Back in the real world, Frome-style

Let's start with an argument- with William Boyd's The Argument at Theatre Royal Bath,  as part of their lively Summer Season. This is a stylish comedy of manners - a Restoration Comedy for the 21st Century, perhaps, as it has all the elements: amorousness, deceit, conflict, and satiric parody of social mannerisms. There's a cast of six and action spans ten scenes and several weeks in four domestic locations, all cunningly contrived in seconds by shifting backdrops and key props. This impressive stage design was by Simon Higlett and insured an energetic pace, as did imaginative direction by Christopher Luscome, enhancing a script which has vigour but not much variety within a very narrow social strata - upper-middle to upper class, all casually announcing their pedigree in dialogue as in some early radio plays.
Meredith’s marriage to Pip is on the blink - no surprise there as she’s a shrew who'd need a Petruchio to tame her, rather than nondescript Pip - and the premise strenuously maintained is that when any two people come together, they argue.
While the oldies bicker about the breakup, Pip’s friend Tony (who Pip grabbed by the throat in an argument) even manages to argue with Meredith’s friend Jane (who was thrown out by Meredith after an argument) simply because he, Tony, didn’t like the way she, Jane, ended her sentences on an upward note so they sounded, like, questions?  You get the impression that such contemporary trends, including the ubiquitous use of mobile phones, irritate the writer enough to shoehorn them in for conspiratorial audience mirth.
The scenes with Felicity Kendal, in a role more like the The Good Life’s Margot than Barbara yet still irresistibly alluring, with Rupert Vansittart  were the most satisfying as individual cameos, as some of the other scenes seem merely pieces of the jigsaw. It takes 80 minutes to finish the picture, and from the final applause it appeared the Bath audience had enjoyed them all.

Music now, and within nine hours of touchdown after 17 hours travel and a 16 degree temperature drop, I was at Hauser & Wirth's Radić Pavilion where Canadian veteran folk singer Old Man Luedecke was joined by the Hoodoos, self-tagged 'swampy, bluesy, folksy' and featuring the fabulous vocal harmonies of sister Yvonne and Mary. This is definitely one of the 'now' bands locally - watch out for them on Visual Radio Arts next month!

Paul Kirtley's mission to raise £5000 for Bone Cancer Research continues, with another house party at the Artisan on Friday. The Bones 'house band' performed in split incarnation, as guitarists Paul and David Goodman had a change of bass and cajon player for their second set. Most of the songs were familiar favourites but Paul also included a moving song of his own composed for a lost friend: There's a blue boat out in the harbour.'

Guests once again were The Decades with a lively set including a superb version of Dido's Thank you and a sparky rendition of that Fun Boy Three's 1981 classic The Lunatics have Taken Over The Asylum - great variety and energy from this popular foursome.

Sunday night's jazz at the Cornerhouse with Graham Dent's trio featured this month the gorgeous voice of Emma Harris with a varied repertoire including the hauntingly beautiful Gregory Porter song There will be no love that's dying here for me.

And I'm including this image from a party on Sunday afternoon because it shows an instrument I'd never heard of - the ronroco, a Venezualian version of the ukelele, similar to the charango but more baritone. So there you are, the blog that informs as well as bragging about the awesome creativity of Frome.

The Listen project at Black Swan Arts has been offering a range of events throughout the month,  and the Listening Hub at the Round Tower has continued its esoteric 'Playlists' available daily on headphones - on Saturday I caught some of composer Helen Ottaway's choice, a Peter Greenaway film about John Cage, who she has worked with and much admires.  This is project of fascinating diversity but it's difficult to illustrate the concept of listening as art, so instead here's a more visible display, from the current Hauser & Wirth exhibition of Unconscious Landscape - works by female contemporary artists.  Spider, a bronze piece by Louise Bourgeoise made in 1966, dominates the gallery, and apparently represents protective motherhood. I liked it.

And despite the systemic trauma of returning from sizzling sunshine to rain and unseasonal chilliness, it's lovely to be home in Frome, where blackberries are already hanging along the path across the Dippy and the purple blaze of rose-bay-willow-herb is becoming a white forest of feathery fans as the petals fall. Autumn is arriving, surprisingly early, but then autumn always does...

Two swinging time-treks & artsy happenings now

  Frome Art Society exhibitions in Black Swan Arts always offer a wide diversity of styles and subjects, and this year the society has impressively reached their Ruby Anniversary which if artists' and marital years are the same means the society has been thriving for an impressive four decades. The work will all be on display until 25th May: here's the evocative painting titled Hospitalisation by Vanessa Taylor (which won second prize) and Alan Overton's blissful Riverside Walk.

Words at the Black Swan regular workshop in response to each exhibition was led by Louise Green,  who encouraged us to note the watery element in many of the images.

