Deja-news

Not that we've had this exact report before, but you will recall my bemused rant at the lack of news in Britain - inbetween incidents of offing would-be-bombers, now 'New device promises an end to hard butter misery'. Yes folks, 'A UK-based company has launched a portable, temperature-controlled butter dish, ButterWizard, which keeps butter at what it says is the optimal spreadable temperature of 18,5 C.'

At last! An end to misery.

I'm mostly with the audience on this

Nobody much seemed to like Handel's oratorio, Israel in Egypt, when it was first performed (c. 1740). I can tell you why: the first half is just so relentlessly same-key-same-tempo depressing. Of course, being Handel, it's all very grand, I assure you. But I almost gave up listening before the plagues arrive, and they're sheer undiluted genius. Want a swarm of locusts in music? Check (is a fugal swarm, which really does bend and twist in the most amazing way). Want cute hopping motifs for the frogs ('yea, even in the King's chambers')? Check.

But still, it's no Athalia and it's nowhere near as impressive as the far earlier Dixit Dominus.

Resultant mood: even.

I do very much like Handel as a character: given to overindulging in fine food and quarelling, what's not to like? I recall one incident where, in a rehearsal, a stroppy tenor threatened to jump up and down on Handel's harpsichord if he didn't get his way; Handel is supposed to have replied that, unlike the chap's singing, that was something people would pay to come and see.

More famously, and probably more apocryphally, a soprano who was complaining about the lack of ornaments in one particular aria - after all, Baroque sopranos did think the show was all about them*, and the point of an aria was surely to to show off - rapidly decided to see things Handel's way when he held her out a window.

* It's not really that different today.

Moody-tainment

I have long believed that certain music brings out certain moods. But we here twiddlers must be scientific, no?

For your entertainment I therefore present to you a random fact - and the occasional rumour, and doubtless, gross error - about a composer whose work I chose for my drive to work and the general state (lack of, I hear you say) of my sanity. When we've done a few patterns will surely emerge and it will begin to look Most Scientific.

So: Vivaldi bassoon concertos. Bassoons are sexy - well, in Baroque music they are - more than holding their own against the strings. Try the first movement of the A minor concerto (er, catalogue number fails me here) - energetic flurries of notes, and a lovely oily texture.

Resulting mood: happy, in an excited, anything-is-possible sort of way. Doubtless the patrons of the Pietà found it exciting too, which is why the young women of said orphanage, for which Vivaldi wrote so many concertos, played in a gallery behind a screen. To preserve their modesty, it was said; piffle, say I - it was doubtless to keep the indubitably male audience from over-excitement. Baroque babes playing Vivaldi? That's most exciting.

In terms of objectification thinly disguised as music appreciation and masquerading as gender equality, I say what the world now needs is a male version of Bond: a trio of studly mid-20s string players in leather pants and kick-ass boots. No?

Hung up on copyright

When I heard a radio presenter quote a review of Madge's latest ditty as being 'Abba styled', my first thought was: 'Abba styled' my arse, it's patent plagiarism of Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!, I hope Benny and Bjorn get royalties.

Of course, I immediately got off my Abba-is-sacrosanct point of view once I remembered that copyright and originality are largely 20th-century concepts. Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery has a far, far longer precedent.

Take Handel (or, more properly, Haendel): when he had trouble thinking of a catchy tune halfway through drafting his new opera, he would borrow an aria that he particularly liked from a previous work of his, and simply put new words to it. If he particularly liked an aria that happened to be by somebody else, he'd put it in his opera and set new words to it.

And then there's JS Bach, who is quite famous for the concerto for four harpsichords (in B minor, unless my memory is failing), which is indeed most skilfully arranged. Arranged being the key (ahem) point, for it was first a magnificent concerto for four violins by Vivaldi. There's also a wonderful F minor work in German that you'll find, on closer listening, is actually by Pergolesi. Bach may have waited until these composers were dead before nicking their stuff, though I'd have to check on that, but if I remember correctly, Handel had no such qualms.

I concede, however, that when one's catalogue of works runs into the thousands, one might occasionally have run out of a fresh idea or two.

Menu updates

First, I must warn all enthusiastic shot-drinkers: under no circumstances, no matter how good an idea it may seem, should you follow the previously mentioned tequila concoction with a bottle of champagne.

Second: do, however, tickle yourself by reading an account of exploding soup. We're terribly Nigella Lawson over here, you know.

And, because any stray readers who should happen to chance upon this blog should find it a source of entertainment, I've done the sourcing for you.