Number Seventy News

Maybe Empirical can rehabilitate the vibraphone in my affections, though interestingly, it’s not part of their usual line-up.  I didn’t catch the name of the vibraphone player but he was really good.  Otherwise the group consisted for this gig of alto sax, bass, and drums.  They were doing almost entirely Eric Dolphy material in advance of recording their next CD.  Of course, as a dabbler on the Nordic fringes of jazz, for the most part, I’d never heard of Dolphy, but apparently he used to play with Coltrane and Mingus.  I liked Empirical – they were quite engaging, had a sense of humour in their playing and were clearly enjoying themselves performing for us.   

An exhibition of personal WW1 memorabilia at the Imperial War Museum (surrounded by traffic just south of the river, beyond Waterloo).  Very well laid out and displayed and absolutely fascinating. Just the right mix of text and artefacts, photos etc.  And proper recognition of women and ethnic minorities who served, and of those who stayed at home.  Some very poignant and moving stuff – the last letters of men to their wives and children, written in case they should die; the telegrams which announced a death; the accounts of the mothers, sisters, sweethearts who received them. 1 in 10 of men between 18 (I think) and 45 from the UK were killed or seriously wounded ( I must check that, may have misremembered) but a huge number. No wonder Edinburgh in the years after WW2 was full of elderly spinsters and widows.

Also a gallery of Holocaust paintings – quite appalling.

Which actually, I didn’t on this trip to London, preferring to use my free bus pass and enjoy the superior views.  But the special poster exhibition at the London Transport Museum (extremely well refurbished since I was there last) was a nostalgic joy.  The history of the use of imaginative posters to encourage travel by train, tube and bus was laid out, with useful discussion on technique. Some less successful were included – they weren’t all crowd pullers but their range and variety was quite astonishing, even to someone like me who had been used to seeing them on subway walls. Most of the artists had got the message to keep it simple – not a lot of text, but a simple few word text.  Eternally grateful to Frank Pick who commissioned all the early works especially for LT

It’s something of a confession to say I’d never been to the Courtauld gallery before. As I climbed the winding staircase in Somerset House (there’s a a parallel one for serrvants) I glanced into a room and there were the originals of a number of French Impressionist paintings I had long been familiar with from reproductions.  A quick scamper through the galleries inclines me to go back at more leisure.

The Turner watercolours were rather good.  I love the detail, even in his most atmospheric.  Interesting how young he started and how determined to become rich and famous.  There’s a wonderful painting of people chasing a hare, the famous one of the wet dog baying on a deserted beach, and some from his tours on the Continent.  It’s worth going, and free on Monday mornings. 

Stayed at the City of London Youth Hostel near St Paul’s.  This wasn’t a new delight isn’t going to be my top favourite YH – no reading lights for beds and a truly mediocre cooked breakfast – just enough, however, to make it unwise to head into the nearest greasy spoon for the real thing.

But Carter Lane is one of those narrow, not quite straight little ancient streets that wind through the City – this one parallel to the river.  The area was the classic mix of old and new, with some very tempting pubs.  Pity I was only there in the early morning.  I had two little finds on my amble from Carter Lane to Somerset House – one was Apothecaries Hall, set round a courtyard -a Georgian delight, the other, after a brief excursion through the temples of Mammon, was a “Roman” spring-fed bath, just on the river side of Fleet Street. It wasn’t open, but the National Trust had kindly supplied an external light switch with which one could light up the interior and peer through the window.  There was a bit of dodgy history about it, and no-one really knows if it’s Roman, but it does seem more than likely, given the Romans’ enthusiasm for such things.  

And from the Temples of Mammon to the real Temple, where the lawyers hang out, or some of them, in several acres of prime central London land with huge squares and gardens.  It’s quite delightful, and open to the public to walk through, at least in the hours of daylight.

There’s a pub called “The Spice of Life” on Cambridge Circus, in the basement bar of which there’s one of those small, formerly smoky venues, which is where you feel jazz always should happen, though 4.30 on a Sunday afternoon is perhaps a tad implausible.  The band was Drugstore Cowboy who are described as straightahead.  It was good, loud, forceful conventional stuff.  The trumpeter,Quentin Collins, could obviously play pure melodic notes if he wanted to, but was too inclined to go for screeching on the edge for my taste. But some good solos from Brandon Allen on the sax, and from the Hammond  organist and the drummer.

