A question of etiquette

Some time ago I started a blog I named The Etiquette of Shopping, in response to some of the tales of customer behaviour I heard from friends involved in retail. Perhaps it's only coincidental that they are no longer working in that world. I'd done my fair share of over the counter stuff too - shops, libraries, the door at clubs and so on. I didn't continue the blog because I stopped hearing their astonishing tales of dealing with the public, and I was no longer on the front line. However there is something about the etiquette of concert and live music performances that is really bothering me, and in an anthropological sort of way I would love to know what's happening. I'm aware that I could be showing my age here, but I'll take a chance. I first noticed it at the Green Man festival. There are grass terraces overlooking the main stage, and groups of friends would set up camp for an afternoon or evening there.Sometimes the buzz of conversation would detract from the music and performances, but it seemed fair enough in an outdoor relaxed setting, so if you wanted to really listen to the performers you could head down to the front of the stage.But then people started hanging round the front of the stage who were more interested in yelling inane comments to one another - the folly of youth I thought until it happened one too many times during performances I had really looked forward to experiencing. Then I went to see Sufjan Stevens at the Manchester Apollo. Indoor, in seats, intense - and yet there was a constant stream of people (no pun intended) presumably going to the toilets - or maybe the bar - or maybe for a cigarette somewhere. I'd never experienced a sit down concert like it. Now I have been to folk clubs in the old days where you wouldn't so much as dare blow your nose whilst the artists were playing, and heaven forbid if you needed the loo, and I wouldn't want to go back to that. But there's a respect for the artist you have paid to see, and the fellow members of the audience. Maybe it's all about attention deficit disorder, a lack of ability to concentrate.But there's always an interval. Since the Sufjan Stephens concert I have noticed it happening at the Bridgewater Hall - the Waterboys and Crosby and Nash for example - but not at Ravi Shankar's performance, and not at the Royal Northern College of Music. So yesterday I was at Tramlines - a great free festival in Sheffield.It was the lovely Folk Forest weekend event in the sylvan setting of Endcliffe Park in welcome sunshine. All free, so we didn't 'own' our space to sit.We had been surrounded by a loud group of friends ( not ours) who talked all through every performance the day before, and we'd moaned about it among ourselves afterwards, but in typically polite British fashion hadn't wanted to spoil the atmosphere by complaining. This is a family folky event with lots of young people, children, thirty-somethings and people like me and my friends who are verging on the vintage in the best possible way - we are old hands at music events of all types! So having sat down yesterday to enjoy an afternoon of music, we were again surprised by the behaviour of those in front of us. A big group of friends, some connected with one of the bands, they appeared to completely ignore the music all afternoon. No sense of personal space,as people joined the edge of the group,they scrambled over me and my companions, carving out a new space by practically sitting on our knees!They were drinking but they weren't drunk. They were old enough to know better and not so young that it would have been an excuse for a lack of consideration for those around them. Some were quite charming in one to one conversation. I was genuinely intrigued by how they were behaving and how they would have explained it if I could have found the right moment to ask them without sounding confrontational. Mary Hampton Cotillion were on stage late afternoon. Ethereal voices and magical music, with the afternoon sun and shadows of leaves and birds on the stage. A squirrel ran from branch to branch. A real chance to be transported in a Sheffield park, but the volume of conversation - and this was a group directly in front of the stage - was distracting. We listened and enjoyed the music, tuning out the chat, but I really would love to know why they were there if all they wanted to do was ignore the music. There were many lovely places to set up camp where they could have laughed and talked and waved and shouted to their hearts' content, and still heard the music at a distance.And the dog might have been happier too! Do I sound like a grumpy old woman? Probably. I wasn't so put off by them that I took up my plastic sheet and found somewhere else to sit, in a very crowded area. But I would genuinely like to know how it works for them.Is this the new Etiquette of Live Performance? So if any of you are reading this - get in touch and bring me up to date.

