Tremulus Lune

Just a quickie- with the enormous help of the good folks at DIY Stompboxes, and using a layout from Tonepad, I’ve finally finished making a new effects pedal.  New Fireworks Night and Monroe Transfer material required a bit of tremolo in the guitar parts, so I needed to make one.  Plenty of fiddling, and some ridiculously amateurish errors later, and it actually works beautifully- a very nice sounding circuit.  If anyone’s actually interested, I can make a little recording of it, but it’ll take some actual interest before I can be bothered.  In the meantime, here’s a photo…

finally finished another effects pedal

finally finished another effects pedal

  1. Revelations: Latin American wisdom for every day
  2. 7 life lessons from Noah’s Ark: how to survive a flood in your own life
  3. Samson and the Pirate Monks
  4. Jesus CEO: using ancient wisdom for visionary leadership
  5. The government vs erotica: the siege of Adam and Eve
  6. The gospel according to Starbucks
  7. Exodus from obesity
  8. Raising Cain…and his sisters
  9. Moses goes to a concert
  10. Mein Kampf

[A tiny caveat- I wrote this, it seems, exactly 2 years ago, and I've just found it again.  Clearly I'm trying to provoke discussion.  As I write it up, I'm sure I'll think of reasons why my thinking's flawed.  Perhaps you'd like to join in?]

As far as I know, naturalism doesn’t have a definition, in critical terms.  I’m not talking about Emile Zola and his ilk- I’m thinking of the mode of theatre that’s often classed as naturalistic. If you’ve ever taken part in a theatre-writing workshop, or been taught ‘how to write’, then you’re bound to have come across the term.  It appears to be one of those words that, because they are used so commonly, enter into the critical vocabulary without any concerted effort to define exactly what it is we’re talking about.

In short, it’s used to describe a form of theatrical presentation that attempts to mimic reality; almost analogous to photorealistic paintings, there’s never any suggestion that what you’re looking at is, in reality, the thing it’s pretending to be.  A spectator is never asked to believe that a painting is a photograph, or to believe that a play is reality; instead, the audience is asked to believe that what they’re seeing is an accurate representation of what might, or could, happen.

Elements that might be present in a naturalistic play include:

  • an attempt, by the writer, to capture nuances of dialect, pronunciation, stress and rhythms of speech, culled from observation of the real world.
  • an attempt, on the part of the actors, to portray a Stanislavskyan, well-rounded, believable character.
  • a realistic set, resembling objects and setting as close to a convincing version of reality as possible.
  • sound effects, to mimic the sounds of occurrences on, or off, stage.
  • an emphasis on believability of character action and plot progression.

So far, so obvious.  The first (and perhaps most obvious) problem with naturalism as a dramatic mode is that an accurate representation of real, actual life, as lived every day is not at all dramatic, in the textbook definition of the term.  Dramatic events are rare, and life-altering when they occur in real life, and yet they must happen frequently onstage in order, so we are told, to engage an audience.  This is precisely the reason why watching Big Brother Live is not interesting in the slightest: it’s non-event after non-event.

So, of course, in order to make something ‘interesting’ to an audience, dramatic situations have to be created: someone’s brother returns home after many years of absence, Big Brother turns off the water supply.  What we end up with is not all natural, but is naturalistic- it’s an awkward mode, balanced between wanting to seem real and wanting to be ‘dramatic’, and rarely succeeding at either.  An audience is presented with something that isn’t itself believable, but with something that they can imagine could be believable.  It’s an attempt to achieve a compromise between two modes that are basically incompatible.

Naturalism is, at the moment, the dominant mode of English-language-based theatre, for a number of reasons too many and various ever to know entirely, I suspect; one can make some sort of educated guess. though.  It is, of course, much easier to use an existing form of language than to attempt to define and use a new one, and it is much easier to find an audience for something that’s performed in an easily-recognised dialect or language.  From this (or, perhaps, in parallel with this), runs the concept of the realistic character who uses a familiar language, and behaves in a believable way.  The exact reasons why he does something may not be overtly stated, but they are present in some way.

