That 1980s vibe: Hollywood-Burbank 'Bob Hope' Airport is among
the airports where music from the Eighties holds sway
At airports I tend to notice the background music (or muzak) that is being piped through the sound system. Increasingly, those ambient sounds are songs from the 1980s, with perhaps the odd one or two from the decades either side of the Eighties.
So what gives? Why does music from the 1980s hold sway in airport departure terminals. What is it about that era that continues to see its songs given preference in such settings?
It could be that many of the people passing through the terminal will identify with the music they personally experienced earlier in their lives. But that theory only holds true for so many travellers, there are plenty of others using the airports who belong to a generation untouched by the Eighties.
I say it has to do with the clarity, simplicity and feel-good combination of the songs. That is what those providing the background music are seeking to provide travellers - unobtrusive tunes that float around on the periphery of most people's hearing. In addition, for some folk the songs will bring a touch of reminiscence for times past and happy memories.
As a lover of music I enjoy tuning-in to any background melodies. At airports I have particularly noticed the 1980s musical playlists at Hollywood-Burbank 'Bob Hope' Airport, JFK International Airport in New York, and Boston Logan International Airport.
It's not only airports; shopping malls are another venue that often delve into the tunes from the Eighties. What does this say about music? Were the 1980s truly the peak years for timeless, enjoyable mood and ear-friendly music?
Modern classic: Alana Haim takes centre stage for the final verse of the
song Halleljuh, flanked by her older sisters Danielle and Este
If there's one song from 2019 that will be remembered long after the curtain falls on New Year's Eve, it must surely be the newly-released lilting ballad from Haim.
Alana Haim begins the third and final verse of Hallelujah with these poignant words: "I had a best friend but she has come to pass, one I wish I could see now."
It is a song that evokes the style of Simon & Garfunkel, and Fleetwood Mac. However, it carries a charm and resonance of its own and the hallmarks of the timeless classic it is likely to become.
Musically, the stripped-down song is mostly confined to the acoustic guitar picking of Danielle Haim, who also does the largest portion of the singing, although the third and eldest of the Haim sisters, Este, delivers the second verse.
It is the blend of clean harmonies, clear voices and acoustic treatment that so effectively creates this moving ballad. Alana's heartfelt lyrics and the mood of the song are unencumbered by any distractions.
I'll say no more about the song, because it is something that will hold different meanings for each listener, and it springs from a personal story from Alana's life, which she has shared on social media. I have included a link and a copy of the story - in her own words - at the bottom of this blog post.
However, I recommend that before delving into the song's background you listen to it fresh, and let your own thoughts be moved by the mood and sentiments.
Enjoy also this remarkable video, made by talented and multi-Oscar nominated filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson. I love the closing scene where Danielle walks from the cinema, with Este in the ticket sales box, and Alana fixes the signage above.
The video for Haim's Hallelujah:
Below is the tweet from Haim (pronounced HY-im), written by Alana, and including her telling of the background to the song and the loss of her best friend.
As I previously mentioned, the song has such graceful power I recommend listening to it first, and possibly many times over, before reading on to learn the genesis of the lyrics in Alana's own words.
We have a song called hallelujah coming out on Monday. It’s a song about family, love, loss, and being thankful for it all. It’s hard to talk about my verse in the song but I wanted to open up about it so here i go... pic.twitter.com/0KqdNx7syq
For ease of reading, here are Alana's words from the twitter images:
It’s a song about family, love, loss, and being thankful for it all. It’s hard to talk about my verse in the song but I wanted to open up about it so here i go…
I went through a really dark time when I was 20. I woke up on a hazy October morning to find out that my best friend, Sammi Kane Kraft, had passed away in a tragic car accident. It was a loss that changed my life forever.
Sammi was my everything, and coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t here, that I couldn’t call her, I couldn’t hug her, I would never see her bright smile and sparkling eyes ever again broke me.
It’s strange but I started thinking about all the milestones in my life that she would never be a part of – like us wanting to celebrate our 21st birthdays in Vegas, or planning all the festivals we wanted to go to around the world, or knowing that when I walk down the aisle at some point she won’t be standing next to me as my maid of honor.
I had always wanted to pay tribute to her in some way and I could never put how important she was into words. It felt like there were no words in the dictionary to encapsulate how special she was. Losing her put a lot of things in to perspective for me. I was so lucky to have my sisters at this time in my life.
