Peter Tchaikovsky, Don Ameche, a first piano concerto and why snobs of all stripes are a waste of space

Why do so many classical music lovers look down on Tchaikovsky? Not everyone, by any means, but an unfortunate and unfortunately large number of musical snobs regard his music as easy, candyfloss, that kind of thing. They regard an admission of liking his music as a kind of innocence, a lack of sophistication, the mark of a man who is not wholly serious about music.
Well, in describing them as 'snobs' I shall indicated what I think of such self-regarding prats. Should the worth of a composer really be judged on how 'tuneful' he is or not? Does apparent cacophony (and here I am thinking of what I'm told orchestral players often refer to as 'squeaky gate music', the allusion being obvious) mark out the 'worthwhile composer' whereas those who come up with music which one can whistle or sing along to are to be written off as second-rate? I should bloody well hope not, but to hear some people speaking of poor Tchaikovsky you would think so. A typical criticism is that his music is 'vulgar and lacking in elevated thought'. Dear soul, lacking in elevated thought - what a crime.
Well, I'm not one of them. Between the ages of nine and 13, I lived in Berlin and in all that time I attended German schools, first Die Steubenschule in Berlin-Charlottenburg down the road from where we live (it was a short tram journey away down the Heerstraße), then, from Easter 1960, I went to Das Canisius Kolleg, a Jesuit secondary school in Berlin-Tiergarten near the Siegessäule and the Brandenburg Gate. The German schoolday runs six days a week from 8/8.30/9am in the morning until 1pm, so I would get home for just before two, have lunch, then sit down to do my homework. And part of that routine was switching on my transistor radio and tuning into AFN and listening to the Don Ameche Pop Concert (as I think it was called), which began with the opening of Tchaikovsky's 1st Piano Concerto in B Flat minor and a very lovely piece of music it is, too.
The trouble, of course, or, at least, the trouble for the musical snobs, is that Tchaikovsky's music is memorable, hummable, tuneful and generally, to use a rather cliched term, accessible. And we really can't have that, can we? Good Lord, no. If we sophisticates are to stand out from the hoi polloi, we must not only be, but must be seen to be more rarefied than your ordinary Joe. I mean, really.
That concerto is a great way to get a child interested in classical music, to lead him or her in gently, so to speak. If you want to turn them off for life, just play them anything by Schönberg. That will do the trick. Of course, the other great introduction is Prokifiev's Peter and The Wolf. And by the by, I caught his Third Symphony on the radio driving down from London the other night and rather liked it.
A word to snobs of every stripe: get to fuck.

And earlier that night . . .

This footage was taken at the Mall Galleries on The Mall in London. (For those who know London, the Admiralty Arch is one end, Buckingham Palace the other. Not that that is in any way relevant.) I had arranged to meet an old schoolfriend there, and he suggested the Mall Galleries because his son's girlfriend, a fashion photography student was, with her classmates, holding an exhibition there. Next door was similar exhibition of students on a course of fashion journalism (which to this cynic is just another, albeit more imaginative way of parting suckers from their money, in this case an even more reprehensible act in that these suckers are even younger.)

15/2/09 UPDATE: Above is a new and improved version of the video, with all the bells and whistles which make an exercise in pointlessness so worthwhile. It is grandly - rather too grandly - entitled Significance, solely because there is none. NB I don't appear in it at all, mainly because I am the chap doing the filming. I suppose I could have made sure I appeared by filming a mirror, but there were no mirrors and, anyway, just what would be the point?

A vision in blue for those unaccustomed to the ethereal beauty of London's Underground railway system (i.e. video footage taken at Victoria).

As title. What else is there to say? Except that all is nought, one is one, and one and one are two. After that, as far as the maths is concerned, you are on your own. What do you think I am, a charity?

What exactly is attraction and why are/aren't we attracted against the odds?

I have at least one reader who takes an interest in these things, so I thought I might touch upon attraction. What is it? How reliable is it? Can it come and go?
There are lots of aspects to the question 'what is attraction', not least something which has puzzled me for years: how come you can think a woman is good-looking, i.e. 'attractive', and yet not feel attracted to her? And how come you can feel immensely attracted to a woman, so much that jumping into bed immediately wouldn't be soon enough, yet you don't at all think her good-looking and, well, attractive? It really is puzzling.
I find all sorts of things about a woman attractive: a voice, a way of smiling, hips, shoulders, a way of walking, a manner. And, conversely, there are quite a few things which can turn me off - just read the above list. Sometimes, you can find a woman immenselyb attractive, and then she will do something such as laugh - and that laught is such a turn-off, you wonder where your senses were.
I find intelligence in a woman attactive - not a turn-on - and I do mean intelligence, independent thought, not the ability flawlessly to regurgitate something by someone else. (NB For me a sure guide that someone is not particularly bright, or at least rather less bright than they fondly think they are, is if they use that deathless phrase - and believe it - when talking about themselves: 'Intelligent people like us.' Irrespective of the implied flattery - that is, you, the listener, are included in the group of 'intelligent people' - you almost always - no, always - find that the boast never actually stacks up, and you are obliged to ready yourself for a long, long litany of intellectual cliche.
Being attracted, and then no longer being attracted (and we are here talking physcial attraction throughout), is thoroughly disconerting but it does happen, and it can lead to some embarrassing situations.
Then there is the odd sensation of being vastly attracted - and wanting quite badly to do something about it - to someone you really don't like. Strange.
One danger worth mentioning, which many couples often discover rather late in the day and to their costs, is that attraction does not say anything about compatibility. If we are attracted to someone and look about for the nearest bed, couch or even grass knoll under a shade tree, the only thing we can say with any certainty is that we are attracted to that person. It says nothing - although we often think it does - about a glorious future together till death us do part. Yet I wonder how many people have mistaken attraction for such eternal love? Far too many I should imagine. Not that I am any wiser on that matter than anyone else. It is always so difficult to take your own advice.
A joke to see you on your way, which is, at least tenuously, linked to attraction:

Q. What is the difference between a fox and a dog?

A. About 10 Barcardi breezers.

Boom, boom.

Elsie and Wesley, my daughter and son

These two pictures were both taken several years ago. My daughter was then about seven and is now 12, and my son was then about two and is now 9. But these are two of my favourite photos and I have them on my computer at work.

Elsie, whose Chinese animal sign is the Rat, and as far as I can tell, she seems to be a typical Rat. In Western astrology she is a Leo, and she seems to be typical of that sign, too. Not that I believe in any of that silly nonsense.



And Wesley, whose Chinese animal sign is the Rabbit and who also, from what I know, seems to share the characteristics attributed to that sign by the Chinese. His Western sign is Gemini, and I do feel there are noticeable Gemini traits in his personality. Not that I believe in any of that nonsense. What me, a sceptical Scorpio? Pah!


Elsie was named after my grandmother and Wesley was named after my wife's grandfather.