Podcasts about raphaelite

In this final episode of Season 7 of Style DNA I go on a Style journey with a true icon of British design, my friend, the  world-renowned Interior Designer, Author of 10 books, affectionately dubbed the 'Queen of Taupe', ...the titian haired, inspirational pocket-rocket power house that is Kelly Hoppen CBE. I first met Kelly when she was looking for a wedding dress...there are some designs that you never forget as a designer and to this day, 35 years on, I could sketch that dress, coat and shoes precisely ... all very pre-Raphaelite...I was thrilled to learn that Kelly still owns it and what's more still wears the floor length velvet coat over jeans.She talks openly about how long it took her to find her style and how much more relaxed she is in making her purchasing decisions now that she has her style formula...her Style DNA.We laugh about her going to give a talk at Bloomberg and how she dressed up to fit in with what she thought was expected of her, as though she was going into a boardroom, only to be told by someone very close to her to go and change, asking "where has Kelly Hoppen gone?!" and reminding her that Bloomberg had invited her because of who she was. This was clearly a pivotal moment for her, and the lesson was to never lose your own identity because of what you perceive to be someone else's expectations of you. Such good advice.Of course, I had to ask her about her time as a WAG when she dated the footballer Sol Campbell (16 years her junior) and she talks honestly about some of her fashion choices being "quite questionable" for a time.Now she lives between London and the Cotswolds and we discuss what country dressing means in that uber glam part of the country...it's certainly not jeans and tweeds!But more importantly, we chat about her being chosen by L'Oreal to be one of the faces of their brilliant Age Perfect Campaign...a real pinch me moment for Kelly but one that she truly deserved. The Kelly I know has always worked diligently at her fitness and wellbeing and at 65 she has never looked better, clearly comfortable in her skin, and more relaxed than ever. Bravo Kelly and thank you for sharing your Style journey, Prozac boots and all!I hope you enjoy this episode ...it was a treat for me to take a journey through time and style with someone I have known for so long...thank you @kellyhoppen for friendship and this style chat xx

Subscriber-only episodeSend us a textThis week's episode was born out of Amy's recent visit to London's Highgate Cemetery, where fortuitous timing (or, perhaps, the graveside spirit of Christina Rossetti?) revealed a bit of juicy family drama. Find out why the tragic death (and later exhumation) of a pre-Raphaelite muse left another family member begging to not be buried next to her in the Rossetti family plot!Mentioned in this episode:Christina RossettiElizabeth SiddalDante Gabriel RossettiGabriele RossettiHighgate Cemetery“Ophelia” by John Everett MillaisLost Ladies of Lit Episode No. 220 on Christina RossettiPoetry by Elizabeth SiddalThe Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe HallBeryl BainbridgeHer Fearful Symmetry by Audrey NiffeneggerLincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders“When Did Cemeteries Become Tourist Attractions and Hot-Date Spots?” by Matthew Kronsberg for The Wall Street JournalFor episodes and show notes, visit: LostLadiesofLit.comDiscuss episodes on our Facebook Forum. Follow us on instagram @lostladiesoflit. Follow Kim on twitter @kaskew. Sign up for our newsletter: LostLadiesofLit.com Email us: Contact — Lost Ladies of Lit Podcast

How well do you know your favorite holiday songs? We're revisiting an episode of Rachel's Trivia Challenge—all about Christmas carols! Which beloved Christmas Eve hymn originally referenced Baby Jesus's curly hair? Which carol writer once posed as the Virgin Mary for a famous pre-Raphaelite painting? Which faux medieval ballad is regularly sung at Boar's Head Festivals around the country? And the trickiest question of all: which Christmas carol is Sarah's all-time favorite (today)? A lightning round at the end challenges listeners to identify carols based only on the title or first line of the song in its language of origin. Click through to listen to previous Rachel's Trivia Challenge episodes. Connect with the Lutheran Ladies on social media in The Lutheran Ladies' Lounge Facebook discussion group (facebook.com/groups/LutheranLadiesLounge) and on Instagram @lutheranladieslounge. Follow Sarah (@hymnnerd), Rachel (@rachbomberger), and Erin (@erinaltered) on Instagram! Sign up for the Lutheran Ladies' Lounge monthly e-newsletter here, and email the Ladies at lutheranladies@kfuo.org.

In our continued dissection of the OLD NEWS, Emily Colucci and I discuss: Indicted former art advisor Lisa Schiff and her upcoming bankruptcy auction, to be conducted by Phillips; how Paul McCarthy is slowly throwing out his immense artwork, WS (White Snow), because he can't store the work any longer, and how he failed to get any museums to buy the work, ultimately deciding to throw the work out piece by piece, which is, of course, logistically challenging (it takes up 4000 sq. ft of space and contains some very challenging- (read: yucky) ephemera); the art of Operation Under, a collective of artists who make wall paintings in underground tunnels throughout LA County, in one case the writer (Matt Stromberg of Hyperallergic) encounters racoons both in painted form as well as the in-real-life, glowing-eyes kind; how one museum took to pairing smells with a pre-Raphaelite artwork exhibition (including ‘dewy grass'), and how it led viewers to stay with the work a significantly longer period than traditional scent-less art viewing.

Fanny Eaton (1835-1924) was a model and muse for dozens of iconic paintings from the pre-Raphaelite era. Her face can be found in museums around the world, and yet she remains unnamed and overlooked even today. For Further Reading: National Portrait Gallery: A Pre-Raphaelite Discovery  Art UK: Fanny Eaton: Jamaican Pre-Raphaelite muse  Tate Museum: Why were the Pre-Raphaelites so shocking?  Historically, women have been told to make themselves smaller, to diminish themselves. Some have used that idea to their advantage, disappearing into new identities. For others, a disappearance was the end to their stories, but the beginning of a new chapter in their legacies. This month we're telling the stories of these women: we're talking about disappearing acts. History classes can get a bad rap, and sometimes for good reason. When we were students, we couldn't help wondering... where were all the ladies at? Why were so many incredible stories missing from the typical curriculum? Enter, Womanica. On this Wonder Media Network podcast we explore the lives of inspiring women in history you may not know about, but definitely should. Every weekday, listeners explore the trials, tragedies, and triumphs of groundbreaking women throughout history who have dramatically shaped the world around us. In each 5 minute episode, we'll dive into the story behind one woman listeners may or may not know–but definitely should. These diverse women from across space and time are grouped into easily accessible and engaging monthly themes like Educators, Villains, Indigenous Storytellers, Activists, and many more. Womanica is hosted by WMN co-founder and award-winning journalist Jenny Kaplan. The bite-sized episodes pack painstakingly researched content into fun, entertaining, and addictive daily adventures. Womanica was created by Liz Kaplan and Jenny Kaplan, executive produced by Jenny Kaplan, and produced by Grace Lynch, Maddy Foley, Brittany Martinez, Edie Allard, Lindsey Kratochwill, Adesuwa Agbonile, Carmen Borca-Carrillo, Taylor Williamson, Sara Schleede, Paloma Moreno Jimenez, Luci Jones and Abbey Delk. Special thanks to Shira Atkins.Original theme music composed by Miles Moran.Follow Wonder Media Network: Website Instagram Twitter See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In this episode of the SheClicks Women in Photography Podcast, Angela Nicholson sits down with Wanda Martin, an acclaimed photographer whose unique eye and remarkable journey from the countryside of Hungary to the heart of London's photographic scene have captivated many. Wanda, now a Canon Ambassador, director, visual artist, and a notable figure in the world of photography, shares insights into her creative process, her roots, and the power of photography.Wanda recounts her initial encounter with photography, nurtured by her father, a photographer himself, who introduced her to the craft despite his reservations about her pursuing a career in the field. This early exposure, coupled with a Canon EOS 20D, ignited a lifelong passion that eventually led her to professional photography, defying her father's hopes of her choosing a more conventional path.Despite starting with digital photography, Wanda also delves into the analog world, mastering the art of shooting and processing black and white film under her father's guidance. This blend of digital immediacy and analog depth characterizes her approach, allowing her versatility across commercial and personal projects.The conversation also touches upon Wanda's artistic influences, notably the painterly and cinematic qualities that infuse her work with a distinct aesthetic. She expresses a particular fondness for the pre-Raphaelite movement and filmmakers like Wong Kar-Wai, whose use of light and colour significantly influence her photographic style.Wanda shares her experiences navigating the photography industry, emphasizing the importance of networking and social media in establishing a presence. She reflects on the evolving landscape of fashion photography, acknowledging the increasing representation of women behind the lens.Her narrative is one of creativity and connection to the subjects she captures. From self-portraits that delve into personal narratives to collaborations with musicians and actors, Wanda aims to offer a glimpse into the souls of her subjects.Listeners are treated to a deep dive into Wanda's creative ethos and her aspirations for future projects.This episode of the SheClicks Women in Photography Podcast highlights Wanda Martin's remarkable career and artistic vision and serves as an inspiration for aspiring photographers everywhere.Connect with WandaWebsiteInstagramVimeoCanonThis podcast is supported by Canon, a leading technology company founded in Japan in 1937. Canon is dedicated to helping people reimagine and push the boundaries of what is possible through imaging. Canon believes in living and working together for the common good to develop a better society and a more inclusive and equitable world.Support the show