There was a point where they didn’t know what to do or say or how to help and them just being there as a shoulder to cry on or as an ear to talk to got me to slowly recover. I’m not the same, I’ll never be the same. The me before took love, friends and family for granted. Now there won’t be a day that goes by where I don’t tell everyone I love how special they are to me.
Though I miss her everyday I know she’s still here sending me little messages, little signs everywhere I go. I always look up and go I hear ya Sammi Sam! Love love love love love you too
Supersized: Lana Del Rey appears as a giant in the video for Doin' Time.
The video is part homage to Attack of the 50ft Woman.
Don't go looking for wall-to-wall sweetness and light on Lana Del Rey's latest album, because you won't find it.
Yes, she is one of the most talented and significant singer-songwriters of her generation, and her star continues to rise with increasingly accomplished work. She's written and recorded achingly beautiful songs, some are on her latest release - one of the best albums of the year. And I will speak about these in a moment.
However, on first listening to Norman F***** Rockwell, which was released in September, I felt she'd overplayed the cussing. The title track is one of five from 14 that contain choice language. That's excessive in a world where the impact of f-bombs has been hugely diluted through overuse.
Is cussing a sign of the times? I was in an airport terminal bookstore recently and encountered multiple shelves of new releases featuring bold titles yelling things like "Get Your S*** Together" and "Stop F****** up in Life." As always, I studiously ignored them.
But back to Del Rey. On repeated listens I've come to enjoy all the tracks on NFR (as it was craftily titled in the store where I bought it). However, she would have been better served limiting the cuss-word impact. The track where the strong language works best is Hope is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have - but I Have It, which includes a nod to Sylvia Plath. The mood and content is enhanced by the fearless expression of the lyrics.
Now for the other standout songs to which I alluded. The bulk are in the second-half of the album, although earlier on is Doin' Time, a rare cover version. It suits Del Rey's treatment, and presents her in a switched-up tempo and vocalisation that breaks away from much of the surrounding songs. An imaginative accompanying video for the song pays homage to the cult 1950s movie Attack of the 50ft Woman, and features a giant Del Rey walking through the streets of Los Angeles.
California is a song of relationship and longing, and an example of Del Rey's ability to evoke a sense of place and time, while The Next Best American Record isdreamy and timeless, with sound motifs that harken to the delightfully elegant Love from 2017's Lust for Life.
Another interesting song is Happiness is a Butterfly. Youtry to catch happiness, but like a butterfly it can elude.
But the best track of the album, that would be The Greatest. Ithas a haunting, melancholy appeal. The subdued feel nails the sentiments of lyrics such as: the culture is lit ... if this is it, I'm signing off ... the greatest loss of them all. The video for this track is also remarkable.
Norman F***** Rockwell is a new high point for Del Rey, with plenty to elevate the spirit. That said, I sense her best is yet to come.
What lies ahead? a scene from the trailer for
the final Star Wars story in the Skywalker saga
A second trailer has been released for what will be the final movie of the Star Wars saga that began 42 years ago. So will the film be a last crunching pile-up moment of the train wreck delivered by 2017's The Last Jedi, or will it be an uplifting hurrah?
Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker is episode nine and the conclusion of the Skywalker story, which started in 1977 with the original Star Wars (later renamed Episode 4: A New Hope). That first movieset in motion one of the 20th century's major cultural and cinematic phenomenon.
Sadly, two years ago the franchise suffered the shockingly divisive episode eight, The Last Jedi. In December we shall see what can be salvaged from the wreckage, and whether what should be a cinematic climax like no other will manage to at least be a fitting finale.
The Star Wars story has spiraled downward dramatically in the past few years. Depending on your point of view that nosedive may have started with the opening segment of the current sequel trilogy, The Force Awakens, in 2015, or been nailed by the calamitous storytelling and legacy mishandling of The Last Jedi.
How bad are things for Star Wars? Consider this: there is a real chance The Rise of Skywalker will not reach $1 billion at the box office, a mere four years after episode seven, The Force Awakens, became the third film in history to take more than $2 billion. For popularity to wane that suddenly and dramatically takes a lot of doing. Disney must be fretting. For context, The Last Jedi did not attract multiple repeat viewings the way most of its predecessors did, and topped out with a worldwide box office total of $1.3 billion, while Star Wars spin-off Solo, released five months later, was a relative flop taking only $393 million.