So, we also come across the methods of acting currently en vogue and propagated by the various mainstream theatre schools.  These methods are all based on the same principles as the dominant thinking behind the writing of plays: the creation of believable characters who have reasons and motivations for their actions, and whose every statement is a result of his/her wanting something.  One feeds the other- writers create plays that actors will be trained appropriately enough to perform, and actors continue to be trained to perform the existing canon of plays.

It is only natural and perfectly ordinary that there should be a dominant mode of expression in any art form; it seems impossible to imagine a situation where all modes are equally present in the world.  It’s when a mode becomes ubiquitous to the point of monopoly that the art becomes stagnant and cloying.  As people, we have a subconscious tendency to view the passage of time as an improving and refining force and thus, in this situation, that we’ve been honing our approach to making theatre for thousands of years.  By extension, what’s happening now must be the best theatre that’s ever been made.  Looking around, though, that seems very unlikely, doesn’t it…?

The notion that naturalism and our current concept of dramatic action are what constitutes theatre itself is a dangerous one.  The end result can only be the circle of writers’ and actors’ intentions becoming tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller, until there is no looseness, no movement, no play in the play.  It will be a solidification and codification of an art form, based on the false idea that one mode of expression is that art form.  It’s a little like the idea that all songs should be in 4/4- it is the most commonly recognised time signature, but that doesn’t mean that an audience can’t understand others.  When Take 5 reached number 1 in the US, people were dancing to it quite happily, blissfully unaware that they were dancing to an unusual beat.

The dominance of naturalism can only be a bad thing.  It’s perpetuated by theatre producers, afraid that their imagined audience will be unwilling to watch something that differs from what they’ve seen before.  Writers are afraid (and justifiably so) that their work won’t be produced unless they write in this naturalistic mode that a producer will recognise.  Actors are afraid that they won’t be employable unless they know how to act in a particular way.  All of these are guilty of the horrific crime of underestimating their audience.  Once you start defining ‘audience’ as a single entity, interested solely in instant entertainment, with a short attention span, uninterested in anything more complex than surface glamour, then you’re not only patronising and underestimating the group of people you’re in the business of entertaining, but you’re also damning yourself to the role of a production line, reproducing work in the template of artworks that have come before.

I reject this naturalism, with this caveat- only an idiot discards a tool he may one day need.  Here, and now, I reject it.  The language of naturalism (by which I mean the entire construct by which theatre is produced, not only the written word) is inappropriate for contemporary theatre, as it has an inherent acceptance, on a basic linguistic level, of how the world is.  An acceptance of everyday language use implies an acceptance of everyday meaning, values, morality, and the status quo- in other words, the very things that a contemporary theatrical aesthetic should be challenging.

I reject naturalism because I don’t believe that entrenched values and concepts can be opposed solely by using the language that defines them and because, if there is one thing theatre should be doing, it is challenging these entrenched values.

George Orwell was, there can be no argument, a head-noddingly good writer, and not only of fiction- his general thinking about his work was pretty special. One of the more famous essays of his is Politics and the English language (1946) which lays out his rules for writing, in order to express your ideas in the clearest way possible.

Now, even though George’s rules were meant to make the meaning as clear as possible, and weren’t intended to cover literary writing, I still find them good principles on which to base my work.  Generally, there’s a meaning behind whatever-it-is-I’m-writing and, in some way, that meaning needs to be expressed.  Having become disgusted with the horrific array of clichéd, self-important, pseudo-intellectual, self-congratulatory arse-wash that passes for writing these days, it was an amazing experience to return to Keep the aspidistra flying and realise that not all prose needs to be so godawful.  George Orwell knew how to turn a phrase, and he knew what he was writing about.  Anyone who’s had a conversation with me about what I value in literary writing (and to everyone who has- I’m sorry) knows that what I look for most is a union of form and content.  Your narrative needs to be in dialogue with the form in which it’s written, and the one needs to inform the other.  If it doesn’t, then it’s just wasting my time.

Which brings me, in a vague, waffling way, to this poster.  While working at Phil Abel’s treasure trove of printing, Hand & Eye, we talked about a great many things, one of which was a respect for good writing.  I happened to mention that I had George Orwell’s rules of writing pinned to my wall, and we thought it’d be a great idea to make a poster of them on the proofing press.  A little typesetting later, and it was done.  Thanks, Phil.

