gang gangs

 

HONG KONG CULTURAL CENTRE

(HKCC lower left)

The Hong Kong Cultural Centre sits on the harbour at Kowloon in an absolutely prime position. In the above snap, the Peninsula Hotel is the bi-columnar building behind the green scaffolding screen in the lower centre, and lower left is the pale beige HKCC presenting a bold cold facade to the harbour. (The Kowloon wharf is just off photo lower left.)

It looks to me from this perspective to be begging for something to be projected onto it. Something like what's going on inside, even. There's quite a lot of projecting onto buildings happening around both sides of the harbour.

The finish is tiles, tiles, tiles.

Street side there are two arms embracing the entrance. None the less, it's not to me a building that calls you in. Not all the 'people' in the photo below are real; if you look closely, there is a sculptured queue.

(main entrance, with sculptured queue)

Inside, the tiles continue, and the feeling is of generous and open spaces. It was strangely one of the few places in the city we had visited that didn't feel crowded. And what's more, it was the one place that I wished for it. There was no buzz, or bustle, or sense of collective anticipation, as we headed into the Concert Hall.

Come the end of the performance, and the night, things looked more interesting, or at least photogenic, as we wandered about slowly making our way back to the Kowloon wharf.

HONG KONG

                                                                    (kowloon to island)

It would be at least forty years since I was in Hong Kong, and one of my remaining memories was of the excitement of getting the Star Ferry. It was misty and drizzly, and the harbour was awash with crafts, and just after we left the Kowloon wharf the ferry suddenly shuddered into reverse as something else loomed out of the fog just in front of us, an every day occurrence if the ennui of the locals was anything to go on. I was enthralled and excited by the seeming risk of it all. Ferries plied endlessly day and night back and forth to the island, criss crossed by boats of all shapes and sizes moving up and down the harbour.

Things are a lot calmer these days, at least on the water. Well, only on the water, now with tunnels and trains servicing the mainland and the island traffic, though the ferries still run a regular service from Wan Chai, where we are staying, to Kowloon. 

Big cruise ships sail in every other day or so. Working rigs are about, but anchored mainly. A few junks parade about in the night. There's always some movement, but not the crazy I remember, or thought I did.

                                                                (wan chai wharf)

                                                     (convention centre looking to kowloon)

                                                                             (star ferries passing)

(junk behind ferry)

(night ferry to the island)

On land, it another matter entirely. The streets, the shopping plazas, the pedestrian foot bridges, the stations, the railways, the trains, the buses, and trams, are all chock-a-block. It's an ant's nest.

                                                             (electric double decker trams)

TIME FLIES

We're in Hong Kong.

It was a remarkably easy flight, a scheduled nine and a half hours. Before we even took off, the captain said the expected flight time was eight and a half. I'd brought three books, and had a few movies I was keen to catch up on. But still.

By the time I'd found The Death of Stalin, and then we'd synched our viewing (we spend forever stopping and starting till we are on the same frame), we were well into lunch and then the next thing I knew I was waking up to the Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique. It'd be better on a big screen anyway, the movie I mean.

The head sets (Cathay) were terrific, and the noise reduction technology brilliant. I drifted away into the music as the 777, a noisy beast if you're near the wings with one huge engine each side, each alone able to get the thing home on its own regardless, droned on in some remote other world.

Shirley Jackson's "We Always Lived In The Castle" came with a genius recommendation from George Monbiot. I've got a thing for Mr Monbiot, but no-one knows that, except the internet now. I like his style. He just had prostate cancer surgery, which is a pretty big challenge to body and mind, and his attitude is as admirable as it gets.

Already, it's a book I don't want to put down but I don't want to stop. So there's that delicious conundrum. Early on, the protagonist, who loathes the villagers with a vengeance, wonders why such ugly and unwanted creatures were even created. It's a great question.

And in between pages, and more nodding off, there was more Berlioz, and before you knew it the late afternoon sun was glinting orange through the starboard windows, the shades now all up ready for landing, and everyone upright and fastened. I wondered if anyone was using safe words; if people before a disaster had any premonitions. The plane skipped down through the low clouds. The pilot came on air again. He had a softened Kiwi accent, and was rather friendly. I wondered what he looked like. Did he use safe words?

