little ways all the time, which Simpson must have found intolerable. I got an email from Henry Ponsonby who was at that house with me recently and he said this: "I recall how your courage and endurance managed to beat the system". To me it was not about courage or endurance, however, but about sheer survival. (I once wrote a letter to the head master complaining about Simpson's repressiveness; naively, I believed that the powers that be would spring to my defence. They did not, of course. But I imagine it contributed greatly to Simpson's efforts to eradicate my individuality.)
Just how intolerable I was to Simpson only came to my attention when I returned to Eton this time and my former tutor told me things that could not then have been told ... for instance, that my former housemaster had lobbied (successfully) to have me denied admission to Worcester College, Oxford. He had, after all, written to my parents to tell them I was not Oxbridge material, and would not have wanted to be disproved (though my rather fine A level results must already have been pretty galling.) In any event I got a choral scholarship to Cambridge so the lobbying really was for naught.
As a child, you do not really know that the world you are in is not necessarily the way the world is supposed to be. Forty years later, I finally understood that other elements of the school did not approve of how Simpson operated, and I finally came to understand some of the complex politics that allowed such a person to be allowed to exist in a place that was otherwise so nurturing and so respectful of young people's individualities. I learned that Simpson's house was an anomaly and that such a place could not exist in the Eton of today and should not have existed in the Eton of the 1960s.
Seeing Eton as it is now, run by people who I consider to be my friends, it is impossible to believe that this drama of light versus darkness would be played out today because I don't think that such a repressive house would be allowed to exist. Eton today is far more light than darkness, and with the Victorian punishments now being illegal, there are few dire threats hanging over the students' heads. And yet I have to say now, I have to admit the inadmissible: that I needed the darkness as much as needed the light. That was the epiphany for me yesterday. (It was Michael Meredith who taught us about epiphanies while deftly leading a group of us through the labyrinth of James Joyce's Ulysses.)
I understand now that I could not have written any of my novels or operas without drawing from the totality of this experience. Like Prospero, I need to say that "This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine." Even for these things, I find that I am grateful. In a sense I am more fortunate than Etonians today, who may not imagine being torn between such extremes. I managed to get both the "growing up in an idyllic fairyland" childhood and the "growing up in a hideous concentration camp" childhood combined into a single package. All of Eton, darkness and light, is an inextricable part of who I am. Yesterday I was finally able to accept this.
Posted by Somtow at 4:21 PM
Monday, September 19, 2011
History was made I suppose, on Sep 15, because Mae Naak at the Bloomsbury Theatre was the first performance of a Thai opera anywhere in Europe. The house was about 80% full but word of mouth must have been good because by Sep 17, the last performance, the house was completely sold out. We were juggling wildly trying to get last minute people in. The orchestra played their socks off and Nancy Yuen has never done the role more superbly. I haven't seen the official reviews yet (they might be a while) but the reception from the public was unbelievable ... the cheering, the curtain calls, the entire thing was quite a spectacle and for me particularly meaningful because so many figures from my youth were present, such as my tutor from Eton, Michael Meredith. Also friends from Cambridge like Geoffrey Thomspon and friends from Eton and Cambridge like Iain Little and Tony Little (no relation).
Tomorrow, actually going to Eton which will be very very weird indeed. The Dickensian horrors of my childhood are some of the darkest parts of my memories, but Eton was also in many ways profoundly inspirational and liberating. More news soon....
Posted by Somtow at 6:57 AM
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
There is a terrible crisis on a daily basis. The orchestra has been squashed into a miserable squat because we can't afford any more. The set didn't fit on the plane. One of our guest singers was deported by British immigration because they decided he had been in Thailand illegally - they were only "trying to help".
And yet the music our people are producing is incredible. It is amazing that our musicians, our orchestra has gained a foothold here in London. The door has opened and it can never be shut again....
The standing ovation in St George's Cathedral, with Lord Mountbatten there to hear the cantata which the Mountbatten Institute had commissioned me to compose with a British choir and a Thai orchestra was all tremendously moving. Although my life right now is mostly pretty hideous, such moments make me glad to still be in the world.
Posted by Somtow at 2:57 PM