For those of an interested bent, it was set in Grot and Bembo fonts of varying sizes and is, above all, lovely- the photo doesn’t do it justice.  They’re both beautiful typefaces and, of course, we now have a great marriage of form and content- elegant rules about clear writing, written clearly and elegantly.  Eyethankyew.

Ambient #5

Every now and then, I feel the need to play something improvised and ambient to get rid of the improvised, ambient feeling in my head. Sometimes, it appears that I record them. The last time, strangely enough, seems to be almost exactly a year ago, and I just happened to stumble across it while doing some archiving of old material. If you, too, are having an ambient Friday afternoon, then perhaps you might like to have a listen.

For those of a technical bent, you might like to know that it was performed & recorded live in my little room, with no post-production effects (with the possible exception of some volume levelling, I can’t remember), one one guitar & some effects pedals (possibly an ebow?). I’m not sure. Liveness, that’s the important thing.

As ever, if you’d like me to make some music for you, drop me a line. I’m cheap, and available. Seriously. Anything.

Well, last night was the première (and, more than likely, the dernière) of a little thing I wrote for Paines Plough’s Later series of events, at Trafalgar Studios.  It was written for the lovely ladies of the Korova Milk Bar burlesque troupe, as you’ll know if you read my earlier post about it.

As seems traditional with these nights, we had next-to-no time to rehearse or choreograph anything, but the ladies really did do amazing things with no time and no resources.  This is, for the record, the first time that I’ve worked with dancers in this way (composing for them doesn’t count- you can just send dancers a CD, and then they bounce away to their hearts’ content…) and it’s a very enjoyable experience: as someone who has all the grace and poise of a Meccano giraffe, it’s really interesting to see people coming up with movement-based material off-the-cuff, as they did.  Anyway, they came up with something that really worked with, and offset, the spoken material very well, and I’m completely in awe of them.

And so, here we have a video; shot on my phone, it was never going to be professional quality, but it might give you an idea of what went on.  I think you can hear most of the dialogue if you listen carefully, but maybe you might like to follow along in the script. Or maybe not.

The ladies tell me that they’re going to be doing another Korova night in early 2009, and I heartily recommend that you go along to see them if you can.  More details when they announce it.

So.  My friend and infinitely-more-successful-playwrighting-companion Duncan Macmillan has asked me to write something for one of the Paines Plough Later series of events (and there’s more information about the Later events here).  Paines Plough, in case you’ve never heard of them, is one of the highest-profile producers of interesting new theatre writing in the UK; they have a habit of running small series of shows at places like the Menier Chocolate Factory and the Shunt vaults, as well as running an ongoing competition to win mentoring from their organisation (which, while being a highly prestigious scheme, has the slightly awful name of Future Perfect.  I know.  I know).  All told, they’re a force for good, like the Ewoks.  Duncan, as well as being a successful writer (and now, it seems, director) is Paines Plough’s current writer in residence.  The bastard.

So, Duncan’s asked me to write something for one of these late-night events, probably because the more successful of our friends were all too busy being successful somewhere.  The event itself is a night of short things, made by collaboration between playwrights and cabaret artists; I myself am working with two lovely ladies (both called Laura.  Seriously.) of the Korova Milk Bar burlesque troupe.  If you’re reading this, I can only assume that you know me personally (hello) and, as a result, will know that my knowledge of burlesque is minimal.  Or, at least, it was.  After Laura The First gave me a crash course in the theory of the whole affair in a Sydenham cafe at the weekend, I now at least know a little about it.  And, in my usual heavy-handed way, I fully intend to subvert the whole lot by doing something ridiculous.

I recommend you come along, folks.  It should be a great night, despite my best efforts.  If I can work out how my snazzy new touchyphone works, I’m going to try to video the whole thing too, so stay tuned for some strangenesss…

Tickets can be booked by clicking on me, right here.  Go on, have a click.

I’m only really writing this list so I can try to get my head around it- I feel like I’m precariously balanced on the verge of completely losing my mind.

