Holy days

I had a nice interfaith moment today while doing a little shopping...


It was the open-air Marché du Vieux Tilleul today, as it is every Thursday, and I was doing some shopping at the DelHaize grocery nearby, when I did a quick perusal of the wares on display at the various stalls. It's my preference to wait until school is finished before buying the tree and decorating the house; I feel that it makes the experience of celebrating Christmas a little more intense if one waits until all other responsibilities have been discharged before starting the festivities.


The brussels sprouts, green beans, arugula and other produce looked amazing, so I did a little shopping for our upcoming meals at the vegetable seller before I spotted a magnificent Christmas tree standing in front of the florist's stall. Obviously chosen to catch the eye, it was quite narrow in circumference but very tall, more than two and a half metres in height. I told the florist I wanted it; gave him a deposit in cash and went to take my other shopping home, promising to return with the rest of the money and a son or two to help carry the tree home.


An elderly man had been talking with the two florists and he accompanied me as I walked homeward. He first talked up the fellow running the stall, saying that he was a trustworthy fellow, and a good neighbour. As well walked away he started talking to me further, saying in french:


"These florists are selling Christmas trees and wreaths, but they are Muslims. I myself am Jewish."


I responded that I was a Christian, and so between us we had the three Abrahamic religions covered. He smiled, nodded and continued, "Then we share the same basis, despite the different ages of our faiths: the Mosaic laws, the ten commandments. I asked these good men why their fellow muslims attack and kill other muslims; isn't this forbidden? And are they not of the same faith? They responded that they don't know why it happens, and they try hard not to think of it, and try not to talk of it as it makes them very sad. I disagree, we have to keep talking with each other about it. Dialogue, conversation, compromise; despite what the media tells you it's terribly important that we keep talking to each other."


He then wished me "Bonnes fetes, et... Joyeux Noël". To his astonishment, I said "Happy Hannukah" (I couldn't remember Chag Urim Sameach in the moment: that's Hebrew for "happy holidays of light", I think). He beamed at me, and said in English, "How do YOU know this?"


"Hey," I replied, "I'm Canadian."

Primus and I below our front balcony with tree and mistletoe

mistletoe hung over the threshold

The Winter Solstice cometh nigh...

Monday 19th December: The Winter Solstice cometh nigh...

the big picture at the BOZAR

To paraphrase Mark Twain, it would seem that the reports of the end of my 2016 performance season were greatly exaggerated…

in the pre-performance rehearsal at BOZAR

The concert on the 10th December was a lot of fun.  It was really wonderful to sing in the BOZAR again, and I had a lot of enthusiastic feedback from audience members, as well as glowing feedback from the Artistic Director and the President of the Choral Society, both congratulatory, saying that they were eagerly looking forward to our future collaboration.  The conductor David Navarro Turres was excellent and he was also very complimentary.  It was a very satisfying artistic experience, and I do hope that this leads to future work together.

soloists in the BOZAR

and in the hall near the loges backstage

Our family celebrated the next afternoon with a nice Sunday dinner, and I started making plans for what I would do around the house to make it ready for Christmas.  But late that same evening I received an email from another Canadian baritone who lives in Amsterdam: it would seem that he was contracted to sing a Christmas Oratorio of Bach in the eastern part of the Netherlands, but had received a ‘better’ offer to sing Messiah in Denmark, so he cancelled with less than a week’s notice, and was looking for a replacement…

As it turns out I was already known to the conductor through a recommendation from another singer, and he had invited me to sing with them in previous years but I had been unavailable at that time.  This time I was free and so agreed to step in, and began frantically studying Bach’s imposing work, which runs around three hours in length.  The general rehearsal was to be the following Friday, and the concert on Saturday.

The Sint Werenfriduskerk in Zieuwent

The Weihnachts-Oratorium or Christmas Oratorio of Bach is a compilation of six different cantatas that he wrote for individual performance on different sundays before and after Christmas, and it is rare for them all to be performed all together.  While I had sung it in sections before, in 2009, 2010, and 2013, some of the pieces were deep in mental cold storage, and it took a lot of listening and singing at the piano, and one coaching session with a repetiteur before I started to relax and enjoy the piece again, and figure out what I had to say about it.

a typical scene from my window in Lichtenvoorde, near Zieuwent (note the poster)

Friday’s drive up to Zieuwent in the eastern Netherlands took about three hours, and then we were in rehearsal from 14h until around 22h, which was quite tiring.  There is lots of sitting in cold churches involved in putting on this type of music.  But there were consolations: the orchestra had some of the best baroque instrumentalists in the Netherlands, some of them quite famous, and very pleasant to watch and listen to whilst at work.  I had some adjustments to make vocally, as this was my first time singing the piece with original instruments at the baroque pitch of A=415 Hz (instead of our modern A=440 or sometimes even 442 or 443 Hz).  This difference is twofold: firstly the orchestra is mellower and quieter in sound that a modern orchestra, which is nice for the listener as more internal middle textures are audible (and the singer can ease off a little bit), and secondly everything is performed more or less one semi-tone lower.  For the singer this means that certain high notes particularly have to be adjusted, and this can be a little tricky.

the Hungarian trumpeters at work (for about 10% of the piece)...

... and as they appeared during the parts of the rehearsal when they are not needed.
Note the magical "iphone chiaroscura", like flemish primitive depictions of the Magi.
Three kings from the east who played beautifully...

