The Re word

Resurrection. No, that’s not the word. Reconstruction. No, not that either. I was only half-listening when the Dean of Coventry Cathedral mentioned the ‘re’ word while introducing the Robert Fripp/Theo Travis concert, an unlikely part of the Coventry Jazz Festival the other Saturday afternoon. Restoration. No, not that. Resolution. Again, no. Not even when the Frippertron himself interrupted his own performance, to introduce his concert himself and mentioned the same ‘re’ word, did I consider retaining it in the anteroom of my memory. Restitution. Resonance. Reconnection. No. No. No. At half-time, I wandered into this modern cathedral’s colourful corners, which reminded me less of church than the atrium of a giant theatre. Rejuvenation. Reformation. Not even close. In an annexe to the left of the entrance, my eye was caught by what appeared to be a kaleidoscopic sculpture made entirely of coloured strips of paper. Something drew me closer. Parts of my mind rushed me towards recognition. When and where had I seen this before? Nearer, I made out the shapes of paper birds. Then, it hit me. It was a smaller version of the paper crane exhibit created by the Japanese schoolgirl, Sadako Sasasi, who died from leukaemia in 1955, having been exposed to the atom bomb in Hiroshima at the age of 2. Knowing she was terminally ill, Sadako was trying to complete the folding of 1,000 paper cranes, following the belief that this goal would see her granted a wish. The story says she reached 644. I’d visited the real exhibit only a month before at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. I don’t really remember making my way back to my chair for the second half of the concert. All I know is that I enjoyed the music as if hearing Robert Fripp play for the first time. He finished the set with the beautiful and rarely played Threnody For Souls In Torment. But I found myself unable to recall the ‘re’ word. I just knew that it was a combination of all. Resurrection. Reconstruction. Restoration. Resolution. Restitution. Resonance. Reconnection. Rejuvenation. Reformation. Reggie Perrin. Later, much later, I turned to the world wide wonder and found Robert Fripp’s diary with his photo-journalistic review of the day, cathedrals old and new (www.dgmlive.com/diaries.htm?member=3). Before I went in, I’d walked the same steps, absorbed the same views. I wondered if I’d thought the same thoughts as Fripp. You see, there’s a collective view of Coventry that’s apt here. The city gets such a bad press. Concrete monstrosity. Well, people too easily forget the awful price the city and its people had to pay one night in November 1940, when Winston Churchill sacrificed it for the price of retaining the secret of breaking the cipher of the Enigma machine. Many UK cities suffered during the war, but none quite as unexpectedly as Coventry that night. Rather than the opprobrium it receives from the ignorant today, it somehow deserves a special place in our considerations. Those who know me well will also understand the significance of Coventry in my life from a personal point of view. How difficult it is for me to return or spend any significant amount of time there. I’d thought the Fripp gig would be an appropriate opportunity for some kind of catharsis. I was thinking about this when the Dean introduced the event, when Fripp re-introduced himself and his music. Now, reading his own review of the day, it was clearly a special gig, the end of his world tour, the end of something. “The new Coventry Cathedral is a remarkable space. The sound from the guitar stool was astonishing. At one point, high notes and harmonics flew upwards and kept going, as if angels in the roofspace had picked them up and were singing.” I did not find it hard to connect the man playing guitar before me with the man whose wizardry lay behind King Crimson’s 21st Century Schizoid Man back in the early 70s. A man whose diary notes continued: “The first set was introduced by the Dean, who referred to the Cathedral’s mission of reconciliation.” And there it was, my ‘re’ word. As I left the concert, still unable to recall this word, I remember thinking how it was the most magical of days. That morning, I’d woken to a blinding headache and felt too weak to complete my lawnmowing. Yet, I’d sensed this was an important day. After Fripp, I drove back along empty roads under a startling blue late afternoon sky to see Julius Caesar at Stratford – the first time I’d seen this performance, having studied it for O Level English Literature 35 years earlier. Greg Hicks was a better Caesar than he had been Leontes, King of Sicilia, in A Winter’s Tale. But it didn’t stop him dying with all the others. Something came to an end. I may spend some time yet wondering why I had to go to Hiroshima to settle my own personal conscience with what went on in Coventry, collectively before I was born, and personally, during my youth. Reconciliation surely implies some kind of acceptance. After reconciliation comes the time to get on with life. And that seems a suitably transcendent place to surrender my forty-something self, after eighteen thousand two hundred and sixty three days on this planet, and take up the mantle of quinquagenarianism. Something has ended. Something is beginning.

