Tapestries

1972 seems a long time ago.  But, Sunday night. in Hyde Park,  it was only yesterday.

1972: 44 years ago.  I was a late-night DJ in the south tower of Neely Auditorium, taking requests on the graveyard shift, midnight to two.  Requests would come in, sad people wanting plaintive songs.  Tapestry: Will you still love me, You’ve got a friend, So far away.

2016: Carole King played to over 55,000 people in Hyde Park last evening, the first time she’d ever done ‘Tapestry’ live.  We were off to her right, half-way back.  It was a lovely show, she had enthusiasm for the work and affection for the crowd.  The evening was warm and the shifting hues of the sunset mirrored the crowd, who sang along with every track.

   

I used to wonder where the boomers would find their role models as they grew older, those who kept purpose and dignity.  Unexpectedly, it seems to be among the singers, who retain their voices, their poise, their humor, their relevance well into their 70s.  

Among reviews, the FT, ironically, captured her best: ‘bouncing up and down on the piano stool, hair flying’, ‘“Up On the Roof” made the most of a summer night, and a final reworking of “You’ve Got a Friend” included the line “I love you, England”, at a time when England needs all the friends it can get.

Yes, delightfully.

It was all mellow gin and tonic, delight at watching the crowd follow her, singing along with the best of the album, remembering a distant time made present.  It was a thoroughly charming and happy evening together.

Barry at the O2

It been 40 years since I last saw Barry Manilow, lawn seating and KFC at Ravinia Park outside Chicago.  He put on a wonderful show, lots of self-depreciating banter and familiar songs that I’d played as a DJ for 91-Rock WRVU.

‘times change, but Manilow does not.

20,000of his fans filled the O2 this evening, waving glowsticks in unison and singing along with every song.  Barry sang for two solid hours without missing a beat or cutting a high note. It’s a lovely display of energy for, and happiness in, doing what he has done for all these years.  Sad ballads, nostalgic torch songs, piano bar favorites, he kept things moving and the crowd was absolutely with him. 

When he swung into True Blue Miracle and Could It Be Magic, the crowd almost drowned him out with their own renditions.

When he launched into Memories from Cats, the glowsticks changed from swaying to conducting.

 

Barry is a bit unique in emphasizing the music, as compared to Elton John or Carole King, where the artist’s story is the first association.  I can’t tell you anything about Manilow other than that he’s a Jewish kid from Brooklyn.  I know that he wrote a lot of songs for other people, and for commercials’ (he didn’t do that medley this time around, it might not have translated to a British crowd), but otherwise all of my associations are with where I was in life when each song was playing on the radio.

 

It was a marvelous evening, a good crowd filling a vast arena to ‘remember the days, together.

Under the Eclipse

The wind was blowing chill off the sea when I arrived along the East Cliffs above Bournemouth.  The Needles glowed off the tip of the Isle of Wight as the sun set.  A steady procession of swells rolled in from the southwest, attracting seabirds and surfers.  Photographers started gathering along the paths, setting up tripods and adjusting lenses to get the best views.

The big event was the Supermoon Lunar Eclipse.  The moon was due to pass through the earth’s shadow just past 2 am, local time.  It coincided with the closest approach of the moon in its elliptical path around the earth, making the disc appear 14% larger in diameter, up to 30% brighter, than normal.

We had clear skies and a beautiful sunset in Dorset: great practice for the show to come.

  

On cue, the moon rose over the Isle of Wight.

   

It really was spectacular: absolutely brilliant against the darkening skies and the reflecting seas.  The professional photographers were getting wonderfully detailed shots of the lunar surface.

Nearby, an elderly white-haired man sat on the park bench watching all of the excitement.  Early in the evening, he talked to me about traveling down from London, staying with his family, what the eclipse was all about.  He kept to himself when people started to arrive, but came over as I got ready to leave.

‘I’ve written you a poem,’  he said, offering to read it:

It was the night of a full moon,

It was beside the sea.

My heart was full of happiness,

My spirit full of glee.