I was billeted with a very nice couple who are involved in the administration of these concerts.  They are both educators; he is a primary teacher and she is a school director.  I had a nice visit with them and their cat, still a kitten really, and very affectionate.

As I had little to do the day of the concert I decided to drive to Düsseldorf, only 100 km away, to try to do a little shopping at the Christmas Market there.  It was a nice drive through some rolling countryside, with a mix of forest and fields, much like my part of Ontario.

Christmas market Düsseldorf

glühwein

Krakauerwurst

The Christmas market was extensive, with many different squares occupied by little chalets selling food and candles and ornaments and clothing.  I was particularly interested in the glassblower’s chalet; he was making blown glass ornaments while the onlookers watched, spellbound.

glassblowing while-u-wait

I only stayed for an hour or two and then drove back to Lichtenvoorde, to get warmed up and go to the church for the tune-up at 17h.

a quiet catered dinner for the soloists

Afterwards we had a nice dinner in the church annex, while the orchestra and choir dined in Het Witte Paard (The White Horse) café just next to the church.  Then it was time for the concert.

All went swimmingly… It is a beautiful place, and is known as the “Cathedral of the Achterhoek”, Achterhoek being the name of this area of the Netherlands.  Zieuwent itself has only about 2000 inhabitants, so why would such a small town have such a beautiful neo-medieval church built in 1899?

The answer according to Emile Engels, the conductor, was that the church was originally ordered by a congregation in The Hague, in the western Netherlands, and the components were constructed, but the congregation ran out of money, and in the end couldn’t pay for it.  The prosperous farmers of the Zieuwent region needed to expand the church building and so decided to buy it, so they had it shipped stone by stone and brick by brick to their village where it stands today.  It’s gorgeous, with many beautiful paintings and mosaics.  Here’s a 360-degree view of the interior.

As well I captured the concert on my Zoom recorder... here's a clip from the concert of probably the most famous baritone aria from the cantatas, Großer Herr, o starker König.  I was blown away by the amazing trumpeter, he's really the best I've ever heard, and spurred me to try hard to do a good job.  It seems that it worked; the conductor was very positive about what we achieved, and I am hopeful that it will lead to other projects in the Netherlands with this ensemble, and others.

After the concert was finished I drove straight back home immediately, and finally got in the door around 3h… It was a short sleep: we were up around 9h the next morning, as Duncan had an important part to play in the Nativity pageant: the role of Satan… we had spent the last couple of weeks doing nightly line readings so he was pretty well prepared, and of course he chewed the scenery like a champ, and received many accolades.

Satan confusing the Magi

I’m sure it didn’t hurt for his confidence that he had just received a good haircut, and had his braces removed this week just past, revealing a good straight set of teeth.

In the afternoon we went up the street for a Christmas cookie party with our German friends the Wismars, and spent a couple of hours there enjoying a glass of champagne with a good crowd.  Malcolm and Duncan are the same age as their two children Liesbeth and Fritz, and they are now at an age where they all got along very well on their own while the adults had their conversations.

Malcolm had to leave after only an hour however, as he had a choir rehearsal in advance of the Nine Lessons and Carols service that was to take place later that evening.  Duncan and I left a bit later, picking up Maggie at home; she had decided to not attend the cookie party as she had a huge pile of end-of-year marking to get through, but managed to make it to the evening service.

The Nine Lessons and Carols service was really magical; since we moved to Belgium I think  that Maggie and the boys have attended it many times, but I’ve never managed to make it to one before.  I was invited to do the eighth reading this year:

Matthew 2:1-11
Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of
Herod the king, behold, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem,
2 saying, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For
we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him.”
3 When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all
Jerusalem with him.
4 And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of
the people together, he inquired of them where the Christ was
to be born.
5 So they said to him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is
written by the prophet:
6 ‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
Are not the least among the rulers of Judah;
For out of you shall come a Ruler
Who will shepherd My people Israel.’”
7 Then Herod, when he had secretly called the wise men,
determined from them what time the star appeared.
8 And he sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and search
carefully for the young Child, and when you have
found Him, bring back word to me, that I may come and
worship Him also.”
9 When they heard the king, they departed; and behold, the
star which they had seen in the East went before them, till it
came and stood over where the young Child was.
10 When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceedingly great joy.
11 And when they had come into the house, they saw the young
Child with Mary His mother, and fell down and worshiped Him.
And when they had opened their treasures, they presented
gifts to Him: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

The choirs sang very beautifully, and it was a happy service, very well attended, and with many visitors that one rarely sees on Sunday morning.  Malcolm quite enjoyed singing with the choir, especially the challenging in dulci jubilo arranged by Pearsall (a link to a performance of it is here) that they had been working on for quite some time.  He also had a fortuitous revelation: an American family recently arrived in Brussels for a two year stay and have started attending the sunday services… the two teenage sons of this family are into jazz music and also love bluegrass, and for the Nine Lessons and Carols service accompanied a couple of the junior choir pieces on mandolin and banjo.  They were excited to hear that Malcolm plays the bass and guitar, so the three of them had a little impromptu jam after the service… since their first little experiment there have been emails exchanged, and the brothers have already sent Malcolm half a dozen so bluegrass songs to learn.  Today he went downtown after school and bought a smallish combo bass amplifier, finally; I’m sure that the timing is not entirely coincidental.