The craggy green peaks and wandering coast line came closer. The air looked heavy and humid. And the landing was perfect.

BEST FRIEND'S FRIEND

(rushcutters' bay)

All I saw were the hind legs and tail disappear over the wall. 

In an unexpected display of fearlessness, she'd jumped the wall and dropped a good three metres into the harbour. I thought she knew about water, but what would I know.

I peered down, as she scraped on the scaley stained sandstone blocks, exposed by the extra low tide. Our eyes met. She was way beyond arm's length. My mind was racing - the depth, the extent of the wall, the nearest wharf at least a hundred metres away, what clothes do you shed before jumping in, well shoes at least, ...

I heard him before I saw him, heard him say 'I'll get him" as he pulled off his shirt. Mid-teens, fit as a fiddle, and beaming an uncertain smile. I don't think he knew exactly what to do either, but he wanted to do whatever it was.

"Thank you. Thank you very much. What if you get over and I hold your arm and then you might be able to reach her with your other arm. And he's a her. She not two yet."

We tried that, but were a long way short.

"I'm going in" he said stripping down to his shorts, and then he was beside her, reaching out to her, and took her in his arms. "I don't want a bull shark to get her" he called up. I don't want a bull shark to get you, I thought.

He carried her carefully down to the wharf, his father and his brother now looking on. His father seemed mighty proud. "I don't want a bull shark to get her" he repeated, more than once.

"I don't know how I can ever thank you" I said to his father after the rescue was done, and he'd gone off down to the boasted to clean himself up. "Whatever can I do. Is there anything he'd like, or needs?"

"Some shoes" said his father, visiting from Melbourne, their yellow hire bikes lying on the grass. "Some shoes". 

(his father took the photo)

PERTH

(from King's Park)

We've been to Perth, both for the first time, but just for a couple of nights.

Fremantlle, where we stayed, had a touristy charm about it, though it was alarmingly quiet on a Sunday evening, teetering on abandoned.

Cottesloe's famous beach facing the great Indian Ocean was greyed under sullen skies but the heady pulse of hot summer days was palpable just below the surface. We couldn't resist fish and chips on the verandah of the grand old hotel, aka the Cott.

Before flying home, we idled a morning away in King's park. It is huge reserve of all but virgin bush with more manicured gardens around the restaurant and function areas, boasting a tempting preview of the west's justly famous eucalypts and flowers. The city is splayed along the river, clearly a mining town with any significant building's naming rights in the hands mining companies.

We went for a funeral. The cemetery is a vast and beautiful place of handsome gums and gardens with a random wildness that adds to the stillness. It seems more bush than mannered burial ground, and more welcoming for it. We walked about twenty minutes behind the hearse in a light warm summer drizzle to a plot reserved fifty years ago next to my sister's first little infant son who died at nine months and now no longer lies alone, but with his father.

IN MEMORIAM

(warm summer's evening)

When Anne Sofie von Otter's husband died suddenly in Sydney days before her scheduled appearances with the SSO, it was especially shocking. We had cancelled going down to Adelaide for her recital there at the last minute anticipating the imminent death of close family here in Sydney, which did overtake us, and in this grief we felt even the more for her, so tragically robbed of her marriage, a state we ourselves were closely approaching.

In lieu, Stuart Skelton graciously and generously flew across from Perth, and back again, then back and back again, and the programme changed to German songs for voice and piano.

In the Uber on the way in for this, on a warm summer Friday evening, news came of another death, my brother in law in Darwin, a welcome but grossly disturbing relief from the terror of premature vascular dementia. We now faced two funerals, and headed into the house in sombre mood.