Kathleen Parlow was one of the most outstanding violinists at the beginning of the 20th century. In 1912, she was signed by the Columbia Record Company in New York, and her first records for the U.S. label were brought out alongside those of the legendary Eugene Ysaÿe. Listen to her fascinating story and how she took the world by storm. From her devastating looks to the intrigue her priceless instrument created. You will hear rare recordings of this prodigious player as we retell her life and try to understand why such an incredible talent has been so forgotten today. Brought to you by Biddulph recordings   TRANSCRIPT   Kathleen Parlow Part 1  Welcome to this very first episode of the Historical Strings Recording Podcast.  A show that gives you a chance to hear rare and early recordings of great masters and their stories.  Hello, my name is Linda Lespets. I'm a violin maker and restorer in Sydney, Australia, and I'm also the host of another podcast called ‘The Violin Chronicles',  a show about the lives of historically important violin makers and their instruments. But today we have a different podcast and telling this incredible story with me is my co-host Eric Wen. Hello, my name is Eric Wen, and I'm the producer at Biddulph Recordings, which is a label that focuses upon reissuing historic recordings, particularly those by famous string players of the past.  I also teach at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, where I've been for the past 24 years. In this first episode, we will be looking at an incredibly talented violinist called Kathleen Parlow, who, in her time, took Europe and the world by storm, giving even Fritz Kreisler a run for his money in the popularity department. She was described in the media as being ‘One of the phenomena of the musical world' on par with Mischa Elman, or the ‘greatest lady violinist in the world', and ‘the girl with the golden bow'.  She was treated with superstar status wherever she went, which begs the question as to why she is so little known today? Well, join us to discover her incredible story, the events of her career and her violin. A violin which would eventually financially ruin one man and divide his family. We will take a closer look at high hat kicking breakdancers, militant fascists, scandalous theatre directors, impossible love, a score ripping composer, and all this revolving around one of the world's most expensive violins and the incredible means one man went to get it into his hot little hands and then give it away. This is the story of Kathleen Parlow.  And all of the pieces you will be hearing in this podcast are of Kathleen Parlow playing her violin. Kathleen Parlow was born into a modest family in Calgary on the Canadian prairies in 1890.  Her mother, Minnie, was a violinist. So, at a young age at four, she gave her daughter a violin and started teaching her. When she was six years old, the family, Kathleen, Minnie, and her father, Charlie, they moved to San Francisco where her talent was immediately recognized. And well, this is probably because of the, the mom. And she was having lessons with her cousin called Conrad Coward in San Francisco.  Very soon, still aged six, she gave her first recital in San Francisco.  So is six, is six a reasonable age for a child to give a recital? What do you think? It's extremely young. In fact, that is truly prodigious. I mean, people don't even begin the violin till six and that's an early beginning of an instrument. Most people start around seven or eight, but to begin much earlier and to even be playing a concert at the age of six. That's really quite phenomenal. So with her burgeoning talent, she now started having lessons with Henry Holmes, who was a pupil of Louis Spohr, the well-known German composer and violinist. And he's a conductor and who he's the man who apparently invented the chin rest.  So where would we be without the chin rest, really? He's attributed with inventing it.  Well, Spohr was a fine violinist, German violinist. He was also a quite prominent composer. He was quite a conservative composer. So, I believe he wasn't that fond of the music of Beethoven. In other words, there were people like Spohr, Von Weber, and they represented a much more conservative branch of the sort of German composition.  of the German composers. And basically, they looked upon Beethoven as such a wild revolutionary in his music, so daring that I think they were almost a little offended by it. So Spohr, if you could say, is primarily a kind of conservative, very well-schooled, excellent composer. He wrote many, many violin concertos, the most famous of which is No. 8 in A minor, which is written in the form of an operatic scene. Full of violin solo recitatives and arias for the violin. Oh, wow. Yeah, that's interesting. So they were, there was like very shocked by Beethoven. They were, apparently. Was he a contemporary of Beethoven? Because I, because sometimes you go back pretty quickly, don't you? Like the teacher of the teacher of and all of a sudden you're in like the Well, Spohr was born 14, he's 14 years younger than Beethoven. Oh, okay. So, he was born in 1784, but he lived a lot longer. He lived over 20 years longer than Beethoven. Oh, wow. And that's fascinating. So, Henry Holmes, Kathleen Parlow's teacher, was taught by this guy who would have known Beethoven? Yes, absolutely. And objected to Beethoven.  Was shocked by his music. Well, I mean, I think sort of the, you might say the more mature Beethoven or the more daring Beethoven. But I think, you know, I'm sure maybe some of Beethoven's early works were much more acceptable. They were more normative, so to speak. Oh, okay.  So Kathleen's in San Francisco and her parents' marriage is breaking down. Her father, Charlie, moves back to Calgary where he dies of tuberculosis the year after. But Kathleen, she rockets on and is becoming more and more well known. Her new teacher sees real talent in the girl, and this teacher, Henry Holmes, he has contacts to make things happen. And he helps arrange a tour for her and playing engagements in England. So for this to happen, Kathleen's mum, she's, she's I'm getting stage mum vibes. Yes.  Because she's still very, still very young. Oh, yeah. I mean, I can't believe she wasn't playing with dolls.  And this would have been a conversation between Minnie, Kathleen's mum, and the teacher. It probably wouldn't have been a conversation with her as a child. No, probably not.  You don't really choose much when you're six, seven. No, that's true. So the problem they have is that they have no money. So, so what do you do, Eric? You have no money, you have a prodigy. You exploit the prodigy by having them play and make an income for you, which is something that happens unfortunately to many, many talented musicians coming from, you might say, less well-off families. They end up becoming the breadwinner. All their focus gets put upon these, these kids. And so not only do they have the added burden of playing and making sure they keep up They're playing well, but they also have the burden of making sure that they play well enough to make an income so that their families can survive. I mean, that's a very familiar story, and it's a story that has more failures than winners, I'm afraid, because you do hear about the winners. You do hear about the Misha Elmans or the Yasha. Well, Heifetz is a little different because he had a more middle-class family, but you do hear of Oskar Shumsky, for example, who I know I knew personally, he says, don't believe that these violence that you hear about having normal childhood behind every great violence, there's always a mama or a papa. And I think he himself endured that kind of pressure, the pressure to somehow become. The breadwinner, or let's say the some, the pressure to become a great violinist, primarily because he would serve as the breadwinner for the family. Well, if you think about it, you could say that.  Violin playing in the early 20th century was very dominated by Russians, particularly Russian Jews. And one of the reasons for that was that in Russia, all the Jews were confined to an area known as the Pale of Settlement.  In other words, a designated area that they could live in, but they could not leave that particular area. And basically, some very gifted young students could get into university or could go into a conservatory, and one of the big examples was Misha Elman, and Misha Elman, you might say left the Pale of Settlement to go study with Leopold Auer in St Petersburg. And they had to get all sorts of permission to do that. Well, the success of Misha Elman, the global success, the international success, I think resonated so well. with the people in the ghetto that they sort of saw, wow, this is one of our boys and look what he's done. He's now playing for the crowned heads of Europe. So I think for them, they felt this was a way out. And if you think about it, the film, Fiddler on the Roof,  which is a famous musical and it was adapted as a famous film. And basically, that film, just the very title, talks about the Fiddler on the Roof. And the setting is in the Pale of Settlement, the Jewish ghetto in Russia. They're often subjected to random attacks by the Cossacks and all sorts of difficulties. But here, despite all that, you know they manage to survive. And of course the image of the Fiddler on the Roof. The violinist is exemplified, you might say, by Misha Elman, who literally grew up in the Russian ghetto. Yeah, and Misha Elman, he'll, he'll become, he He'll become important in our story, yeah. The money. This is not a problem. There is a wealthy admirer called Harriet Pullman, Carolan, in San Francisco. And she pays for Kathleen and her mother to take the trip to England. And in 1904, at the age of 14, Kathleen plays for King Edward VII at Buckingham Palace. And then in the next year in 1905, she and her mother, they come back to England. This tour marks the beginning of a life that she would lead for years to come of performing and playing. And so by the time she was 15, she was touring and playing with the London Symphony. And it was in a concert at the Wigmore Hall in London that she really shoots to fame.  So is the Wigmore Hall, is that, is that still today an important place to play? Oh, extremely so. It's funny because the Wigmore Hall was originally called the Bechstein Hall, and obviously during the wars, it became a much more the name was more neutralized to become less dramatic, and it became named after the street it's on, which is Wigmore Street. It was always a very important venue, but around the sort of 60s In the 70s it had declined a bit in its status because the South Bank had been built and so the Wigmore Hall was a little bit relegated to a sort of a little second class status. But in the past 20 years or so the Wigmore Hall has catapulted to  fame again and it's today one of the most distinguished halls. In London. All right. Okay. And this is, this is pre war. So it's, it would have been called? Bechstein. Okay. So it would have been called the Bechstein Hall when she played? Probably. Oh yeah, definitely. So the Bechstein Hall was, I think first opened in 1901 and it was built by the piano manufacturers, the German manufacturers Bechstein, hence the name. And after the First World War, I believe it was changed to a more neutral sounding, less Germanic name, and it adopted the name of the street that it's currently on, which is Wigmore Street. Incidentally, the first concert at Wigmore Hall was actually performed, was a violin and piano recital, performed by Eugene Ysaye and Federico Busoni.  And then one night in London, Kathleen and her mother went to another concert of another child prodigy called Mischa Elman. And he was, so he's the fiddler on the roof guy, and he was almost exactly the same age as Kathleen. He was just a few months there's just a few months difference between them. And she, she hears him playing this concert and she's, she's just blown away. Blown away, and after the concert, she and her mother decide that Kathleen, she just has to go and have lessons from the same teacher as this, as this, as Mischa. So the only thing, only little thing about Mischa Elman's teacher is that he is in Russia. And as far as anyone knows, no foreigners study in the St. Petersburg Conservatorium, but that is about to change. Definitely no ladies. So, Kathleen and her mother had arrived in England with 300 raised by their church in San Francisco and this was, it just wasn't enough to get them to Russia and to the conservatorium where the famed Leopold Auer was a professor, but get there they would because Kathleen's mum, Minnie, still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She went and petitioned the Canadian High Commissioner.  So she must have been, I feel like Minnie, she must have been very persuasive. Like there was nothing was getting in between, you know, her daughter and this career. Forceful, a task to be reckoned with, certainly. Yeah. She's like we'll get to England, we have no money. Not a problem. We're gonna, we're gonna get this teacher. He's in Russia. Not a problem. No foreigners. It, you know, it doesn't, it doesn't seem to be a problem for her, no girls. Not a problem. No foreigner has ever studied in this St. Petersburg conservatorium. Not daunted. They're off. They go. So to pay the cost travel, Minnie managed to get a loan from Lord Strathconia, the Canadian high commissioner.  And from there, mother and daughter travelled to Russia. And in October of 1906, Kathleen becomes the first foreigner to attend the St. Petersburg Conservatorium. And in her class are 45 Students and she's the only girl. And we have to remember this is pre-revolutionary Russia. So there's still the Tsar Nicholas the second at this point. Yeah. She's mixing in, in that set. So it's an interesting place to be as a musician. Cause you're frequenting the sort of the upper classes but you can come from, from nothing and arrive there. Her professor was the famed teacher, Leopold Auer, who had a knack of discovering talent. Leopold Auer was actually a Hungarian violinist, and he was trained in Vienna, and he also studied with Joachim.  And what happened was Russia has always had a sort of love for the violin, and they employed many people to teach at the conservatory, because they really embraced Western culture. They had A number of important French violinists come, but their big, you might say, catch was to get Vieuxtemps, Henri Vieuxtemps,  to teach for a number of years at, in St. Petersburg. And after Henry Vieuxtemps, they actually got Henry Wieniawski to teach at the conservatory. And when Wieniawski decided to go back to Europe, they employed Leopold Auer to take his place at St Petersburg. Right. So he's up there with the big names. Well, they were a little bit let down. I mean, that's what they were, I think, a little bit disappointed to replace Wieniawski with Leopold Auer because Wieniawski was such a major violinist. So he had initially a little rough time, but he was adored by Tchaikovsky and Tchaikovsky loved Auer's playing, dedicated a number of works for him, including the famous serenade melancholic, and wrote a lot number of ballet scores, which Leopold Auer played the solos for. But of course, they had a big rift when Tchaikovsky wrote his violin concerto for Auer, because Auer said it was unplayable.  And that really hurt Tchaikovsky's feelings. And it laid dormant for several years before another Russian violinist. Brodsky took it up, learned it, and. Premiered it in Europe first, and only after its success in Europe did he bring it back to Russia, where it became a big success, and Auer felt very bad about that, and in fact, just before Tchaikovsky died, a few months before Tchaikovsky died, story has it that Auer went to Tchaikovsky and apologized to Tchaikovsky for his initial mistrust of the concerto. In fact, by that time, Auer himself had actually performed the concerto, championed it, and taught it to many of his students.  Yeah, and we'll see in this story how sensitive composers are, and how easy it is to hurt their feelings and really create. Like a lot of emotional turmoil. That's coming up. So Auer, like he might not have been their first choice for replacing, but he did have a knack of finding star pupils. That is something that we see, that I see in the conservatorium. Every now and then you have a teacher who's very talented at finding talent. Absolutely. And I know in Australia you have one very distinguished teacher who I think now has been poached by the Menuhin School in, in England. Yes. And we're not going to talk about that. Yes, we won't.  Because it's Must be a sore point.  But we do see, we do see him every now and then when he comes back. So along with Elman and Efren Zimbalist, Parlow becomes one of Auer's star pupils and Auer was so taken with her playing that he often called her Elman in a skirt, which I think is supposed to be a compliment. And in Auer's biography, he writes, he says, “It was during this year that my first London pupil came to me, Kathleen Parlow, who has since become one of the first, if not the first, of women violinists”.  And that, he says that in his biography, My Long Life in Music.  So, Every year, Auer had a summer school in Kristiana, which is Oslo today. And Parlow spent her summers there and became a great favourite in Norway, which leads us to the next and perhaps one of the most marking events in her career and life. At 17, having spent a year at the conservatory in Russia, Kathleen begins to put on public performances she gives solo performances in both St. Petersburg and Helsinki. So these are two places she knows quite well by now. And these concerts were, they were very important as Kathleen's mother really had no money to support them. And so, with but you know, Minnie doesn't bother her, she just ploughs on. And so with the money from these concerts this would have to tide her over.  From letters that I've read, they were living in like this small apartment and then another friend writes, you know this other person, they've been saying you live in a tiny little place, but I'm not going to spread that rumor. And, and so it was a, it was a thing on the radar that they didn't have much money and they were scraping by and they were like frequenting people of much more wealthier than they were, so they were sort of on the fringes of society, but with her talent that was sort of pushing, people wanted to know her. So she makes her professional debut in Berlin and then began, she begins a tour of Germany and the Netherlands and Norway. And in Norway, she performs for the King Hakon and Queen Maud. Of whom she'll become a favorite. And, and her touring schedule was phenomenal. It was just like nonstop. So, yeah. For a 17-year-old that's, you know, she's going all over the world. And you were saying that Auer knew . Do Tchaikovsky do you think Auer, was he was giving her these pieces that did, that influenced him? Yes.  I mean, Tchaikovsky  wrote a number of violin, solo violin works before the concerto, the most famous of which is, of course, the Waltz Scherzo and the Serenade  Melancholique. One is a fast, virtuoso piece, the other is a slow, soulful piece. And I know that Auer was the dedicatee of certainly the Serenade Melancholique, which she did play. So, so Auer's giving her stuff from, you know, his friend Tchaikovsky to play. Now she's 17 and she's touring to support herself and her mother and she has an amazing teacher who probably understands her circumstances all too well because Auer growing up also found himself in her position, supporting his father in his youth with his playing. So she's studying in St. Petersburg, which is an incredible feat in itself. So she must have had quite a strong character and her mother, Minnie, also appears to be very ambitious for her daughter. We're talking about her mother being ambitious, but for Kathleen to, you know, she's her daughter, she, she must've had quite a strong wheel as well. Yes. Well, she certainly did.  I wish we knew more about her because maybe she was very subservient, you know, we have no idea. Maybe she didn't have, I mean, it's a speculation, of course. Yeah. We do have like hundreds of letters from Kathleen and there's a lot between her and Auer, and there's a real sort of paternal, he really sort of  cared for her like a daughter almost and she looked up to him like a father and he was always very correct about it, you know, he would always write the letter to her. To Minnie, her mother the correspondents, it was, and it was always very, everything was very above board, but a very, they were very close. Kathleen later says that after expenses, her Berlin debut netted her exactly 10 pounds.  She didn't know it at the time, but this was an indication of what her future would be like, and she would be sort of financially in a precarious state most of her life, and she would so her routine was she studies with Auer every summer in order to prepare, like they were preparing her repertoire for the next season of touring. So now she has a tour  in 1908, so she's still 17, almost 18. It's in Norway, and to understand just a little bit of the political climate in the country, We can see that Norway, only three years earlier, had become independent of Sweden and had basically become its own country. So there's this this great sense of nationalism and pride in being Norwegian. And they have a newly minted king, King Hakon, who she's played for, and his queen, who was, He was in fact a Danish prince. And then when Norway, the Norwegian parliament asked him if he would like to become the king of Norway when they had their independence. And he said, why not? As part of this great sense of nationalism Norwegian musicians, composers, writers, and poets, they were celebrated and became superstars. And, oh gosh, yes, We can sort of understand. Poets have sort of dropped off the list, but back then poets, they were a big deal.  So you add to this a young, fresh faced, talented Canadian girl who knows and understands their country. She arrives in Oslo to play in the National Theatre, where Norway's very own Johan Halvorsen who's conductor and composer and violinist, he's conducting the country's largest professional orchestra. And that night for Kathleen's concert, she plays Brahms and some of  Halvorsen's compositions and the two, Kathleen Parloe and Halvorsen, they would go on to become quite good friends and Halvorsen regarded her very highly in saying, he said that her playing was superior almost to all the other famous soloists who made guest appearances in the city. So, I mean, a lot of people went through Oslo, so that was, you know, high praise.  And Kathleen quickly Becomes a admirer of his and she would become a driving factor in him finishing his violin concerto that he'd been dithering over for a very long time.  And this is Kathleen playing one of Halvorsen's compositions. It's not his concerto, it's Mosaic No. 4. So back to the theatre. And it was a magical night with the romantic music of Brahms to make you fall in love. And everyone did, just some more than others. And to finish off, there's music from their very own Johan Halvorsen to celebrate you know, a Norwegian talent. So Kathleen plays her heart out and when the concert ended, the crowd goes wild and the 17 year old soaks up the thunderous applause. She's holding on tight to her violin as she bows to adoring fans. Tonight she is the darling of Oslo.  In the uproarious crowd stands a man unable to take his eyes off this young woman. Her playing has moved him and her talent is unbelievable.  This man makes a decision that will change both their lives forever. So, Einar Bjornsson had fallen head over heels for the 17 year old Canadian there and then. She would turn 18 in a few months. And in that moment, he decided to give her the most beautiful gift she would ever receive.  So, who is Einar Bjornsson?  So what we were saying, poets, poets are less of a, you know, a hot shot today, but Einar was the son of a very, very famous poet. A Norwegian businessman and son of one of the most prominent public figures of the day, Bjørnstan Bjørnsson. He was a poet, a dramatist, a novelist, a journalist, an editor, a public speaker, and a theatre director. Five years earlier, in 1903, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, and one of his poems, called ‘Yes, We Love This Land', was put to music and is the Norwegian national anthem up to this day. So, you could say he was kind of famous in these parts, and his personality alone would have easily filled. A concert hall, that one in Oslo.  Einar's father here, we're talking about Einar's father, he's the poet. Einar himself doesn't appear to have written any poetry. And this, so this situation could have been just fine the whole infatuation, love at first sight thing, except for a few things that put a spanner in the works. To begin with, Einar Björnsson is somewhat older than the youthful Kathleen he's 26 years older.  Then her, in fact, and for a 17 year old, that is a big age gap. So he's 45, but that aside, there is a problem that he's also married and has two children. His daughter is actually almost the same age as Kathleen she's 16, but he doesn't really seem to  see that. All he can see is this violinist and her talent. And he's been just, he's besotted and he's going to make a grand gesture. So obviously, one way to support the arts is to, what patrons do is they will buy, a lovely instrument and lend it to someone. So that's your normal affair. Obviously, one way to show his devotion to her is to find her a better violin. Hers is absolutely not good enough for someone of her talent. And he has to find her something amazing because she is amazing. He's determined to give her the most wonderful gift she has ever received.  So he goes out and he's a businessman. And so he goes to his businessman contacts. And Kathleen would have spoken to her entourage. I imagine, and I now finally finds a violin worthy of Kathleen's virtuosity, and it happens to be one of the most expensive violins on the market in 1908, and it's a 1735 Giuseppe Guarneri Del Gesu violin. It had previously belonged to great violinists  such as Giovanni Battista Viotti and Pierre Baillot. So just to clarify in the violin making world Antonio Stradivari and Guarneri del Gesù are the two top makers. If you're comparing two instruments, if one was owned by no one not anyone that you know. And then another one was owned by Viotti and Pierre Baillot . The one that's owned by Viotti and Pierre Baillot is probably going to be worth more. Yeah. So Viotti, he was just huge. He had a lot of instruments. I think he did a little bit of teaching and dealing on the side, Viotti. Like with the number of instruments named after him, or he just went through a lot of instruments. So she buys this violin, and it's not all smooth sailing to get the violin. Because she, there's this, there's a big correspondence between her and Auer, and we see that actually there's this letter where it says from Auer saying, I saw Hamming very cross.  He says that the violin is compromised if he takes it back. So at one point, I think she may have changed her mind about this violin, but Hamming the dealer was not okay with this. All the I'm just trying to read his writing, it's not that easy. All the papers brought the news That Kathleen bought it so the newspapers have already, so the, you've got Hamming, that's annoyed, the papers have already said they've bought this violin and he could not, it says he could not sell it soon and repeat the sale, waiting till he finds something equal to the Guarneri. He showed me a Strad, indeed wonderful, asking 60, 000 livres, which must be pounds, right?  A nice fellow, isn't he?  And now, goodbye, write to me.  Love, Auer.  They do end up getting the violin. They, they don't get the 60, 000 Strad that Hamming Gets all upset about and offers, which I think he might have been exaggerating the price just to make him calm down about and to keep the del Gesu. Then Einar gives this to Kathleen. So this is a very kind of strange situation because normally you don't, you don't actually give, the patrons don't actually give their instrument to the No, absolutely. That's a remarkable gift. Just in terms of, I mean, the gesture is very magnanimous, but in terms of financial, there's just a financial cost or value of the gift is quite enormous. And  so really after only knowing her for a month, Einar transfers this money into her account and she travels, Kathleen travels to Germany to the Hamming workshop and purchases her del Gesu violin for two thousand pounds  and in today's money  according to an inflation calculator, that is three hundred thousand pounds. Almost four hundred thousand US dollars. More than half a million Australian dollars, which at the time was a lot for a violin as well. So we're not I mean, I, today you'd be kind of happy to buy a Del Gesu for half a million, but then it was, it'd be a bargain. So, it's interesting this, like, he buys this, this young violinist this very expensive present and it's a, and it's a grey area and it's fraught with debate ethically, really. And I feel like today musicians find themselves sometimes in this position where they're sort of indebted to the, to a benefactor. It's almost feudal. I I feel cause at the same time you're very happy that they're lending it to you, but got to keep an eye on if it's a healthy relationship to. To get the money he had to get, you know, half a million pounds pretty quickly. If you remember, Ina's father was a very famous poet who'd won a Nobel Prize in literature and part of the prize is that you win a large sum of money. And so, what does Einar do? He goes and asks Dad. So he asks, he borrows, he borrows most of the money actually. Goodness knows how he convinced him, but you know, he's a businessman. And also for the remaining, he's married, remember, and he's married to, actually, to an heiress, and he takes a bunch of her, her dowry money and transfers this to essentially a teenager he met a month ago. The purchase of this incredibly expensive violin attracted, it attracted the attention of the press internationally, but journalists It's never really questioned the fact that this, this gift was given to a young woman by a, by an established family man. So everyone was just like, Oh, isn't it amazing? Because normally in this circumstance, people don't often give the instrument. You buy it as an investment and you'll lend it to someone. I think I've heard of like very few, very few cases of things being gifted, but actually normally your standard practice is to, to lend it to people. And most people playing on strads, that's, that's what it is, someone's lent it to them. How would you feel about someone giving a 300, 000 instrument to your daughter, who's a teenager? Well, I'd be, I mean, I'd just hate the sort of obligation that would involve, because On one hand, it is a very wonderful gift if it is a gift, but you almost expect that  there is some expectation in return, don't you? Yeah. It's like he's bought her almost.  Kind of.  So, Einar, as, as I mentioned, he's, he's from a well known Norwegian family. They're very patriotic. His father's writings really established a sense of pride and meaning to what it was to be Norwegian. And he was. Like his father was this beloved figure in the country and he was quite frankly a hard act to follow. But his children gave it a good shot.  You have Einar was one of five children. His father Bjornstein Bjornsson was the poet and public figure. He worked in a theatre. His mother was an actress when he'd met her. Which is a little bit risque also for the time. So they're a bit more of sort of an acting bohemian theatre family. His older brother Bjorn Bjornsson, just to be complicated here, his brother's called Bjorn Bjornsson.  And not to be confused with Bjornstein Bjornsson, his father. So he was a stage actor and a theatre director.  Like his dad. He was a playwright and he was the first theatre director of the National Theatre. And that was the big theatre in Oslo where Kathleen played. He was also quite busy in his personal life, because his first wife was Jenny Bjornsson. I mean, another Bjornsson. Boarding house owner. So he married her for four years. So this is Einars older brother. He married her for four years, then he divorced her, then he married an opera singer. Called Gina Oselio for 16 years, but then he, they, they got divorced, and then he married in 1909 Aileen Bendix, who was actually Jewish, and that's an important point, that she was Jewish, because at this time, things are kind of soon things will start heating up in Europe. And then he was, then there was Einar's younger brother called Erling Bjørnson, and he was a farmer and a politician for the Norwegian Far Right Party. So he was extreme right. Bit of a fascist. The other brother. So he was elected to the parliament of Norway and he was very active during World War II. So his two brothers have very, like, polarized opinions. Einar himself, he was a passive member of the far right party, but during the war years at that time that was the only party that people were allowed to be part of, so you can't, it's hard to tell his political leanings from that. Then he has a younger sister.  Bergliot Bjornson, and she was a singer and a mezzo soprano, and she was married to a left wing politician Sigurd Ibsen, who was, he was the son of a playwright, and he becomes the Norwegian Prime Minister, so he plays a central role in Norway getting its independence. He met Einar's sister because he's a big patriot. Einar's father is a big patriot and that's how they were kind of family friends. It's not bad, you know, having your husband as the prime minister. Then he has another little sister called Dagny Bjornson and she was 19 when she marries a German publisher called Albert Langdon and so they're sort of like leftish as well. So Einar, he marries the sister of Albert Langdon. So they have this joint brother sister wedding. On the same day, the Bjornson brothers sisters marry the Langdon brothers sisters. But, the important thing to know is that the Langdons are very, very wealthy. They're orphans and they, they've inherited a lot of money. And so, but then Dagny, she ends up leaving her husband. Goes to Paris and works at another newspaper. And this is all in the, you know, the early 1900s.  So she had this amazing life and then and then she marries another man, a French literate called Georges Sartreau well he comes also from a very wealthy family. Then you have Einar, who's a businessman, and he marries Elizabeth and they have two children, and his life is like not that remarkable. I think the most exciting thing he does is fall in love with Kathleen, I suppose, and sort of runs after her and her violin. From Kathleen's diaries, we can see the day after this concert in Oslo on the 10th of January, it's written 10th January, Mr Bjornson, 11;30am She meets with him the day after skiing and tobogganing with the Bjornsons. She has a concert the next day, but the day after that it's dinner with the Bjornsons, then another concert. And then she plays for the King. Then she goes to dinner with the Bjornsons. So this is just an excerpt from her diary for those weeks. And the next day, it's just Mr. Bjornson. That's just her meeting him not with the family. And maybe this is where he says, you know, I'll get you a violin. Maybe that was that meeting. And then on the 28th of February, she's in Germany and, and he's there. Einar is there. He goes to see her. Then on the 6th of March, she's in Amsterdam and in her diaries, you know, Mr Bjornson, he's there. He's kind of like, I don't know if this is creepy. He's following her around and then, and it's around about this time that he buys the violin for her. So she finishes her tour and she goes back to England and a month later in her diary, who rocks up?  I know, he's there.  In England, and she's still only 17 there. It's like he's kind of shadowing her a bit. Yes, it's that next level patronage.  And then there's the, the aesthetic at the time, the, the pre-Raphaelite willowy type woman, which she fits perfectly into. And Kathleen, if you, if you see Kathleen, it's kind of like. John William Waterhouse, his paintings. There's women in these long flowy robes with flowers in their hair and long willowy postures and, they're often like, you know, they're flopping about on something like a chair or there's this one holding this pot of basil. And there's that famous painting, The Lady of Shalott, where you've got this woman float, is she, is she dead? She's floating in the water with her hair and, and all this fabric and flowers and.  In a promotional article, there was this quote from a review in the Evening Sun. “Kathleen Parlow, tall, straight, slim, and swaying as the white birch sapling of her native Canada, but a spring vision, but a spring vision all in pink from her French heels to her fiddle chin rest and crowned with parted chestnut hair of a deeper auburn than any Stradivarius violin made an astonishing impression of masterful ease”. I don't know if men were described like this, but they loved her. She's like a white birch.  Well she's very slender, she had beautiful long hair she was very thin, very fragile, and I think she sort of exemplified this pre Raphaelite beauty basically and that was so enchanting to have someone who  was almost from another world playing the violin divinely. I think she must have cut an incredibly attractive image  for the day. Absolutely. Yeah. And then she would have been like playing these like incredible romantic pieces. It would be juxtaposed with her playing. Yeah. And yeah. Yes. So she was this real William Waterhouse figure with her violin.  So she's lithe and willowy, and she has her touring schedule, which was phenomenal. She, so she tours England, Finland, Belgium, Germany, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway. Just to name a few. It just kind of stopped after that. It was just never ending. And you have to remember it's the beginning of the 20th century,  and traveling, it's not like it is today. It was much more. Uncomfortable. I mean, it's incredible. You see one day she's in one country, the next day in another country. So this must have been quite fatiguing. And she's just playing night after night. Her mother, Minnie, she's her, she's, they're quite close. She's, and often like with these, with prodigies, often their parents. They're best friends, like they're the only constant in their life. So in the summers, she returns to Oslo every year for the summer school hour that's helping her for the next concerts. She spends quite a lot of time with Halverson, going to lunches and teas and rehearsals with him. You can see this in her diaries.  But is this, is this kind of the life of a musician as well? Like you have to, you have to go to a lot of teas and lunches with people to please patrons and so on. Yes, I think you do because musicians don't normally have much money and so to ingratiate themselves to patrons and sponsors they really had to coax them into help Yeah, because she's living this life sort of beyond her means, going to the theater, going to concerts and things, and sort of a balancing act. Back in Norway, and a week after she turns 18, there's an entry in her diary, play for Mr. Bjornson, and the next month her entries, they change slightly, and she'll now just call him E. B. For Einar Bjornson and the entries will say things like E. B. arriving and then often like a week later It's E. B. leaving and in her diaries, it's intermittently always though he'll be there for a week wherever she is often in England or and every few months He'll just pop up, you know in London in Germany in the Netherlands And he just always happens to be happens to be there and what's interesting is she has these hundreds of letters archived Of her writing to friends, to family, to her pianist. And it's really interesting that there's zero letters to Einar. There's no correspondence between them, which I think is maybe on purpose, they may be, they have to have been removed because she just writes letters to everyone, but we don't have these, any letters from them, so it just leaves things up to speculation. This brings us to the end of part one in the story of Kathleen Parlow. I would encourage you to keep listening to the music of Kathleen. To do this, Biddulph Recordings have released two CDs that you can listen to on Apple Music, Spotify, or any other major streaming service. You can also buy the double CD of her recordings if you prefer the uncompressed version. I hope you have enjoyed her story so far, but stick around for part two to find out what will happen with her career, the violin, the man who gave it to her, and the mystery behind a missing concerto that Kathleen would, in part, help solve after her death.  Goodbye for now.   ​ 