Legends

The sign over the door read 'Legends'.The club had an alternative identity for the occasion - the original Twisted Wheel. A legend as home of Northern Soul. We were there to celebrate the memory of Roger Eagle because Bill Sykes has worked for more than seven years ( this is the stuff of fairy tales and folklore too)to create a written record of the man. He deserves his reward for completing the task. So down a long flight of stairs into a dark dank cellar, with a cheerful tattooed barman who admitted that they had forgotten the event was on until that afternoon. A liminal place if there ever was one. The atoms of the past were dust in the air. Memories of the Magic Village,and every other dark and underground space dedicated to music and mayhem. Under threat from German hotel development, there is a now a campaign to preserve the Twisted Wheel. Where did the name come from I wonder. If Roger's spirit could ever be conjured up it was in these circumstances, in this time and space. The tribe of Eagle was present. Layers of memories, influences, stories all vibrating, spoken in public, in private, in thoughts, and only two days after the anniversary of his birth. There were other legends from the Manchester music scene there too - C P Lee hosting the event for Bill Sykes and the Manchester Music Archive in his own brilliant style. Bill interviewing Roger Fairhurst, Elliott Rashman and Bernie O'Connor about their experiences of knowing Roger. Bruce Mitchell, Victor Brox and Alan Wise - all legends in their own time. Old friends and new friends. People from my past, present and future. It was a rare gathering of the Tribe, and for me there were memories of those no longer with us, like Allan Frost and Steve Gee, and those who couldn't be there, like Cathy Hopkins and Dimitri Griliopoulus. It was a powerful reminder of the role music plays in the lives of all of us bearing witness, and of course just to bring us back down to earth, one of the raffle prizes was nicked from the table where they were displayed. It was a compilation of some of Roger's favourite music. I hope it's found it's way to someone who appreciates the significance of it. Otherwise CP Lee's colourful curse might just come true. A legendary night, and thank you to all concerned.

I pity the poor immigrant

Last night I went to Sheffield to see a choir from Cuba. When I started this Historic Gig Guide blog it was intended to be a little bit of nostalgia, perhaps making links between the past and the present, but mostly about memories. But I find that my active concert going sparks all sorts of connections and ideas that I want to share in the here and now. The choir were the sublime and stunning Camerata Vocal Musica Aurea. They are in Europe for the first time. The Sheffield Socialist Choir and Voces de Cuba have helped make it possible for them to come to Britain, financially and practically. They have been performing and giving workshops. I think they are here for another week, and that are performing in Sheffield Cathedral on Saturday. They look and sound beautiful.Go if you can. The Sheffield Socialist choir opened the concert. Links had been made when they travelled to Cuba for a couple of international choral festivals in the last eight or so years. One of their musical directors has recently written a piece of choral music about the experiences of asylum seekers, and this was given its world premiere last night. The testimony of those who had found their way to South Yorkshire was incorporated into the lyrics. The performance was dramatic and evocative. A very powerful piece of music. As I listened I was suddenly aware of Britain as an island, a green and pleasant land, a beacon to immigrants throughout its history. Those who broke their sea journeys and stayed here, those who came seeking land, a living, a place to farm and settle,and then those who bought into the image of a country where a sense of fair play and democracy was paramount. A peaceful and pleasant place with polite people and orderly queues. A little jewel of a country. It then seemed terrible that the immigrant is so often made the scapegoat for society's problems, with calls for caps on numbers, and bureaucratic treatment of those who seek a calm and peaceful life, free from torture, war and political persecution. It occurred to me that we have all been immigrants at some point in our family history - that's how an island acquires a population, and that it should be a source of great pride and happiness that people look to the UK as a safe haven. As I said - it was a very powerful piece of music. This morning the alarm went off at the usual time, and I switched on the radio to listen to the Today programme.It was an item about the Britain's DNA project, and I heard Alistair Moffat say ' we are all immigrants here'. Links have been found to the Queen of Sheba, Berber and Tuareg peoples, as well as the more usual links with Europe and Ireland. He explained that this is deep ancestry - 'it's not about your Aunty Jeannie'.I suppose it's tribal - he gave an example - 97% of men called Cohen share common DNA. Now my daughter has been taking advantage of the ancestry website's free trial to track our family's more recent past - lots of toing and froing from Ireland, as well as Germany, and deepest Lancashire. In a week where I have been particularly alert to the power of music to cross cultural boundaries, I'm beginning to wonder if we are all more bound together by blood and beat than we appreciate.