Poetry is in the frame at the moment, with an upcoming Frome Poetry Cafe, last week's Frome FM radio Poetry Special (broadcast link 3 May) - and a focus on poets at the Frome Writers Collective evening social at Three Swans too: Here I was again  joined by Rosie Jackson and Bob Hull to talk about poetry and read some of our own, with an informal open mic after the break.  Thanks Gill Harry for the image & write-up.
As well as a friendly and enjoyable evening, this meant another outing for my reading dress, which brings me neatly on to Tuesday's trip London.
It's over half a century since Mary Quant followed the Beatles, David Hockney and David Bailey into the hall of trend, but her name still chimes whenever trailblazers of the '60s are celebrated. Most people at the Victoria & Albert's exhibition seemed, like me, of her generation when I visited with my friend Helen last Tuesday. We had a great day out in the sunshine of South Kensington, but agreed that the iconic designer wasn't quite as mind-blowingly groundbreaking as she seems now revered to be. After all, since the late '50s we'd been rolling up our school skirts to detention-risking heights, raiding mens' shops for big buckled belts, and spurning the generous 'room-to-grow' of our mothers' economising philosophies. What Mary Quant was brilliant at was self-promotion: she looked gorgeous, she was well-connected, and she had mastered the art of the soundbite. A girl, she said, should have 3 reasons for her outfit- to be noticed, to look sexy, and to feel good. I did have one Quant item at college - that cinnamon pinafore-dress from the Ginger Group collection (though not the hat paired with it in the exhibition!) - but I was designing my own attire too. 
Here's me in 1964, and some of my sketches. The dress with 'pantaloon sleeves' is pretty much exact to my drawing for it but the trouser suit was actually jade green not turquoise, with purple contrast - still a favourite colour-combo of mine today, though colour in the snaps has altered beyond retrieval - and my multi-talented mother created both these treasured outfits despite her reservations.  For me, the design outlet that's taken over now in terms of colour and theatricality is Desigual, so it was great to discover this week that GAFF in Bath is an Aladdin's Cavern of these gorgeously bizarre Spanish styles. Thanks Mo Behradmehr for providing coffee - and discount!

Moving on now after this plunge into self-indulgence, via other colourful costumes and flamboyant personalities, to Cut Capers at the SWX on Friday - funk & ska from this explosive 9-piece Bristol band so sensationally successful they're now signed up by Freshly Squeezed Music and will be touring all summer - dates here.
A mood swing to soul with lovely Emma Harris on Saturday at the Cornerhouse, then gear-shift to outrageous for the story of Farrokh Bulsara aka Freddy Mercury at the open-air screening of Bohemian Rhapsody at Frome Cricket Club as the moon rose after a sun-filled Sunday.
With wild garlic and cow parsley thick along the verges and hawthorn blossom dense in the hedges, the 3 mile walk to Nunney is part of the enjoyment of the wonderful Nunney Acoustic Cafe on Sunday. Benjamin Hardy-Phillips ably took the guest spot, with 17 other acts! (though a couple were duos and one was an acapella sextet) A lively and convivial afternoon, with refreshments, and two of the singers, courtesy of Events Horizon. Here's Ben and, also from Frome, Paul Kirtley & David Goodman from the We Don't Scare Easy crew, and Nunney regulars Maia Fry and host Francis Hayden. And as this bulletin is already late, that's probably enough for one week...

Words, weaving, and a quick dip into history

Another post with one eye on my project... a parkour ride round Frome past and present, and with time-pressure still set firmly on Silly - that's above High but just below Manic - what's had to give is again music: sadly I heard neither foot-stomping blue-grass Old Boston Tea Party at Grain Bar, nor Don Kipper's Balkan Beats at 23 Bath St. I couldn't resist Emma Harris' scratch band at The Cornerhouse party though, with- great music, great dancing.

And I did get to hear some terrific poetry, at a crammed Frome Poetry Cafe with a February theme ~ 💖love, naturally ~ twenty poets from the floor and a great atmosphere, with guests Josephine Corcoran and Rosie Jackson both much enjoyed. I haven't heard Josephine before, and really enjoyed her memories of people and places, especially Winter in Trowbridge, the town of three smells: beer, meat pies, and sewage. This and other great poems in her new collection The Misplaced House.