Part II Kathleen Parlow was one of the most outstanding violinists at the beginning of the 20th century. In 1912, she was signed by the Columbia Record Company in New York, and her first records for the U.S. label were brought out alongside those of the legendary Eugene Ysaÿe. Listen to her fascinating story and how she took the world by storm. From her devastating looks to the intrigue her priceless instrument created. You will hear rare recordings of this prodigious player as we retell her life and try to understand why such an incredible talent has been so forgotten today. Brought to you by Biddulph recordings   Transcript     Welcome to the Historical String Recordings podcast, a show that gives you a chance to hear rare and early recordings of great masters and their stories.  My name is Linda Lespets and my co host is Eric Wan. This is part two of the story of the remarkably talented violinist Kathleen Parlow. In part one, we met a prodigious talent. She was the first foreigner to study in the Russian Conservatorium in St. Petersburg with the famous teacher Auer, and her most ardent admirer had given her an extraordinary gift of a Guarneri del Gesù violin. But just how far can talent, hard work, and good looks get this young woman in the beginning of the 20th century? Keep listening to find out. So now it's 1909 and Kathleen has her career taking off. She has her teacher with connections, she has her violins, and the concert that she did in the National Theatre, the one where Einar saw her for the first time, the one with Johan Halvorsen conducting, well Kathleen and Johan hit it off. And now, a year later Johan Halvorsen has finished his violin concerto, and he's been working so long and hard on it, like it's his baby and, he actually dedicates this concerto to Kathleen Parlow, and asks her to premiere it with the Berlin Philharmonic at the Modenspa outside The Hague in the Netherlands in the summer of 1909. Then Johan Halversen writes this concerto, which is sort of athletic and sort of gymnastic to play. And  he finishes it and dedicates it to her to Kathleen Parlow. And she plays this very tricky piece which kind of shows his faith in her virtuosic talents.  Well, one of her first recordings was the Moto Perpetuo by Paganini and Auer says it's one of the most difficult pieces in terms of bowing technique ever written, he says in one of his books. The reason why is one has to keep a very controlled bow, crossing strings all over the place, and play it very rapidly. Now Kathleen Parlow's recording of the Paganini Moto Perpetuo, which was made in her first recording session for HMV, is really astounding. It's the fastest  version ever made. I think it's even faster than the Jascha Heifetz and Yehudi Menuhin.  Clean as a whistle, but she also phrases it so beautifully. So she doesn't just play it technically very fast. She really shapes, you know, it's all regular sixteenth notes or semiquavers, and yet she shapes the line beautifully and really gives a direction. So when you hear this, you realize she's more than just a virtuoso performer. She's somebody with real musicianship.  She's an astounding player. And this concerto, it's quite interesting. It's, it's tricky and it's a piece that really shows off a virtuoso. So it's, it's quite a good one for Kathleen. And at the same time, he gives it a Norwegian twist. It's cleverly composed and a virtuoso such as Kathleen was perfect for playing this piece. There are references to Norwegian folk music. In the last movement, we can hear pieces that were traditionally played on the Norwegian Hardanger fiddle. So it's a violin that has sympathetic strings that run under the fingerboard, and it gives it quite like a like a haunting sound, a very kind of Scandinavian sound. So there are bits in this concerto that are from traditional music played on that violin. Then there's, there's this fun bit which makes a reference to a traditional Norwegian dance called the Halling Dance. And the Halling Dance is danced, it's danced by men at weddings or parties, and there's really no other way to describe it than breakdancing and it's like the ancestor of breakdancing. So what happens is the men, they show off their prowess to the ladies by doing this really cool sort of these acrobatics and the music for this hailing dance itself is quite tricky and you have to play it with like a rhythm to get the crowd moving and to give the dancer like the impetus to do his tricks and the men, they wear these like traditional costumes of like high waisted breeches and red waistcoats with long puffy sleeves and this little black hat. It's a bit like Mr. Darcy meets Run DMC.  You've got this man in this traditional dress doing this breakdancing, basically. And then they do they do backflips. They do that thing where you hold your foot and you jump through it with your other foot. They do like the caterpillar move. Even like spitting around on their heads. And what happens is they'll be, they'll be dancing to this music often played with, you know, the epinette and they'll be spinning around and then intermittently after spinning around, they'll do, you know, the backflip and the headspin or the, the caterpillar. And it's, I don't know how they do it. It's, they must be very dizzy. Anyway, it's incredible. And then sort of the climax of the dance is that there's a woman also, you know, dressed traditionally, and she's got this pole, this long pole. And on the end of the pole is a hat. And the idea is you have to kick the hat off, but the pole is three meters high.  So she's standing on like a ladder with the pole. And so the dancer, he'll do this kind of flying kick in the air. Either you can, you kick it off or you miss it. So in Johan Halvorsen's concerto at the end, there's this high harmonic and that you either have to hit on the G string. And like in the dance, you know, you're hitting that hat off. And so you're always there. You're always wondering if the soloist can pull it off. Can they, can they hit that high harmonic? And it's, it's the same sort of the equivalent of the spinning high kick from the dance. So, and if you were Norwegian, You would get this, I think, from the, from the music and you'd hear it. You hear that you do hear it in the music. So Kathleen Parlow, she plays this Halversen concerto and she plays it three times that year, and when she plays the piece in the National Theatre in September, there's sort of, there are mixed reviews with the critics saying that the piece was too unconventional. It's a little bit different and here's where Halvorsen, he like, he kicks up a stink a bit. This, because this concerto is like his baby and he's really protective and he's like, you know, he's quite fragile. He's, he's worked so much on this thing and people are just saying, you know, nasty things.  They don't understand the work that went into it. Yeah, you write a concerto.  So people, they flocked to hear Kathleen play Johan Halversen's concerto at the theatre. And it was full to bursting on several nights in a row. And if you consider on the same night in Oslo in another hall, Fritz Kreisler was playing and here you have Kathleen Parlow and people are just like cramming in to see her and Halvorsen's concerto. She was a huge name in her time. Only after a few performances and the negative critiques, Johan Halvorsen, he cancelled all the future performances of the work and, and when he retired, he burnt the manuscripts and asked for all the copies to be destroyed as well, it really, he was really hurt. Well, it was to be lost forever, except So a hundred years later, a copy of the concerto was serendipitously found in the University of Toronto's Faculty of Music, when one of the employees was looking through, not music, but personal documents of Kathleen's and it had been filed in there by mistake. And because it was with her personal files, it hadn't really, like her letters and things, it had been overlooked. So they found it and they resurrected it and they've re performed this concerto that had been lost for a hundred years.  And that's another role as a musician. You're also not managing, but you also have to deal with composers that could have quite be quite touchy and everything like a musician has to have, have on their plate. Well, I think being a musician, not only do you have to have an incredible skill level, you have to have an engaging personality. You have to be able to transmit a personality through the music itself. And you have to have incredible social grace to navigate charming not only your audience, but charming the people who create the concerts, the sponsors, the people who bankroll them. I think it's an incredibly difficult task. Because the skill level playing the violin is so difficult. That in itself would take up most people's energy. But on top of that, also have to be ingratiating and charming. I think it's an incredibly difficult life. Yeah, must be exhausting. And she does get exhausted. She'll have Breakdowns through, like her first one is when she's about 22. She has like almost like a nervous breakdown. And so it's kind of, she runs hot for a long time and then crashes.  And it might be like, you're saying like all these different things they have to, all the balls that they have in the air that they're juggling to keep it going. Kathleen Parlow, she's still in her teens. She's still a teenager. She has incredible success. She's performing in Germany and the Netherlands. And later that same year, she returns to Canada where she makes an extensive tour. She makes her debut in New York and Philadelphia.  I mean, she's just like, she's just all over. I mean, America's a big place and she's just all over the place.  And then in 1909, at the age of 19, she gets a recording contract with the gramophone company known as his master's voice. And that's the one with the dog listening into a recording trumpet.  And she was offered a 10 percent artist's royalty figure. So is that good? Getting 10 percent royalties? Yes. A 10 percent royalty at that time. is really quite unheard of. I believe the gramophone company gave that to their superstars. Louisa Tetrazzini, for example, was the great coloratura soprano of the day, and she received 10 percent of the sales royalty. So for Kathleen Parlow to be receiving that percentage really attests to her status. Yeah. And like you were saying before, it was, it's like amazing that we've forgotten about her. Oh, it's kind of astounding. She was an absolute star. The concert halls and one newspaper wrote an article and I quote one of the articles, the young woman could not mistake the furor she created. She was, so she was described as the greatest woman violinist in the world and the girl of the golden bow and Of course the obsession with her willowy figure and pale complexion and feminine wilds continues Which is sort of I mean even the case today I suppose will people will go into describing a woman and what she's wearing what she looks like a bit more than a guy, this thing that's just pervaded and then there was Einar Bjornsson, always there in the background. The communications between them, himself and Kathleen, was sort of constant. He was always visiting and in her diary she was, you know, just abbreviating his name because it was so his feelings for the young woman were extreme and the money he borrowed from his father, he would never be able to repay. So he was sort of indebted his whole life because of this. It must have been a little bit awkward explaining to his wife as well where the money has gone. Yeah, it's a big chunk of her dowry. I mean, even if he did tell her, maybe, you know, I don't know, maybe he didn't tell her. Maybe she, it was possible for him to do that. I'm not sure how the laws in Norway work. If, you know, sometimes in some countries, once you marry, your, your money becomes your husband's.  Basically, after the successful gramophone company recordings, she was really launched her career. She travelled all over. She travelled to, back to the United States, even though she's from Canada. She was regarded as a British artist, primarily because Canada was part of Britain, but then she made her success in the United States. And she was a very big success, so much so that the Columbia Record Company decided to offer her a recording contract. Now, there were two main companies in the United States. One of them was the Victor talking machine, which is essentially, that later became RCA Victor when it was bought by the Radio Corporation of America. But it originally started as the Victor talking machine. They had many, many big artists. They had people like Fritz Kreisler and Mischa Elman, and they also engaged a female violinist by the name of Maude Powell, who was an American born violinist. And so the Columbia Record Company decided that they should have their own roster of great instrumentalists, particularly violinists. And so they signed up Eugene Ysaie,  the great Belgian violinist, but at the same time they also signed up And I think, in a sense, that was to somehow put themselves in competition with the Victor Company. These two major record companies in the United States. So you had  the Victor Company with Mischa Elman and Fritz Kreisler and their female star, Maude Powell. And then you have Columbia answering back with Eugenie Ysaie and their female star, Kathleen Parlow.  Yeah. So you have like we were saying, like all the relationships that you have to keep juggling as a musician. And I think what Kathleen Parlow had on top of that was this. This complicated relationship with Einar, her, her patron, who was, who it was, it's all a bit ambiguous what was going on there, but she also had that in the equation. So it's not surprising that she had multiple breakdowns like she would just go for it and then, and crash. And she plays, I think Kreisler's tambourine chinois. And was that because there was sort of this, like this kind of fascination with the Orient at that time in the, in like the 1910s, 1920s? Well, the origin of tambourine chinois, apparently according to Kreisler, but Kreisler always spun tall tales. He said that he was in a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco when the idea, the musical ideas of tambourine chinois came to, to being. So, but Kreisler always. You know, invented stories all the time. I mean, the thing is, it's a very  playful, it's a very you know, fun piece of music. It's very bustling.  So, hence, that's why probably Fritz Kreisler is associated with a busy Chinese restaurant in San Francisco, because it's very, very bustling in its character. But the middle section of Tamborine Chinois It's Act Viennese,  so it's funny, because the middle section, when you hear it, it doesn't sound like anything  to do with the Orient, or if anything, it sounds like the cafe, coffeehouses  of Vienna. Yeah, it'd probably be cancelled anyway today. Well, if they heard that story, it certainly would. Then, she actually only does her first tour in America when she's 20. Kathleen, she continues with her endless touring and concert. Her money management was never great, although, you know, she's still, she's still earning quite a lot of money, and her mother and herself had, they had enough to live on, but never enough to be completely hassle free. And not that she wanted it, it seemed like she was sort of addicted to this life of the stage, and she once said when she was older that she thought maybe she had to get a job teaching, but she just couldn't do it.  She played more than 375 concerts between 1908 and 1915 and, and you can believe it to get an idea. So she's 19 year old's touring schedule. Here are the countries she played in in 1909. And you have to remember the concerts are nonstop every night, almost in different cities, but here are just, here are just some of the countries she travelled to in this year, in 1909. Germany, England, Poland, Netherlands, then she goes back to England, Ireland, Germany, England, the Netherlands, Norway, Wales, England again, Ireland again, England, Scotland, Poland. Man, I gave it, it was just, you know, huge. And in her diaries we can see that she's, like, she's just a young woman, like, about town when she's in London, she takes trips to the theatre, and she talks about going to see Madame Butterfly, and she goes shopping, and she goes to tea with people she has like, appointments at the dressmaker for fittings for new dresses, and, and all of this is in between lessons, and rehearsals, and concerts. And her diary is just jam, she has these day books and they're just jam packed. Then Auer when he comes to London, her diary, it's like she has lessons with him. And you can see she's sort of excited, she's like hours arriving and then she'll see him and then she'll often have lunch with him and lessons and sometimes the lessons are at eight o'clock at night or, or 10am on a Saturday or at the middle of the night on a Monday. And she'll skip from him to rehearsals with her pianist from Carlton Keith. And she's lots of tea. She's going to tea a lot with a lot of different people. She's still only 19 here. So her popularity, it's like, it's far reaching and she's not just playing like classical music. She'll also play just popular pieces of the day. There's Kreisler's Tambourine Chinoise. And then she'll play, there's some of the recordings. They're these Irish, little Irish. Songs. So it was to appeal to the general public as well, her repertoires and her recordings. And then in 1910, she turns 20 and she has her first tour in North America. And then in 1911, the New York Herald declares her as one of the phenomena of the musical world on par with Mischa Elman. That must have been frustrating because for years she's in the same class as him and she knows him. And everyone just keeps comparing her to, she's like, Oh, she's almost as good as this guy. But no, here they're saying she is as good as this guy. I could just, must've been a little bit frustrating. Then she makes an appearance with the Toronto Symphony in 1911 and she'll go back there many times. And in the next year, in 1912, she moved with her mother, who's still her mentor and manager and chaperone, to England, where they, they rent a house just out of Cambridge, you know, in the peaceful countryside away from the big cities. And in between her touring from here, she went, she goes to China, to the U. S., to Korea and Japan. And in Japan, she records with Nipponophone Company. She recorded quite just in a not much in a short space of time. She could have, she could have recorded more afterwards, because yeah, but she doesn't. Then the news of the tragic sinking of the Titanic in April had Kathleen jumping on a streamliner herself to play a benefit concert in New York for the survivors of the disaster. And I've seen that booklet, and that you open the booklet, and there's like, life insurance.  And then there's actually ads for another streamliner, and you're like, too soon, too soon, people don't want this. And then she plays, so on that same trip, she plays at the Met Opera. She plays Tchaikovsky's Serenade, Melancholique.  And in New York, she signed up by Columbia Record, by the Columbia Record Company. And her first records for the US label are brought out alongside those of Eugene Ysaye. So she's alongside these, they all, they must've all known each other. She was a contemporary and she just kind of slips off the radar. And as with all the recordings of the great violinists of the day, most of Paolow's recordings on American Columbia were of popular songs and that, that would attract the general public. But the fact that most of these recordings were accompanied by an orchestra and not just piano highlights her status as a star. So they had the, they got together an orchestra for her, so she's worthy of an orchestra.  Still in 1912, Kathleen, she's 22 now and she's been traveling so much, she's, now it's happening, it's hitting her, she's exhausted and she has a kind of breakdown it'd probably be like a burnout and, which, it's amazing she's lasted this long, since, you know, age 5, 6, up to 22. So she's both mentally and physically exhausted and her mother, acting as her agent, realizes that she needs to reduce some of her tours. She retreats to Meldreth, that's that house just outside of Cambridge that they have, that they've been renting. It's quite close to London, that little cottage that they have. They have easy access to London by train. And not only could they go easily to London, but traveling, traveling businessmen! From Norway! Could come to them! Easily. She continues with the concerts, one at Queen's Hall in London. So she has her little burnout, but then she's back again. Plays Schubert's Moment Musical around this time. After they've rented this home for four years, they end up buying it. So she does have enough money to buy a house, so she is you know, not frittering away all her money. So this gives her some sort of stability. And it, even though it's a, it's still a very unusual existence for a young lady of the day. So she's breaking a lot of stereotypes and this could end up being exhausting after a while. So it was nice for her to have a calm place to kick up her heels or fling off her corset. But no, she didn't, but willowy frame, she doesn't look like she's got a corset. I don't think you can play. Can you? Could you play that much? You know, you can't breathe. But, but, aren't there like old photos of, of lady violinists in corsets? I don't know how they do it. Like, you can't.  Well, you had to do everything else in the corset.  But you get kind of hot and sweaty and you're under the lights and it must have been exhausting. At least she was like lucky to have that pre Raphaelite fashion where she could be wearing, you know, the flowing sort of we're heading into the, the sort of the looser clothes in this era. But I think some people are still hanging on to corsets, but it's like the end of corsets and you're getting more loose clothing thankfully for her. And according to letters Kathleen wrote to friends her and her mother, and they fell in love with the village life in Mildreth. Kathleen was able to relax and lead a normal life in between tours. And then in 1915, you have World War I hits, and her tours are less frequent. Her, her patron Einar, must have been having some lively fun. Dinner conversations with his family on opposing sides.  So you've got, you know, with his, you know, fascist party, enthusiastic brother and his ex-prime minister brother in law and his theatre operating lefty brother and his Jewish wife and his Left wing satirical journalist sister, and her German husband, and then,  and then his patriot father. So Einar probably just wanted to run away to willowy Kathleen, and her stunning violin. But she remains in England for much of the war, and she does a few concerts locally.  And her diary is quite blank until about 1916. And she uses, like, so she uses this time to relax. So ironically, she needed a war. To have a rest. That was the only thing slowing her down. She could, because she couldn't travel and tour. Now she's 26, but I feel like she's just, she's lived so much already. It's incredible. So Meldreth was the happy place where she enjoyed their lovely garden and their croquet lawn and Miss Chamberlain from the Gables next door would come and play croquet and she could escape to another world, almost. She'll go through periods of having these sort of breakdowns. I think she just pushes, there are some people like that. They'll push themselves; they just keep pushing themselves until they collapse. And I feel like she was one of, she looks like she didn't really pace herself. She just went, just hurtling into it. She just catapults herself into life and concerts and playing.  In 1916, she returned to the US. She toured Norway and the Netherlands. For playing she was said to possess a sweet legato sound that made her seem to be playing with a nine foot and was admired for her effortless playing, hence her nickname, the girl with the nine foot bow. So yeah, so she must have had this really kind of, it's hard to tell, you want to be there in the concert hall to hear her. I feel like the recordings don't do her justice. A lot of Experiencing music and these pieces is actually going to a concert and it's the same today listening  on a you know, at home, it's not the same as being in a concert hall and having that energy of the musician and the energy of the orchestra and the and the audience,  it's very different dynamic. She recorded a few small pieces for Columbia records. And then that was, that was it. And we have no more recordings of her. And between 1917 and 1919, she wasn't able to tour outside England due to the war that was going on. And for the last 12 years, Einar Bjornsson had. He'd been this presence in her life, but now in the summer of 1920, he visited her one last time in London before sailing home for good. So that.  So it finishes at this time, so he was, he was married, he had children, he was also broke. Buying a horrendously expensive violin and giving it to a girl can do that to you. And Kathleen writes, Kathleen writes in her diary simply, E. B. Sailing home. Einar had to return to his family as soon as possible because he couldn't afford to divorce his wife. Elspeth Langdon, she was, she wasn't going to let him off that easily. And if he left, he would have had to repay the, the dowry, I imagine.  Thank you. Thank you very much.  As I said, there are just no letters of her correspondence. There's correspondence between her and everyone else, but not with them. So that still remains. But you can sort of see by circumstance what was kind of going on. And after the Great War, Kathleen Parlow, she resumed her career in full force. She gave several world tours traveling to the Middle East, to India, to China, to Korea and Japan. And she toured the States, Canada, Indonesia and the Philippines in that year and she played concerts in 56 different cities. It was just non stop and in, and when I say 56 different cities, that's not 56, you know, concerts. That's like multiple concerts in each.  City, night after night.  And then in 1926, Kathleen and her mother, they leave England and they move to San Francisco. She takes a year off due to her mental health. So again, she's like, she's overdone it. The stress and basically, you know, a nervous breakdown and she's now in her mid thirties. But after having this year off, she's back onto it. She's back touring again. It's like this addiction, like you were saying, this is what, it's kind of like her, what makes her run. It's what, You know, keeps her going. But at this point she begins to slow down slightly and she starts teaching a bit. Starts teaching more and in 1929 she tours Mexico and she travels without her mother for the first time. Because her mother, Minnie, she would have been getting quite old and then Kathleen she's 39 now. So despite playing many concerts and receiving very high praise financially, she's barely kind of breaking even and she later told an interviewer that when things were very hard she and her mother had talked about her getting a job to ensure their security for the future but she just couldn't do it. And then, but then she did end up teaching at Mills College, Oakland, California. For from 1929 to 1936, but then her world tours continued and this is like, this is how she thrived, even though she would, you know, she'd crash and burn and from the exhaustion and, but then, you know, then she would go back. She realized she had to teach to earn some money. And then she returned to Canada in 1941, where she remained until she remains there until she dies in 1963.  She's offered a job at the Toronto College of Music and she begins making appearances with orchestras. She has a pianist, she has the, she creates the Parlow String Quartet, which was active for 15 years. Even though this time was difficult financially for her, she would,  she would never give up her violin. You know, she was struggling, just scraping by, but she, she would never give up her violin and so, I mean, it was a tricky situation. It was, it was a gift. Yeah. I mean, could you imagine? Like, she must've realized what Einar went through to give this to her and she can't, you know, she can't just be like, I'm going to sell it. So there's this sort of, it's like she's holding on to a bit of him really, like, by keeping it, if she, she gives that up.  So she taught at the University of Toronto and on her wall was a large portrait of her teacher, Leopold Auer, whom she would always refer to as Papa Auer. Now that she'd given up her career as a soloist, but she still remains very active in chamber music, concerto appearance. October of 1959, she was made head of the string department at the London College of Music in West Ontario, Canada. She never marries, and she dies in Oakville, Ontario, in 1963 at the age of 72. She kept her Guarneri del Gesu until her dying day, and the instrument was sold with her estate. The Kathleen Parlow scholarship was set up with the proceeds from the sale of her violin and the money from her estate. So Kathleen Parlow was a somewhat extraordinary woman, ahead of her times in many ways, and her relationship with Einar, must have been pretty intense. And it was, there was obviously strong feelings there. And even though it's a very grey area, we don't know her love life contrasts with her, her brilliant career and her phenomenal touring and the, the energy that she had to do, it was.  Exceptional she just does these brief recordings and then she does no more. And maybe, maybe that's why we've forgotten her. Have the other, did the others go on to keep recording? Well, they did. They certainly did. I think I'm surprised that Kathleen Parlow didn't make more recordings. I really am. And I don't know what that's about. I can only speculate, but I think she also kind of retreated from concertizing, didn't she,  in her twenties? So, I mean, you know, she did play as far afield as the, you know, she went to China, she went to Japan. She even made recordings for the Niponophone Company in the early twenties. So she was obviously still a great celebrity. But it's sort of puzzling how somebody who had all their ducks in place to make a superstar career. You know, she had  talent, she had beauty, she had interest. You know, from the public, so support from her teacher, all those elements would guarantee a superstar career. But it's so mysterious that she kind of fell off the radar. So much so that her name is completely forgotten today. Yeah, it's one of the big mysteries, but it's really quite remarkable that she was such a terrific violinist, even at the end. It wasn't that she lost her nerve or lost her playing ability. She obviously had it. So there are definitely other factors. that made her withdraw from public concertizing.  And just her touring schedule is just exhausting. Like just the traveling. Yeah, it's crazy. I mean, I mean, this is truly an example of burnout. Yeah. But, but then she would, she would have the crisis and then she'd be back on, she'd be back touring.  Well, you know, she was pretty resilient. But I think just the sheer number of years, I think, must have taken its toll. I think she loved being in England, in Cambridgeshire. I think those were some really happy years for her, to have a home and in a beautiful setting. But it really, it's a very complicated life and a life that really, one would want to try to understand in a deeper way.  Yeah, and it seems a little nothing was ever very simple. Yeah, and she never, she never marries, she never has a family. It's Yes. Her life is really And you'd imagine she'd have suitors, you know, send them off because, you know, she was a talented, beautiful woman. So she's got Misha Elman. He could, like, if you were a man, you could easily get married and then your wife would have children. But at that time, if you married, like, she had to choose between getting married and her career. You couldn't work if, like and it often, like, you weren't allowed to work. Absolutely. Terrible. No, it's true. So she had this like, this threat, and that's all she could do. That was her life playing. And then if she married, that would be taken away from her. So she had to decide between, you know, a career and this. It's kind of, it's a bit sad, but yeah, it's a huge choice that she made and she  was married to life. Yeah. The sacrifice. One way or the other. Well, I think it's wonderful that she is being remembered  through this Buddulph recordings release.  And it's the first time there's ever been a recording completely devoted to her. So I'm really glad that. will be able to somehow restore her memory, just a little bit even. Well, thank you for listening to this podcast. And I hope you enjoyed this story about the incredible Kathleen Parlow.  If you liked the podcast, please rate it and review it wherever you listen to it. And I would really encourage you to keep listening to Kathleen Parlow's work. What you heard today were just excerpts from her songs. So if you would like to listen to. The whole piece, Biddulph Recordings have released two CDs that you can listen to on Apple Music, Spotify or any other major streaming service. You can also buy the double CD of her recordings if you prefer the uncompressed version.  Goodbye.   ​ 