Sit down! Listen to this!

One day, when I was fifteen, I fell down a kind of rabbit hole into a dank Dickensian cellar and discovered a parallel universe called The Magic Village. The cast of characters I met there became part of my life story. Underground club, underground culture, now buried under the Arndale centre, along with the bag of amazing Thai grass that had travelled all the way from Singapore only to fall through a crack in the floorboards ( or did it? - that could be another story). Days of Arts Labs and David Bowie, International Times and the Oz Trial. Third Ear Band, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, The Groundhogs, Family and Don't Look Back at Holdsworth Hall ( I still have the ticket stub).Al Stewart - who didn't like it when I reminded him I'd seen him there all those years later. 'White Rabbit' on the juke box - and 'Please Crawl Out Your Window' - how I longed to do that from my boarding school bedroom. Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band's 'Electricity' threatening to blow the fuse board. Love's 'Alone Again Or' - my theme song. But this is about Roger Eagle. I have just read Patti Smith describe a friend as larger than life with a delicate touch, and it brought Roger to mind. Such an imposing man, he could have thrown his weight around, but he didn't. He shared his passion for music, introducing several generations of enthusiasts to the real thing. It's hard to believe he was younger than I am now when he died aged 56 in 1999. He could have been intimidating, but he wasn't.Instead he was impressive in every way, and as a fifteen year old fledgling student of English I was equally impressed that his mother worked for the Oxford English Dictionary team. So Bill Sykes' long awaited biography of Roger - Sit Down! Listen to this! is about to be published, and Roger has been a topic of conversation among those of us who knew him. One friend, a former Rockette, remembered him literally picking her up like a child, and what a great feeling that was.Another - Drive In Rock's bass player - was surprised to hear there was a book and he hadn't been approached for his memories of Roger - 'did we mean so little that we don't figure in his story?' As far as I know Roger only managed two bands - Greasy Bear (which featured CP Lee who will speak at the book launch) and Drive In Rock and the Rockettes - and I was a Rockette. Quite an accolade to be managed by Roger. We were a nine piece band and we covered 50's rock n roll in an authentic way. We were surprisingly successful on the college circuit for at least a couple of years.I remember my friend Cathy - another Rockette - making an amazing multilayered multicoloured birthday cake for Roger. It must have been July 15th 1973. That was the same year that we got to join Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band on the Clear Spot tour. Two teenage girls probably did wonders for Roger's reputation, but we didn't think of it like that at the time. We were his musical apprentices, soaking up the atmosphere. Roger and Don Van Vliet could have been related, big imposing men with a passion for the blues. Roger was rumoured to have forever damaged his hearing by listening to Spirit playing live with his head in the speakers. What a way to go! And Roger has appeared in a book before.He was immortalised as Roger Lion in Cathy's father's book 'Anything Goes'. The command'Sit down! Listen to this!'was usually accompanied by a big fat spliff I am reliably told. Just before I ran away to Morocco in 1980 Roger turned up in my life again. He had moved to Liverpool and Eric's was already a legend . But he came over to Manchester every Thursday to run an R&B night ( that's proper rhythm and blues) at Rafters. I did the door, and Roger stayed at my house in Longsight. He often left his vinyl collection with us, and my boyfriend systematically taped many of the rare singles. Does he still have the cassettes? - I wonder. In what I now think of as a short time Roger played a huge role in so many people's lives, introducing music to each generation, multi layered, looking back and forward, from Northern Soul through Captain Beefheart and beyond. Some may have never spoken directly to him, others were lucky enough to hear him say the words, 'Sit down, listen to this'. We can all celebrate him with Bill's book.

