Well, what can one say. Some regular readers here might recall that I am most certainly tapped into the ideas around Hauntology, a philosophy that maintains that, as individuals but perhaps more importantly as a society, we are haunted by the ghosts of what could have been, along with another idea that seems to me to be becoming more evident with each passing year, The Slow Cancellation of the Future, and this philosophy pretty much sums up how I feel about our current society.
In 1994 the Manic Street Preachers released their magnum opus, The Holy Bible, an album that is arguably the most powerful ever recorded, and which will, in time, if humanity remains, I maintain be viewed in a similar light to Picasso's Guernica, and which has a devastating song on it entitled 'The Intense Humming of Evil.' I am a member of a Music League competition where the contestants submit a song for a different themed round each week, and the theme for the last round of this season is to submit a song that sums up the past twelve months. Is it any wonder that 'The Intense Humming of Evil' is the song that immediately sprang into my mind. The wars and carnage and intense cruelty and callousness our species has inflicted on each other and on the non-human world has been on a scale far beyond what I expected to see in my lifetime. And not only does the whole situation break my heart, but it also reminds me of why I am so interested in and almost soothed by the music, art and ideas of Hauntology, for it at least helps me make some sense of our insane, late-Capitalist world, but it also transports me back to when I used to watch programmes like Tomorrow's World, which promised us a glittering future where there were no diseases, technology did all the shitty jobs and chores, meaning that human beings would have more time that they could devote to the worship of art and beauty, for meaningful things and for solving problems. Space travel would be as normal as flying on a plane, and there would be no more war or hunger or starvation. And these are the kinds of mesmerising, new sounds that sound-tracked it all. The future seemed like it was going to be the greatest place in the world.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPp_xImWYRs
But how different and precarious it all seems now.
And which brings me back to the Manics...
It is now five years since I last saw them in concert (the last time I was able to was in 2019 because I had to shield for so long because of the pandemic), and I missed their 2021 Ultra Vivid Lament tour (the first one I've missed since 1997), and I also couldn't attend this year's glorious double-header with my equally beloved London Suede, as outdoor venues are also a no-go for me. Thank the stars, however, that I was able to attend a very special, one-off additional screening of Be Pure. Be Vigilant. Behave concert film of their 2016 Holy Bible concerts that had a Q&A afterwards with the one and only Nicky Wire.
Being in the second row for the film was truly extraordinary, and the power of the music, the words, the Manics' delivery and everything around the performance was off the radar. I have a wonderful connection with birds - we have two gorgeous seagulls (Mr and Mrs. Kehaar) who nest each year on the roof just outside our window - but this year I think all three of their chicks fledged too soon and didn't make it, which is almost too distressing to reflect on in any depth - and when James Dean Bradfield was singing the terrifying and heart-breaking refrain, "No birds!" in 'Mausoleum', I literally thought I was going to shatter. Those lines hit me so incredibly hard, and I could feel the tears streaming down my face. But Mr and Mrs. Kehaar have taught me a vital lesson, for as I am writing this, right now, in December, I can quite literally hear them pretty much every afternoon arriving to inspect their love nest ready for next year's brood. And every time they arrive to inspect and tidy up their nest it is accompanied by the most exquisite sounds (if anybody ever tells me that herring gulls can't communicate with each other I'm afraid I will have to tell them to go and give their head a wobble), of excited cries, and the most wonderful, genuinely happy little chatter that they exchange with each other. It absolutely melts my heart. It is devastatingly sweet and romantic, and to my mind it is their version of how I feel when my fine lady and I are getting ready to go out on one of our occasional dinner dates, and we have our favourite music playing (The White Lotus soundtrack, for example), and my neurons are firing off rapidly in my brain making me feel decidedly tipsy and ecstatic even before a drop of wine has passed my lips. And for the past week or so they have done this every single day, and I can actually feel their love of life and their love for each other emanating from them. They did quite obviously grieve in the summer when their chicks didn't make it as it was very subdued when the nest was suddenly empty, but my goodness, they have shown astonishing resilience and are now as bouncy and energetic as they were when I first saw and heard them in May 2023. Mr and Mrs. Kehaar, you are an inspiration and a refuge from the insanity and cruelness of human society and I salute you.