jam

What else?  The boys had their end of term examinations this past week, and they allege that all went well (we will find out the results later this week).  On Thursday they had their last test, and so I took them out to celebrate before I left for the Netherlands: we went to the cinema to see the new Star Wars film “Rogue One”.

magritte star wars mashup

I must say that they really got it right this time.  I enjoyed this film more than any other Star Wars film since the original trilogy wrapped in 1983 with “Return of the Jedi”.  With the exception of one eye-rollingly Schwarzeneggeresque catchphrase dropped by Darth Vader, and some (I think) gratutitous and creepily CG appearances by Moff Tarkin (the late Peter Cushing) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher), the film was wonderful… 

In other more mundane news, our dishwasher gave up the ghost a little while ago, and since then have all been taking turns to wash dishes by hand.  This method works very well, with everything except plastic containers, which seem to grab oil or grease.  Happily that chore is no longer required, as we bought a new dryer and dishwasher this week.  Christmas came early this year!

Japanese Edo prints at the Cinquantenaire Museum

 Hiroshige - "Hakone" (High Rocks) from The fifty-three stages of the Tōkaidō (c. 1832)

Today I rode my bike up to the Cinquantenaire to have lunch with Simon, a friend of ours from church.  We had a nice chat over lunch, and then headed off to the Cinquantenaire museum.  I've written before about the wonders contained therein, and how the admission fee for accessing the permanent collection is waived on the afternoon of the first Wednesday of each month.

As it happened we weren't going to the permanent collection, but rather to a temporary exhibition entitled "Ukiyo-e", showcasing Japanese woodblock prints from the Cinquantenaire collection.  According to the website the Cinquantenaire museum has one of the largest collections of Japanese woodblock prints in the world, and the curators decided that it was time to take them out of their library and show them to the public.

Harunobu - Young Women Fishing with a Net (c. 1767-68)

According to the curators, the Japanese term ukiyo-e means literally “pictures of the floating world”. The term “floating world” (ukiyo) comes from Buddhism, and refers to life on earth, transitory and full of suffering.  Since the 17th century the term ukiyo has been synonymous with a world of fleeting pleasures, and it is this hedonistic meaning paired with the suffix e (“picture”) that creates the concept of Ukiyo-e: fleeting hedonistic pleasure in pictures.

Degenova - MidAtlantic (c. 2014)

Nowadays the term is associated with traditional printmaking, which my friend Darren Degenova studied during his time in Japan... in fact he used some of those techniques for the piece we used to advertise MidAtlantic, the concert programme that Dina Namer and I presented in March of 2014.  I have enjoyed Darren's work for a long time and was really interested to learn more about this tradition.

Hokusai - A Shower Below the Summit from Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji (c. 1830-1833)

Wood engraving surged in popularity in the 17th century as commercial production evolved to satisfy an growing wealthy middle-class clientele in Edo (present-day Tokyo), the seat of the Shōgun court. The most popular subjects initially were beautiful women and famous kabuki actors, but eventually other subjects, such as land- or sea-scapes, were explored.  The women from these Edo period prints seem to my eye to be drawn very simply with a highly stylized ideal of feminine beauty in mind, and so they look very similar to each other.  Conversely the kabuki actors are shown in character, wearing extremely comic or exaggerated expressions and dramatic costumes.  These characters were undoubtedly recognisable to the audiences of the time, but fame is fleeting, and they are now almost completely obscure to us.

Kunisada - Actor as Yura Hyogo holding a fan (c. 1852)

It was an absorbing exhibition... one relatively recent print by Hasui called Snow at Hie shrine (1931) was shown in a long fan-folded book, with an illustration of each colour as it was applied on one page, and the progressive composite print on the other... twenty-four different wood blocks needed to be carved with incredible precision so that the registration would be perfect, and there would be no bleed-through of one colour into the next.

Hasui - Snow at Hei Shrine (c. 1931)

Simon remarked how he was trying to copy a Tintin drawing as a gift for his daughters recently, and was unable to capture the feeling of it before he drew heavier black lines around the coloured section.

This technique of outlining is seen in comics everywhere, and also in early poster art of Mucha and others, undoubtedly for making the designs pop at a distance, but also to provide a tiny bit of "wiggle room" for the printer, in case the registration of each wooden block was less than perfect.

Mucha - Job cigarette paper advertisement (c. 1896)

Such was the refinement of the printmaking technique in Japan that incredibly high tolerances could be achieved, so the use of heavier lines became a aesthetic choice rather than a technical limitation, much like some new "old style" television shows are "filmed" digitally and then processed so that they look like they were actually shot on real film.

Hokusai - The Great Wave off Kanagawa from Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji (c. 1829–1832)

One of the reasons that Hokusai's prints were so striking is not just the drawing, or the carving, but the colours... Prussian blue was synthesised in Europe in the 18th century, but its importation into Japan coincided with Hosukai's rise to prominence, and he made good use of this novel colour.  As one walks through the exhibition - undoubtedly as the curators intended - the sudden appearance of brilliant blue colours in prints like The Great Wave off Kanagawa hits your eye with tremendous effect.