A final hurrah: rebel spaceships, many recognisable from their
appaerance in the original Star Wars movie in 1977
It's true that financial success alone is no indicator of artistic merit and integrity, there are plenty of outstanding creative works that have made pitiful financial returns. But the Star Wars franchise was a seemingly indestructible cash-cow when, earlier this decade, Disney splashed $4 billion to buy Lucasfilm and the rights to create these new films.
The first half of the new trailer shows clips from each of the previous eight movies in the saga. Interestingly they are shown in order of their original release date rather than chronologically by the events they portray. What stands out is the clean, clear, and bright crispness of the original trilogy - a harking back to a more innocent escapist era and a magnificent story arc that stretched across those three movies.
We then see clips from the hit-and-miss prequel trilogy, before we pass into today's convoluted and muddled sequel trilogy, and finally a few short snippets of the upcoming movie. Very little is revealed, although there is another lightsabre duel between Rey and Adam Driver - sorry Kylo.
That slip, where I could remember the actor's name but not the name of the chief villain he portrays, is instructive of the major problem this trilogy has - and that is a crippling lack of character "buy in". This new movie might as well start with a blank slate, because The Last Jedi failed to develop any of the characters in meaningful ways and followed a preposterous storyline. It also managed to end with no compelling reason for audiences to return to see what happens next.
With no character or story arc to bind things together, this new trilogy is broken. The Rise of Skywalker for all intents and purposes is a standalone movie. And while it is too early to write off the new film, it is hard not to feel a sense of forboding.
Director and writer JJ Abrams has to find a resolution to a 42-year saga in a single film that was left high and dry by its immediate predecessor. There is some hope, because Abrams has shown flashes of skill, from Super 8 to his fairly steady handling of The Force Awakens. But what is required now is a tall order.
Only a genuine redemption of Luke Skywalker, one of cinema's most cherished heroes, is likely to save the day in the wake of this greatest legacy character's treatment in The Last Jedi. In this trailer and the first released earlier in the year, we get to hear his voice. This time we also hear the voice of Emperor Palpatine and the sinister breathing of Darth Vader, both of whom were thought destroyed in 1983's Return of the Jedi.
So to return to the question, what lies ahead? Will it be a final pile-up train wreck moment, or will it be an uplifting hurrah for Star Wars? Let's hope for the latter. Over to you JJ.
The new trailer for Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Not allowed: Learmouth and Taylor-Brown beat everyone but
were disqualified for crossing the finish line together
Two triathletes battled for the best part of two hours in searing heat and beat an international field in a pre-Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games test event. Except they didn't.
Yes, they finished ahead of everyone else, but they were disqualified after raising each other's hand aloft as they crossed the finish line together. A rule of the International Triathlon Union forbids "contrived ties" and led to Jessica Learmouth and Georgia Taylor-Brown having their finishing times rubbed from the results in Tokyo.
The reason has been reported elsewhere and has sparked a debate on whether it was right or wrong. The decision was technically right, because the rule exists and outlaws such a thing.
However, it is the rule that is woefully wrong.
Before going further, consider also that even the "technically right" argument is leaky. In today's world a contrived tie in a timed sport such as triathlon is virtually impossible. There are high-spec finish line cameras and digital mat timing systems capable of separating finishers' times down to hundredths of a second. Indeed, Learmouth was initially given the victory as measured by such technology. The jointly-raised arms and side-by-side finish was a symbolic gesture of camaraderie and sportsmanship; Learmouth and Taylor-Brown are British teammates and training partners.
But on Friday, rule 2.11.f was evoked and the swiftest athletes on the day were denied coveted pre-Olympic podium positions and departed empty-handed.
So, the question is: does there always need to be an outright winner in a sporting competition, or can athletes act in the moment and split the honours if they feel the challenge has been equally met?
To the latter, I say yes.
In competition, a race to the finish is what happens 99 per cent of the time. But now and then something else occurs and we see another, equally valid side of sportsmanship, a spirit of humanity and a sharing of a euphoric moment. It can happen when two athletes, having beaten all others, are unable to break away from their last opponent. In an often wordless moment of spontaneity they acknowledge the equal accomplishment of the other and share the celebration, matching strides across the finish line.
In international-level sport such occurrences are rare, but when they happen the message sent can reverberate far and wide in a positive way. Many still remember the winning moment in the first London Marathon, in 1981, when Inge Simenson and Dick Beardsley had doggedly tried to break clear of each other during the 26.2-mile race, but crossed the finish line together.