As well as the Manics' incredible concert film I have also managed to connect with some very fine art this year, and going to the cinema or a theatre still seems such a novelty after four years of not being able to attend due to the pandemic, and this makes the occasional visits I can now make seem even more like a gift from the gods (which, it actually is, and always has been).
First up were three quite incredible films that I was able to watch in our local, beautiful art deco cinema. The first one was Poor Things, and I loved every second of it. The storyline, the script, the performances, the very decadent (darlings!) Oscar Wilde inspired set, it really did tick all of my boxes. There was also The Zone of Interest, which was so immensely powerful it almost became too painful to watch, and was made all the more relevant by the horrific atrocities that are being visited upon people in far off places that seems to show absolutely no signs of abating. And then, saving me from complete misanthropy and despair, and giving me hope and belief in the species homo-sapiens when it had almost all but disappeared, there was All of us Strangers. Oh my goodness. Be calm my trembling heart. I am not going to say much more of it right now as I intend to do an in depth post on it in the near future, but what a searching, soul-shattering (and then putting it back together) film it truly is. Just extraordinary.
I have also had the immense good fortune to read some wonderful books this year, of which my favourites were Walter Pater's Sebastian Van Storck, which although only a short story, contained a wealth of meaning and symbolism, and I am still going through the very many articles and chapters that have been written about this strange and haunting story. And a sensational novella by Guiseppi de Lampedusa called The Professor and the Siren, which was utterly enchanting. If any of you faithful readers have a taste for exotic and decadent storytelling, I can recommend both of these works very highly. They have a world that you can almost disappear into, and I have found that very consoling during this year of, even by human standards, intolerably high levels of barbarity. I have also spent some quite glorious time with the poets John Milton and William Wordsworth this year, thanks to two utterly fascinating zoom classes with Peter Brennan, a splendid teacher and Shakespeare scholar whom I met through an online course in 2022, and who has become someone I consider a genuine friend. Lydia and me actually got to meet him and his lovely wife in person, in the wild and not on screen, for the first time this summer, and it was as lovely as the wine we all indulged in. I sincerely hope there will be many more meetups in the future.
When I think of this year from a cultural perspective, however, the fact that I can now attend the theatre again has led me to explore more of a type of music and performance which I have always loved, but which has never quite been central to my aesthetic radar: opera! I started the year by finally reading a book I have wanted to read for what seems like a million years, aeons and aeons, in fact; The Queen's Throat by Wayne Koestenbaum.
If I had a tenner for each time this extraordinary book has been quoted or referenced in the many, myriad readings that are contained within my musical library - especially when discussing the truly great pop/rock/torch singers that I adore such as Freddie Mercury, Billy Mackenzie, Marc Almond and Scott Walker - I would be able to stay regularly at the Cafe Royal and take afternoon tea in the Oscar Wilde bar whilst I was there. It has been on my radar for so long that it had taken on mythological status in my ever enquiring mind, and when I finally had a copy of it in my hands (a magical gift from another dear friend of mine, Phil, who also happens to be a musical maestro), I could hardly believe my eyes and senses, and hoped beyond hope that the actual book itself wouldn't be a crushing disappointment compared with how I had built it up in my imagination. Dear reader. I needn't have worried. Take a quick glance at these few quotes...
'For a diva, difference is power; she finds power in her deviance. For the non-diva, however, difference only leads to ridicule.'
"Dorothy, in life that first impression is very important. So, always, at all times, exude confidence and let your bosoms lead you." (Veteran opera singer Mary Garden's advice to up and coming opera singer, Dorothy Kirsten.
These are just a few that I have chosen to share, but the book is filled with glorious, camp, moving, and hilarious passages about opera, opera divas, and the pains and joys of being an opera fan. It increased my knowledge of opera considerably, and then, to my great joy, my beautiful innamorata and myself were able to attend a live performance of Bizet's Carmen at our local theatre. I was in seventh heaven and to my eternal delight, a friend of ours who joined us at the theatre took this rather splendid picture of my fine lady and I on our way into the theatre. Not only is it one of my favourite photos of the two of us from this year, it is actually one of my favourite pictures of us altogether...
Which pretty much brings me to the end of this year's ruminations.
Many thanks to all of you who have spent time reading my words this past year, and I look forward to regaling you with more thoughts and cultural ramblings next year. Here's to a more peaceful world in 2025 (as unlikely as that seems), but it's something I will never stop hoping for, and I very much hope that the year ahead will bring you much enchantment of the heart.