Time for a quick dash to Pret for a wrap (hoisin duck – v. good) before back to the basement for the Froy Aagre band.  Froy does her own numbers, very much in the Norwegian saxophone mould after Gabarek and Seim, but all delightfully tuneful and not overstrained. She had what can only be described as a modest demeanour.  For the second half Kenny Wheeler, who is famous and old, joined the band to play some of his numbers.  Good stuff, but more mainstream.  

And so to Monday night at the QEH, which is not an intimate venue. Iro Haarla is a Finnish harp and piano player whose CD “Northbound” I really like.  Unfortunately the music didn’t really come across in this concert.  The first number, which has Trygve Seim and Mathias Eick blaring together, was ill-chosen, I thought, and prejudiced a lot of the audience against what was to follow.  The numbers ended up all sounding pretty much the same, beautiful and atmospheric though they were.  Pity, I like Seim and Eick.

Iro Haarla was actually part of a double bill with the Manu Katche band, which was what most of the audience had come to hear.  Although again there were some nice moments and accomplished playing, having the drummer lead the band in this instance led to much to prominent drumming.  A bit of an ego-trip maybe ?

A quintet of eating and drinking houses.  The Lamb and Lion at Bootham Bar strikes me as gloomy, more bare wood than I ideally like, and an unimaginative lunchtime menu. c.f. The Guy Fawkes, reviewed a few weeks ago, which is much nicer.

Lo Spuntino on Blossom Street – cheap and cheerful Italian. Good variety.

Meltons Too. A favourite, well revamped. Good locally sourced food nicely presented. One waiter didn’t know how to pour wheat beer.

The Brigantes, Micklegate.  Wonderful range of beers, and they do know how to pour a wheat beer.  Good pub food. Particularly excellent chips. Their fish is good too.

York Spice.  The best Indian restaurant I’ve ever been in. The food does all taste different.  I love the Macher Jhool – fish curry, and the pasanda is good too.  Maybe I prefer Kingfisher to Cobra, but they have the latter on draught.

Have I ever mentioned the Exhibition on Bootham.  It’s on the pseudo-Victorian plush end of decor but always has at least one real ale, usually two, and does exceptionally good, if conventional, pub food.

So, actually, it’s six.

Blue-grass is not my thing, but he does it really well.

Bus with folding bike to Tadcaster – Wharfe reasonably full, but not excessively so.  Off along the lane to Bolton Percy – peaceful Autumn countryside, very quiet, few birds along this stretch.  Fine colours in the hedges, particularly birch.  Bolton Percy dank, the beck spread all over the gloomy fields below the village, grey and stagnant.  Leaving the village, a huge flock of birds over towards Colton, too far away to recognise, too small for starlings, I thought, but they might have been. 

From the bridge at Colton Junction a fine view of traffic on the ECML and from Leeds.  A couple of real trains, a 225 and a 125 in full white/grey national express livery, and several of the Cross Country ex Virgin mini trains, even the 5 car version ridiculously short for the distances they cover, taking in commuter traffic for various parts of the journey, as they do.  (I’m not suggesting the 12-coach standard of London commuter lines, but surely replacing the HSTs with reduced sets, even if more frequent, showed little faith in the future railway. Thanks, Branson!)

And so to Colton and through to the Roman road to Copmanthorpe, where I had to mend a puncture, caused by the ever-thoughtful farmers’ habit of flail-mowing hawthorn hedges and spreading thorns across the carriageway.  But successfully mended en-route, and so home. It was good to be out.

Before I forget, I should say that the Black Swan has Skipton Brewery’s Copper Dragon on tap – delicious golden stuff.

Tom McConville is an Iriish Geordie, which takes the more extreme edges off both caricatures and ends up with a really warm humorous presentation.  He plays a wonderful lively fiddle and sings some great songs – a wonderful version of “Beeswing” sticks in the aural memory particularly.  A pity the room wasn’t as packed as it was for Chris Wood last week; to my mind Tom is just as good.  David Newey must be 40 years younger than Tom.  He plays a very unassuming guitar, respectful of what Tom’s up to, and with some accomplished solos.