Beardsley later said: "In a spontaneous show of sportsmanship, we grabbed each other's hand and almost in that instant we broke the tape. The photo made papers all over the world."
As a young teenager who had started road running seriously only seven months earlier, it encouraged me to see such sportsmanship at the highest level of my chosen sport.
I'm sure it will be the same for countless aspiring triathletes today who witnessed the sporting gesture of Learmouth and Taylor-Brown, although what could have been an empowering, life-affirming advert for the sport has been blunted by the disqualification decision.
Indeed, on Saturday in an Instagram post, Learmouth wrote: "Couldn’t have dreamt of taking the tape with G. Feel we showcased our sport in the right way, hopefully showing young athletes it’s not always dog eat dog."
And let us also remember the Olympic creed: "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."
The ITU should jettison its hard and fast rule and let finish line events take their natural and spontaneous course.
Not eye to eye:'Lady Bird' and her mother and the strained dynamics of
their relationship are central to Lady Bird and its coming-of-age story
Growing up in an unremarkable place, and literally on the wrong side of the tracks, that's life's lot for Lady Bird, the titular character in the 2017 movie that delighted cinema audiences.
But this is a coming-of-age story, and Lady Bird is not about to let circumstances define who is she, or her destiny.
Lady Birdshows us the messy imperfections of life and family and of pushing against the restrictions of authority. However, it is also about looking to the horizon for fulfilment and a better life, the realising of true friends and who loves you ... and who likes you; watch for the subtle but defining distinction between the latter two as they bump together in the strained relationship of Lady Bird and her mother.
While it has been labelled a comedy-drama, this is much more a realism coming-of age tale. Don't expect laugh out loud moments because, while there are amusing turns, this film does not overly seek or play for laughs. Instead, it focuses on the heartfelt nature of a struggling family, particularly the friction between Lady Bird (Saoirse Ronan) and her mother (Laurie Metcalf).
Lady Bird also has a feeling of connection to places. Towards the end Lady Bird drives through the streets of Sacramento, California, seeing from a new perspective familiar places where she once walked - one step removed and moving on, but absorbing that connection with the familiar, with home.
Lady Bird is worthy of the praise it attracted from audiences. Four stars from five.
Ready to roll: on the tricycle and
gearing up to ride around Australia
Not achieving your goal can be as rewarding - and sometimes more so - than reaching your target. This was brought home to me many moons ago after an attempt to cycle around the whole of Australia.
If the "me then" had read the opening sentence above, I would have shook my head in disagreement. Because being young and "bulletproof," everything was about clarity and absolutes or, as Yoda had said: "Do or do not, there is no try."
But hundreds of miles into the outback and many days ride from the nearest town, I pitched my small tent beneath another breathtaking Australian sunset and conceded that the trans-country ambition was slipping from my grasp. Fitness alone would not be enough; the biomechanical strain was causing one knee to holler ever louder in pain each day. Abandoning the endeavour was the sensible option. The evening sky, splashed with hues of yellow, red and mauve, seemed to belong to another world. I sat at the tent's entrance and pondered what it would mean to step away from the challenge. Was it a "try" that had failed, or was it a "do" that had reached an unavoidable early conclusion?
It all began by thinking big ... real big. Sure it would have been easier to drive around Australia, but my wages as a sandwich delivery boy in Perth would not stretch to buying a used VW camper van or a Ford Holden, however clapped out they happened to be.
Instead, the ride would to be done on a second-hand tricycle to which I'd roped two baskets where I could store my rucksack and tent and containers of drinking water. On this exact day 31 years ago, the story appeared in a local suburb newspaper of Perth. However, by that time I was already pedaling somewhere "beyond the black stump", to use an Australian idiom.
An awful lot of distance lay ahead. The total journey would nudge beyond 10,000 miles (more than 15,000km) if it included an excursion away from the coast to Alice Springs in the centre of the country.
End of the day: the bike unpacked beside the tent in
the sunset afterglow, somewhere in the Australian outback
My aim was to do a round number each day. One hundred kilometres, around 60 miles, seemed doable, although 80km turned out to be more realistic. The tricycle was not built for speed, and weighed down by provisions and gear, together with the topography, weather conditions, and a desire to rest and enjoy the constantly unfolding panoramic views, the journey was never going to be about ratcheting up numbers on a speedometer.
It was the start of the antipodean winter, which helped temper the outback's often excessive heat. All the same, it was necessary to rest during the hours of peak heat each day. As evening approached, I'd take stock of where I was and scan the surroundings for a secure location off the road and out of sight to pitch the tent and hide the bike.