Hokusai - Red Fuji southern wind clear morning from Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji (c. 1830–32)

Darren tells me that the different roles in a printmaking studio are strictly separated.  The initial creative idea comes from the publisher, who commissions a print or series of prints.  The artist who draws or paints the design then hands it to the carver, the real star of the studio.  Then the carver gives the completed blocks to the printmaker, who applies the paints onto the block itself and prints onto the paper.  I wonder how much back-and-forth was going on between Hokusai and his carver, whose name is no longer remembered today?  Is the credit for these innovative landscape works largely due to the painter, or the carver, or the printer?  Fame is fleeting...

But it is also beautifully poetic that we can take pleasure in such fragile objects as bits of paint on paper... it's incredible to me that their colours remain so vivid and that their paper is still intact, after hundreds of years...

Canada goose from Forty-two expressions of Matthew Zadow (c. 2016)

Early December news

Franz Peter Schubert

George Frideric Handel

Joseph Haydn

This weekend will mark the last of my concerts this year: a performance in the Salle Henry Leboeuf  of the BOZAR, of Handel's Dixit Dominus and Schubert's Mass no. 5 in A-flat major.  I was asked by the Brussels Choral Society to say a few words about the programme, which they have shared on their facebook page:

Handel's music is closely intertwined with my own career: Messiah was the first work that I sang as a young soloist, and remains the concert work I have performed most frequently in Europe and Canada. Dixit Dominus is very significant for me, despite the relatively small amount of music for the bass soloist: it was my very first job in Belgium! So it is nostalgic for me to have another look at it now. 

Schubert is the reason that I became a classical singer in the first place: I fell in love with his marvellous text settings of Müller, Goethe, Heine, Schiller and others, and am lucky enough to have performed his song cycle Die Schöne Müllerin many times. This mass is one of his later works, with distinctive melodic and harmonic writing developed through his earlier compositions. It's filled with beautiful harmonies, and has many call-and-response-type interactions between choir and soloists, so it will be a lot of fun to discover and perform together.

As well the Brussels Philharmonic Orchestra will play the Haydn "Surprise" Symphony, the opening movement of which I remember playing in an arrangement for concert band as a kid.  So the whole programme will be satisfying to present to close out 2016.  It will be great to sing for the second time with the BCS and the third time in the BOZAR.  I'm a bit sad that after three Handel Messiah performances last season, the Dixit Dominus is as close as I will get to doing a Messiah this year as I have none scheduled for Christmas or Easter.

The performance seasons, current and past, have been on my mind a bit recently, as I have just finished my simplified passport renewal application: along with the normal information like addresses, date of birth, old passport numbers, etc. I also had to provide two references, as well as a list of my employers.  As a freelancer, this meant attaching a list of every artistic organisation that I've gigged with over the last 24 months, along with a contact person and all of their contact information... it was a surprisingly long list.

The application process at the Brussels embassy requires an appointment, and I've had mine schedule for over a month.  The security procedures at the embassy are rigorous; one's smartphone must be surrendered and locked up for the duration of the visit; there are the usual scans a la airport security to get past the foyer, and all interactions with the administrative personnel are done behind bulletproof glass, with little sliding trays for moving papers back and forth between clerk and client.

I opted for the ten year passport, and also paid extra to retain my current passport until the new one arrives; one never knows if one might have to travel back to Canada suddenly.  Or I might be asked to fill in for something, or there will be a last-minute audition; I have leads on auditions in Ireland and the UK, so if a call came for something, I would hate to miss out on it because my new passport was still being created, and the old one had been surrendered.

One funny thing is that the embassy could not make change when I tried to pay in cash, even though their online rules suggested otherwise.  Also they wouldn't accept a Belgian credit card, only Canadian ones!  In the end I decided to make a bank transfer in Euros using my smartphone; it was the cheapest of all the available options.

After my 9:00 appointment was over by 9:25 or so, I took advantage of the nice weather and decided to walk the 5km back home.  As it was still early most stores were still closed but I made it to the Troc consignment store near the boys' school just before it opened, and had a look through the furniture there.  We are doing some reorganising of our furniture and shifting things a bit and I wanted to see what antiques were there... The shifting of things is partly triggered by a cold snap that has finally necessitated bringing non-hardy plants in from the terraces.  This weekend I replanted the aloe vera plants that have resided on our street-side window sills for some years; they had become extremely heavy and quite leggy, so I had to thin them out by more than half.  It seems a shame to throw them out but I can't keep them all.

aloe aloe

Aloe vera are a perfect windowsill plant, as they need almost no additional watering, and as a succulent never seem to be in danger of drying out, not in this climate.  It's the same reason I plant geraniums in the balcony boxes at the front; if they are dead-headed diligently and watered only occasionally then they will still flower all summer.  They are still bearing flowers now, but with our first freezing temperatures, Maggie pulled them inside, and now they have been transported to her school for over-wintering, in an enclosed area with many windows.