That Donald Runnicles spoke at some length about the Mahler 10 that was to follow after interval before Skelton entered the concert platform was slightly disconcerting, as if Mr Skelton was stuck in a cab in Macquarie Street. It was however more to do with balancing the two concert halves I gather. Finally onto an empty stage save the piano and Runnicles, he took his place, and in a remarkable and sombre piece of theatre, the likes of which I don't think I've ever seen before, the hall plunged into complete darkness, with each man lit by a single spot, which merged into a skewed eight shape.

We were sitting, unusually for us, in a side box, looking down and across, where perhaps the impact of this was arguably even more dramatic. The air was cold and still, and silent.

I thought he sang magnificently, across a range extending to both extremes of tenor highs and lows, and maybe as high and certainly as low as I think I've heard him, with beautiful colouring, wonderful pianos, and sublime phrasing of which his huge Wagnerian voice, reigned in yet crystal clear and penetrating, is a master. This was the first I'd heard him in recital, as it was for those around us. 

Hugo Wolf

Verborgenheit (Seclusion)

Richard Strauss

Ruhe, meine Seele! (Rest, my soul)

Franz Liszt

Wanderers Nachtlied (Wanderer's Night Song)

Richard Strauss

Morgen! (Tomorrow!)

MURIEL'S WEDDING

By chance, we went to Muriel's Wedding, The Musical, Sydney Theatre Company, on the night the marriage equality legislation finally passed. A tortuous and disgustingly politicised process had at last come to its proper conclusion. I'd bought the tickets more than a year ago for K's birthday.

Driving through the city in heavy traffic on the way to the theatre, we heard the final moments, and then the cheering, crescendoing into We Are One from the visitor's gallery. it was emotional, but also a strange feeling which I struggle to define. The best I can come up with is perhaps it's like being let out of jail after decades kept in the dark - the light is too bright.

It's a terrific show, and tracks the film very closely. Maggie McKenna (she's Gina Riley's daughter - Kath and Kim, The Games) stands out from a stand out cast, with perhaps Gary Sweet just missing the sleaze needed for the sleaze bag father, he's just, mmm, too sweet. (booom tish). It's a bit too long, and easy to trim, and the ending needs a bit of a rethink maybe, but no matter really. The ghosting presence of ABBA is genius.

And so, in the curtain calls, this fabulous cast took on the spirit of the night. That's Maggie McKenna (Muriel) holding the Vote Yes placard.

LOOKING BACK

It seems to have been a long year. Uppermost in my mind are the three operatic events in the concert hall, two from the Sydney Symphony, and one from Opera Australia.

1. Charles duToit led a wonderfully hypnotic Pelléas and Mélissande, beautifully realised by a mostly imported cast, and fine musicianship from the orchestra under his elderly but firmly disciplined hand. I sort of tranced out, and thinking about it, so must have the audience who, while not always in the habit of being silent and composed in the euro style, behaved impeccably in what was for many I suspect, and for myself, a first time live encounter with this Debussy and his magic ways.

2. In an outstanding contribution to opera in the concert hall, Opera Australia's Parsifal was a stunner.

                                          (lousy pic, but shows the rapturous audience on their feet)

Sold very much around Jonas Kaufmann, this was anything but a one man show and everything about excellence on every level, with conductor Pinchas Steinberg at the top of the trickle down. The pacing, shading, textures and balance (for a difficult hall to get right) were wonderful, and the orchestra a pleasant surprise, which reflects a lot more on me than them. How good do they sound! Simone Young went through a phase of 'getting them out of the pit into the open', and we'd be very lucky if there were to be more of this.

Savour the cast:

Conductor       Pinchas Steinberg
Parsifal           Jonas Kaufmann, a beautifully elegant sound of much depth of feeling
Kundry           Michelle deYoung, god she's got the goods, and the presence.
Amfortas        Michael Honeyman, stepping into a big sing and singing big
Klingsor         Warwick Fyfe, perfect histrionic casting hurling out malice
Gurnemanz     Kwangchul Youn, rock solid top drawer
Titurel             David Parkin, interesting casting with a lighter voice adding tragic frailty

with delicious Flowers Maidens, Knights and Esquires (listed in the link).