With each passing day signs of civilisation diminished and the remote wilderness took over. The ground became drier and harder, to the point that tent ground pegs could barely be pushed more than an inch into the soil.
On the road: the vast emptiness of the landscape, and
my fully laden cycle during a rest stop on an empty road
The slow pace of the journey was perfect, allowing time to absorb the surroundings; places of mindblowing emptiness, unusual rock formations, the sight of emus roaming in the distance, or lizards - much closer - scooting across the road.
The days were broken into 10km segments. As each was achieved the reward was a rest in a shady spot, a huge drink of water, and a jam sandwich or two from the bread basket hanging in front of the handlebars. All around was the ethereal near silence of the emptiness.
I slept well at night, comfortably exhausted from the cycling. Ten hours of sleep was common, broken only when I awoke to the occasional noise of an unseen animal in the night rustling around outside.
But a week into the journey, and with only another hour of cycling needed to reach the next major population centre of Geraldton, I decided to save my knee from further pain and called time on the cycling ambition. The rest of this curtailed journey would be by foot and hitchhiking. It took me to the dolphins of Monkey Mia, the remote township of Carnavron, and then the stunning 14-mile long (22km) beach at Broome in the far north-west.
Aa a hitchhiker and foot-traveller I met fellow journeyers I'd probably not have encountered had I still been on the cycling mission. The memories stay with me.
No, I didn't achieve the goal on which I'd set out. But embarking on it in the first place and then allowing it to evolve into something else, led to something as rewarding.
So think big, go for it, but know that a course correction doesn't mean a fail - it more than likely will bring equal or greater joy.
Joy reflected: Tiffany has re-recorded I Think We're Alone Now,
which was a worldwide hit for her as a teenager 32 years ago
From the slightly unruly hair, to the worn and ripped denim jacket, Tiffany blends in with those around her as she strolls through the sand and along the promenade at Venice Beach, California.
Passersby go about their business seemingly unaware that in their midst is the former teenage pop star who recorded one of the most recognisable songs of the 1980s.
It is more than 30 years since she first shone. Now she is back with a re-recording of her smash hit, I Think We're Alone Now. The accompanying video shows her walking around Venice Beach and other parts of Los Angeles, and in England singing at the recording studio of The Kinks' Ray Davies.
The song, a bubblegum pop hit in 1987, is instantly recognisable to the older generation and even to some who were born later and have come across it in other places, such as in the 2012 movie Ted.
I Think We're Alone Now was written by Ritchie Cordell and dates back to 1967, but Tiffany's cover version is its most successful iteration.
Tiffany was very much part of the spirit of the second half of the '80s, and with the new recording and video she continues to exude positive vibes. The feelings are the same, but her voice is stronger.
Denim was her signature clothing back in the '80s and the video recalls this, although pointedly exhibiting the passage of time as she no longer wears crisp, fresh denim, instead it is a faded jacket complete with rips and frayed collar.
Tiffany appears happy and comfortable revisiting the song from her youth. It is almost like a statement to old friends who have travelled through those same years and decades: "How are you doing? Hasn't life been a blast!"
Not only does it reflect the passage of time, this new version proves how this simple song has staying power.
Video: Tiffany's 2019 version of I Think We're Alone Now
What lies ahead? an intriguing glimpse of Death Star wreckage in the trailer for The Rise of Skywalker
The first trailer for Star Wars 9, now revealed as The Rise of Skywalker, has a restrained feel. It is as though the director, JJ Abrams, is reluctant to show or giveaway anything about the plot ahead of its December release.
In a counterintuitive way that could be for the best, given the strongly divided reaction the previous installment of the saga generated (I gave Star Wars Episode VIII:The Last Jedia reluctant 50% score). A bolder strategy would be a total pre-release blackout, letting the film take audiences by surprise and succeeding or failing through "old school" word-of-mouth recommendations.
However, such a slow burn approach, given the hundreds of millions of dollars spent on the production, is unlikely to fly with Disney executives.
Abrams has a tough task to pull the sequel trilogy back from the brink after the storytelling dumpster fire that was The Last Jedi. He appeared to diplomatically acknowledge this last week at the Star Wars Celebration event in Chicago, telling an interviewer: "We've taken to heart everything that has come before, and while it's obviously been significantly challenging, it's been a greater opportunity than a challenge."