Mark Griffiths http://www.idealconsulting.co.uk/

Everything that happens will happen today

So many millions of people are unaware of the significance of Brian Peter George St.John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno in their daily lives. The Microsoft Sound – the six-second start-up music of the Windows 95 operating system. Bloom – the generative music application for iPhone and iPodTouch, that plays a low drone in different tones and creates its own music. His appearance as Father Brian Eno in the very last episode of Father Ted. Some will have heard his music featured in the film adaptation of the best seller from Irvine Welsh, Ecstasy: Three Tales Of Chemical Romance. Others will know his music from the video game, Spore, in which a single player develops a species from scratch until it’s an intelligent being that explores the universe. But I feel I know Brian Eno very well without any of these interventions. He’s been part of my life since I fell in love with Virginia Plain and Pyjamarama, the first two singles from Roxy Music in 1972/3. Since which time his influence on the development of popular music and its future beyond his own lifespan has been second to none. It’s not enough to say there’d be no Aphex Twin or Röyksopp without Eno’s Apollo – Atmospheres and Soundtracks. Without Eno, David Bowie would have become Krusty the Clown, wasting away in a Las Vegas casino. Instead of which we got Low, Heroes and Lodger. OK, I never quite understood Eno’s close association with people as earthbound as U2. Though, true, he did produce their best album, Joshua Tree. I’m obviously missing something about his connection with Coldplay and Icehouse, whose frigid names are so apt. And there was nothing Eno could do to plug Devo into the mainstream consciousness – one progressive regressive idea too far! But, as founder of the concept of ambient music, Eno is the architect of mood control through music, a visitor to our world from the 22nd century. As you’re coming to understand, I’m fascinated by temporal serendipity. Coincidence is my cup of tea and the biscuits I dunk are studded with dates. So, I’m quite intrigued that three, often collaborative, musical giants of my memory banks, have birthdays following one another in close succession. Yesterday, it was Byrne, today it’s Eno, tomorrow it’s Fripp. Sometimes, with genius of this nature, the titles of their works are far better than their content. So, we have the fabulously monikered Everything That Happens Will Happen Today as the latest collaboration between Eno and Byrne in 2008. The names of most of Eno’s work suggest he knows something we don’t but should. In 1977, there was Before And After Science. Eno claimed that this was an anagram of the original title, Arcane Benefits Of Creed. This sounded then like one of his oblique strategies and still does. In 2005, there was Another Day On Earth. Who else could get away with the song, Bone Bomb, released just three weeks before 7/7? Check it out. The following year, he joined 100 major artists and writers in signing an open letter calling for an international boycott of Israeli political and cultural institutions. Despite the immense success and influence of his musical springboard, Eno is refreshingly ambivalent about the direction his life has taken. "As a result of going into a subway station and meeting saxophonist Andy Mackay, I joined Roxy Music, and, as a result of that, I have a career in music. If I'd walked ten yards farther, on the platform, or missed that train, or been in the next carriage, I probably would have been an art teacher now.” In 1972, when you appeared on our planet, you seemed like a glam Davros, an ancient with minutes left to live. As time has moved forward, you have grown younger, sleeker, shinier, more attractive, just like Benjamin Button. Happy 61st birthday, Brian Eno. It will soon be time for school.

Mark Griffiths www.idealconsulting.co.uk