The framing of Maggie's embroidery pieces that I wrote about in the last blog is the other reason to be thinking about shifting things around... we have moved our large mirror over into the corner above the piano, which I think makes more sense than having it behind the chandelier and dining table, and we are experimenting with reorganising and rehanging the exist art as well as the new pieces.

new location for our mirror

kitchen embroidery in an appropriate corner

Mucha's Le soir

I didn't decide on any new antique pieces of furniture, but I did score a couple of fantastic copper jam pans... as I've written before Maggie likes to make jams: apricot, raspberry, currant, fig, etc. and the traditional french method is to use a large copper pan.  I found two at the Troc for a song, and while they were pretty grotty looking, a quick scrub with half a lemon and some course salt soon buffed their interiors to a warm shine.  The smaller of the two looks relatively new, but the larger one is beaten from extremely thick copper and seems quite old.  I can't even imagine how expensive these would be new, but perhaps as it isn't apricot or raspberry season I'm hoping that might be some marmalade in our future, or ginger preserve?  It's a good family activity I should think.

double copper

Speaking of family activities we have been playing some social games recently.  While Malcolm was out babysitting Duncan and Maggie and I had a game of the Settlers of Catan, and Duncan managed to win it.  Then he and I had a cribbage game a couple of nights ago after dinner... I lucked out by having a nine as the turned card in this hand...

"Welcome to skunksville, population: you."

Grand Place grand fir

This past week I was also doing some shopping at the Chinese market downtown to replenish supplies like soya sauce, coconut milk, curry spices etc, and as is my custom whenever passing close to the Grand'Place I made a little detour; I like to see how it looks at different times of day and in different weather and lighting conditions.  The Christmas tree is already up: this year it travelled 1,400 km from Horne, a village not far from the Slovak capital Bratislava. The 35-year-old tree, of the species Abies grandis or "grand fir", has a trunk diameter of 55cm, and it looks magical in the square.  I'll have to stop by another time to see what it looks like at night!

Auditions completed

Duncan's hallowe'en costume.  (Next election he's dressing up as the democratic candidate).

It’s been a very busy time around here since the 5th November.  I’ve been too busy with travelling, auditioning, rehearsing, and performing to find the time or the head space to write… but even more than that, I’ve been also too shocked and depressed about the results of American election to feel motivated to write anything.  How can I put it into words?

Well I’m not going to; there’s already many column inches dedicated to dissecting that disaster, and I’m sure there will be more ink spilled on the topic in the future…

At the time that I finished my last blog, which ended with me on the beach at Nice, I was very nearly caught up with my posts; I was writing about the previous week.  One of the reasons that I had had so much time on my hands that week was that I had no immediate performances lined up after that audition in Nice, and also Maggie was away for the Toussaint holiday.

snow and sunset on the front porch at the cottage

Bienvenue au Canada

She had gone to Canada to spend a week with her parents at their home at Skootamatta Lake, something that she has done previous years.  It’s great for her to have that time with them without any distractions, and no one else around.  Apart from some snow upon her arrival, the weather was nice and she got in some canoe paddling to see how the lake was doing.  Water levels were really low when she was there, so that certain shoreline structures, usually submerged, were now visible.

The boys also were off school that same week, but during the daytime hours I was busy rehearsing music, and writing those blog posts.  Duncan spent a fair amount of time at his friend Arthur’s house, and Malcolm made quite a few visits to Benoit’s shop to work on his cigar box guitar.  I may have posted a few of these pictures before but he is now getting close to completion of the instrument, and is now waiting for some hardware deliveries to continue: he’s decided to use a Dobro round screened soundhole, and needs a set screw for mounting the neck to the box so that the neck angle can be adjusted.  Then it’s a matter of installing the tuning machines, carving the bone nut and saddle, and making the bridge, and then he’s pretty much done.  I went into the shop for a little photo shoot a little while ago and was impressed with his progress, and more than a little jealous.  Here are some photos...

dry assembly

maître et disciple

stock removal from the stick to ensure that there is enough play to adjust the neck angle

template for tuning machines on the headstock

drilled headstock awaiting tuners

After her visit to Canada, Maggie didn’t come back home directly, but instead flew to a teacher training conference in Berlin which began Thursday evening.  As she was booked into a hotel there, I put Malcolm on a plane Thursday morning, and he spent the next forty-eight hours hanging out in the capital, trying out his German, and exploring the city, and returning to the hotel to check in with Maggie each night.  Duncan and I were left alone at home, and we took the opportunity to talk, watch some tv together, and play cribbage.

As Maggie was away that entire ten days my birthday came and went without much notice; I was pretty clear that we would wait until everyone was together before we celebrated.  She got back on Sunday but we missed each other, as I was off to Cardiff, Wales, where I had an audition scheduled at the Welsh National Opera’s beautiful Millenium Centre.  The Eurostar ticket that I bought included a electronic ticket from Brussels to London, but then I had to leave St. Pancras international station in London, go to a ticket machine in King's Cross to get my paper tickets for the Great Western Railway, then take the Underground to Paddington Station… it was a bit bewildering but all worked out in the end.

I can't remember which station this is.  Just liked the 'cello.

At St. Pancras International Rail Station, London.  If you squint you can make out the sign.

Parenthetically, one thing that drives me absolutely around the bend while travelling on British rail is how the population is transfixed and subjugated by the “big board”.

By this I mean the departures sign… Bizarrely, British rail doesn’t display the platform number until very close to the departure time, so every nervous passenger masses next to the big display like a school of herring, waiting breathlessly for the platform to be announced; when this finally happens, sheer moments before departure, everyone frantically rushes to that platform to get on their train.