#Armenia #folktale In this story, a man's kindness is repaid many fold, but is tricked out of his riches by a lying thief with echoes of Aladdin. There is also a bit of Urashima Taro (episode 76) in taking care of animals and paying people to leave them alone. And a tiny echo of episode 106 from Korea where the dog needs to keep something precious in its mouth. Source: Armenian Folk Tales collected by A.G. Seklemian Narrator: Dustin Steichmann Music: Ashot Ghevondyan - Erevan (popuri) Աշոտ Ղևոնդյան - Երևան (Պոպուրի) Ашот Гевондян -Ереван Sound effects: 10 Minute Rain by Dustin Steichmann Podcast Shoutout: book retorts. Hosts Danielle and Sam take you through books, movies, graphic novels, and whatever else they come across to keep you entertained. Episodes come out every other wednesday and I have to say I quite enjoy their media breakdowns. And if you like their show as much as I do, go and give them a like, a rating, and a five star review to help spread them around. Listener Shoutout: Birmingham UK. “Birmingham is a major city in England's West Midlands region, with multiple Industrial Revolution-era landmarks that speak to its 18th-century history as a manufacturing powerhouse. It's also home to a network of canals, many of which radiate from Sherborne Wharf and are now lined with trendy cafes and bars. In the city centre, the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery is known for pre-Raphaelite masterpieces.” ― says Google. And so to my listeners in Birmingham and their lovely brummy accents I say “thank you and goodnight” Photo Credit: "Hercules Ring" by Calgary Reviews is licensed under CC BY 2.0. Video by Headliner --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/sandman-stories/message

In this episode of the podcast, I talk to and Gary Kornblau about the 30th anniversary edition of Dave Hickey's seminal 1993 book The Invisible Dragon: Four Essays on Beauty. Blake is currently a fellow with the Center for Advanced Study in Sofia, Bulgaria, as well as the author a great (which is to say, very flattering) review of my 2021 book on Hickey, and he was a stalwart participant in the Substack “book club” I organized on the new edition of Dragon. Gary is faculty at the ArtCenter College of Design. More pertinently, he was Dave's great editor, having plucked him out of obscurity to write for art Issues, the small LA-based journal that Gary founded and edited. He was the one who gave Dave just the right amount of rein to do his best work, and also the one who conceptualized and edited both Invisible Dragon and Dave's subsequent book Air Guitar. The episode covers a lot of ground, including the impact of the original version of the book, the reasons why Gary decided to put out a 30th anniversary edition, and Gary's decision to use the opportunity to try to “queer” Dave. It's a blast. I hope you listen. I also wanted to take the opportunity to run the below excerpt from my book on Dave. It covers the background to the writing and reception of Invisible Dragon, and is, IMO, a mighty fine piece of writing in its own right. Hope you enjoy.On June 12, 1989, the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, announced that it was cancelling Robert Mapplethorpe: The Perfect Moment, its scheduled exhibition of photographs by the celebrated American photographer, who had died of AIDS in March. The Corcoran's primary motive in cancelling was fear.Only a few months before, a long-simmering debate about the role of the federal government in funding the arts had boiled over in response to Piss Christ, a photograph of a small icon of Jesus on the cross floating in a vitrine of urine. Its creator, Andres Serrano, had received a small chunk of a larger grant from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), and the offending photograph had been included in a touring exhibition that was also funded by federal money. During that tour, the photograph caught the eye of the American Family Association, a conservative Chris­tian advocacy group dedicated to fighting what it saw as anti-Christian values in entertainment and the arts. They rang the alarm.Soon after, New York Senator Alfonse D'Amato called out Piss Christ from the floor of the Senate. He tore up a reproduction of the photo and denounced it as a “deplorable, despicable display of vulgarity.” North Carolina Senator Jesse Helms, who would soon lead the charge against Mapplethorpe, added: “I do not know Mr. Andres Serrano, and I hope I never meet him. Because he is not an artist, he is a jerk. . . . Let him be a jerk on his own time and with his own resources. Do not dishonor our Lord.” Patrick Trueman, president of the American Family Association, testified to Congress that governmental support of work like Piss Christ would make it less likely that prosecutors would pursue or win cases against child pornographers.The ensuing congressional battle, over funding for the NEA, became the first in a series of broader cultural and political battles that would come to be known, in retrospect, as the “culture wars” of the 1990s. These battles would range not just over sex and politics in the arts, but also over issues like gays in the military, federal funding for abor­tion, and control over history and social studies curricula in the public schools. It was “a war for the soul of America,” as Pat Buchanan framed it at the 1992 Republican Party convention, a contest over whether the nation would continue to secularize and liberalize or would return to a more conservative social equilibrium.The full contours of the conflict weren't immediately evident in the aftermath of the Serrano affair, but it was very clear, right away, that the Mapplethorpe exhibit was another grenade ready to go off. Its orga­nizers at the University of Pennsylvania had received NEA money, and the Corcoran Gallery, walking distance from the White House, was too visible an institution to slide by the notice of people like Helms and D'Amato. So the Corcoran begged off, hoping to shield themselves from the shrapnel and avoid giving conservatives another opportunity to question the value of federal funding for the arts.Instead, they got fragged by all sides. By fellow curators and museum administrators, who believed the Corcoran's appeasement would only encourage more aggression from haters of contemporary art. By civil lib­ertarians, who saw the Corcoran's actions as an example of how expres­sive speech was being chilled by the culture war rhetoric of the right. By a major donor, a friend of Mapplethorpe, who angrily withdrew a promised bequest to the museum of millions of dollars. And, of course, by the conservatives they had been hoping to appease, who accurately recognized the blasphemy in Mapplethorpe's federally funded portraits of sodomites doing naughty things to each other and themselves.Piss Christ had been useful to the conservative cultural cause as an example of how homosexual artists were taking taxpayer money to spit on the values that decent Americans held dear, but it wasn't ideal. How blasphemed could a good Christian really feel, after all, by an image of Jesus as reverential as what Serrano had in fact made? His Christ was bathed in glowing red-orange-yellow light, the image scored by dots and lines of tiny bubbles that come off almost like traces of exhumation, as if the whole thing has been recently, lovingly removed from the reliquary in which it's been preserved for thousands of years.“I think if the Vatican is smart,” Serrano later said, “someday they'll collect my work. I am not a heretic. I like to believe that rather than destroy icons, I make new ones.”Mapplethorpe's pictures, though, were something else entirely, a real cannon blast against the battlements of heterosexual normativity. Where Serrano was mostly using new means to say some very old things about the mystery of the incarnation and the corporeality of Christ, Mapplethorpe was using orthodox pictorial techniques to bring to light a world of pleasure, pain, male-male sex, bondage, power, trust, desire, control, violation, submission, love, and self-love that had been ban­ished to the dark alleyways, boudoirs, bathhouses, and rest stops of the West since the decline of Athens. And he was doing so masterfully, in the language of fine art, in the high houses of American culture.There was Lou, for instance, which could have been a photograph of a detail from an ancient bronze of Poseidon except that the detail in question is of Poseidon's muscled arm holding his cock firmly in one hand while the pinky finger of his other hand probes its hole. In Helmut and Brooks, a fist disappearing up an anus plays like an academic exercise in shape and shadow. And in the now iconic Self-Portrait, Mapplethorpe has the handle of a bullwhip up his own rectum, his balls dangling in shadow beneath, his legs sheathed in leather chaps, his eyes staring back over his shoulder at the camera with a gaze so full of intelligence and vitality that it almost steals the show from the bullwhip.In response to these kinds of beautiful provocations, the outrage, which had been largely performative vis-à-vis Serrano, became rather genuine, and the whole thing escalated. By July, a month after the exhibition at the Corcoran had been cancelled, Congress was debating whether to eliminate entirely the $171 million budget of the National Endowment for the Arts. By October, a compromise was reached. The NEA and its sister fund, the National Endowment for the Humanities, would get their usual rounds of funding, minus a symbolic $45,000 for the cost of the Serrano and Mapplethorpe grants. They would be pro­hibited, however, from using the monies to support work that was too gay, too creepy in depicting children, or just too kinky. Exceptions were made for art that violated these taboos but had “serious literary, artis­tic, political, or scientific value.” But the point had been made, and the enforcement mechanism, in any case, wasn't really the articulated rules. It was the threat of more hay-making from the right and, ultimately, the implied promise that if NEA-supported institutions kept sticking their noses (or fists) where they didn't belong then it wouldn't be too long before there wouldn't be any NEA left.A few months later, in April 1990, the Contemporary Arts Cen­ter in Cincinnati, Ohio, took up the Mapplethorpe baton by opening their own exhibition of The Perfect Moment. Hoping to head off trouble, they segregated the most scandalous of the photos in a side room, with appropriate signage to warn off the young and the delicate. They also filed a motion in county court asking that the photographs be preemp­tively designated as not obscene. But the motion was denied, and the separate room proved insufficient buffer. When the exhibit opened to the public, on April 7, its attendees included members of a grand jury that had been impaneled by Hamilton County prosecutors to indict the museum and its director for violating Ohio obscenity law. Of the more than 150 images in the exhibit, seven were selected out by the grand jury for being obscene. Five depicted men engaged in homoerotic and/ or sado-masochistic acts, and two were of naked children.The trial that followed was symbolically thick. Motions were filed that forced the judge to rule on fundamental questions about the mean­ing and political status of art. Art critics and curators were called in to witness, before the largely working-class members of the jury, to the artistic merit of Mapplethorpe's photography. The indictment read like an update of the Scopes trial, captioned by Larry Flynt, in which “the peace and dignity of the State of Ohio” was being ravaged by bands of cavorting homosexuals.The jury issued its verdict in October 1990, acquitting the museum and its director. It was a victory for the forces of high art and free expres­sion, but a complicated one. The exhibition could go on. And Map­plethorpe's photographs—indeed, the most outrageous of them—had been designated as art by the State of Ohio and by a group of decent, law-abiding, presumably-not-gay-sex-having American citizens. But the cost had been high. Museums and galleries everywhere had been warned, and not all of them would be as willing as the Contemporary Arts Center of Cincinnati to risk indictment and the threat of defunding for the sake of showing dangerous art.Perhaps most significantly, the National Endowment for the Arts, and its new director, announced a shift in funding priorities in order to take the institution out of the crossfire of the culture wars. Less and less of their money, it was decided, would go to individual artists and exhibitions, and more of it would go to support arts enrichment—to schools, outreach programs, arts camps, and educational campaigns. Mapplethorpe and Serrano were out. Sesame Street was in.For Dave Hickey, a critic and ex-gallery owner, it was, finally, all too much. Not the opportunism of the Hamilton County sheriff and his allies. Not the predictable huffing from the bow-tied brigades, who took to the pages of their tweedy magazines to bellyache, as always, about what a precipitous decline there had been in cultural standards since the 1960s ruined everything. Not even the rednecking of the senator from North Carolina was the problem for Hickey.Each of these parties was performing its assigned role in the passion play of American cultural politics. Narrow-minded prosecutors would always try to run dirty pictures out of town. New Criterion-ites would avert their eyes from new art. Senators from North Carolina would dem­agogue about queers from New York City. You could be angry at having to contend with these actors, but you couldn't genuinely feel betrayed. You knew where they stood from the get-go, and half the joy of art, and of the artistic life, lay in trying to figure out how to shock, outwit, or seduce them.The betrayal, for Hickey, came from his colleagues, from the crit­ics, curators, gallerists, professors, and arts administrators with whom he had been uneasily mixing since the late 1960s when he dropped out of his doctoral program in linguistics to open an art gallery in Austin, Texas. They had been handed a rare opportunity to represent for all that was queer and decadent and artsy-fartsy in American life, to make the case that this—beautiful pictures of men seeing what it felt like to shove things up their asses—wasn't the worst of America but the best of it. And they had whiffed.“The American art community, at the apogee of its power and privi­lege, chose to play the ravaged virgin,” wrote Hickey, “to fling itself pros­trate across the front pages of America and fairly dare the fascist heel to crush its outraged innocence. . . . [H]ardly anyone considered for a moment what an incredible rhetorical triumph the entire affair signi­fied. A single artist with a single group of images had somehow managed to overcome the aura of moral isolation, gentrification, and mystifica­tion that surrounds the practice of contemporary art in this nation and directly threaten those in actual power with the celebration of margin­ality. It was a fine moment, I thought . . . and, in this area, I think, you have to credit Senator Jesse Helms, who, in his antediluvian innocence, at least saw what was there, understood what Robert was proposing, and took it, correctly, as a direct challenge to everything he believed in.”The Corcoran had been bad enough, throwing in the towel before an opponent had even stepped into the ring. But far worse, for Hickey, were the ones who had shown up to fight but had misread the aesthet­ical-political map so badly that they had gone to the wrong arena. The fight, he believed, should have been over whether it was okay or not in our culture to make beautiful the behaviors that Mapplethorpe had made beautiful. The fight should have been over what Mapplethorpe had done with his art. Instead, the public got bromides about free expression and puritanical lectures about the civilizing function of arts in society. Worst of all, in Hickey's eyes, was how quickly the art experts ran away from the rawness of Mapplethorpe's work, characterizing him as though he were a philosopher of aesthetics, rather than an artist, as though he chose and framed his subjects for the sake of what they allowed him to say, propositionally, about the nature of light and beauty and other such things.“Mapplethorpe uses the medium of photography to translate flowers, stamens, stares, limbs, as well as erect sexual organs, into objet d'art,” wrote curator Janet Kardon in her catalogue essay for the exhibition. “Dramatic lighting and precise composition democratically pulverize their diversities and convert them into homogeneous statements.””When it came to it on the witness stand in Cincinnati, even the folks who had curated the exhibition, who surely knew that Mapplethorpe would bring the people in precisely because he was so titillating—Look at the dicks! Hey, even the flowers look like dicks!—couldn't allow them­selves even a flicker of a leer. So Hickey called them out.In a series of four essays written between 1989 and 1993, which were assembled into the sixty-four-page volume The Invisible Dragon, he launched a lacerating critique of American art critical and art historical practice. It was so unexpected, and so potent, that by the time he was done, his own intervention—a slim, impossibly cool, small-batch edi­tion from Art issues Press—would be as transformative in the art critical realm as Mapplethorpe's photographs had been in the photographic.The Invisible Dragon began with a story. It wasn't necessarily a true story, but it was a good one. So good, in fact, that it has conditioned and, in significant ways, distorted perceptions of Hickey ever since.“I was drifting, daydreaming really,” wrote Hickey, “through the wan­ing moments of a panel discussion on the subject of ‘What's Happening Now,' drawing cartoon daggers on a yellow pad and vaguely formulating strategies for avoiding punch and cookies, when I realized I was being addressed from the audience. A lanky graduate student had risen to his feet and was soliciting my opinion as to what ‘The Issue of the Nine­ties' would be. Snatched from my reverie, I said, ‘Beauty,' and then, more firmly, ‘The issue of the nineties will be beauty'—a total improvisatory goof—an off-the-wall, jump-start, free association that rose unbidden to my lips from God knows where. Or perhaps I was being ironic; wishing it so but not believing it likely? I don't know, but the total, uncompre­hending silence that greeted this modest proposal lent it immediate cre­dence for me.”Hickey, an experienced provocateur, had been expecting some kind of pushback. (Beauty?! That old thing? The issue of the '90s? You gotta be kidding me.) When he got none, he was intrigued. His fellow panelists hadn't jumped in to tussle. The moderator didn't seem ruffled. No one from the audience harangued him after he stepped down from the dais. Rather than setting off sparks, he had soft-shoed into a vacuum, which meant he had misjudged something, and in that misjudgment, he sensed, there lay potential. (“I was overcome by this strange Holme­sian elation. The game was afoot.”) He began interrogating friends and colleagues, students and faculty, critics and curators for their thoughts on beauty and its role in the production, assessment, and consump­tion of art. What he got back, again and again, was a simple and rather befuddling response: When asked about beauty, everyone talked about money. “Beauty” was the surface glitz that sold pictures in the bourgeois art market to people who lacked an appreciation for the deeper qualities of good art. It was a branding scheme of capitalism and the province of schmoozy art dealers, rich people, and high-end corporate lobby deco­rators. Artists themselves, and critics and scholars, were more properly concerned with other qualities: truth, meaning, discourse, language, ideology, form, justice. There were high-brow versions of this argument in journals like Art Forum and October, and there were less sophisticated versions, but the angle of incidence was the same.Hickey was stunned. Not by the content of such an argument— he knew his Marx and was familiar with left cultural criticism more broadly—but by the completeness of its triumph. He hadn't realized the extent, almost total, to which beauty had been vanquished from the sphere of discursive concern.“I had assumed,” he wrote, “that from the beginning of the sixteenth century until just last week artists had been persistently and effectively employing the rough vernacular of pleasure and beauty to interrogate our totalizing concepts ‘the good' and ‘the beautiful'; and now this was over? Evidently. At any rate, its critical vocabulary seemed to have evap­orated overnight, and I found myself muttering detective questions like: Who wins? Who loses?”The quest to reconstruct what had happened to beauty soon evolved for Hickey into a more fundamental effort to understand what even he meant by the term. What was he defending? What was he trying to res­cue or redeem? The critical vocabulary and community he had assumed were there, perhaps fighting a rearguard battle but still yet on the field, had winked out of existence without even a good-bye note. It was left to him, in the absence of anyone else, to reconstitute its concepts and arguments, restock its supply chain and armament.So he did, and he called it The Invisible Dragon. The issue, he wrote, is not beauty but the beautiful. The beautiful is the visual language through which art excites interest and pleasure and attention in an observer. It is a form of rhetoric, a quiver of rhetorical maneuvers. Artists enchant us through their beautiful assemblages of color, shape, effects, reference, and imagery, as a writer ensnares us with words and sentences and para­graphs, as a dancer enthralls us with legs and leaps, as a rock star cap­tures us with hips and lips and voice. The more mastery an artist has of the rhetoric of the beautiful, the more effectively he can rewire how our brains process and perceive visual sense data. It is an awesome power.Beauty, in this equation, is the sum of the charge that an artist, deploy­ing the language of the beautiful, can generate. It is a spark that begins in the intelligence and insight of the artist, is instantiated into material being by her command of the techniques of the beautiful, and is crystal­lized in the world by its capacity to elicit passion and loyalty and detes­tation in its beholders, to rally around itself constituencies and against itself enemies. Like all arks and arenas of human value, beauty is his­torically grounded but also historically contingent. In the Renaissance, where The Invisible Dragon begins its modern history of beauty, masters like Caravaggio were negotiating and reconstructing the relations among the Church, God, man, and society. They were deploying the tools of the beautiful to hook into and renovate primarily theological systems of meaning and human relation. In a liberal, pluralistic, commerce-driven democracy like America, the primary terrain on which beauty was medi­ated, and in some respects generated, was the art market.To dismiss beauty as just another lubricant of modern capitalism, then, was to miss the point in a succession of catastrophic ways. It was to mistake the last part of that equation, the creation and negotiation of value on and through the art market, for the entirety of it. It was to mistake the exchange of art for other currencies of value, which was a human activity that preceded and would persist after capitalism, for capitalism. It was to believe that the buying and selling of art in modern art markets was a problem at all, when, in fact, it was the only available solution in our given historical configuration of forces. And it was to radically underestimate the capacity of beauty to destabilize and reorder precisely the relations of politics, economy, and culture that its vulgar critics believed it was propping up.Beauty had consequences. Beautiful images could change the world. In America, risking money or status for the sake of what you found beautiful—by buying or selling that which you found beautiful or by arguing about which objects should be bought or sold on account of their beauty—was a way of risking yourself for the sake of the vision of the good life you would like to see realized.The good guys in Hickey's story were those who put themselves on the line for objects that deployed the beautiful in ways they found per­suasive and pleasure-inducing. They were the artists themselves, whose livelihoods depended on participation in the art market, who risked poverty, rejection, incomprehension, and obscurity if their work wasn't beautiful enough to attract buyers. They were the dealers, who risked their money and reputation for objects they wagered were beautiful enough to bring them more money and status. They were the buyers, who risked money and ridicule in the hopes of acquiring more status and pleasure. They were the critics, like Hickey, who risked their rep­utations and careers on behalf of the art that struck them as beautiful and on behalf of the artists whose idiosyncratic visions they found per­suasive or undeniable. And finally they were the fans, who desperately wanted to see that which they loved loved by others and to exist in com­munity with their fellow enthusiasts. The good guys were the ones who cared a lot, and specifically.The villains were the blob of curators, academics, review boards, arts organizations, governmental agencies, museum boards, and fund­ing institutions that had claimed for themselves almost total control of the assignment and negotiation of value to art, severing art's ties to the messy democratic marketplace, which was the proper incubator of artis­tic value in a free society. The blob cared a lot, too, but about the wrong things.“I characterize this cloud of bureaucracies generally,” wrote Hickey, “as the ‘therapeutic institution.'”In the great mystery of the disappeared beauty, the whodunnit that fueled The Invisible Dragon, it turned out that it was the therapeutic institution that dunnit. It had squirted so many trillions of gallons of obfuscating ink into the ocean over so many decades that beauty, and the delicate social ecosystems that fostered its coalescence, could barely aspirate. Why the therapeutic institution did this, for Hickey, was simple. Power. Control. Fear of freedom and pleasure and undisciplined feeling. It was the eternally recurring revenge of the dour old Patriarch who had been haunting our dreams since we came up from the desert with his schemas of logic, strength, autonomy, and abstraction, asserting control against the wiles and seductions of the feminine and her emanations of care, vulnerability, delicacy, dependence, joy, and decoration. It was the expression of God's anger in the Garden of Eden when Eve and Adam defied Him to bite from the juicy apple of knowledge and freedom.In one of the most extraordinary passages in the book, Hickey turned Michel Foucault, a favorite of the blob, back on the blob. It was Fou­cault, he wrote, who drew back the curtain on the hidden authoritarian impulse at work in so many of the modern institutions of social order, particularly those systems most committed to the tending of our souls. Such systems weren't content with establishing regimes of dominance and submission that were merely or primarily external. Appearances canbe too deceiving. Too much wildness can course beneath the facade of compliance. It was inner consent, cultivated therapeutically through the benevolent grooming of the institutions, that mattered. Thus the disciplined intensity with which the therapeutic institution had fought its multi-generational war to crowd out and delegitimize the market, where appearance was almost everything and where desire, which is too unpredictably correlated with virtue, was so operative.“For nearly 70 years, during the adolescence of modernity, profes­sors, curators, and academicians could only wring their hands and weep at the spectacle of an exploding culture in the sway of painters, dealers, critics, shopkeepers, second sons, Russian epicures, Spanish parvenus, and American expatriates. Jews abounded, as did homosexuals, bisex­uals, Bolsheviks, and women in sensible shoes. Vulgar people in manu­facture and trade who knew naught but romance and real estate bought sticky Impressionist landscapes and swooning pre-Raphaelite bimbos from guys with monocles who, in their spare time, were shipping the treasures of European civilization across the Atlantic to railroad barons. And most disturbingly for those who felt they ought to be in control— or that someone should be—‘beauties' proliferated, each finding an audience, each bearing its own little rhetorical load of psycho-political permission.”After getting knocked back on their heels so thoroughly, wrote Hickey, the bureaucrats began to get their act together around 1920. They have been expanding and entrenching their hegemony ever since, developing the ideologies, building the institutions, and corralling the funding to effectively counter, control, and homogenize all the unruly little beauties. There had been setbacks to their campaign along the way, most notably in the 1960s, but the trend line was clear.In this dialectic, Mapplethorpe proves an interesting and illustra­tive figure. He was so brilliant in making his world beautiful that the therapeutic institution had no choice but to gather him in, to celebrate him in order to neutralize him, to pulverize his diversities and convert them into homogeneous statements. But it turned out that he was too quicksilver a talent to be so easily caged, and the blob was overconfident in its capacity to domesticate him. It/they missed something with Map­plethorpe and made the mistake of exposing him to the senator from North Carolina and the prosecutor from Hamilton County, who saw through the scrim of institutional mediation. All the therapeutic testi­mony that followed, in the case of Cincinnati v. Contemporary Arts Center, wasn't really about defending Mapplethorpe or fending off conservative tyranny. It was about reasserting the blob's hegemony. In truth, Senator Helms and the therapeutic institution were destabilized by complemen­tary aspects of the same thing, which was pleasure and desire rendered beautiful and specific.“It was not that men were making it then,” wrote Hickey, “but that Robert was ‘making it beautiful.' More precisely, he was appropriating a Baroque vernacular of beauty that predated and, clearly, outperformed the puritanical canon of visual appeal espoused by the therapeutic institution.”Confronted by this beautiful provocation, the conservative and art establishments, whatever they thought they were doing, were, in fact, collaborating to put Mapplethorpe back in his place. The ostensible tri­umph of one side was the secret triumph for both. It was beauty that lost. The Invisible Dragon was a howl of frustration at this outcome. It was also a guerrilla whistle. Not so fast . . .Eminent Americans is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Eminent Americans at danieloppenheimer.substack.com/subscribe

