Forty Eight Hours in Harrogate

For the past many years, each November we have attended at least one, and often several, of the gigs put on as part of the EFG London Jazz Festival. As a result, Amanda has had to forego the delights of The Knitting & Stitching Show held in the same week each year in Harrogate. This year, in an act of uncharacteristic magnanimity, I offered to do without jazzy delights, so Amanda could go and look at a lot of bits of cloth and knitting... Of course, I made this offer long before I knew who was actually playing at the Jazz Festival; I found out later that there were in fact three exciting gigs I would have gone to... Ho hum - but a promise is a promise. 

In a state of excitement, Amanda contacted her bessie mate and partner in crime, L, tickets to the Show were ordered, and hotel rooms duly booked. (Since I'd never been to Harrogate I said I would tag along - to the town but not the Show - as this would also give me a chance to catch up with L, whom we hadn't seen in over a year.) 

The day of departure arrived, the car was packed and we were off. Well, no - not quite. Although our car has a built-in GPS, we object to the annual costs of updating the maps, and in any event we find Google Maps a superior system. 

Accordingly, we habitually connect one of our phones to the car and then use Android Auto to control Google Maps through the interface in the infotainment system. Except - not today. No matter what I did with either of our phones, I could get nothing out of Google Maps. Since the start of the journey was a straightforward run up the M1, I told Amanda to start driving, and I would figure out what was wrong as we went along. 

Except - no matter what I did, GM kept insisting that the phone was off-line. I disconnected, dialled our home phone and got our answerphone - nothing wrong with the phone or the voice service. For the next hour or so I tried repeatedly to get a data connection of any sort - it seemed clear that the BT/EE data service was down. We had a map-book in the boot, so knew we had a backup, but that was hardly going to help with the complexities of the back streets of Harrogate when it came time to locate our hotel. 

Inspiration! When Amanda replaced her phone some months ago because of an issue with the USB charging connection and dodgy battery, I had swapped out her BT SIM with an O2 Pay As You Go one and tossed the old phone in the glove-box for possible use in emergencies (or as a burner…). It quickly became apparent that there was a good reason for getting the new phone - the old one was, by now, entirely bereft of life, and no amount of fiddling with a charging cable could get the battery above 1%. However, I removed the O2 SIM and put it into my phone - at last, a signal, and Google Maps sprang into life. (My sister's reaction upon hearing this story: "WHO has a SPARE SIM with them?!" - you'd think she'd know me by now).

A quick search for a suitable 'service availability' app and I confirmed that the BT/EE network was 'down' for many customers. We continued on our way using our backup system - both to guide us and to communicate with L, who had arrived a couple of hours ahead of us. Eventually the BT/EE service was restored and all was good - and the O2 SIM is now permanently installed in my phone as a backup. 

The Premier Inn was duly located and an excited and familiar face appeared at a window above the "drop-off" parking spaces - cue much delight and schoolgirl antics as Amanda and L greeted each other. 

The view from our room of the somewhat more majestic (and expensive) DoubleTree Hilton Harrogate Majestic Hotel & Spa, the grounds of which provide a very pleasant and convenient shortcut to both the Convention Centre and the town centre.

Booked in, unpacked and settled in, we met in the bar for a brief discussion about where to eat that night, and agreed that we would try Rubins.  A short walk - past the Convention Centre, where the girls did their best to contain their excitement - and we received a warm welcome.

L seemed very happy with her "special", which consisted of meat in a spicy sauce housed in a wedge of Turkish bread that could easily have sunk the Titanic:

Amanda and I were equally pleased with our moussaka (though I could not break the habit of a lifetime, and had mine with chips...):

Amanda and I also enjoyed dark chocolate truffle torte to follow (not pictured), but L was impressively abstemious.

Back to the hotel, to chat in the bar, where I guess 90% of the patrons (and indeed, hotel guests) were clearly there for "the Show".  Amanda thinks that all jazzers are greying, bearded old geezers with glasses and cropped hair; I now have my own view of those who enjoy "crafting shows" - I shall keep my own counsel on that, but suffice it to say they were EVERYWHERE over the next 48 hours...