The big board at Paddington

It’s a bit like being at the airport, except that when flying, the gate is usually displayed well enough in advance to avoid stressing out the passengers more than is necessary as they make their way to the boarding area.  But what I don’t get is this: isn’t there a rail schedule?  I mean, does the stationmaster suddenly snort awake from having overslept, only to realise with a chill running down his back that unexpectedly he has a train to wrangle at a particular time - at the same time, origin and destination as yesterday, and the day before that - that needs to get from point A to point B, and now he will have to blearily improvise which platform it’s going to leave from?  I don’t often compliment Belgian efficiency but can say with certainly, barring an accident, that on any given day my train from Watermael to Etterbeek is going to leave from track x here and arrive on and then depart from track y there…

All I can theorise is that perhaps there are switching or infrastructure considerations, and that the train controllers are optimising the rail traffic by keeping the whole process manually operated and ad hoc… but for me it seems weird and unnecessarily stressful.

I found a great bed and breakfast in Cardiff located centrally less than a km walk from the train station, opera, and the old town, and explored a bit on Sunday night before heading to bed for an early night.  I particularly enjoyed the walkways, bridges and canals in the area of the bed and breakfast; the neighbourhood used to be part of a series of docks and warehouses, now converted for residences.  I was gratified to see also that the city employees cleaning up the leaves were using brooms and not leaf-blowers; brooms are equally effective and far less noisy and polluting.

the canals near my bed and breakfast in Cardiff

The day of the audition I took it relatively easy, but did do some more exploring and shopping.  Cardiff is a great town, well maintained and quite clean, loaded with many posh shops.  Of particular note was a visit to Spiller’s Records in the Morgan Arcade, not far from Cardiff Castle, founded in 1894, and allegedly the oldest continuously run record shop in the world.

Unfortunately there are no used records there, only new ones and reprints, but I still managed to find a gem or two for Christmas.

outside the theatre in Cardiff

The audition went quite well.  I felt good, despite feeling a little tiny bit rushed in my warm-up preparations: the casting assistant had been very clear that no singers were to arrive any earlier than 30 minutes prior to the scheduled time, and that there would be no time to rehearse with the pianist.  But then five minutes before my audition the pianist did in fact come in, and we sang through my material rather hurriedly.  Then it was up a flight of stairs, and immediately into the rehearsal hall.  Ordinarily I feel best if I rest a few minutes after singing my arias before doing them again!  But you can’t hear any fatigue or nervousness on the recording; I have got into the habit of placing my iphone as a recorder as I walk in the door, so that I can verify myself later how the audition went.

Not sure who Fford Allan is, maybe he's related to Ausfahrt, or Afrit?

Afterwards I celebrated by tasting a few craft beers at a couple of local pubs... for the most part I find the low ABV British beers very heavy and cloying, but there were some that were dryer, that I enjoyed very much.

this describes a lot of opera that I have seen staged recently

I resemble that comment

The next day I got up very early, and walked the almost 4 km to the Cardiff International Pool, a gorgeous olympic-sized pool located on a promonotory in Cardiff Bay.  The 50-metre pool was largely empty at that time, so I had an entire lane to myself for 2 km!  It was really great.

Then it was back to the bed and breakfast to pick up my suitcase and catch my train home… I got home very late on the 8th so we decided to have my birthday celebrations on the 9th instead.  Needless to say the day did not begin auspiciously.  We awoke to the news of the US election result, and there were tears immediately from more than one family member.  It put quite a damper on the rest of the day, but we did our best to be cheerful.  Maggie got me some flowers and a nice pair of Mahabi slippers, very comfortable, with a detachable rubber sole so that they can do double duty as an outside shoe.  Duncan gave me some solid cake shampoo from Lush (it’s fantastic, especially for travel) and Malcolm gave me a double vinyl album of Bob Dylan’s “Love and Theft” from 2000, the album that completely changed my impression of Dylan when I first heard it soon after its release.  As well he made a sachertorte, my favourite cake, and we had a good dinner together.

The rest of the week was uneventful.  Sunday was Remembrance Sunday, and I did the gospel and old testament readings.  Malcolm and I got our kilts on for that service, as did a few other congregational members.  Maggie didn’t attend as she was feeling under the weather with the beginnings of a flu, but her tapestry/quilt was raised again, and got a lot of praise from members of the congregation.

Malcolm and I in the chancel

the Rose-Zadow boys at the door

The next week (starting on Monday the 14th) involved quite a bit of advance rehearsing to prepare for a duet recital that we had planned for November 25th.  Lisa Houben is a dutch soprano who I met through our mutual friend Peter Tomek, and we have previously performed twice before; once a programme of Brahms and Strauss lieder, on the topic of old age and the approach of the end of life, and once a programme on the theme of parenthood and children.  This time we chose a programme entirely of duets, almost without exception from golden age Broadway musical theatre, on the theme of Love and Marriage...  Much of this repertoire was known to me: I first sang a similar concert with my old friends Gilda diCola Mills and Frances Harkness in Kingston in the late 1990s, and then again with Caroline Sugarman and the Mississauga Symphony in 2010.  But there were a number of new duets to learn, and the repertoire was completely new to Lisa, who usually sings dramatic coloratura soprano repertoire!

Thursday the 17th Malcolm got up after dinner and walked the 700 metres up the road to the MB-XL Contemporary and Modern Art gallery.  I had already met Paloma de Boismorel, the gallery director, at the time that the gallery opened, perhaps eighteen months ago, but hadn't managed to make it to any of the various vernissages that have taken place there since then.  But this one was of particular interest, and I wanted Malcolm as a graphic illustrator to see it.  It was of Soviet Russian propaganda posters, collected over many years by the Belgian Jan de Maere, one of the co-founders of the gallery, and he gave an excellent lecture in French explaining the context and importance of selected works from the exhibition.