Episode one hundred and sixty-seven of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “The Weight" by the Band, the Basement Tapes, and the continuing controversy over Dylan going electric. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a half-hour bonus episode available, on "S.F. Sorrow is Born" by the Pretty Things. Tilt Araiza has assisted invaluably by doing a first-pass edit, and will hopefully be doing so from now on. Check out Tilt's irregular podcasts at http://www.podnose.com/jaffa-cakes-for-proust and http://sitcomclub.com/ Also, a one-time request here -- Shawn Taylor, who runs the Facebook group for the podcast and is an old and dear friend of mine, has stage-three lung cancer. I will be hugely grateful to anyone who donates to the GoFundMe for her treatment. Errata At one point I say "when Robertson and Helm travelled to the Brill Building". I meant "when Hawkins and Helm". This is fixed in the transcript but not the recording. Resources There are three Mixcloud mixes this time. As there are so many songs by Bob Dylan and the Band excerpted, and Mixcloud won't allow more than four songs by the same artist in any mix, I've had to post the songs not in quite the same order in which they appear in the podcast. But the mixes are here — one, two, three. I've used these books for all the episodes involving Dylan: Dylan Goes Electric!: Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties by Elijah Wald, which is recommended, as all Wald's books are. Bob Dylan: All The Songs by Phillipe Margotin and Jean-Michel Guesdon is a song-by-song look at every song Dylan ever wrote, as is Revolution in the Air, by Clinton Heylin. Heylin also wrote the most comprehensive and accurate biography of Dylan, Behind the Shades. I've also used Robert Shelton's No Direction Home, which is less accurate, but which is written by someone who knew Dylan. Chronicles Volume 1 by Bob Dylan is a partial, highly inaccurate, but thoroughly readable autobiography. Information on Tiny Tim comes from Eternal Troubadour: The Improbable Life of Tiny Tim by Justin Martell. Information on John Cage comes from The Roaring Silence by David Revill Information on Woodstock comes from Small Town Talk by Barney Hoskyns. For material on the Basement Tapes, I've used Million Dollar Bash by Sid Griffin. And for the Band, I've used This Wheel's on Fire by Levon Helm with Stephen Davis, Testimony by Robbie Robertson, The Band by Craig Harris and Levon by Sandra B Tooze. I've also referred to the documentaries No Direction Home and Once Were Brothers. The complete Basement Tapes can be found on this multi-disc box set, while this double-CD version has the best material from the sessions. All the surviving live recordings by Dylan and the Hawks from 1966 are on this box set. There are various deluxe versions of Music From Big Pink, but still the best way to get the original album is in this twofer CD with the Band's second album. Transcript Just a brief note before I start – literally while I was in the middle of recording this episode, it was announced that Robbie Robertson had died today, aged eighty. Obviously I've not had time to alter the rest of the episode – half of which had already been edited – with that in mind, though I don't believe I say anything disrespectful to his memory. My condolences to those who loved him – he was a huge talent and will be missed. There are people in the world who question the function of criticism. Those people argue that criticism is in many ways parasitic. If critics knew what they were talking about, so the argument goes, they would create themselves, rather than talk about other people's creation. It's a variant of the "those who can't, teach" cliche. And to an extent it's true. Certainly in the world of rock music, which we're talking about in this podcast, most critics are quite staggeringly ignorant of the things they're talking about. Most criticism is ephemeral, published in newspapers, magazines, blogs and podcasts, and forgotten as soon as it has been consumed -- and consumed is the word . But sometimes, just sometimes, a critic will have an effect on the world that is at least as important as that of any of the artists they criticise. One such critic was John Ruskin. Ruskin was one of the preeminent critics of visual art in the Victorian era, particularly specialising in painting and architecture, and he passionately advocated for a form of art that would be truthful, plain, and honest. To Ruskin's mind, many artists of the past, and of his time, drew and painted, not what they saw with their own eyes, but what other people expected them to paint. They replaced true observation of nature with the regurgitation of ever-more-mannered and formalised cliches. His attacks on many great artists were, in essence, the same critiques that are currently brought against AI art apps -- they're just recycling and plagiarising what other people had already done, not seeing with their own eyes and creating from their own vision. Ruskin was an artist himself, but never received much acclaim for his own work. Rather, he advocated for the works of others, like Turner and the pre-Raphaelite school -- the latter of whom were influenced by Ruskin, even as he admired them for seeing with their own vision rather than just repeating influences from others. But those weren't the only people Ruskin influenced. Because any critical project, properly understood, becomes about more than just the art -- as if art is just anything. Ruskin, for example, studied geology, because if you're going to talk about how people should paint landscapes and what those landscapes look like, you need to understand what landscapes really do look like, which means understanding their formation. He understood that art of the kind he wanted could only be produced by certain types of people, and so society had to be organised in a way to produce such people. Some types of societal organisation lead to some kinds of thinking and creation, and to properly, honestly, understand one branch of human thought means at least to attempt to understand all of them. Opinions about art have moral consequences, and morality has political and economic consequences. The inevitable endpoint of any theory of art is, ultimately, a theory of society. And Ruskin had a theory of society, and social organisation. Ruskin's views are too complex to summarise here, but they were a kind of anarcho-primitivist collectivism. He believed that wealth was evil, and that the classical liberal economics of people like Mill was fundamentally anti-human, that the division of labour alienated people from their work. In Ruskin's ideal world, people would gather in communities no bigger than villages, and work as craftspeople, working with nature rather than trying to bend nature to their will. They would be collectives, with none richer or poorer than any other, and working the land without modern technology. in the first half of the twentieth century, in particular, Ruskin's influence was *everywhere*. His writings on art inspired the Impressionist movement, but his political and economic ideas were the most influential, right across the political spectrum. Ruskin's ideas were closest to Christian socialism, and he did indeed inspire many socialist parties -- most of the founders of Britain's Labour Party were admirers of Ruskin and influenced by his ideas, particularly his opposition to the free market. But he inspired many other people -- Gandhi talked about the profound influence that Ruskin had on him, saying in his autobiography that he got three lessons from Ruskin's Unto This Last: "That 1) the good of the individual is contained in the good of all. 2) a lawyer's work has the same value as the barber's in as much as all have the same right of earning their livelihood from their work. 3) a life of labour, i.e., the life of the tiller of the soil and the handicraftsman is the life worth living. The first of these I knew. The second I had dimly realized. The third had never occurred to me. Unto This Last made it clear as daylight for me that the second and third were contained in the first. I arose with the dawn, ready to reduce these principles to practice" Gandhi translated and paraphrased Unto this Last into Gujurati and called the resulting book Sarvodaya (meaning "uplifting all" or "the welfare of all") which he later took as the name of his own political philosophy. But Ruskin also had a more pernicious influence -- it was said in 1930s Germany that he and his friend Thomas Carlyle were "the first National Socialists" -- there's no evidence I know of that Hitler ever read Ruskin, but a *lot* of Nazi rhetoric is implicit in Ruskin's writing, particularly in his opposition to progress (he even opposed the bicycle as being too much inhuman interference with nature), just as much as more admirable philosophies, and he was so widely read in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that there's barely a political movement anywhere that didn't bear his fingerprints. But of course, our focus here is on music. And Ruskin had an influence on that, too. We've talked in several episodes, most recently the one on the Velvet Underground, about John Cage's piece 4'33. What I didn't mention in any of the discussions of that piece -- because I was saving it for here -- is that that piece was premiered at a small concert hall in upstate New York. The hall, the Maverick Concert Hall, was owned and run by the Maverick arts and crafts collective -- a collective that were so called because they were the *second* Ruskinite arts colony in the area, having split off from the Byrdcliffe colony after a dispute between its three founders, all of whom were disciples of Ruskin, and all of whom disagreed violently about how to implement Ruskin's ideas of pacifist all-for-one and one-for-all community. These arts colonies, and others that grew up around them like the Arts Students League were the thriving centre of a Bohemian community -- close enough to New York that you could get there if you needed to, far enough away that you could live out your pastoral fantasies, and artists of all types flocked there -- Pete Seeger met his wife there, and his father-in-law had been one of the stonemasons who helped build the Maverick concert hall. Dozens of artists in all sorts of areas, from Aaron Copland to Edward G Robinson, spent time in these communities, as did Cage. Of course, while these arts and crafts communities had a reputation for Bohemianism and artistic extremism, even radical utopian artists have their limits, and legend has it that the premiere of 4'33 was met with horror and derision, and eventually led to one artist in the audience standing up and calling on the residents of the town around which these artistic colonies had agglomerated: “Good people of Woodstock, let's drive these people out of town.” [Excerpt: The Band, "The Weight"] Ronnie Hawkins was almost born to make music. We heard back in the episode on "Suzie Q" in 2019 about his family and their ties to music. Ronnie's uncle Del was, according to most of the sources on the family, a member of the Sons of the Pioneers -- though as I point out in that episode, his name isn't on any of the official lists of group members, but he might well have performed with them at some point in the early years of the group. And he was definitely a country music bass player, even if he *wasn't* in the most popular country and western group of the thirties and forties. And Del had had two sons, Jerry, who made some minor rockabilly records: [Excerpt: Jerry Hawkins, "Swing, Daddy, Swing"] And Del junior, who as we heard in the "Susie Q" episode became known as Dale Hawkins and made one of the most important rock records of the fifties: [Excerpt: Dale Hawkins, "Susie Q"] Ronnie Hawkins was around the same age as his cousins, and was in awe of his country-music star uncle. Hawkins later remembered that after his uncle moved to Califormia to become a star “He'd come home for a week or two, driving a brand new Cadillac and wearing brand new clothes and I knew that's what I wanted to be." Though he also remembered “He spent every penny he made on whiskey, and he was divorced because he was running around with all sorts of women. His wife left Arkansas and went to Louisiana.” Hawkins knew that he wanted to be a music star like his uncle, and he started performing at local fairs and other events from the age of eleven, including one performance where he substituted for Hank Williams -- Williams was so drunk that day he couldn't perform, and so his backing band asked volunteers from the audience to get up and sing with them, and Hawkins sang Burl Ives and minstrel-show songs with the band. He said later “Even back then I knew that every important white cat—Al Jolson, Stephen Foster—they all did it by copying blacks. Even Hank Williams learned all the stuff he had from those black cats in Alabama. Elvis Presley copied black music; that's all that Elvis did.” As well as being a performer from an early age, though, Hawkins was also an entrepreneur with an eye for how to make money. From the age of fourteen he started running liquor -- not moonshine, he would always point out, but something far safer. He lived only a few miles from the border between Missouri and Arkansas, and alcohol and tobacco were about half the price in Missouri that they were in Arkansas, so he'd drive across the border, load up on whisky and cigarettes, and drive back and sell them at a profit, which he then used to buy shares in several nightclubs, which he and his bands would perform in in later years. Like every man of his generation, Hawkins had to do six months in the Army, and it was there that he joined his first ever full-time band, the Blackhawks -- so called because his name was Hawkins, and the rest of the group were Black, though Hawkins was white. They got together when the other four members were performing at a club in the area where Hawkins was stationed, and he was so impressed with their music that he jumped on stage and started singing with them. He said later “It sounded like something between the blues and rockabilly. It sort of leaned in both directions at the same time, me being a hayseed and those guys playing a lot funkier." As he put it "I wanted to sound like Bobby ‘Blue' Bland but it came out sounding like Ernest Tubb.” Word got around about the Blackhawks, both that they were a great-sounding rock and roll band and that they were an integrated band at a time when that was extremely unpopular in the southern states, and when Hawkins was discharged from the Army he got a call from Sam Phillips at Sun Records. According to Hawkins a group of the regular Sun session musicians were planning on forming a band, and he was asked to front the band for a hundred dollars a week, but by the time he got there the band had fallen apart. This doesn't precisely line up with anything else I know about Sun, though it perhaps makes sense if Hawkins was being asked to front the band who had variously backed Billy Lee Riley and Jerry Lee Lewis after one of Riley's occasional threats to leave the label. More likely though, he told everyone he knew that he had a deal with Sun but Phillips was unimpressed with the demos he cut there, and Hawkins made up the story to stop himself losing face. One of the session players for Sun, though, Luke Paulman, who played in Conway Twitty's band among others, *was* impressed with Hawkins though, and suggested that they form a band together with Paulman's bass player brother George and piano-playing cousin Pop Jones. The Paulman brothers and Jones also came from Arkansas, but they specifically came from Helena, Arkansas, the town from which King Biscuit Time was broadcast. King Biscuit Time was the most important blues radio show in the US at that time -- a short lunchtime programme which featured live performances from a house band which varied over the years, but which in the 1940s had been led by Sonny Boy Williamson II, and featured Robert Jr. Lockwood, Robert Johnson's stepson, on guiitar: [Excerpt: Sonny Boy Williamson II "Eyesight to the Blind (King Biscuit Time)"] The band also included a drummer, "Peck" Curtis, and that drummer was the biggest inspiration for a young white man from the town named Levon Helm. Helm had first been inspired to make music after seeing Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys play live when Helm was eight, and he had soon taken up first the harmonica, then the guitar, then the drums, becoming excellent at all of them. Even as a child he knew that he didn't want to be a farmer like his family, and that music was, as he put it, "the only way to get off that stinking tractor  and out of that one hundred and five degree heat.” Sonny Boy Williamson and the King Biscuit Boys would perform in the open air in Marvell, Arkansas, where Helm was growing up, on Saturdays, and Helm watched them regularly as a small child, and became particularly interested in the drumming. “As good as the band sounded,” he said later “it seemed that [Peck] was definitely having the most fun. I locked into the drums at that point. Later, I heard Jack Nance, Conway Twitty's drummer, and all the great drummers in Memphis—Jimmy Van Eaton, Al Jackson, and Willie Hall—the Chicago boys (Fred Belew and Clifton James) and the people at Sun Records and Vee-Jay, but most of my style was based on Peck and Sonny Boy—the Delta blues style with the shuffle. Through the years, I've quickened the pace to a more rock-and-roll meter and time frame, but it still bases itself back to Peck, Sonny Boy Williamson, and the King Biscuit Boys.” Helm had played with another band that George Paulman had played in, and he was invited to join the fledgling band Hawkins was putting together, called for the moment the Sun Records Quartet. The group played some of the clubs Hawkins had business connections in, but they had other plans -- Conway Twitty had recently played Toronto, and had told Luke Paulman about how desperate the Canadians were for American rock and roll music. Twitty's agent Harold Kudlets booked the group in to a Toronto club, Le Coq D'Or, and soon the group were alternating between residencies in clubs in the Deep South, where they were just another rockabilly band, albeit one of the better ones, and in Canada, where they became the most popular band in Ontario, and became the nucleus of an entire musical scene -- the same scene from which, a few years later, people like Neil Young would emerge. George Paulman didn't remain long in the group -- he was apparently getting drunk, and also he was a double-bass player, at a time when the electric bass was becoming the in thing. And this is the best place to mention this, but there are several discrepancies in the various accounts of which band members were in Hawkins' band at which times, and who played on what session. They all *broadly* follow the same lines, but none of them are fully reconcilable with each other, and nobody was paying enough attention to lineup shifts in a bar band between 1957 and 1964 to be absolutely certain who was right. I've tried to reconcile the various accounts as far as possible and make a coherent narrative, but some of the details of what follows may be wrong, though the broad strokes are correct. For much of their first period in Ontario, the group had no bass player at all, relying on Jones' piano to fill in the bass parts, and on their first recording, a version of "Bo Diddley", they actually got the club's manager to play bass with them: [Excerpt: Ronnie Hawkins, "Hey Bo Diddley"] That is claimed to be the first rock and roll record made in Canada, though as everyone who has listened to this podcast knows, there's no first anything. It wasn't released as by the Sun Records Quartet though -- the band had presumably realised that that name would make them much less attractive to other labels, and so by this point the Sun Records Quartet had become Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks. "Hey Bo Diddley" was released on a small Canadian label and didn't have any success, but the group carried on performing live, travelling back down to Arkansas for a while and getting a new bass player, Lefty Evans, who had been playing in the same pool of musicians as them, having been another Sun session player who had been in Conway Twitty's band, and had written Twitty's "Why Can't I Get Through to You": [Excerpt: Conway Twitty, "Why Can't I Get Through to You"] The band were now popular enough in Canada that they were starting to get heard of in America, and through Kudlets they got a contract with Joe Glaser, a Mafia-connected booking agent who booked them into gigs on the Jersey Shore. As Helm said “Ronnie Hawkins had molded us into the wildest, fiercest, speed-driven bar band in America," and the group were apparently getting larger audiences in New Jersey than Sammy Davis Jr was, even though they hadn't released any records in the US. Or at least, they hadn't released any records in their own name in the US. There's a record on End Records by Rockin' Ronald and the Rebels which is very strongly rumoured to have been the Hawks under another name, though Hawkins always denied that. Have a listen for yourself and see what you think: [Excerpt: Rockin' Ronald and the Rebels, "Kansas City"] End Records, the label that was on, was one of the many record labels set up by George Goldner and distributed by Morris Levy, and when the group did release a record in their home country under their own name, it was on Levy's Roulette Records. An audition for Levy had been set up by Glaser's booking company, and Levy decided that given that Elvis was in the Army, there was a vacancy to be filled and Ronnie Hawkins might just fit the bill. Hawkins signed a contract with Levy, and it doesn't sound like he had much choice in the matter. Helm asked him “How long did you have to sign for?” and Hawkins replied "Life with an option" That said, unlike almost every other artist who interacted with Levy, Hawkins never had a bad word to say about him, at least in public, saying later “I don't care what Morris was supposed to have done, he looked after me and he believed in me. I even lived with him in his million-dollar apartment on the Upper East Side." The first single the group recorded for Roulette, a remake of Chuck Berry's "Thirty Days" retitled "Forty Days", didn't chart, but the follow-up, a version of Young Jessie's "Mary Lou", made number twenty-six on the charts: [Excerpt: Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks, "Mary Lou"] While that was a cover of a Young Jessie record, the songwriting credits read Hawkins and Magill -- Magill was a pseudonym used by Morris Levy. Levy hoped to make Ronnie Hawkins into a really big star, but hit a snag. This was just the point where the payola scandal had hit and record companies were under criminal investigation for bribing DJs to play their records. This was the main method of promotion that Levy used, and this was so well known that Levy was, for a time, under more scrutiny than anyone. He couldn't risk paying anyone off, and so Hawkins' records didn't get the expected airplay. The group went through some lineup changes, too, bringing in guitarist Fred Carter (with Luke Paulman moving to rhythm and soon leaving altogether)  from Hawkins' cousin Dale's band, and bass player Jimmy Evans. Some sources say that Jones quit around this time, too, though others say he was in the band for  a while longer, and they had two keyboards (the other keyboard being supplied by Stan Szelest. As well as recording Ronnie Hawkins singles, the new lineup of the group also recorded one single with Carter on lead vocals, "My Heart Cries": [Excerpt: Fred Carter, "My Heart Cries"] While the group were now playing more shows in the USA, they were still playing regularly in Canada, and they had developed a huge fanbase there. One of these was a teenage guitarist called Robbie Robertson, who had become fascinated with the band after playing a support slot for them, and had started hanging round, trying to ingratiate himself with the band in the hope of being allowed to join. As he was a teenager, Hawkins thought he might have his finger on the pulse of the youth market, and when Hawkins and Helm travelled to the Brill Building to hear new songs for consideration for their next album, they brought Robertson along to listen to them and give his opinion. Robertson himself ended up contributing two songs to the album, titled Mr. Dynamo. According to Hawkins "we had a little time after the session, so I thought, Well, I'm just gonna put 'em down and see what happens. And they were released. Robbie was the songwriter for words, and Levon was good for arranging, making things fit in and all that stuff. He knew what to do, but he didn't write anything." The two songs in question were "Someone Like You" and "Hey Boba Lou": [Excerpt: Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks, "Hey Boba Lou"] While Robertson was the sole writer of the songs, they were credited to Robertson, Hawkins, and Magill -- Morris Levy. As Robertson told the story later, “It's funny, when those songs came out and I got a copy of the album, it had another name on there besides my name for some writer like Morris Levy. So, I said to Ronnie, “There was nobody there writing these songs when I wrote these songs. Who is Morris Levy?” Ronnie just kinda tapped me on the head and said, “There are certain things about this business that you just let go and you don't question.” That was one of my early music industry lessons right there" Robertson desperately wanted to join the Hawks, but initially it was Robertson's bandmate Scott Cushnie who became the first Canadian to join the Hawks. But then when they were in Arkansas, Jimmy Evans decided he wasn't going to go back to Canada. So Hawkins called Robbie Robertson up and made him an offer. Robertson had to come down to Arkansas and get a couple of quick bass lessons from Helm (who could play pretty much every instrument to an acceptable standard, and so was by this point acting as the group's musical director, working out arrangements and leading them in rehearsals). Then Hawkins and Helm had to be elsewhere for a few weeks. If, when they got back, Robertson was good enough on bass, he had the job. If not, he didn't. Robertson accepted, but he nearly didn't get the gig after all. The place Hawkins and Helm had to be was Britain, where they were going to be promoting their latest single on Boy Meets Girls, the Jack Good TV series with Marty Wilde, which featured guitarist Joe Brown in the backing band: [Excerpt: Joe Brown, “Savage”] This was the same series that Eddie Cochran and Gene Vincent were regularly appearing on, and while they didn't appear on the episodes that Hawkins and Helm appeared on, they did appear on the episodes immediately before Hawkins and Helm's two appearances, and again a couple of weeks after, and were friendly with the musicians who did play with Hawkins and Helm, and apparently they all jammed together a few times. Hawkins was impressed enough with Joe Brown -- who at the time was considered the best guitarist on the British scene -- that he invited Brown to become a Hawk. Presumably if Brown had taken him up on the offer, he would have taken the spot that ended up being Robertson's, but Brown turned him down -- a decision he apparently later regretted. Robbie Robertson was now a Hawk, and he and Helm formed an immediate bond. As Helm much later put it, "It was me and Robbie against the world. Our mission, as we saw it, was to put together the best band in history". As rockabilly was by this point passe, Levy tried converting Hawkins into a folk artist, to see if he could get some of the Kingston Trio's audience. He recorded a protest song, "The Ballad of Caryl Chessman", protesting the then-forthcoming execution of Chessman (one of only a handful of people to be executed in the US in recent decades for non-lethal offences), and he made an album of folk tunes, The Folk Ballads of Ronnie Hawkins, which largely consisted of solo acoustic recordings, plus a handful of left-over Hawks recordings from a year or so earlier. That wasn't a success, but they also tried a follow-up, having Hawkins go country and do an album of Hank Williams songs, recorded in Nashville at Owen Bradley's Quonset hut. While many of the musicians on the album were Nashville A-Team players, Hawkins also insisted on having his own band members perform, much to the disgust of the producer, and so it's likely (not certain, because there seem to be various disagreements about what was recorded when) that that album features the first studio recordings with Levon Helm and Robbie Robertson playing together: [Excerpt: Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks, "Your Cheatin' Heart"] Other sources claim that the only Hawk allowed to play on the album sessions was Helm, and that the rest of the musicians on the album were Harold Bradley and Hank Garland on guitar, Owen Bradley and Floyd Cramer on piano, Bob Moore on bass, and the Anita Kerr singers. I tend to trust Helm's recollection that the Hawks played at least some of the instruments though, because the source claiming that also seems to confuse the Hank Williams and Folk Ballads albums, and because I don't hear two pianos on the album. On the other hand, that *does* sound like Floyd Cramer on piano, and the tik-tok bass sound you'd get from having Harold Bradley play a baritone guitar while Bob Moore played a bass. So my best guess is that these sessions were like the Elvis sessions around the same time and with several of the same musicians, where Elvis' own backing musicians played rhythm parts but left the prominent instruments to the A-team players. Helm was singularly unimpressed with the experience of recording in Nashville. His strongest memory of the sessions was of another session going on in the same studio complex at the time -- Bobby "Blue" Bland was recording his classic single "Turn On Your Love Light", with the great drummer Jabo Starks on drums, and Helm was more interested in listening to that than he was in the music they were playing: [Excerpt: Bobby "Blue" Bland, "Turn On Your Love Light"] Incidentally, Helm talks about that recording being made "downstairs" from where the Hawks were recording, but also says that they were recording in Bradley's Quonset hut.  Now, my understanding here *could* be very wrong -- I've been unable to find a plan or schematic anywhere -- but my understanding is that the Quonset hut was a single-level structure, not a multi-level structure. BUT the original recording facilities run by the Bradley brothers were in Owen Bradley's basement, before they moved into the larger Quonset hut facility in the back, so it's possible that Bland was recording that in the old basement studio. If so, that won't be the last recording made in a basement we hear this episode... Fred Carter decided during the Nashville sessions that he was going to leave the Hawks. As his son told the story: "Dad had discovered the session musicians there. He had no idea that you could play and make a living playing in studios and sleep in your own bed every night. By that point in his life, he'd already been gone from home and constantly on the road and in the service playing music for ten years so that appealed to him greatly. And Levon asked him, he said, “If you're gonna leave, Fred, I'd like you to get young Robbie over here up to speed on guitar”…[Robbie] got kind of aggravated with him—and Dad didn't say this with any malice—but by the end of that week, or whatever it was, Robbie made some kind of comment about “One day I'm gonna cut you.” And Dad said, “Well, if that's how you think about it, the lessons are over.” " (For those who don't know, a musician "cutting" another one is playing better than them, so much better that the worse musician has to concede defeat. For the remainder of Carter's notice in the Hawks, he played with his back to Robertson, refusing to look at him. Carter leaving the group caused some more shuffling of roles. For a while, Levon Helm -- who Hawkins always said was the best lead guitar player he ever worked with as well as the best drummer -- tried playing lead guitar while Robertson played rhythm and another member, Rebel Payne, played bass, but they couldn't find a drummer to replace Helm, who moved back onto the drums. Then they brought in Roy Buchanan, another guitarist who had been playing with Dale Hawkins, having started out playing with Johnny Otis' band. But Buchanan didn't fit with Hawkins' personality, and he quit after a few months, going off to record his own first solo record: [Excerpt: Roy Buchanan, "Mule Train Stomp"] Eventually they solved the lineup problem by having Robertson -- by this point an accomplished lead player --- move to lead guitar and bringing in a new rhythm player, another Canadian teenager named Rick Danko, who had originally been a lead player (and who also played mandolin and fiddle). Danko wasn't expected to stay on rhythm long though -- Rebel Payne was drinking a lot and missing being at home when he was out on the road, so Danko was brought in on the understanding that he was to learn Payne's bass parts and switch to bass when Payne quit. Helm and Robertson were unsure about Danko, and Robertson expressed that doubt, saying "He only knows four chords," to which Hawkins replied, "That's all right son. You can teach him four more the way we had to teach you." He proved himself by sheer hard work. As Hawkins put it “He practiced so much that his arms swoll up. He was hurting.” By the time Danko switched to bass, the group also had a baritone sax player, Jerry Penfound, which allowed the group to play more of the soul and R&B material that Helm and Robertson favoured, though Hawkins wasn't keen. This new lineup of the group (which also had Stan Szelest on piano) recorded Hawkins' next album. This one was produced by Henry Glover, the great record producer, songwriter, and trumpet player who had played with Lucky Millinder, produced Wynonie Harris, Hank Ballard, and Moon Mullican, and wrote "Drowning in My Own Tears", "The Peppermint Twist", and "California Sun". Glover was massively impressed with the band, especially Helm (with whom he would remain friends for the rest of his life) and set aside some studio time for them to cut some tracks without Hawkins, to be used as album filler, including a version of the Bobby "Blue" Bland song "Farther On Up the Road" with Helm on lead vocals: [Excerpt: Levon Helm and the Hawks, "Farther On Up the Road"] There were more changes on the way though. Stan Szelest was about to leave the band, and Jones had already left, so the group had no keyboard player. Hawkins had just the replacement for Szelest -- yet another Canadian teenager. This one was Richard Manuel, who played piano and sang in a band called The Rockin' Revols. Manuel was not the greatest piano player around -- he was an adequate player for simple rockabilly and R&B stuff, but hardly a virtuoso -- but he was an incredible singer, able to do a version of "Georgia on My Mind" which rivalled Ray Charles, and Hawkins had booked the Revols into his own small circuit of clubs around Arkanasas after being impressed with them on the same bill as the Hawks a couple of times. Hawkins wanted someone with a good voice because he was increasingly taking a back seat in performances. Hawkins was the bandleader and frontman, but he'd often given Helm a song or two to sing in the show, and as they were often playing for several hours a night, the more singers the band had the better. Soon, with Helm, Danko, and Manuel all in the group and able to take lead vocals, Hawkins would start missing entire shows, though he still got more money than any of his backing group. Hawkins was also a hard taskmaster, and wanted to have the best band around. He already had great musicians, but he wanted them to be *the best*. And all the musicians in his band were now much younger than him, with tons of natural talent, but untrained. What he needed was someone with proper training, someone who knew theory and technique. He'd been trying for a long time to get someone like that, but Garth Hudson had kept turning him down. Hudson was older than any of the Hawks, though younger than Hawkins, and he was a multi-instrumentalist who was far better than any other musician on the circuit, having trained in a conservatory and learned how to play Bach and Chopin before switching to rock and roll. He thought the Hawks were too loud sounding and played too hard for him, but Helm kept on at Hawkins to meet any demands Hudson had, and Hawkins eventually agreed to give Hudson a higher wage than any of the other band members, buy him a new Lowry organ, and give him an extra ten dollars a week to give the rest of the band music lessons. Hudson agreed, and the Hawks now had a lineup of Helm on drums, Robertson on guitar, Manuel on piano, Danko on bass, Hudson on organ and alto sax, and Penfound on baritone sax. But these new young musicians were beginning to wonder why they actually needed a frontman who didn't turn up to many of the gigs, kept most of the money, and fined them whenever they broke one of his increasingly stringent set of rules. Indeed, they wondered why they needed a frontman at all. They already had three singers -- and sometimes a fourth, a singer called Bruce Bruno who would sometimes sit in with them when Penfound was unable to make a gig. They went to see Harold Kudlets, who Hawkins had recently sacked as his manager, and asked him if he could get them gigs for the same amount of money as they'd been getting with Hawkins. Kudlets was astonished to find how little Hawkins had been paying them, and told them that would be no problem at all. They had no frontman any more -- and made it a rule in all their contracts that the word "sideman" would never be used -- but Helm had been the leader for contractual purposes, as the musical director and longest-serving member (Hawkins, as a non-playing singer, had never joined the Musicians' Union so couldn't be the leader on contracts). So the band that had been Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks became the Levon Helm Sextet briefly -- but Penfound soon quit, and they became Levon and the Hawks. The Hawks really started to find their identity as their own band in 1964. They were already far more interested in playing soul than Hawkins had been, but they were also starting to get into playing soul *jazz*, especially after seeing the Cannonball Adderley Sextet play live: [Excerpt: Cannonball Adderley, "This Here"] What the group admired about the Adderley group more than anything else was a sense of restraint. Helm was particularly impressed with their drummer, Louie Hayes, and said of him "I got to see some great musicians over the years, and you see somebody like that play and you can tell, y' know, that the thing not to do is to just get it down on the floor and stomp the hell out of it!" The other influence they had, and one which would shape their sound even more, was a negative one. The two biggest bands on the charts at the time were the Beatles and the Beach Boys, and as Helm described it in his autobiography, the Hawks thought both bands' harmonies were "a blend of pale, homogenised, voices". He said "We felt we were better than the Beatles and the Beach Boys. We considered them our rivals, even though they'd never heard of us", and they decided to make their own harmonies sound as different as possible as a result. Where those groups emphasised a vocal blend, the Hawks were going to emphasise the *difference* in their voices in their own harmonies. The group were playing prestigious venues like the Peppermint Lounge, and while playing there they met up with John Hammond Jr, who they'd met previously in Canada. As you might remember from the first episode on Bob Dylan, Hammond Jr was the son of the John Hammond who we've talked about in many episodes, and was a blues musician in his own right. He invited Helm, Robertson, and Hudson to join the musicians, including Michael Bloomfield, who were playing on his new album, So Many Roads: [Excerpt: John P. Hammond, "Who Do You Love?"] That album was one of the inspirations that led Bob Dylan to start making electric rock music and to hire Bloomfield as his guitarist, decisions that would have profound implications for the Hawks. The first single the Hawks recorded for themselves after leaving Hawkins was produced by Henry Glover, and both sides were written by Robbie Robertson. "uh Uh Uh" shows the influence of the R&B bands they were listening to. What it reminds me most of is the material Ike and Tina Turner were playing at the time, but at points I think I can also hear the influence of Curtis Mayfield and Steve Cropper, who were rapidly becoming Robertson's favourite songwriters: [Excerpt: The Canadian Squires, "Uh Uh Uh"] None of the band were happy with that record, though. They'd played in the studio the same way they played live, trying to get a strong bass presence, but it just sounded bottom-heavy to them when they heard the record on a jukebox. That record was released as by The Canadian Squires -- according to Robertson, that was a name that the label imposed on them for the record, while according to Helm it was an alternative name they used so they could get bookings in places they'd only recently played, which didn't want the same band to play too often. One wonders if there was any confusion with the band Neil Young played in a year or so before that single... Around this time, the group also met up with Helm's old musical inspiration Sonny Boy Williamson II, who was impressed enough with them that there was some talk of them being his backing band (and it was in this meeting that Williamson apparently told Robertson "those English boys want to play the blues so bad, and they play the blues *so bad*", speaking of the bands who'd backed him in the UK, like the Yardbirds and the Animals). But sadly, Williamson died in May 1965 before any of these plans had time to come to fruition. Every opportunity for the group seemed to be closing up, even as they knew they were as good as any band around them. They had an offer from Aaron Schroeder, who ran Musicor Records but was more importantly a songwriter and publisher who  had written for Elvis Presley and published Gene Pitney. Schroeder wanted to sign the Hawks as a band and Robertson as a songwriter, but Henry Glover looked over the contracts for them, and told them "If you sign this you'd better be able to pay each other, because nobody else is going to be paying you". What happened next is the subject of some controversy, because as these things tend to go, several people became aware of the Hawks at the same time, but it's generally considered that nothing would have happened the same way were it not for Mary Martin. Martin is a pivotal figure in music business history -- among other things she discovered Leonard Cohen and Gordon Lightfoot, managed Van Morrison, and signed Emmylou Harris to Warner Brothers records -- but a somewhat unknown one who doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. Martin was from Toronto, but had moved to New York, where she was working in Albert Grossman's office, but she still had many connections to Canadian musicians and kept an eye out for them. The group had sent demo tapes to Grossman's offices, and Grossman had had no interest in them, but Martin was a fan and kept pushing the group on Grossman and his associates. One of those associates, of course, was Grossman's client Bob Dylan. As we heard in the episode on "Like a Rolling Stone", Dylan had started making records with electric backing, with musicians who included Mike Bloomfield, who had played with several of the Hawks on the Hammond album, and Al Kooper, who was a friend of the band. Martin gave Richard Manuel a copy of Dylan's new electric album Highway 61 Revisited, and he enjoyed it, though the rest of the group were less impressed: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Highway 61 Revisited"] Dylan had played the Newport Folk Festival with some of the same musicians as played on his records, but Bloomfield in particular was more interested in continuing to play with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band than continuing with Dylan long-term. Mary Martin kept telling Dylan about this Canadian band she knew who would be perfect for him, and various people associated with the Grossman organisation, including Hammond, have claimed to have been sent down to New Jersey where the Hawks were playing to check them out in their live setting. The group have also mentioned that someone who looked a lot like Dylan was seen at some of their shows. Eventually, Dylan phoned Helm up and made an offer. He didn't need a full band at the moment -- he had Harvey Brooks on bass and Al Kooper on keyboards -- but he did need a lead guitar player and drummer for a couple of gigs he'd already booked, one in Forest Hills, New York, and a bigger gig at the Hollywood Bowl. Helm, unfamiliar with Dylan's work, actually asked Howard Kudlets if Dylan was capable of filling the Hollywood Bowl. The musicians rehearsed together and got a set together for the shows. Robertson and Helm thought the band sounded terrible, but Dylan liked the sound they were getting a lot. The audience in Forest Hills agreed with the Hawks, rather than Dylan, or so it would appear. As we heard in the "Like a Rolling Stone" episode, Dylan's turn towards rock music was *hated* by the folk purists who saw him as some sort of traitor to the movement, a movement whose figurehead he had become without wanting to. There were fifteen thousand people in the audience, and they listened politely enough to the first set, which Dylan played acoustically, But before the second set -- his first ever full electric set, rather than the very abridged one at Newport -- he told the musicians “I don't know what it will be like out there It's going to be some kind of  carnival and I want you to all know that up front. So go out there and keep playing no matter how weird it gets!” There's a terrible-quality audience recording of that show in circulation, and you can hear the crowd's reaction to the band and to the new material: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Ballad of a Thin Man" (live Forest Hills 1965, audience noise only)] The audience also threw things  at the musicians, knocking Al Kooper off his organ stool at one point. While Robertson remembered the Hollywood Bowl show as being an equally bad reaction, Helm remembered the audience there as being much more friendly, and the better-quality recording of that show seems to side with Helm: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Maggie's Farm (live at the Hollywood Bowl 1965)"] After those two shows, Helm and Robertson went back to their regular gig. and in September they made another record. This one, again produced by Glover, was for Atlantic's Atco subsidiary, and was released as by Levon and the Hawks. Manuel took lead, and again both songs were written by Robertson: [Excerpt: Levon and the Hawks, "He Don't Love You (And He'll Break Your Heart)"] But again that record did nothing. Dylan was about to start his first full electric tour, and while Helm and Robertson had not thought the shows they'd played sounded particularly good, Dylan had, and he wanted the two of them to continue with him. But Robertson and, especially, Helm, were not interested in being someone's sidemen. They explained to Dylan that they already had a band -- Levon and the Hawks -- and he would take all of them or he would take none of them. Helm in particular had not been impressed with Dylan's music -- Helm was fundamentally an R&B fan, while Dylan's music was rooted in genres he had little time for -- but he was OK with doing it, so long as the entire band got to. As Mary Martin put it “I think that the wonderful and the splendid heart of the band, if you will, was Levon, and I think he really sort of said, ‘If it's just myself as drummer and Robbie…we're out. We don't want that. It's either us, the band, or nothing.' And you know what? Good for him.” Rather amazingly, Dylan agreed. When the band's residency in New Jersey finished, they headed back to Toronto to play some shows there, and Dylan flew up and rehearsed with them after each show. When the tour started, the billing was "Bob Dylan with Levon and the Hawks". That billing wasn't to last long. Dylan had been booked in for nine months of touring, and was also starting work on what would become widely considered the first double album in rock music history, Blonde on Blonde, and the original plan was that Levon and the Hawks would play with him throughout that time.  The initial recording sessions for the album produced nothing suitable for release -- the closest was "I Wanna Be Your Lover", a semi-parody of the Beatles' "I Want to be Your Man": [Excerpt: Bob Dylan with Levon and the Hawks, "I Wanna Be Your Lover"] But shortly into the tour, Helm quit. The booing had continued, and had even got worse, and Helm simply wasn't in the business to be booed at every night. Also, his whole conception of music was that you dance to it, and nobody was dancing to any of this. Helm quit the band, only telling Robertson of his plans, and first went off to LA, where he met up with some musicians from Oklahoma who had enjoyed seeing the Hawks when they'd played that state and had since moved out West -- people like Leon Russell, J.J. Cale (not John Cale of the Velvet Underground, but the one who wrote "Cocaine" which Eric Clapton later had a hit with), and John Ware (who would later go on to join the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band). They started loosely jamming with each other, sometimes also involving a young singer named Linda Ronstadt, but Helm eventually decided to give up music and go and work on an oil rig in New Orleans. Levon and the Hawks were now just the Hawks. The rest of the group soldiered on, replacing Helm with session drummer Bobby Gregg (who had played on Dylan's previous couple of albums, and had previously played with Sun Ra), and played on the initial sessions for Blonde on Blonde. But of those sessions, Dylan said a few weeks later "Oh, I was really down. I mean, in ten recording sessions, man, we didn't get one song ... It was the band. But you see, I didn't know that. I didn't want to think that" One track from the sessions did get released -- the non-album single "Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?" [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?"] There's some debate as to exactly who's playing drums on that -- Helm says in his autobiography that it's him, while the credits in the official CD releases tend to say it's Gregg. Either way, the track was an unexpected flop, not making the top forty in the US, though it made the top twenty in the UK. But the rest of the recordings with the now Helmless Hawks were less successful. Dylan was trying to get his new songs across, but this was a band who were used to playing raucous music for dancing, and so the attempts at more subtle songs didn't come off the way he wanted: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan and the Hawks, "Visions of Johanna (take 5, 11-30-1965)"] Only one track from those initial New York sessions made the album -- "One Of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)" -- but even that only featured Robertson and Danko of the Hawks, with the rest of the instruments being played by session players: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan (One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)"] The Hawks were a great live band, but great live bands are not necessarily the same thing as a great studio band. And that's especially the case with someone like Dylan. Dylan was someone who was used to recording entirely on his own, and to making records *quickly*. In total, for his fifteen studio albums up to 1974's Blood on the Tracks, Dylan spent a total of eighty-six days in the studio -- by comparison, the Beatles spent over a hundred days in the studio just on the Sgt Pepper album. It's not that the Hawks weren't a good band -- very far from it -- but that studio recording requires a different type of discipline, and that's doubly the case when you're playing with an idiosyncratic player like Dylan. The Hawks would remain Dylan's live backing band, but he wouldn't put out a studio recording with them backing him until 1974. Instead, Bob Johnston, the producer Dylan was working with, suggested a different plan. On his previous album, the Nashville session player Charlie McCoy had guested on "Desolation Row" and Dylan had found him easy to work with. Johnston lived in Nashville, and suggested that they could get the album completed more quickly and to Dylan's liking by using Nashville A-Team musicians. Dylan agreed to try it, and for the rest of the album he had Robertson on lead guitar and Al Kooper on keyboards, but every other musician was a Nashville session player, and they managed to get Dylan's songs recorded quickly and the way he heard them in his head: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine"] Though Dylan being Dylan he did try to introduce an element of randomness to the recordings by having the Nashville musicians swap their instruments around and play each other's parts on "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35", though the Nashville players were still competent enough that they managed to get a usable, if shambolic, track recorded that way in a single take: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35"] Dylan said later of the album "The closest I ever got to the sound I hear in my mind was on individual bands in the Blonde on Blonde album. It's that thin, that wild mercury sound. It's metallic and bright gold, with whatever that conjures up." The album was released in late June 1966, a week before Freak Out! by the Mothers of Invention, another double album, produced by Dylan's old producer Tom Wilson, and a few weeks after Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys. Dylan was at the forefront of a new progressive movement in rock music, a movement that was tying thoughtful, intelligent lyrics to studio experimentation and yet somehow managing to have commercial success. And a month after Blonde on Blonde came out, he stepped away from that position, and would never fully return to it. The first half of 1966 was taken up with near-constant touring, with Dylan backed by the Hawks and a succession of fill-in drummers -- first Bobby Gregg, then Sandy Konikoff, then Mickey Jones. This tour started in the US and Canada, with breaks for recording the album, and then moved on to Australia and Europe. The shows always followed the same pattern. First Dylan would perform an acoustic set, solo, with just an acoustic guitar and harmonica, which would generally go down well with the audience -- though sometimes they would get restless, prompting a certain amount of resistance from the performer: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Just Like a Woman (live Paris 1966)"] But the second half of each show was electric, and that was where the problems would arise. The Hawks were playing at the top of their game -- some truly stunning performances: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan and the Hawks, "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues (live in Liverpool 1966)"] But while the majority of the audience was happy to hear the music, there was a vocal portion that were utterly furious at the change in Dylan's musical style. Most notoriously, there was the performance at Manchester Free Trade Hall where this happened: [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Like a Rolling Stone (live Manchester 1966)"] That kind of aggression from the audience had the effect of pushing the band on to greater heights a lot of the time -- and a bootleg of that show, mislabelled as the Royal Albert Hall, became one of the most legendary bootlegs in rock music history. Jimmy Page would apparently buy a copy of the bootleg every time he saw one, thinking it was the best album ever made. But while Dylan and the Hawks played defiantly, that kind of audience reaction gets wearing. As Dylan later said, “Judas, the most hated name in human history, and for what—for playing an electric guitar. As if that is in some kind of way equitable to betraying our Lord, and delivering him up to be crucified; all those evil mothers can rot in hell.” And this wasn't the only stress Dylan, in particular, was under. D.A. Pennebaker was making a documentary of the tour -- a follow-up to his documentary of the 1965 tour, which had not yet come out. Dylan talked about the 1965 documentary, Don't Look Back, as being Pennebaker's film of Dylan, but this was going to be Dylan's film, with him directing the director. That footage shows Dylan as nervy and anxious, and covering for the anxiety with a veneer of flippancy. Some of Dylan's behaviour on both tours is unpleasant in ways that can't easily be justified (and which he has later publicly regretted), but there's also a seeming cruelty to some of his interactions with the press and public that actually reads more as frustration. Over and over again he's asked questions -- about being the voice of a generation or the leader of a protest movement -- which are simply based on incorrect premises. When someone asks you a question like this, there are only a few options you can take, none of them good. You can dissect the question, revealing the incorrect premises, and then answer a different question that isn't what they asked, which isn't really an option at all given the kind of rapid-fire situation Dylan was in. You can answer the question as asked, which ends up being dishonest. Or you can be flip and dismissive, which is the tactic Dylan chose. Dylan wasn't the only one -- this is basically what the Beatles did at press conferences. But where the Beatles were a gang and so came off as being fun, Dylan doing the same thing came off as arrogant and aggressive. One of the most famous artifacts of the whole tour is a long piece of footage recorded for the documentary, with Dylan and John Lennon riding in the back of a taxi, both clearly deeply uncomfortable, trying to be funny and impress the other, but neither actually wanting to be there: [Excerpt Dylan and Lennon conversation] 33) Part of the reason Dylan wanted to go home was that he had a whole new lifestyle. Up until 1964 he had been very much a city person, but as he had grown more famous, he'd found New York stifling. Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul, and Mary had a cabin in Woodstock, where he'd grown up, and after Dylan had spent a month there in summer 1964, he'd fallen in love with the area. Albert Grossman had also bought a home there, on Yarrow's advice, and had given Dylan free run of the place, and Dylan had decided he wanted to move there permanently and bought his own home there. He had also married, to Sara Lowndes (whose name is, as far as I can tell, pronounced "Sarah" even though it's spelled "Sara"), and she had given birth to his first child (and he had adopted her child from her previous marriage). Very little is actually known about Sara, who unlike many other partners of rock stars at this point seemed positively to detest the limelight, and whose privacy Dylan has continued to respect even after the end of their marriage in the late seventies, but it's apparent that the two were very much in love, and that Dylan wanted to be back with his wife and kids, in the country, not going from one strange city to another being asked insipid questions and having abuse screamed at him. He was also tired of the pressure to produce work constantly. He'd signed a contract for a novel, called Tarantula, which he'd written a draft of but was unhappy with, and he'd put out two single albums and a double-album in a little over a year -- all of them considered among the greatest albums ever made. He could only keep up this rate of production and performance with a large intake of speed, and he was sometimes staying up for four days straight to do so. After the European leg of the tour, Dylan was meant to take some time to finish overdubs on Blonde on Blonde, edit the film of the tour for a TV special, with his friend Howard Alk, and proof the galleys for Tarantula, before going on a second world tour in the autumn. That world tour never happened. Dylan was in a motorcycle accident near his home, and had to take time out to recover. There has been a lot of discussion as to how serious the accident actually was, because Dylan's manager Albert Grossman was known to threaten to break contracts by claiming his performers were sick, and because Dylan essentially disappeared from public view for the next eighteen months. Every possible interpretation of the events has been put about by someone, from Dylan having been close to death, to the entire story being put up as a fake. As Dylan is someone who is far more protective of his privacy than most rock stars, it's doubtful we'll ever know the precise truth, but putting together the various accounts Dylan's injuries were bad but not life-threatening, but they acted as a wake-up call -- if he carried on living like he had been, how much longer could he continue? in his sort-of autobiography, Chronicles, Dylan described this period, saying "I had been in a motorcycle accident and I'd been hurt, but I recovered. Truth was that I wanted to get out of the rat race. Having children changed my life and segregated me from just about everybody and everything that was going on. Outside of my family, nothing held any real interest for me and I was seeing everything through different glasses." All his forthcoming studio and tour dates were cancelled, and Dylan took the time out to recover, and to work on his film, Eat the Document. But it's clear that nobody was sure at first exactly how long Dylan's hiatus from touring was going to last. As it turned out, he wouldn't do another tour until the mid-seventies, and would barely even play any one-off gigs in the intervening time. But nobody knew that at the time, and so to be on the safe side the Hawks were being kept on a retainer. They'd always intended to work on their own music anyway -- they didn't just want to be anyone's backing band -- so they took this time to kick a few ideas around, but they were hamstrung by the fact that it was difficult to find rehearsal space in New York City, and they didn't have any gigs. Their main musical work in the few months between summer 1966 and spring 1967 was some recordings for the soundtrack of a film Peter Yarrow was making. You Are What You Eat is a bizarre hippie collage of a film, documenting the counterculture between 1966 when Yarrow started making it and 1968 when it came out. Carl Franzoni, one of the leaders of the LA freak movement that we've talked about in episodes on the Byrds, Love, and the Mothers of Invention, said of the film “If you ever see this movie you'll understand what ‘freaks' are. It'll let you see the L.A. freaks, the San Francisco freaks, and the New York freaks. It was like a documentary and it was about the makings of what freaks were about. And it had a philosophy, a very definite philosophy: that you are free-spirited, artistic." It's now most known for introducing the song "My Name is Jack" by John Simon, the film's music supervisor: [Excerpt: John Simon, "My Name is Jack"] That song would go on to be a top ten hit in the UK for Manfred Mann: [Excerpt: Manfred Mann, "My Name is Jack"] The Hawks contributed backing music for several songs for the film, in which they acted as backing band for another old Greenwich Village folkie who had been friends with Yarrow and Dylan but who was not yet the star he would soon become, Tiny Tim: [Excerpt: Tiny Tim, "Sonny Boy"] This was their first time playing together properly since the end of the European tour, and Sid Griffin has noted that these Tiny Tim sessions are the first time you can really hear the sound that the group would develop over the next year, and which would characterise them for their whole career. Robertson, Danko, and Manuel also did a session, not for the film with another of Grossman's discoveries, Carly Simon, playing a version of "Baby Let Me Follow You Down", a song they'd played a lot with Dylan on the tour that spring. That recording has never been released, and I've only managed to track down a brief clip of it from a BBC documentary, with Simon and an interviewer talking over most of the clip (so this won't be in the Mixcloud I put together of songs): [Excerpt: Carly Simon, "Baby Let Me Follow You Down"] That recording is notable though because as well as Robertson, Danko, and Manuel, and Dylan's regular studio keyboard players Al Kooper and Paul Griffin, it also features Levon Helm on drums, even though Helm had still not rejoined the band and was at the time mostly working in New Orleans. But his name's on the session log, so he must have m