Mystery with menace: Kylo Ren, played by Adam Driver,
is the most interesting new character in the sequel trilogy
There is no compelling narrative to carry the story on from The Last Jedi, and it features a cast of new characters that - two films into the trilogy - have yet to establish anywhere near the commanding presence achieved by the protagonists of the original films. As for the bad guys, they have been left to look ridiculously ineffective, save for the one beacon of possibility - Kylo Ren.
It may be that Abrams has found a way to retrofit a story into the void left by The Last Jedi - or to somehow create a bridge from his own Episode VII: A Force Awakens to this concluding part of the Skywalker saga. As I have previously noted, the core problem with this trilogy stems from the ad-hoc way it has taken shape, in a "pass the parcel" fashion with the story handed over from one writer/director to another, leaving each to mould their own tale "on the hoof" rather than revolving around a pre-planned story arc.
George Lucas, who created the Star Wars universe, was shunted out of the way when Disney purchased Lucasfilm in 2012. He had drafted his own vision of how the sequel trilogy might play out, but this was discarded by the decision-makers who took charge of the current trilogy.
Interestingly, in light of the polarising effect The Last Jedi has hadon the franchise's fan base, Lucas was consulted before work began on The Rise of Skywalker; as was revealed by Abrams during last week's interview.
As for the new trailer, the most interesting moment is the scene showing what appears to be wreckage of a Death Star - and my guess it it is the second Death Star, which was destroyed in 1983's Return of The Jedi. There is a belief among some that lead protagonist Rey, played by Daisy Ridley, will swim to the wreckage and uncover a crucial part of the story. The trailer features the menacing laughter of Emporer Palpatine, hitherto believed vanquished at the hands of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, and adds a tantalising possibility to where this final segment of the Skywalker saga might go.
One thing is for sure, for many fans only an appearance by Luke Skywalker will erase the bitter taste of The Last Jedi. Abrams' skillful insertion of Skywalker at the conclusion of The Force Awakens, created one of the series' greatest emotional jolts. Can he do it again?
The jury is out on whether the sequel trilogy can be salvaged. The Rise of Skywalker trailer gives no indication as to what the answer will be.
Down to earth: Dougie MacLean, on stage at
Clunie village hall (Photographs by Heather Brain)
You know you're doing well when they put one of your songs on a tea towel, Dougie MacLean told the audience. We and the other 80 or so souls who sat on the wooden foldaway chairs in the tiny village hall, had travelled through unlit countryside and foothills to reach the remote venue on a single-track road in deepest Perthshire.
Our reward was an evening of music and tales from MacLean, who happily mingled with the audience during the half-time interval when tea, coffee, biscuits and bowls of crisps were laid on for free. During the break, MacLean also shared "nips" from a large bottle of The Gael gin - named after another of his tunes - which included the musical notation of the composition on the inside of the label, where it was magnified through the bottle's glass and its rapidly diminishing contents.
Clunie village hall is more often used for "knit and natter" evenings than staging concerts - but there was a good reason why MacLean, who was awarded the OBE in 2011 for services to music and charity, had chosen such an out-of-the-way location to sing his songs.
Earlier we had waited outside for the doors to open. It had been a day of clear blue sky, but as the long dusk settled so the temperature slid to the chill expected in March among foothills leading to the southern fringe of Scotland's Cairngorms mountain range. The thinest reminder of day clung precariously above us, a deepening blue turning to night; while the countryside silhouetted against the remnants of dusky light was all but swallowed by darkness.
Family assist: the stage decorations were
prepared by MacLean's grandchildren
Scattered on one horizon were distant lights of a few homes and farms. The final calls of birds settling in their nests echoed in the still air. The arrival of darkness in this remote spot leaves an outsider slightly disorientated, but not so for a local. MacLean's life and the lives of his parents and grandparents are deeply entwined with this place and the surrounding landscape.
As we were to learn from anecdotes shared between songs, as a boy MacLean had lived in a small house next to the village hall, and it had featured in his youth. He now owns and lives in a former village school a few miles away, where he has his own recording studio. Earlier generations of his family had had been taught at the school.
The landscape that stretches out from the village hall resonates with stories and meaning for MacLean and his family, who have maintained strong ties to the locale. Indeed, members of MacLean's family, including his wife, son and grandchildren, all pitched in to prepare the stage for the evening show, operate the mixing desk, serve the refreshments and look after the small merchandise stall at the door. His mother, now in her eighties, was among the audience.