Under African Skies

Last night I went to the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester to see Mamane Barka and Etran Finatawa in concert. Before their performance a documentary about their work in Niger was shown - Endless Journey. They take the traditional music of Niger to the younger generation through a series of workshops and performances in schools. And then they showed us how it was done. The conventional theatre setting of the RNCM felt too formal, especially having just watched film of the kind of reception they received back in Niger. After the interval a few of us got up and danced at the front, to the side of the stage. It was the least we could do to thank them. And when do you get a chance to dance with desert musicians? When I went back to retrieve my coat and bag from my seat,I joked that it was one of those things to do before you die. My neighbour said - No - it's what stops you from dying - it keeps you alive. On Saturday we had the well established international Day of Dance in Bakewell. Sosa-Xa, a group of singers and dancers from Sheffield,who perform South African songs and dances were part of the programme. They have been a vibrant part of the Day of Dance for many years, and sadly their director died earlier this year. They held a celebratory memorial concert for him. It meant a lot to everyone who was there. Tonight I caught up with the Imagine documentary on the making of Paul Simon's album Graceland. What a lot of controversy and creativity that caused. It seems even more remarkable to consider what it achieved with hindsight. There was film of Miriam Makeba and as she sang I felt my eyes fill with tears. Back in 1991 - I think - I went to see her at the Free Trade Hall. I had two young children, I lived out of town, I was on a course and staying with a friend - a rare night away from home, and someone gave us tickets. She was absolutely amazing - I had never seen anyone like her. She performed as a traditional South African singer, and then as an international jazz cabaret artist. It was a stunning experience, and her beautiful presence and voice is unforgettable. As I write this, the monsoon rain is pouring down once more. It seems a long way from under African skies. The Endless Journey concert was part of a summer of events celebrating West African culture in Manchester - We Face Forward. Don't miss it.

Seven years - but not in Tibet

Last week a friend teased me about posting so many links to the Dalai Lama's status on facebook. I sometimes find myself trying to explain why I am such a fan. So this isn't a musical historic gig guide. It's about when and why I have seen the Dalai Lama over the last seven years. I read Heinrich Harrer's book 'Seven Years in Tibet' as a child - probably aged about 9 - and I was entranced by the picture he painted of Lhasa and the young Dalai Lama.I longed to be part of that world, and as my interest in religions and spiritual practices grew, I was even more intrigued. When my children were young travel literature was my escape, and I couldn't get enough of books about Tibet, Nepal, the Tibetan community and the Dalai Lama. I never imagined that I would actually see him. One Sunday evening I watched Michael Palin talking to him on the TV programme he made about India. I had a sudden insight that I could go to India for a short holiday, and that I could take my then 11 year old son with me.We could visit Dharamsala, where the Tibetan government in exile was based. So that's what we did - and as luck would have it, the Dalai Lama was there, teaching Buddhist monks and nuns from all over the world in his home temple. We got passes to go in and see him, and in one week we saw him twice, and Charlie received a blessing from him. A once in a lifetime experience - or so I thought. That was in 2005. In 2007 I heard he was coming to Nottingham the following year, and I bought tickets for Charlie and I to go and see him in May 2008. Very different surroundings, very different circumstances. An arena more used to Disney on Ice and pop concerts. But there were thousands of people there who cared about how they lived, and how they behaved, and I really needed to be part of that on that particular weekend as I was raw from finding out just how treacherous my ex partner had been. I felt as fragile as I have ever felt in my life, and the simple and compassionate advice my son and I took in that day has served us both well ever since. Then a couple of weeks ago we went to a public talk given by him at the Manchester MEN Arena. A much lighter hearted occasion for us, travelling with friends, no dramas or traumas, just looking forward to seeing the man who holds a special place in our lives and hearts. His talk seemed even more down to earth - simple common sense about patience,caring for others, recognising that we are all in it together. He delivers his talks, and answers the questions presented to him by the audience with charm, humour and a light kind of wisdom, based on a deep and complex tradition.He stood to talk for the first hour, and his stamina was impressive. He is optimistic about developments in China, and the impact they will have on Tibet's future. He is working with educationalists in India and elsewhere to develop a secular approach to ethical living, and world peace. I feel very lucky to have seen him in person four times in the last seven years, and I no longer think - 'this could be the last chance'. I look forward to the next opportunity with a great deal of optimism for him and the world.