https://www.ruthfitton.com   Ruth has been fascinated by portraiture since her mid-teens. Her imagination is sparked by the human face, and its unique capacity for character and communication. Ruth taught herself to paint in oils while also studying for a BA in Music, and on graduating began painting full-time.   Since then, Ruth's paintings have gathered praise across the globe. Recent awards include a Purchase Award from the Art Renewal Center (2021) and 1st Place Young Artist award with the Royal Institute of Oil Painters (2020). In 2022 Ruth was elected an Associate Member of the Royal Institute of Oil Painters.     “My work is almost always figurative; it is humanity, facial expression, and body language which spark my imagination. I want to communicate, and I always strive for a strong narrative element in my paintings. Inspirations include the work of pre-Raphaelite and naturalist painters, and post-impressionist painters (Waterhouse, Bastien-LePage, Friant, Bramley). I am passionate about painting from life – I'm drawn to the organic experience of capturing my immediate reality in paint. This passion is balanced by a keen curiosity regarding texture, layers, and edges. I constantly seek the most imaginative ways to make paint replicate the feel and character of what I see. Quick, immersive live studies are generally followed by extensive studio work.”     Ruth has exhibited at Sotheby's NYC, Arcadia Contemporary NYC, MEAM Barcelona, the Mall Galleries London, and is represented by Fine Art Commissions, London.   Ruth's painting “Things Not Seen” has been selected by the Art Renewal Center for the Lunar Codex cultural time-capsule project; in 2022 a copy of the painting will be sent to the Moon.  