  1. transcribing 4 new pieces for The Monroe Transfer’s new album
  2. re-doing scores for Philippe Parreno’s new exhibition at Pilar Corrias’s new gallery (even though I have little idea what the scores are actually being used for…)
  3. trying to work out when I can meet up with a burlesque dancer to collaborate on a short performance piece for Paines Plough’s Later event on 22nd October.
  4. writing a 5-10 minute piece for celesta, ‘cello & double bass (for some competition or other)
  5. trying to work out how to play various showtunes for a musical this week.
  6. desperately looking for funding to make a short film I’ve adapted from a short play of mine: 10:16 - 10:19 (twice)
  7. trying to meet with director and producer, to work out when we can actually put heaven on in a theatre.
  8. arranging rehearsals for The Monroe Transfer.

And, of course, none of this is paid, so quite apart from scrounging a seemingly endless sum of money from The Lady, I’m spending craploads of time doing the most important thing:

9.  FINDING A FRIGMOTHERING JOB.

I have officially chosen the worst time in the economic history to attempt this.  Today will either be incredibly productive, or the most frustrating time I’ve ever had.  Pasta will help.

A quick bit of backstory: while recording I dreamt I was a hammer & everything was glass with The Monroe Transfer, we were trying to find ways to get a really nice sound.  The music is quite string-heavy, so one of the main considerations was how to record them properly; we are, like most groups, on a tight budget, but a friend offered to lend us a couple of Coles ribbon mics.  Using the Coles as a distant stereo pair, with a condenser on each of the viola, violin & ‘cello, we were able to get a rather lovely sound (and, of course, you’ll soon be able to purchase the record- stay tuned for more details…)

Now, of course, we’re thinking about recording a new album, and we’re not going to be able to borrow this friend’s expensive, vintage mics for an extended period of time; so, with my love of making things in a slightly-incompetent and without-all-the-proper-tools way, I found some relatively foolproof instructions on how to build such microphones.

I’m putting this post together so that I can a) show that I actually did it (hi, dad!) and b) someone else might be following similar instructions, and hoping to find that someone else managed it. And, to prove it works, here’s a recording, comparing my homemade ngr mic and my Behringer B1 condensor; flick back and forth between the two, and you’ll hear that the ngr is a lot warmer, with a lot less high end to it.  The B1 is quite brittle-sounding, I think- whenever I use it, I normally end up EQing out a lot of the high end. Hope you enjoy…


I have a whole bumload of projects that seem to be on the brink of happening, which is very exciting.  On the other hand, this is a bit of an ongoing situation, and I still seem to be just sitting here writing this blog to basically no-one, so I’m not going to get my hopes up…

So, something I’ve done recently (that definitely is going to happen) is sequencing the Organ Grinder Records sampler.  If you didn’t know, The Monroe Transfer’s new release, as well as the new Fireworks Night EP and all the Lights back catalogue, is all on Organ Grinder- now, with three new releases on the way, the whole record label is gearing up for a bit of a publicity push, and we’ve just put together a sampler CD.  I don’t think I’m giving too much away if I reveal the track listing, as it’s pretty hot…

1. You, Holding - Fireworks Night
2. Ham Shank - The Mules
3. Caliper Boy pt. 2 - Left With Pictures
4. Wave - Lights
5. Maidenhead Alhambra - The Mules
6. What You Don’t Know - Fireworks Night
7. We’re Good People - The Mules (Lights ‘Odd Times’ remix)
8. A Long Fall & No-one to Catch You - The Monroe Transfer
9. 1, 2, 3… Go! - Left With Pictures
10. Photo - Lights

So, there we are.  I’m not exactly sure where you can get them at the moment, but there will almost certainly be copies at all Organ Grinder band gigs; it’s a pretty damned good sampler of what’s on the label, and it’s bound to be a bargain. More details when I know…

And, as a special treat (if this is your idea of a treat), here’s a new Lights song.  I’m still, slowly, working on an entire Lights album, but I’ve no idea if or when it’ll be finished.  This is the first one I’ve actually finished; it’ll probably go near the end of the record, I think.  Hope you like it; feel free to comment below, as ever…