The very lovely emerging Anna Dowsley was alto solo, and also Genevieve in Pelléas and Mélissande. She was also Lucretia in Sydney Chamber Opera's Rape of, and that I missed that is the one regret of the year.

On top of all that excellence, what was also especially satisfying was the beauty of the production with some small elements of semi-staging, perfect placement of persons and voices, and a fabulous chorus which were actually arranged and lit like a swan at one stage, which brings me to the lighting of the most subtle and sophisticated kind, even and up to finally spilling red, red and then some more red.

3. And last but not least, the year ended with Sydney Symphony Orchestra's Bluebeards Castle, right up David Robertson's tightly controlled alley. This was another first outing for me, and while I had planned for thrice, I made it twice.

                                    (don hans narrator, david robertson, john relyea, michelle deyoung)

I'm not even sure now that I want to see it fully staged. It is theatre of the mind, and to the extent that they overdid the lighting effects, with the exception of the almost orgasmic brilliance of the fifth door as Michelle DeYoung unleashed a stunning high C into the hall, they actually only emphasised the need to keep this pared back to a gradual parting of the dark shrouds of the imagination. (The earlier special effects in Parsifal are a fair reference point for less is more.)

Together, Michelle DeYoung (six foot one) and John Relyea (at least two inches taller I'd guess) were fabulously paired in an illuminating exploration of fear and love, the great eternal opposites, brilliantly scored by Bartok.

THE DOORS

No, not those doors. These doors ~

Decades ago I was in Melbourne for a Meeting, and on the morning of the first session I rang M, who was staying with J & P, to see if she was going in. M was in the shower, and J kindly chatted to pass some time. 

"What are you up to?" she asked.

"Oh, not much. But we have seen a block of land in the bush, and we're seriously thinking about buying it, and building a house."

"How fabulous. P and I have some land on the peninsula, and we were thinking of building, but have decided against. In fact we've bought the front doors!"

"You've what?"

"Bought the doors. You don't want any doors, do you?"

"Well, you know me. Who knows. Where are they?"

"Oh, here's M. They're in a shop in Albert Park. I'll give M the details"

We found the shop. We bought the doors. We shipped them to Sydney. We built a house around them.

So it happened that on Sunday, on our last night after the Trade Show, we ducked dining with the crowd, and opted for an early night before the drive home, and found ourselves in an Italian Restaurant not too far away from the hotel. In Albert Park. It was lovely, and deliciously traditional with terrific staff and smiles all round.

Full and happy, we walked a little after, along the wide streets, thinking we'd see a taxi. A tram rattled past. The sky was darkening. K was feeling the night air, and took to ordering an Uber. "No wait. I want to cross over, and see what's down there", feeling a vague familiarity. Not more than a few doors along from the intersection, there it was.

Totally unchanged in twenty years, there was the shop where we'd bought J's doors, her wonderful doors, our happy threshold, unchanged to this day from the day they left the shop. 

Not that long after they had become ours, even before they had a house built around them, to our horror came the news that J was no longer with us.

What little we know. 

MELBOURNE

                                                                  (albert park lake)


It's not nearly as bleak as it looks in the pic, although the air feels cold. Melbourne looks more like this these days ~

We are down for a trade show, and there's much to enjoy. The friendliness and helpfulness has caught me by surprise and reversed prior reservations. It seems to me there is a new generation who have an ease and confidence, perhaps from growing up in the 'world's most liveable' city without the defensiveness I used to think was hovering just below the surface.

The hotel is right on the lake, is very comfortable and the lobby is huge with lovely lounge areas, and nooks and crannies to sit and watch, and read. 

There's black swans on the lake, with signets. So cute.

It feels noticeably calmer than Sydney, its edges softer. Maybe I'm getting older. Well, that's a given. But I can say, I'm having a lovely holiday.

EMMA DUNCH

It's well time to shine the rainbow spotlight onto the incoming SSO CEO Emma Dunch. Her guidance and honesty and gold dust words in the Marriage Equality debate reveal a confidence and air of a leader whose values are as deep as they are precious.