It was at the entrance to the hall, next to a selection of CDs and DVDs, where a few tea towels emblazened with the lyrics to Caledoniawere to be found.Caledonia is a spirited and beautifully uplifting ode that some have suggested is a future national anthem. It wrestles with The Gael as MacLean's most successful composition. The latter is an instrumental, a version of which took off a few years after MacLean's original, when it was prominently featured in the movie soundtrack of The Last of the Mohicans.
Evening to remember: MacLean
met all the audience during the interval
During the first half of the evening, MacLean presented us with a trove of stories and songs from places near and far; from Clunie village hall to Alaska and Australia. His instruments included a didgeridoo, and fiddle, but mostly acoustic guitar. The Gael was played on fiddle, augmented by an instrumental backing track created by MacLean's son. After the refreshment break, MacLean scanned through the request notes he'd encouraged and played, among others, the hauntingBroken Wings, and the moving This Love Will Carry.
MacLean has travelled the world and performed on stages large and small, but he has retained a down to earth approach. To see him on a tiny stage in an intimate and personal setting, and share a moment of his time at the interval break as he made a point of meeting every member of the audience, made it an evening to treasure.
Before we knew it, almost three hours had passed and it was time to leave. After we ventured from the village hall into the night, the songs and voice of MacLean, and the love he showed to all, carried us safely home.
Video: Dougie MacLean sings Caledonia at his studio.
Coincidental surprise: a scene from the video of Oasis' I'm Outta Time
It was something I wasn't expecting - an Oasis song and video from 11 years ago that I'd never encountered.
And the surprise had a layer of coincidence as the song's title, I'm Outta Time, is remarkably close to the title of my novel in progress, Alice Out Of Time.
The song is an outlier for Oasis, if anything in their catalogue can be described as such. It was the band's penultimate single, and only their debut release peaked at a lower position in the UK charts. It is also one of only two Oasis hits penned by Liam Gallagher, rather than his brother Noel. Liam features in the video, alone.
It is a touching, almost heartbreaking ballad, that in hindsight foreshadows the final days of the band. A year after its release in 2008, Oasis were no more.
When I say I had not previously encountered the song or video, there is a caveat. It is true I'd never seen the video before, but it turns out I must have heard the song at least once. That was at Madison Square Gardens, in December 2008, at what was the seventh and last occasion I saw Oasis in concert.
I'd followed the band's career since their first success in 1994, going to concerts - including the Maine Road and Knebworth extravaganzas of 1996. When I left the UK in 2005, I owned five of their six studio albums. It was at this point I lost touch with their new music. I was no longer plugged in to mainstream TV and radio, and remained mostly unaware of the new songs that made up what was to be their final album, Dig Out Your Soul.
However, when they toured to promote that album in late 2008, I headed out on a cold, wintery evening in New York to hear again the great songs I knew from their back catalogue.
Work in progress: the Alice novel is now at the 'white cover working edition' stage
Last weekend, on discovering the video of I'm Outta Time, and wondering how such a gem had escaped my notice for 11 years, I did an online check of the setlist for that night in New York and discovered the song had been played, sandwiched between two of Oasis' bigger hits, The Importance of Being Idle, and Wonderwall.
It had been placed in the final quarter of the set, surrounded by the searing anthems that defined Oasis' success. As such, it had been lost to me on first hearing. But now, in isolation, the beauty of its understated nature was striking, as was the dreamy imagery of the video, with nature to the fore, including a signature motif from Alice Out Of Time. As I continue work on the novel, which is at the "printed white cover edition" stage, I feel the song makes a fitting accompaniment.
Also, listen carefully and you will spot a sprinkling of micro-musical homages to The Beatles and John Lennon. There is a final surprise at the end. The video concludes with a record playing on a turntable, and the voice of Lennon. Asked if he missed England, having lived in New York for almost a decade, Lennon says: "As Churchill said, it's an Englishman's inalienable right to live where the hell he likes ... I said, what do you think, it's going to vanish? It's not going to be there when I get back?"
It is a poignant recording; two days later Lennon was shot outside his Manhattan apartment.
A copy of that day's newspaper was neatly folded on the steps of a disused office building in the city. To some it may have looked odd, but to those who knew Sonny it was a symbolic, touching tribute to the gentle soul who lived on the streets and had made those steps his home. Next to the paper were some flowers and messages to Sonny, who had died.