Friday Lisa, Daniel and I had another rehearsal in the evening, and then I left for St. Andrew’s to set up the jumble sale.  It’s a yearly tradition that people donate clothing, kitchen items, electronics, books, toys, etc. to the church, which sells these items and then donates the proceeds to a different charity each year.  This time, given the ongoing migrant crisis, the charities chosen to benefit were the Maison d’Espoir and Olivier, both of whom benefit migrants/refugees in Brussels.

The jumble sale went fairly smoothly, but we had fewer buyers, particularly fewer dealers buying, than in years past.  Our advertising strategies might need some revising, and also we held it a month later than last year, which can affect attendance.  Several people indicated to me that they were going to be helping out at other brocantes that same day, so I think we need to secure the church hall next year in mid-October as we have done in the past.

Duncan was a really big help in the setup, but even more appreciated in the tear-down, when everything unsold needed to be packed up and donated to the charity Les Petites Riens, kind of a Belgian Value Village.  There were very few congregational members available to help with that teardown, much fewer than had shown up to do the setup, so I was glad for him.  Malcolm wasn’t available: he was enrolled in a screen-writing workshop the whole weekend.  He has done a little bit of film-making for school projects, but there are many similarities in visual storytelling through paintings, drawings, sculptures, graphic novels, films, stage works, ballet, opera etc.  He seemed very energised by the workshop, and I am happy that he had a taste of what an intensive art class might be like, prior to his eventual departure to study… something.  More on that in future blogs, I am sure.

The week beginning Monday the 21st included more intensive rehearsals with Lisa, and Daniel Blumenthal, our pianist, for the Love and Marriage concert.  On Tuesday I also had the first rehearsal with David Navarro Torres, the conductor of the Brussels Philharmonic Orchestra, and the other soloists who I will perform with on December 10th.  Then it was a quick there-and-back-again train trip to London, where Scottish Opera was holding open auditions.

Once again, British rail likes to keep its passengers guessing...

That audition was much the same as the ones in Nice and Cardiff.  I saw a familiar face upon walking into the rehearsal hall, which was really nice: Stephen Maughan is an English pianist, and we worked together on The Gambler a few years ago in Amsterdam, so it was a really pleasant surprise to see and sing with him again.

Thursday was another Lisa/Daniel rehearsal, and then on Friday we performed the concert... it was quite a success, reasonably well attended, and we are hoping to present it again sometime soon.

Saturday began with Duncan's successful karate exam for his second blue belt; one more successful exam and then he can try for the brown belt, which is the last colour set before black.  It hadn't been planned that way but I suppose it ended up being a bit of a celebration that afternoon, as Maggie and Duncan went to see the ensemble Stomp perform at the Cirque Royal.  Malcolm and I saw Stomp perform in Toronto at the Royal Alex many years ago.  Maggie loved it, and Duncan was really energised by their humour, dancing, acrobatics and percussion.  I’m hoping that he’ll be inspired to resume his dancing studies.  As well I have been running lines with him and giving a little bit of character direction: he’s playing the role of Satan in the church’s Nativity pageant that is coming up in another couple of weeks, and he seems energised by the process.  It’s good that he and I can connect around something that we share an interest in: acting.

While Maggie and Duncan were out, Malcolm had his friend Victor over, and they moved the furniture around so they could have a rehearsal session in our living room.  I kept clear for most of the afternoon, giving them space for some practice on their own.

Sunday noon I hopped the high speed train again, and trundled down to Toulon, where I had a last-minute invite to audition there.  I found a great bed-and-breakfast that was close to the opera, and was looking forward to a relaxed evening prior to my audition the next day.  As it was there was a fire on the train in front of us in the station in Aix-en-Provence, and we were stopped on the tracks for about 3’20”… good thing that I had brought along both a sandwich and something for dinner!

Christine Gaugain was the name of my host, and her apartment was really nice.  Her second floor apartment is only a few hundred metres from the opera, and is decorated in a tasteful and harmonious way with many antiques and framed artworks.  She was out for most of the time at work, but the place was very quiet, with lots of light from tall windows, and all the amenities.

The audition itself went pretty well, although I was feeling a little bit tired from being “on alert” all day.  They told me to come meet the pianist at 10h, which I did, after starting a slow vocal warmup at 9h in the apartment after Christine left for work.  Then I had maybe 15 minutes with the pianist, then was told my audition would be at 14h.

Unfortunately that was not precisely the case; to be fair the audition session started at 14h...  I arrived at 14h ready to sing, only to discover that the order of singers had been adjusted and I was going to sing as #18 out of 21!  I went home to the apartment to rest for 90 minutes, then came back, only to discover that they had only reached singer #9 at that point.  Another hour’s wait; finally I ended up singing at 16:50, the last of the session, and in a theatre that was boiling hot; they had turned on the heat for the winter, but the day outside was 17 degrees, so the stage was around 25 degrees, which when one is actively singing is really too warm.  I opted to take of my suit jacket and sing in my shirtsleeves.  But in any case, it went well: the recording on my iphone shows that whether I am rested, or tired, or travel the day before, or on the day itself makes very little difference.  So much of singing these arias has become automatic that I am not affected very much by the circumstances (knock wood).  That’s a very encouraging thing to discover at this stage of my career.