And there's a sparkling brightness and energy of purpose and joy in the future leaping out which betrays, admittedly to my prejudiced eyes and ears, an Australianness, dare I say even a Sydneyness.

VOLTE-FACE

                                                    (emma dunch, right, and elizabeth scott)

In a welcome about-turn, the Sydney Symphony Orchestra Board has changed its mind on the pseudo neutral position it had taken in the current Marriage Equality debate. You may recall it supported the right of people to register their 'vote', but in deference to the mix of its stakeholders, found itself unable to take a stand one way or the other. To repeat myself, abstention is the failure to support the Yes, which is default support of the No.

The initial stance was met with outrage, ridicule, disbelief, and withdrawal of box-office support and patronage. It stays a wound which will heal and the extent of the scar is very much in their hands. My personal feelings are of overwhelming relief. I was ashamed and had taken steps to completely withdraw any formal association with the Orchestra to become an incidentalist.

And on the wave of public contempt, a tsunami even, the musicians themselves have made clear their own public support. It has been suggested the musicians were dissociated from the collective thinking by their recent trip to China, itself named as a possible constituent of those not to be disquieted.

But more significantly, for me at least, is the heartfelt and very moving statement by the incoming CEO, Emma Dunch. While her private life had been very much kept under the radar in the announcement and welcoming of her appointment, her beauty of thought and leadership on this issue augers well. We received this news, and these statements, via texts. Reading them out to K, I couldn't make it through Emma Dunch's in one read. Tearing up is one thing. Tearing up in Cross Street Double Bay quite another.

From the Board ~

The Sydney Symphony Orchestra initially decided that it should remain neutral on this question (marriage equality), taking the view that as a matter of principle it would not take a position that might be seen to commit its wide range of stakeholders to one side or the other. 

In doing so, the Board now acknowledges that it misjudged to need for such an organisation - with its long commitment to inclusiveness, equality and fairness - publicly to proclaim its support for the yes vote which plainly advances each of these ideals.

This decision has the overwhelming support of the SSO's musicians and staff.

From the musicians ~

The musicians of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra wish to unequivocally declare that we strongly support Marriage Equality.

We are proud of our history as a rich and diverse arts organisation performing every week to thousands of people who share our passion for the arts.

We believe in an inclusive and fair society fir all.

From the incoming CEO, Emma Dunch ~

As the incoming Chief Executive Officer of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra next January and an out, gay leader, I am proud to express my personal and professional commitment to advancing equality and inclusion for the LGBTQIA community, and to affirm my unflinching support for marriage equality. I believe that same-sex marriage is inevitable in Australia, and that this outcome is right and just.

Over the weekend, I have joined the SSO's musicians, staff and Board members in discussions that have helped clarify the organisation's position of support of marriage equality in Australia. I deeply appreciate the thoughtfulness that has been brought to bear throughout a respectful and nuanced dialogue. I know that there are very diverse views across Australia on this issue, and I respect the Board's commitment to encouraging every Australian to develop his or her own opinion, and to vote.

For me, personally, this is about more than my own identity. I believe that our society and our institutions are made stronger and more vibrant by the diversity of the individuals who people them. And I believe that denying those of us in same-sex relationships the civil rights accorded the married is the antithesis of the Aussie "fair-go" and perpetrates profound inequality. I hope that my home country will soon be one that validates my committed relationship of seventeen years.

Artists and their art have long played an important role in challenging accepted norms. I am committed to leading a Sydney Symphony Orchestra that champions its exceptional musicians, serves Sydneysiders in new ways, and provides value to our city beyond traditional concert-givng. I hope that you will join me and my colleagues on that journey, confident that the Sydney Symphony Orchestra will continue to welcome and support our LGBTQIA community and be an organisation that fosters respectful and meaningful dialogue around complex issues.

After nearly two decades in New York city, I will be returning to Sydney with my life partner Elizabeth  Scott (above left). We have been gratified by the terrifically warm welcome we have received from the SSO's Board, staff, and musicians. We look forward to making new friends when we arrive next year and to proudly counting ourselves among the many Australians who support a fair and inclusive society for all.