Just over a week earlier I'd been to a press conference held by the Premier of the country, and as I hurried back to the office I was greeted by the homeless man sitting on the steps. It was Sonny - who I'd first met almost 14 years earlier. I briefly stopped to chat, but as the rain began I told him I had to get going to write a story. That was the last time I saw Sonny.
I first met him in late 2005 or early 2006 on a different street, Par-La-Ville Road, not far from the newspaper office where I work. To begin with he was always in the same spot - seemingly content to have a small world that consisted of an area of bushes where he had his sleeping camp, and an upturned milk crate on the sidewalk where he would sit opposite the gas station. Occasionally he would take his crate and sit on the other side of the road, or he'd sit on the concrete bench that was there.
He had a pronounced lopsided walk, a shuffle that was distinctive even from a distance. His hair was long, dreadlocked and matted. When we first met I gave him a donation to buy a coffee or a sandwich. This would become a pattern as the months passed. We'd greet each other by name. He'd ask how I was doing as I came along the street and we'd strike up short conversations. Sonny was always pleasant and genuine, and as time went by it became less and less about helping him out - eventually he declined any such offerings and simply enjoyed being acknowledged and having a moment or two of conversation.
Sonny was always to be seen with a beat up copy of our newspaper. I guess he would pick up a discarded copy from wherever and read it from cover to cover - every day. If he wasn't reading the paper he would have an old paperback book - invariable missing its cover - lying among his small bundle of possessions.
He loved to read, and I was told by others who had known him most of their lives that he was very intelligent and had at one point worked for British Airways. What is the true story of Sonny's life I can't say for sure, although there are glimpses in a tribute published shortly after he died (link here).
Our occasional chats only ever lasted for a minute or two and were nearly always about how we were doing that day, how busy things were for me at the newspaper and, I recall, one occasion when he asked me why the newspaper was always repeating things. I wasn't sure what he meant at first, but soon deduced he was referring to the increasingly common practice of chunks of stories being 'rehashed' when a new piece of information appeared. This is usually done to give context and to benefit any reader who may not have seen the previous stories, but if it is lazily done I can imagine it would frustrate a regular reader. Sonny noticed things like this. It didn't frustrate him - I don't know if anything ever did - but it certainly made him inquisitive as to why it was.
In time, the authorities decided to thin out and landscape the area of bushes where Sonny had his hidden home. Sonny stayed in the area during the day, but now slept further down the street where he had laid claim to the doorstep of a disused former bank. That was his new home for some length of time, and even if I walked past and didn't see him I knew it was Sonny's spot from the small pile of blankets, books and copies of newspapers among the stashed belongings.
As the years passed Sonny continued to move around the city, finding new spots to call home. I would see him less frequently, partly because he was elsewhere and partly because my work hours had altered and I was more office-bound. I do remember seeing him on Front Street for a while, and then on the steps of the Anglican cathedral from where he would often call out my name as I walked on the opposite side of the road. I'd wave and call back, or cross the street and ask how he was doing.
Sonny, whose actual name was Reginald "Sonny" Furbert, always seemed at peace with his nomadic lifestyle. He never troubled or pestered anyone. He appeared to have all he needed to get by day-to-day and was happy simply to be acknowledged in some way and have a brief bit of interaction - a minute or two of chat.
Tribute: flowers (some in a coffee cup), and a copy of the day's newspaper
on the steps of the building where Sonny made his last street home
It was further along the street from the cathedral that Sonny set up what was to be his final street home. It was the front steps of a disused office building, and he laid claim to it, sitting under the protection of an overhanging porch that kept him dry if it rained. It was there that we exchanged greetings one day last month as I hurried back to the office having attended the Premier's press conference. Sonny wanted to know what I was doing. I told him I was on my way back to write a story before the rain started (it was already coming down lightly). It was an all too brief exchange, and one I would have made longer had I known it was to be our last.
Sonny often told me he kept an eye out for my name on stories in the paper. I'd like to think that the next day he would have been sitting on the steps looking through the paper to find out what story it was I had been hurrying back to the office to write.
A little over a week later I heard the news that Sonny, 70, had died; the newspaper's initial story was only two or three paragraphs long, but it was the most read news item on our website that day. Two days later I walked past the steps of the disused building, opposite the main post office, and saw the flowers and tributes that had been left - including a neatly folded copy of that day's newspaper.
Sonny was a gentle soul and someone you'd never forget if you took the time to befriend him. Farewell Sonny, until we meet again.