Another evening of poetry too as eco-poet Helen Moore paid a flying visit back to Frome to launch two new books: Intatto/Intact, an innovative Italian/English collection (The Italian poems beautifully read by Annie Lionnet) and The Disinherited, her sad & angry poems about British treatment of the natives and the transportees in Australia. Again a full audience and a great atmosphere, as Helen's readings were further enhanced by readings from two Frome poets ~ Rosie Jackson and B Anne Adriaens ~ and a story-telling by Bard of Bath Kirsten Bolwig.
Most of my time though is still absorbed in interviewing, transcribing, and struggling to wrestle big balloons of information into a shape that, if not logical, is at least coherent.  I've learned an unbelievable amount, not just about the past & present of Frome but unexpected things like the tragic life of the queen bee and the lexicon of graffiti.  I've met a neighbour who was filmed in her punk days, another who was played on John Peel, and many more fascinating people with amazing memories - in fact when this project is finished there's scope for so many spinoffs ~ I definitely want to do something about decorating the fabric of our town too.
So I'll end with a contrasting couple of images: an ancient postcard inscribed with what the publisher considered the sole fact of any interest: Frome, a town dating from very early times, was surrounded by Selwood Forest which afforded shelter to a body of bandits who were the terror of the neighbourhood  - and the newest bar in town, The Loft at 23 Bath Street, with decor by internationally-renowned street artist Paris.

And also plea from the wonderful weavers of Frome, who I also met on my investigations, who urgently need a new home. Big enough for 7 floor looms 18 table looms and stacks of other paraphernalia I failed to comprehend, and a lot of yarn in wondrously diverse colours. In Frome or as near as possible. Anyone know anyone contact them on this link - as soon as you can! 

Homecoming often means counting degrees of heat difference on fingers of both hands and toes of both feet and wanting to curl up under my autumnal duvet - but Liv Torc guesting at Words&Ears in Bradford-on-Avon looked like a don't-miss event, so Muriel Lavender and I went along to hear the Wondermentalist poet whose website mission statement pledges Liv Torc seeks the humanity and absurdity within the human condition and when she finds it, she strips it naked and kicks it...
The Asbo bard did not disappoint. Kissing, beards (nastiness thereof), the wet patch (its charm), love generally and Amy Winehouse in particular, Liv is empathetic and enchanting.
To be fair to the English weather, although it's rarely fair to me, we've had some lovely days since my return, one of which occurred for the Writing BootCamp picnic party. This has been the summer inspiration of Alison Clink and Frances Liardet, whose lovely house we've weekly invaded for intensive inspections of work-in-progress.
Around two dozen local writers (I told you Frome was prolific, didn't I?) arrive at these sessions to share current work, pitch projects, and generally expose our vulnerable authorial bellies for the compassion, and passion, of like-minded scribes. Groupings - there are obviously several, with such high numbers of participants - are by lot, but always seem to provide the right mix of diversity and empathy. So here we are, some of us at least, celebrating this amazingly egalitarian and supportive experience, a summer Boot Camp with flip-flop friendliness, marching us all on to further writerly achievements.

The Madness of George III, directed by Christopher Luscombe for the Peter Hall Company at Bath Theatre Royal, is not as much like the Nigel Hawthorne/Helen Mirron movie as you might expect. Alan Bennett's script is clever and dazzling, of course, with intriguing insights into 18th Century attitudes to politics, medicine, and manners, but the focus here is on spectacle. Characters place themselves like playing cards lined up for an elaborate game and there’s no pretence of natural interaction as they deliver their lines. Scenes are static, so static that the production seemed almost like an elaborately costumed play-reading – but hey, hey, as the Farmer King would say, what costumes! Gillray lived and breathed through the Prince Regent and his coterie.
In a big bland theatre with a vast stage to fill this was probably the best strategy, and evoked a sense of Shakespearean drama, from the broad comedy of the kings poo to the tragedy of his downfall into lunacy. George recalls Richard II in his collapse to the ground to tell sad stories of the death of kings, and the parallel is plangent in a late scene as he reads from King Lear.
George III is a fascinating character, sane or mad: grieving for the lost colonies of America in a John of Gaunt-like speech, childlike games of Mr and Mrs King with his unerotic but much-loved wife, and plaintive repetitions of “I am the King!” as sanity spirals out of his grasp and his people slip away from his control. A thought-provoking, splendidly visual, evening with a first class cast – especially the king himself, played due to illness by understudy Simon Markey who was promoted from footman for the occasion and received well-deserved cheers at the final curtain.

And to round off the week: The Merlin Young Company presented their production of Fame, unbelievably well choreographed and performed after an incredible two-week-only intensive workshop. A full auditorium laughed and wept and cheered the huge cast of energetic youngsters who sang and danced their way through this iconic 80s story making it fresh as tomorrow, the hiphop dancers adding especial vibrancy. Ensemble sets fantastic, and especially moving performances from young Dillon Berry, Matt Graham as the shy thespian, and Kara Horler as Carmen. Claudia Pepler, who directed the show, should be proud as well as delighted. (Thanks Mike for the pictures)
And on the way home we called in at The Cornerhouse, Frome's favourite live music pub, where the John Law Trio were making amazing jazz with luschious singer Emma Harris.
This is Frome on a Friday night - nothing bought in, all local produce.
Now I don't mean to be boring but honestly, where else in the world.....