The girls planned their next day, starting with breakfast in a local cafe:

followed by much excitement throughout the day:

I, on the other hand, had a lie-in and then enjoyed a pleasant stroll around the town.  I say "pleasant stroll", but in reality the first road I chose to walk up turned out to be so steep, and I so out of condition, that I had to take to showing tremendous interest in virtually every other shop window I passed, pausing to catch my breath and waiting for my heart to stop fibrillating...

Eventually I got into my stride and spent an enjoyable morning wandering around and orientating myself.  After a while I made my way to the famous Bettys and joined the queue.  Within a few minutes the female maitre d' supervising the intake, on learning that I was a party of one, escorted me through the doors to a very acceptable window table.

For brunch: egg mayonnaise sandwiches with a side order of rösti bites with lemon mayonnaise, washed down with sparkling elderflower cordial:

and to round it off, a nice pot of Earl Grey:

In the time it took me to eat my meal, the queue - perhaps only a dozen or so people when I entered - had extended to the corner of the street and then as far again up the side street, and then dwindled down to half that number as I left:

More walking and mooching around the shops, and then back to the hotel for a rest and to await the arrival of the girls.  By the time they had returned, rested and freshened up, the temperature outside had dropped significantly and we were all grateful that we had earlier agreed that we would not venture too far afield after such an energetic day.

On our way back from Rubins the previous evening we had spotted Vivido, and a little research had confirmed that this would be a good place to eat on the second night, and a table had been duly booked.

Another warm welcome, and we spent more time sussing out which of our fellow diners were in town because of "the Show":

Food was ordered.  For me, lasagne with a side of sauté potatoes:

while the girls both opted for Salmon Fresco Pappardelle:

I finished with chocolate fudge cake and ice cream:

while Amanda, having late in life discovered a liking for crème brûlée, indulged in one and declared it to be one of the best she had eaten.  L once again refrained - probably the better to enjoy the limoncello offered 'on the house' to round off the meal:

On the way back to the hotel we stopped to take advantage of the illuminated columns at the entrance to the Convention Centre:

Back at the hotel bar we sat and chatted - happy but tired:

Since L was booked on a train early the next morning we said our goodbyes in the lift on our way up to our rooms, before parting company.

In the morning we also rose early, checked out, packed the car and made our way to Bettys, where we joined the queue (numbers 5 and 6), some time before they opened at 09.00, to secure a good table for breakfast:

 In fact, we chose the table at which I had eaten brunch the day before:

Excellent freshly-squeezed orange juice:

Followed by, for Amanda, scrambled eggs on a toasted muffin with bacon:

and for me, Swiss Breakfast Rösti, made with grated potato and gruyère cheese, served with dry-cured bacon, tomato, mushroom and a poached egg:

I genuinely cannot remember the last time I had eaten a poached egg prior to this, which probably means I had not yet left home - that is, 50+ years ago.  This was one of those meals that lingers in the memory for all the right reasons, and which guaranteed a return visit if ever we are in Harrogate again.

As I had done the day before, we followed up with Earl Grey Tea and then wandered out into the bitter cold.

More mooching around and window shopping followed by actual shopping by Amanda at Seasalt, after which we strolled back to the hotel for quick drink and a rest before picking up the car and heading home - this time untroubled by mobile outages or any other such problems.  

As we left I reflected on the fact that this had been one of our most enjoyable excursions for quite some time, and that I might not be averse to repeating it - though I also resolved not to tell the boss that until I had at least seen the gig list for next year's jazz festival...

Kenny Barron - Ronnie Scott's, London

After a gap of six years, we headed to Ronnie Scott's for the second time in a month - this time to see American pianist Kenny Barron.  We've seen him twice before - both times at Ronnie's. The first occasion was ten years ago, on my sixtieth birthday, and the second time was a couple of years later; based on those experiences it promised to be a good night.  On this occasion, Barron was playing two shows in one evening, and - though in general I much prefer late shows - for practical reasons we were booked into the earlier 18.30 set.