#VoteYes #LoveisLove

PAYING THE PIPER

More on the SSO's inability to commit to Marriage Equality aka Same Sex Marriage aka Should Marriage be a Right available to all Citizens.

Despite its effusive self praise, the Sydney Symphony Orchestra as I noted has withheld public support for Marriage Equality in Australia which the vast majority of other arts institutions have endorsed - the MSO, TSO, WASO, ACO, Brandenebrg, Orch Victoria, STC, MTC, Malthouse, Belvoir, Australian Ballet, Opera Australia, Syd Phil Choir, Musica Viva, Bangarra Dance ...  ASO and QSO have not made statements.

The orchestra's Current Sponsors make for interesting reading.

One sponsors presumably because of a belief in the product and as a marketing tool - the consumer supports the sponsor who supports the product. Then, there's the reverse.

Principal
Emirates

Government
Australian Government
NSW Government

Premier
Credit Suisse

Platinum
Tianda

Major
APT
One Circular Quay
Sydney Airport

Official Car Partner
BMW

Technological Partner
Optus

Gold
Allens Linklaters
Bloomberg
CoxswainAlliance
Intercontinental
Symphony Services International
Theme Variations

Silver
Austria Arrive And Revive
The Committee for Sydney
immjj
Kilikanoon
Pages
Decca
Wilson Parking

Media Partners
ABC Classic FM
Fine Music FM

Vanguard Partner
Young Henry's

Regional Tour Partner
Rex Regional Express

A KICK IN THE GUTS

I first heard the Sydney Symphony Orchestra live in 1965 in the Great Hall of Sydney University in Orientation Week. They were playing the New World. And it was a new world with which I was suddenly in love.

I have three loves now - Kim, Sydney and Music.

Now, the Sydney Symphony Orchestra Board of Directors has resolved, apparently unanimously, whatever that might mean, that:

"There is no question that the SSO strongly supports the rights of all citizens to place on the record their views, by way of private and confidential postal plebiscite and as such, the company does not feel it has the right to take a position and commit our stakeholders to be on one side or the other and had decided to remain neutral."

Weasel words. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies - they at least support the right to vote, but even that seems a stretch for them, in that they have to say so.

Never one to mince words, Leo Schofield says it like it is, calling them cowards. Which They Are. Cowering in the face of whatever it is they fear - loss of patrons I suppose. Well, they just lost this one. And fear is what it is; fear of what exactly in their case, other than dollars, is another matter.

Leo continues

"In defying the palpable solidarity of the arts community and its manifold supporters, the craven directors of the SSO have, by this decision, aligned themselves with the antediluvian Catholic Archbishops of Sydney and Brisbane, the ginned-up contributors to the skewed letter pages of the Australian, the smoke-screening non-entities of the Christian right and those parliamentarians too cowardly to put the issue to a vote on the floor of the house."

"But despite the current frenzy of piety, hypocrisy, prejudice and hatred, whether by a victory in this farcical process or by the sheer force of history, Australia will, and sooner rather than later, bow to the irresistible force of time and join the twenty-two other enlightened countries that have legislated for same sex marriage"

"The reason the board, supposedly unanimously, has opted for this course is that they don't want to politicise music. Utter drivel. Music, even in the pursuit of change, has always been political."

There is no abstention. There is only Yes and No. Abstention is a default No.

If I hadn't just renewed my sub, I would now not. Whatever concerts I might be interested in in next year's uninspired programming, I'd be more than happy to take a chance on. That's how I feel. Music for me is all but completely an emotional experience. And so is my politics.

As I said to them today - 'I am deeply saddened by the failure of the SSO board to have the courage and decency and respect for all persons to publicly support the Marriage Equality issue. There is no way that I (and I suspect others) can divorce that from how I feel about the organisation. I am absolutely in shock. Even a change of mind on their part I would now see as a capitulation to public ridicule, rather than a reflection of their mind set. This will take a long time to come to terms with.'

ON A CITY STREET

ON A COUNTRY ROAD