https://www.ruthfitton.com Ruth has been fascinated by portraiture since her mid-teens. Her imagination is sparked by the human face, and its unique capacity for character and communication. Ruth taught herself to paint in oils while also studying for a BA in Music, and on graduating began painting full-time.   Since then, Ruth's paintings have gathered praise across the globe. Recent awards include a Purchase Award from the Art Renewal Center (2021) and 1st Place Young Artist award with the Royal Institute of Oil Painters (2020). In 2022 Ruth was elected an Associate Member of the Royal Institute of Oil Painters.     “My work is almost always figurative; it is humanity, facial expression, and body language which spark my imagination. I want to communicate, and I always strive for a strong narrative element in my paintings. Inspirations include the work of pre-Raphaelite and naturalist painters, and post-impressionist painters (Waterhouse, Bastien-LePage, Friant, Bramley). I am passionate about painting from life – I'm drawn to the organic experience of capturing my immediate reality in paint. This passion is balanced by a keen curiosity regarding texture, layers, and edges. I constantly seek the most imaginative ways to make paint replicate the feel and character of what I see. Quick, immersive live studies are generally followed by extensive studio work.”     Ruth has exhibited at Sotheby's NYC, Arcadia Contemporary NYC, MEAM Barcelona, the Mall Galleries London, and is represented by Fine Art Commissions, London.   Ruth's painting “Things Not Seen” has been selected by the Art Renewal Center for the Lunar Codex cultural time-capsule project; in 2022 a copy of the painting will be sent to the Moon.

“In the Bleak Midwinter” is the greatest carol of all time! Or, that's what choir directors and choral experts across the U.S. and the U.K. told BBC Magazine in the 2008 poll that earned it this fame.  This haunting carol is born out of a poem written by an English poet in 1872 for a U.S. literary journal, Scribner's Monthly, unimaginatively titled: “A Christmas carol.” But, it would take more than three decades for this mystery poet's words to find a tune. So, intriguing is the pre-Raphaelite figure who penned these words, that you will need to listen to the episode if you want to find out the identity of our mystery poet.  But it was Gustav Holst, the world-renowned composer of the orchestral suite “The Planets”, who first set the text to music. His best-friend, Vaughan Williams, another renowned composer had asked him to write a Christmas carol for a new English hymnal that he had been asked to compile. It is out of this that the carol most people sing today comes to be. But it is not Holst's tune that was voted the most-beloved carol of choristers. That singular honor belongs to Harold Darke, who in 1909 set the words to his own tune. And, indeed, when you hear Darke's magical composition, weaving vocal parts in and out seamlessly and creating a Christmasssy soundscape that will bring your jaw from the pew to the cathedral floor, you'll understand why it has mesmerized music experts and enthusiasts alike. And on this episode, two British experts pull apart the music and verse with Ricardo da Silva, S.J, our guest host and series producer along with Maggi Van Dorn. First, we invite back Christopher Walker, a church composer known for his “Celtic Alleluia,” to tackle the tune. Then, the Rev. Rachel Mann, an Anglican priest, poet, writer and one-time music journalist with expert knowledge of our mystery poet, guides us, verse by verse, through this nostalgia-inducing carol, and reveals the identity of its author.  Special thanks to the Choir of King's College, Cambridge, Christopher Walker and Greg Shockmann, Garreth Brooke, Sharlene Wallace and Greg Koller, The Ignatian Schola, Debra Buesking, Wayne Bennett and Gate City Brass, Cynthia Boener and Salt of the Sound, for providing much of the music on this episode. Our featured version of “In the Bleak Midwinter” at the end of this episode is performed by the Choir of King's College, Cambridge under the direction of Daniel Hyde. This recording is available on their latest album, “In the Bleak Midwinter: Christmas Carols from Kings”.  You can preorder a high definition recording of this year's Carols by Candlelight celebration which was pre-recorded at King's College Chapel in Cambridge and will be broadcast on the BBC this Christmas Eve. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Storm Brendon, council Christmas tree disposal policy and a long walk home don't appear to have much in common. Put them all together and you can live through your own Spaghetti western. It's not that the good citizens of Clapham are having a hairy panic seeing Clint Eastwood emerge through the tumbleweed blowing down the High Street. The good, the bad and the ugly of South London have all run home and locked the doors as the wind gets up, the rain comes down and hundreds of Christmas trees get going. It's just me and the trees blowing about in the dark. You'd think that by the middle of January all those abandoned Christmas trees would have made it to wood chip. They've been hanging about waiting for kerb side collection for weeks now. Fed up with waiting they've broken free under cover of a dark and stormy night. They're roaming about South London like tumbleweed. The challenge for me is that they are invisible in the dark. That's why I'm taking a position on abandoned trees. Position one is involuntary: I do not spy a tree and think how wonderful it would be to take a moment to climb up into the branches of that tree and rest, recumbent, pre-Raphaelite inspired. A large tree, that some poor person has had to drag home with them, is now blowing about in the street, waiting for the moment when it and I become connected. As introductions go, it is “prickly” and “in your face”. Our acquaintance is short lived and after a brisk exchange, the free roaming Christmas tree blows away down the road. It all happened so fast. I couldn't give a description. Position two is also involuntary. I'm not a tree hugger. They're not my type. I'm not seeking out a prickly embrace, but a prickly embrace is what I get. A large, full bodied tree, gets me square on. I was looking out for it, but didn't see it, and now I had my arms around it. Then the tree blew on and I was left fighting with thin air. Position three is the very position I want to avoid. I am brought to my knees by a free roaming Christmas tree. It does not have the brawn of tree number two. Properly secured in a nylon net, it is the kind of tree you could probably carry home, under an arm, on the bus. What it lacks in bulk, it more than makes up for in agility. It knocks me off my feet. You could say that tree was a mugger of a tree. I put up a strong defence and after a few choice words pick myself up and slope off. Normal defences are useless. The long cane is not designed for the navigation of tumbleweed Christmas trees. There is nothing for it but to keep going and take it slow, listening out for any front doors that might open and anyone taking a chance to jettison any late abandoned Christmas trees misiles coming my way. It wasn't quick. It wasn't pretty, but I made it home. Position Four is this: It's fourteen days since the twelve days of Christmas. Trees are still bobbing about in the street. I've got the needle about it. I don't mean to be scratchy but it's a hazard too far for this “blinky”. I've got the scars to prove it. I'm not interested in being bowled over by a tree. Where's Clint Eastwood when you need him? It's coming back to me now. He went into politics and became the Mayor of Carmel. He's probably been busy, cleaning up Christmas trees. 

How well do you know your favorite holiday songs? Test yourself with the latest round of Rachel's Trivia Challenge—all about Christmas carols! Which beloved Christmas Eve hymn originally referenced Baby Jesus's curly hair? Which carol writer once posed as the Virgin Mary for a famous pre-Raphaelite painting? Which faux medieval ballad is regularly sung at Boar's Head Festivals around the country? And the trickiest question of all: which Christmas carol is Sarah's all-time favorite (today)? A lightning round at the end challenges listeners to identify carols based only on the title or first line of the song in its language of origin. Click through to listen to previous Rachel's Trivia Challenge episodes. Connect with the Lutheran Ladies on social media in The Lutheran Ladies' Lounge Facebook discussion group (facebook.com/groups/LutheranLadiesLounge). Follow us on Instagram @lutheranladieslounge, and also follow Sarah (@hymnnerd), Rachel (@rachbomberger), Erin (@erinaltered), and Bri (@grrrzevske).