I had eaten a good lunch before my audition and so after it was over I wasn't terribly hungry, but the weather was still nice, so I sat in the outdoor café below the steps of the opera house and enjoyed a cigar, a Belgian beer, and some reading... I picked up a copy of Philippe Delerm's book, La première gorgée de bière et autres plaisirs miniscules (tr. The first swallow of beer and other tiny pleasures) and was captivated with its marvellous poetry about joy in the everyday.

Here's what Delerm has to say about "the first swallow of beer", followed by a re-imagination of his text in English (courtesy of the Independent):

La première gorgée de bière... la seule qui compte. Les autres, de plus en plus longues, de plus en plus anodines, ne donnent qu'un empâtement tiédasse, une abondance gâcheuse. La dernière, peut-être, retrouve avec la désillusion de finir un semblant de pouvoir... 

Mais la première gorgée ! Gorgée ? Ça commence bien avant la gorge. Sur les lèvres déjà cet or mousseux, fraîcheur amplifiée par l'écume, puis lentement sur le palais bonheur tamisé d'amertume. Comme elle semble longue, la première gorgée ! On la boit tout de suite, avec une avidité faussement instinctive. En fait, tout est écrit : la quantité, ce ni trop ni trop peu qui fait l'amorce idéale ; le bien-être immédiat ponctué par un soupir, un claquement de langue, ou un silence qui les vaut ; la sensation trompeuse d'un plaisir qui s'ouvre à l'infini... En même temps, on sait déjà. Tout le meilleur est pris. On repose son verre, et on l'éloigne même un peu sur le petit carré buvardeux. On savoure la couleur, faux miel, soleil froid. Par tout un rituel de sagesse et d'attente, on voudrait maîtriser le miracle qui vient à la fois de se produire et de s'échapper. On lit avec satisfaction sur la paroi du verre le nom précis de la bière que l'on avait commandée. Mais contenant et contenu peuvent s'interroger, se répondre en abîme, rien ne se multipliera plus. On aimerait garder le secret de l'or pur, et l'enfermer dans des formules. Mais devant sa petite table blanche éclaboussée de soleil, l'alchimiste déçu ne sauve que les apparences, et boit de plus en plus de bière avec de moins en moins de joie. C'est un bonheur amer : on boit pour oublier la première gorgée. 

The first swallow of beer... it's the only one that counts. Everything that follows is bland by comparison, a tepid coating on your tongue. The harder you swallow, the more meaningless the excess. Perhaps, within the tragedy of the final sip you can begin to recapture...
The first gulp! Its journey is already well advanced by the time it reaches your throat. With a frothy trail of framing gold around your lips, bitter happiness slowly permeates your palate. It seems to last a small eternity, that first sip. You drink without hesitation, gulled by your own instinct. The ritual is familiar enough: the right quantity to ensure a perfect prelude; the instant rush of wellbeing, punctuated by a contented sigh, a smack of the lips, or silence; the giddy sensation of pleasure teetering on the brink of infinity... Yet you know that the best is already over. You put your glass down on the beer mat and push both slightly away. Time to relish the colour - ersatz honey, cold sun. If only you were patient and wise enough to grasp the miracle behind the disappearing act. You notice with satisfaction that the brewer's name on the glass corresponds with the beer you ordered. But whatever the relation of the vessel to its contents, nothing can bridge the gap between them, or conjure liquid out of thin air. What wouldn't you give to capture and encode the secret of pure gold? Instead, you sit at your table, like a frustrated alchemist intent on keeping up appearances - each mouthful is a falling away from pleasure. Happiness has a bitter taste when you have to drink in order to forget the first sip. - From `The Small Pleasures Of Life' by Philippe Delerm, published by Phoenix House

Marvellous.  I actually have been happy recently for the amount of time I've spent travelling abroad, without access to the internet... I've read more books in the last two months, it seems, than in the last two years!

early departure from the platform at Toulon

It was an early morning the next day as I had an 8h17 departure, but the train was delayed again.  Then when I arrived in Brussels and got on the metro to come home, it was stopped on the tracks also!  In fact that delay was only about five minutes, but really I had had enough of rail delays!  But it really wasn't so bad.  Also, one good thing about the SNCF (French railway) is that they 'fessed up to the long delay on the way to Toulon, and sent me an email offering a rebate.  As I had an e-ticket I've already been able to claim a refund online, and expect to be reimbursed 75% of my ticket cost.

So that pretty much brings us up to date.  What else to report?  Of course it is the season of wild game here in Belgium, so we have had a civet de marcassin, which is a red-wine stew that can be made with any game, and also marcassin steaks, deglazed with genièvre and cream.  Very very yummy.

True compassion for wild game... er, animals

marcassin steaks... yum. yum. yum.

marcasin after cooking, with baked sweet potatoes, cranberry jam, rapini with olive oil and garlic,
and shredded brussels sprouts with bacon and worchestershire sauce

One other thing: a few weeks ago Maggie and I went to Leuven to take four of her embroidery pieces to the framers.  Some of these works were begin in the 1990s, if not the 1980s, and others are more recent.  But they were all completed in the last couple of years, and it was time to get them stretched and mounted and framed properly so we can hang them up.  She’s very happy with the result!