It was in beautiful Bournemouth,

A lovely, lovely place.

God bless you and all you meet

And may you always have a smile on your face.

  -- Tom Dennis

It was unexpected and nice:  I told him how much I appreciated it, and he jumped a little and clapped his hands, laughing.  We shared a brief hug and smile, and then were off our separate ways, under the rising moon.

May Fair: Small is beautiful

Monday is May Day, a bank holiday in a month (mid April to mid-May) that seems crowded with days off.  British friends assure me that it’s not the case, but the calendar from Easter to Half Term always seems full.

No matter: my (recent) philosophy is to take time away from work when nobody else is working.  So I scanned the What’s On pages to see what was on offer, alighting on the Bradfield Mayfayre. 

May Day falls on May 1, celebrated as the traditional spring holiday in many European countries. In England, it is celebrated with community Maypole dances (more Morris), singing, games and cakes.  Since 1886, International Workers Day has coincided with the May holiday across the Continent, and in the UK there are rallies to support working folks alongside the family fairs.

Its worth noting that the UK is proposing to move labor’s recognition to October to peg the end of tourist season, that the US celebrates (the less threateningly named) Labor Day in September, and the Dutch don’t recognize it at all (too close to the existing Queen’s King’s Day holiday).

Bradfield is a lovely village tucked into the rolling woodlands of Berkshire.  Their May Fair is a lovely jumble of country booths, food grills, charity stations, and game activities spread across the civic play fields and through the sunny afternoon.

An a cappella school choir sang Let It Go, pigs raced around the center arena, children scrambled over tractors and jumped in the Bouncy Castle.  There was climbing, art, livestock, model trains, beer and cake…a lovely mash-up of summer camp and school picnic.

 

I was reminded of the Puyallup (particularly the food and pig races).  But it was all condensed down to a smaller, more local and approachable scale that I really took to.

I have long been a fan of advocates for smaller economic and social groupings (Schumacher’s Small is Beautiful and Kohr’s Breakdown of Nations).  The gatherings are more distinctive and characteristic when fit to local cultures: People matter more.

    

So, smaller, there were no stalls selling brand-name goods nor giant inflatable beer cans in Bradfield.

And, more beautifully, there were things from gardens, from farms, from school groups and hobbyists.

Silly hand-lettered signs announced raffles and (politician-themed) pun names for the pig race contestants.

 

Local artists explained their techniques and created works for buyers.

Dads ‘n daughters competed in the motorbike wheelie contest, owls nearby.

 

Finally, the wheelbarrow race tickled my demons: we entered and lost.

 

 

 

 

‘it was not pretty…(still somewhat small and beautiful, however)

Cambridge Six-One

‘not the Oxford - Cambridge race result, but the university as my venue for marking another year passed.  The only requirement was that the day be set aside as special, spent with people rather than work, and doing a few things that enrich life rather than defining it.

So, Cambridge it was, with warm spring sunshine and gardens and trees flowering along the River Cam.  There were many lovely thoughts from friends across the span of years begat loomed on social media, reminding me of the people, experiences, and ideas that shaped the first cycle of my life.

Now one year into being a sexagenarian, the day was spent (and, with a new camera, liveblogged) as... 

The Orchard the start: buttered scones, strong coffee, and limpid beach chairs amidst flowering cherry trees.

 

Midday walking the Colleges and bridges, and a 1:28 pm toast (8:28 am est ) with Cointreau to the official start of sixty-one.

 

 

Afternoon, a narrow-boat cruise aboard Rosie, plying the Cam downstream from Jesus Locks.  (Ironically, my real-life relocation specialist Rosie checked in by messenger during the cruise).

  

Drinks at the Eagle, dinner at the Cau, and reflections at Wolfson over craft beers fills the evening.

I still feel vital and engaged, not at all at the threshold of senior years.  It’s a lucky state of affairs, I know.  Lucky, too, to share it together.

‘and, to close the circle,  the 70th staging of the Oxford-Cambridge boat race will be held on April 11.

‘Bet on the baby blues..