A comic ghost story from Edwardian London–perfect to relax to and not scary at all. The Lost Tragedy by Denis Mackail Denis Mackail was born in 1892  in London. His mother was the daughter of the famous pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones.  His father was Scottish, born on the Isle of Bute, and later Professor of Poetry at Oxford University and a specialist in Latin Literature and also President of the British Academy.  His sister was also a novelist. He was more distantly related to Rudyard Kipling and Stanley Baldwin, a British prime minister. Denis Mackail was born into some privilege. His most famous novel Greenery Street deals with social manners in the upper-middle class London he knew. As such, this story is interesting as it deals with the doings of lower middle class tradesmen such as book-dealers.  Mackail must have known something of the trade to paint it so well. Mackail suffered from ill-health when he was a young man and though he worked as a stage-set designer in the theatre in London, he was not fit enough to fight in the First World War.  I am not clear what his physical health problems were but he suffered from anxiety himself and had what is called a ‘nervous breakdown.' Despite his comfortable early start he had some financial troubles and had to write to supplement his income. He published a novel every year from 1920 until 1938. He moved in literary circles and was a friend of A A Milne and P G Wodehouse, both famous for their light-hearted and comic writing.  He wrote the official biography of J M Barrie (the author of Peter Pan) and but after the death of his wife in 1949 he never wrote another thing. Despite that he lived another twenty-two years, dying in London in 1971 at the age of seventy-nine. Genre expectations. Writers can expect to get excoriated if they defy genre expectations. If you write a Romance be that clean or mucky (I don't really read either to be honest)  or Space Opera that is not huge in scale, or Heaven Forbid ‘LitRPG' that doesn't have enough stats in it, then the hard-core genre reader will cut you down to size with a one-star review. I say this because this may be a ghost story, but it is a comic ghost story and that genre has its own tropes and conventions, not least the wise cracking spectre as in the Ben and William show in this story.  I hope listeners were not too disappointed. The Lost Tragedy is a well constructed tale. We have the set up of Shakespeare as someone they recognise but whose name they can't place, who speaks with a ‘west-country' accent, which might relate to the Warwickshire accent of Stratford Upon Avon. It is very common for ghost stories to be related as ‘frame stories' where the events are told to an unconnected person by someone who has first-hand, but now long previous association with the events. It is also in keeping with M R James's dictum that ghost stories should be removed from the every day by placing them remotely in distance or time in that it happened when Mr Bunstable was a young man. There is a tradition of the comic ghost story. This story reminded me somewhat of the Ghost Ship by Richard Middleton. This humorous tale of a ghostly pirate ship was published in 1912 but as Middleton killed himself in 1911, was written before that. I only mention the date because it was part of a trend of ghost stories with jokey spectres which perhaps began with Oscar Wilde's The Canterville Ghost  published in 1887 and have a noble tradition through Casper The Friendly Ghost who first appeared in 1945 and  the film Bedknobs and Broomsticks 1971. I also liked the description of the bookshop. It reminded me both of Black Books on the TV, the old Foyles I used to know on Charing Cross Road and in a way of Cynthia Asquith's The Corner Shop (which is another London shop that you dip into out of the London fog).  There is a shop like this in Victoria Walker's The Winter of Enchantment... Support this podcast

Five minutes of civilised calm, recorded in East London, as the capital starts to wake up. Sign up at https://marcsalmanac.substack.com With a poem by Ezra Pound, The Ballad of the Goodly Fere. "No capon priest was the Goodly Fere But a man o' men was he..." From the show: Opening/closing music courtesy of Chillhop: Philanthrope, Leavv - What Was Before https://chll.to/d6b0ec27 On this day: 2nd April, 2020, the world's recorded cases of Covid-19 passed one million. As of yesterday, thanks to an unprecedented effort, more than 31 million people in the UK have received at least one dose of a vaccine. On this day: 2nd April, 1827, William Holman Hunt was born in Cheapside. A major pre-Raphaelite painter, his religious canvases such as The Scapegoat still resonate today Music to wake you up – Wade in the Water by Eva Cassidy Sign up to receive email alerts and show notes with links when a new episode goes live at https://marcsalmanac.substack.com Please share this with anyone who might need a touch of calm, and please keep sending in your messages and requests. You can leave a voice message at https://anchor.fm/marc-sidwell/message. If you like Marc's Almanac please do leave a review on Apple podcasts. It really helps new listeners to find me. Have a lovely day. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/marc-sidwell/message

Marco Pierre White is the legendary chef often described as the enfant terrible of English cuisine, and the youngest cook ever to receive three Michelin stars. Marco's story has now passed into legend: the childhood on a council estate outside Leeds; the prodigious genius mentored by Albert Roux, Pierre Koffman and Raymond Blanc; the outrageous work ethic and infamous temper; the pre-Raphaelite curls and smouldering brow. But to hear him tell his own story is an unpredictable joy. You don't so much interview Marco Pierre White as uncork a genie — and so this episode does away with our usual structured conversation format and becomes something else entirely: a rolling meditation on childhood, luck, pain, celebrity, greed, and good food.  We recorded this episode in one of the living rooms of Marco's home — a Victorian gothic hotel he is converting near Bath. It kicks off with Marco explaining what walking into a Three Michelin Star restaurant should feel like — and it rolls like a juggernaut from there. Enjoy. 

Coming to you from Whidbey Island, Washington this is 60 Seconds, your daily dose of hope, imagination, wisdom, stories, practical tips, and general riffing on this and that.Here, in my home on Whidbey Island I believe I know well what prompted Fleur Adcock to write the poem, Weathering.Weathering   Literally thin-skinned, I suppose, my face   catches the wind off the snow-line and flushes   with a flush that will never wholly settle. Well:   that was a metropolitan vanity,   wanting to look young for ever, to pass.    I was never a pre-Raphaelite beauty   nor anything but pretty enough to satisfy   men who needed to be seen with passable women.   But now that I am in love with a place   which doesn’t care how I look, or if I’m happy,    happy is how I look, and that’s all.   My hair will turn grey in any case,   my nails chip and flake, my waist thicken,   and the years work all their usual changes.   If my face is to be weather-beaten as well    that’s little enough lost, a fair bargain   for a year among lakes and fells, when simply   to look out of my window at the high pass   makes me indifferent to mirrors and to what   my soul may wear over its new complexion." [Fleur Adcock] This is the place to thrive together. Come for the stories - stay for the magic.  Speaking of magic, I hope you’ll subscribe, follow, share a nice shout out on your social media or podcast channel of choice, and join us next time! You’re invited to stop by the website and subscribe to stay current with Diane, her journeys, her guests, as well as creativity, imagination, walking, stories, camaraderie, and so much more: Quarter Moon Story ArtsProduction Team: Quarter Moon Story ArtsMusic: Mer’s Waltz from Crossing the Waters by Steve Schuch & Night Heron MusicAll content and image © 2019 - Present: for credit & attribution Quarter Moon Story Arts

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Stone Cold Steve Austin, all the facts, Guinness World Record ethics, fiery art debate. This show has EVERYTHING.

Unfortunately, very little information can be found about the English pianist/teacher, Annette Hullah. Apart from an English newspaper having announced her return from Vienna, in 1893, following the completion of her studies with Theodor Leschetizky and the publication of an American newspaper having referred to her as “young” in 1902, one estimates that she was born in the 1870s. Annette Hullah was the daughter of the famed English organist, teacher and composer, Sir John Pyke Hullah (1812-84). Interestingly, Hullah’s father knew Charles Dickens, the latter having wrote a failed comic opera entitled, The Village Coquettes for which the former was to have composed the music. Years later (ca. 1930) Hullah sold the letters that were written to her father by Dickens. Hullah's mother was Frances Rosser Hullah. In addition to being a student of Leschetizky (one of the most famous and legendary piano teachers of all time) Hullah was one of his teaching assistants and, judging by her book, Theodor Leschetizky it appears as though she had a firm grasp of the teaching principles of her master. Published in 1906 as part of the “Living Masters of Music Series” by John Lane Company, Hullah’s short book serves more as biography than memoir. A few personal stories do pepper the text and make for an enjoyable read, particularly when read alongside Leschetizky As I Knew Him written by Hullah’s classmate, Ethel Newcomb. (The first seventeen episodes of this podcast are devoted to the book.) Following her return to England in 1893, Hullah apparently taught piano and performed, although no major tours or orchestral debuts appear to have been documented and it is not known whether or not she made any recordings. Following some health issues, particularly with regards to weak lungs, Hullah resided for some time in California at the turn of the century. Her health having been improved by the weather, she later returned to England where she secured a wealthy patron. It is interesting to note that during Hullah’s time in California, she performed both solo and chamber music in and around San Francisco and was frequently the guest at the teas, suppers and musicales of noted individuals, including Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Magee. Magee had been a millionaire property owner and was a retired real estate broker when he died in 1902 at the age of seventy. While there exists very little biographical information about Hullah, one thing that evidently did not go unnoticed was her looks, numerous reporters having described her physical attributes in accounts such as: “Her head reminds you of Du Maurier’s Women…” Not unlike the Polish pianist, Ignacy Jan Paderewski (another pupil of Leschetizky) Hullah’s hair was described as having reminded one of the pre-Raphaelite faces painted by Sir Edward Burne-Jones and Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema. Another reporter wrote that Hullah “looks like an angel when she plays, for she has a halo of bright gold hair which is really much like an aureole, and her face is decidedly spirituelle.” Hullah was also frequently described as that “fascinating little English girl,” or the “pretty little English pianist with the aureole of bright hair” and that “dainty and charming little lady.” As for her character, Hullah has been described as being of the “scholarly, academic, logical school – an intellectual rather than emotional conception” and it has been said that her distinguishing characteristics were “an admirable conscientiousness, considerable technical attainment and unusual poise.” As a pianist, she was said to have played “exceedingly well.” Hullah also wrote A Little History of Music. ---------- PayPal.me/pennypiano Support for this podcast is greatly appreciated!

Ayuesh Agarwal is an award winning contemporary realist artist who also happens to be the founder of the very first Atelier style school in India, the Samsara Academy of Art.  Join me as we have a conversation about his journey as an artist, the challenges he faced starting the school, and the habits that have helped him achieve success within the art world at such a young age.     Visit Samsara Academy of Art's website here: https://www.samsaraacademyofart.com/ Visit Samsara Academy of Art's instagram: https://www.instagram.com/samsaraacademyofart Visit Ayuesh Agarwal's instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ayueshart   To sign up for my upcoming free training for artists on how to go from uninspired to feeling like a creative genius, go to the link in bio at @visionaryartistssalon on Instagram and sign up! To browse available artwork in The New pre-Raphaelite exhibition, visit www.eracontemporary.com.   Other links mentioned: My FREE Guide I wrote for artists based on my own method: 30 Days to 3k: the Definitive Guide to Authentically Selling Your Artwork Online: www.thevisionaryartistssalon.com Apply for a free 30 minute explore call to see if my coaching program, Artist Soul Mastery is right for you: www.thevisionaryartistssalon.com My personal artworks: www.jessicalibor.com My name is Jessica Libor, and I am the host of the Inspired Painter Podcast, an artist, educator and curator.  I'm the founder of the Visionary Artist's Salon, a heart-centered virtual space for artists to be empowered to step forward into a successful career with forward momentum.  If you're an artist who wants to create an amazing and fulfilling career and life, this podcast is for you! I'll be sharing inspiration that has worked for me and art world insights and tips. My goal with this podcast is to help you feel in control of your art career and empowered to be the best artist you can be! Keep up with me on Instagram at my artist account @jessicaliborstudio or my coaching and teaching account @visionaryartistssalon .      

4 October 2020 Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, Archangels Patronal Feast (Transferred) Matthew 21:33-43 + Homily 14 Minutes 54 Seconds Link to the Readings: https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/092920.cfm (New American Bible, Revised Edition) From the parish bulletin of Sunday 4 October 2020:   When explorers roamed what was to them a “New World,” they sent back to Europe descriptions of strange vegetation and wildlife, using familiar images to describe the unfamiliar. Spaniards in Peru reported that the llama was an animal with the body of a large sheep, the neck of a camel, and the head of a deer.    In retrospect these descriptions were pretty good, but only because all material creatures are analogous to each other one way or another. This is not so in the case of purely immaterial and perfectly intelligent beings. There are ranks of them, the most extraordinary of which are called Cherubim and Seraphim, and by the fact of their unlikeness to anything in time and space, some descriptions of them in the Bible can strike us as outrageous: giant wheels the size of the universe covered with unblinking eyes.    In their ranks, those who are called angels and archangels, meaning messengers of God, get involved in human events. They can show up in our daily commerce while we are unaware (Hebrews 13:2). Limited human art strains to portray their appearance when they choose to become visible. Fra Angelico did this sublimely. But then there was the school of the master stylist Bouguereau who made choirs of angels look like the Folies Bergère.    Although they have no need of them, angels are often depicted anthropomorphically with wings, because material creatures like us cannot fly without them. But this has its limits, like the mythological Icarus who failed in his flight from Crete because the wax that stuck the feathers to his arms melted. Powerful icons of ageless angels frequently suffered the indignity of being replaced by images of chubby Raphaelite infants. When angels have appeared in time and space, and most importantly to Our Lady, they have had to calm humans down. One cannot imagine a pink and white baby cherub in a state of neglected dress having to say, “Fear not.”    In 1857, our church was dedicated to the patronage of Saint Michael the Archangel, who was of supernal help during the Civil War draft riots and the burgeoning crime rate. Not for nothing was our neighborhood nicknamed “Hell’s Kitchen.” This year our streets have been under attack during the maliciously orchestrated and funded riots. The holy angels strengthen the classical virtue of “sophrosyne,” which is moral sanity based on reason and temperance, and is the opposite of riotous demagoguery.    We have the privilege of transferring the Feast of Saint Michael to this Sunday, lighting candles before his statue, whose recently gold-leafed sword, too heavy for chuckling cherubs to wield, points at Satan. That Prince of Pride, and ventriloquist of anarchists, boasted: “I will be like the Most High” (Isaiah 14:14). But Saint Michael declares “Quis ut Deus” which freely translated from the tongues of angels into the vernacular of men, means, “Sorry, Liar. You ain’t God.”     

Rudyard KiplingRudyard Kipling was the great poet of British Imperialism. He was born in 1865 in Mumbai (then Bombay) British India. He died in London, England in 1936 aged 70. He was named Rudyard because that was the place his parents had met and courted at Rudyard Lake in Staffordshire, England. Kipling was well-connected. HIs cousin was a conservative prime minister and two of his aunts were married to famous painters, one the great pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones He was immensely successful and you will have heard of The Jungle Book via Disney if nowhere else, but also his books Kim, Gunga Dinand his famous poems (at least to British schoolboys of my generation) Mandalay and I imagine the world-famous poem If is familiar to most peopl.e He actually won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907. Henry James thought he was a literary genius.  Kipling has the ability to write wonderful prose that puts us right in the scene, whether that me the lush English countryside, dusty India or a grand old haunted house. It is worth saying also that Kipling also evidenced great affection for India and the Indians. He had a nanny or 'ayah' when he was small, but went back to England for his education. Interestling, after he finished at his military school, which he found a little rough, at the age of 17, it was decided he wasn't smart enough to go to Oxford University so he sailed back to India, where he became a journalist. To him, landing back in India was a home coming.  He published a collection of short stories set in British India in 1886; Plain Tales from the Hills, these had previously been released over a period of two years in a Lahore magazine.  He travelled back to England in 1889, via Rangoon, Singapore, Hong Kong, Japan and San Francisco. He travelled around the USA and Canada before going back to London, spending time in the Pacific North West at Portland, Seattle, British Columbia then going east via Alberta to the Yellowstone National park, Omaha, Chicago, Washington DC, New York and Boston. He met Mark Twain and was very impressed with him. At that time, Twain had published Tom Sawyer and was writing Huckleberry Finn. He then took ship to Liverpool from whence he went to London to great literary acclaim He went back to America for his honeymoon and it was in Vermont that he got the idea of The Jungle Book. He stayed in New England for a whle and was visited by Arthur Conan Doyle and met Theodore Roosevelt. He visited South Africa each winter and then in 1897, settled in rural Sussex and he lived there until his death in 1897 in a great house called Batemans. TheyThey was first published in Scribner's Magazine for August 1904 and then collected in Traffics and Discoveries in the same year. The 'house beautiful' that it describes is thought to be modelled on his own house in Sussex.  I hadn't picked up on this, but some reviewers infer that the visitor's own child has died, and this makes sense of the passage where he says he never sees the faces of his own dead in his dreams. The butler has also lost a child who is now walking in the wood. The butler won't accept a tip for setting the visitor back on his way, which may indicate some commonality of feeling and loss.  The girl's kiss on his hand at the end which breaks the spell, is the special kiss of his own dead daughter, and it is only at this point he realises (though we had this figured much earlier) that the children are ghosts of the children who have died.  The point is that Miss Florence has never borne a child so she can never see them. In this sense her blindness is symbolic. He can see them and ultimately feel them because he like, the peasant woman and the butler have lost their own children.  This kiss brings up the taboo of the communication of the living and the dead, Support this podcast

Hello, welcome to the Kscope Podcast 120, where we embrace the weirdness. Beautiful, emotive, gentle mythical-folk this time out, as two award-winning musicians release solo LPs on our label:  Jonathan Hultén with ‘Chants From Another Place’ - myth, legend, pastoral and  Mariana Semkina with ‘Sleepwalking’  - theatre, pre-Raphaelite, baroque. We speak to both Mariana and Jonathan about writing alone, moving along to the next phase, and the magic of Hastings…   Tracklisting Jonathan Hultén – ‘Where Devils Weep’, ‘Wasteland’ and ‘The Mountain’ kscopemusic.com/jonathanhulten/   Mariana Semkina – ‘Still Life’, ‘Everything Burns’ and ‘Turn Back Time’ kscopemusic.com/marianasemkina/

Gus Van Sant's new film Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far On Foot is about John Callahan; the quadriplegic, alcoholic cartoonist whose work skewered the lives of disabled people and those who patronise them. An exhibition of the work of pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones has opened at Tate Britain in London. Its their first major retrospective of his work for 75 years and includes works that have never been on public display before. Following BBC TV's enormous success with The Night Manager there's a new leCarre drama - Little Drummer Girl Martin McDonagh's play A Very Very Very Dark Matter has just opened at London's Bridge Theatre. It begins with the idea that Hans Christian Andersen kept a Congolese pygmy in a 3ft x 3ft box in his home and SHE wrote all his stories, living on a diet of sausages. And, oh yes! Charles Dickens also had one too... Barbara Kingsolver's novel Unsheltered follows 2 parallel stories about families - nearly 150 years apart - sharing the same house Tom Sutcliffe's guests are Blake Morrison, Elizabeth Day and Tom Shakespeare. The producer is Oliver Jones Podcast extra choices: Blake recommends Philip Larkin: Letters Home Elizabeth recommends Good and Mad by Rebecca Traister Tom Shakespeare recommends Melmoth by Sarah Perry Tom Sutcliffe recommends In The Dark podcast

In this episode Dr Laura-Jane Foley meets Geoffrey Munn, a writer, jewellery specialist and presenter on BBC Antiques Roadshow, who recounts an incredible art detective story. Geoffrey shares his forty-year quest to track down a missing one-of-a-kind watch designed by pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828 -1882). To comment on the show please write to @laurajanefoley on Twitter and use the hashtag #MyFavouriteWorkOfArtPresented and produced by Dr Laura-Jane FoleyRecorded and edited at Wisebuddah, LondonTitle Music - 'Blue' from Colours by Dimitri Scarlato See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Kate Forsyth chats about fairytales, feminism and providing a voice for the forgotten women in history. Discussing the incredible Charlotte de la Force in Bitter Greens and her determination to live life the way she intended, we follow her incredible journey, you will fall in love with her and not just because she dressed up as a bear to rescue her younger lover, although this is reason enough. How wonderful was it to learn about the origins of Happily Ever After, this type of ending of a fairytale was, believe it or not, had quite a feminist angle. In this time period, marriage was to simply improve the position of others in society, never for love. Therefore, if a woman managed to marry the man she desired, and a man of her choice then she really did live happily ever after, unlike so many before her. In Beauty in Thorns, one of Kate's latest novels, we chat about Lizzie Siddal, the model in the infamous Ophelia painting as well as the women in the pre-Raphaelite era trying to be heard. We read about their lovers, their struggles, opium addiction, eating disorders and the importance of art to change the world. Kate Forsyth has sold more than a million books, which ones have you read?

We are joined by smokey-voiced comic and pre-Raphaelite beauty Shelbi Evans, who tells us about growing up in Texas, what comes from abstinence-only education (spoiler: babies!), and her adorable parents. We also ask the important questions: who are you if you aren't yourself. What wasn't published in Anne Frank's diary? Someone tries to murder us. Well, someone tried to open the door with unknown aims. Plus an all new Annette's an Ignorant Dumb Bitch!

(Photo: Keith Chegwin) Matthew Bannister on The disgraced publicist Max Clifford who was known as the king of the kiss and tell story, made up many tabloid headlines and was convicted of eight charges of indecent assault against teenage girls. The adventurer Norman Baker who sailed with Thor Heyerdahl from Morocco to Barbados on a papyrus raft called Ra II. The businessman Tony Garrett who was chairman of Imperial Tobacco and a pioneer of sponsorship deals in sport and the arts. The art historian Virginia Surtees who championed the pre-Raphaelite painters. And Keith Chegwin, much loved children's TV presenter and entertainer.

Once upon a time lasts forever; deep, dark and complex, crafting timeless stories of magic and fantasy, bringing centuries old stories to new readers…where do I stop? Five pages of research notes and I’m just getting to the beginning of Kate Forsyth’s talents as a bestselling and prolific novelist and poet, writing across genres, for all ages – gosh, the press-release words keep on coming to describe this most amazing and generous of Australian authors. I start to get excited when I find the research notes written by Kate for her latest novel, already drafted, edited and ready to go for a September 2017 release. Beauty in Thorns, a reimagining of Sleeping Beauty, has some amazing women characters based on the passions and scandals of pre-Raphaelite circles of artists and poets. If, once again, I sound like a press release, please forgive me…capturing this woman’s spirit is only possible in the listening. All the rest is mere words. Kate shares with us how her research process has changed over the years, how she organises her research and the delight of the process itself…then she tells us how she ruthlessly cuts tens of thousands of words if it’s necessary to make a story work. As far as the craft of writing goes, we can do no better than to take notes as we listen, and listen again, to the advice of one of the most generous writers I’ve had the privilege to meet. Call me a fangirl, but I’m already saving up for a Writers Retreat with Kate in the Cotswalds, with a side trip to Oxford of course. And yes, Sam, you can come too. You can find out more about Kate, her books, and her research process http://www.kateforsyth.com.au/ (here.)

Light a cigar, sit back on the sofa and enjoy the Raphaelite-esque decor. We look back at FGR, Bognor and it's bogroll, our random hatred of clubs continues. Fenty gaff update 16.0.4 ready for download