A straightforward journey on the 15.12, a cab ride to Oxford Street and then a stroll down Dean Street, through Soho Square and onto Frith Street.  There were only a couple of people ahead of us in the queue when we started waiting in the cold:

By 17.30, the queues for members and regular ticket holders stretched some way in both directions.  Finally we made it inside to see the female maitre d', to find that, in spite of the large number of members who had been admitted before us 'regular' punters, we had been assigned our requested table.  Happy bunnies:

With a good view of the stage:

A composite showing the view of the room to my left:

The view from Amanda's side of the table (no, I wasn't hiding behind a very large table lamp, I had gone to the loo):

For the concert Amanda simply turns her chair through 180 degrees to get the same view as me.

Food - for Amanda, Gressingham duck breast, roasted root vegetables and prune sauce:

and absolutely no guesses here:

At 18.30, the band took to the stage.  At 81, Barron is someone for whom the word "urbane" might have been created.  He introduced his fellow musicians - Kiyoshi Kitagawa (Osaka) on bass and Jonathan Blake (Philadelphia) on drums, and then, throughout the gig, announced the title of each number and its composer.  As expected, it was a stellar performance from three guys who have played together for decades and have almost telepathic sympathy for each other's playing. After three extended numbers, Kitagawa and Blake left the stage for a short break, while Barron played two solo pieces: the first, a tune called "The Mountain" by Abdullah Ibrahim, about which I have eulogised elsewhere in this blog; the second, a tribute to its composer.

One of the practical reasons that I am not keen on attending the early set of any "double header" is that when the first set finishes, you can be sure of two things: the venue will be interested only in getting the first set of customers out of the door and the house turned around to greet the customers for the second set, and the band will be in the Green Room resting and refreshing themselves.  As a result, the chances of getting autographs or any other kind of engagement with the band will be effectively zero.  

Even knowing all that, I had gone prepared with a small selection of CDs and my trusty Sharpie, so when Jonathan Blake realised that when it came to Barron's solo spot his only effective route off the stage took him past our table, I held up one of his albums - Homeward Bound - and he graciously signed it and shook my hand before continuing on to the bar at the rear:

As can be seen, the album is dedicated to "Ana Grace".  Ana Grace Marquez-Greene was the six-year-old daughter of saxophonist Jimmy Greene and flautist Nelba Marquez-Greene; Ana Grace was killed in the 2012 mass shooting at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut.  Blake had been on tour with Greene at the time of the shooting.  He knew Ana Grace and would later say that "She had such a lively presence. So when I heard she’d been taken away, it affected me and I started writing this tune".  Jimmy Greene was the saxophone player in the band for the Ron Carter concert we attended in Cadogan Hall during the London Jazz Festival in 2023.

After the superb solo interlude by Barron, Kitagawa and Blake rejoined him for the rest of the set.  All too soon the gig was over and we gathered our things before heading out.  As before, a stroll down Frith Street to Shaftesbury Avenue, where we hailed a cab within minutes, and thereby to St Pancras, where the station management have elected to celebrate the birth of Jesus with something inspired by the musical Wicked - which, in that it tells the story of The Witches of Oz, seems like adding insult to injury:

On the 21.35 home:

arriving at 22.45 to find, as is often the case for late returns, the car park barrier was already up and we were not charged for our stay - result!!

On the journey home I had reflected on the evening.  In days gone by (as noted elsewhere in this blog) one of the downsides of a visit to Ronnie's was the number of customers who clearly attended for reasons other than appreciating the music.  In previous visits we have observed groups of women who had been shopping and were keen to chat loudly while the gig was in progress, business colleagues who had sealed a big deal and were similarly keen to celebrate noisily two feet away from us while music was being played, a couple who appeared to be engaged in a face-sucking competition, a group of "Hooray Henries" who appeared to think that they were above the act of making a noise when they applauded and therefore AIR-MIMED the act of clapping, ensuring that their hands never actually met, and a well-oiled businessman who appeared to be trying to make advances to the retail consultant and broadcaster Mary Portas while she was sitting at the adjacent table with her (then) wife...  

In other words, we had grown used to questionable behaviour and (as in the first two instances) I had become accustomed to (somewhat reluctantly) dealing with the offenders myself.  During our two recent visits, then, it was hard to express the delight of sitting in an audience that was essentially silent while the band were playing; on this particular night, so engrossed were the other customers that one could almost literally have heard a pin drop during the quiet passages.  I think that there are three equally important reasons for this change:

1. When booking tickets for Ronnie Scott's, before confirming the purchase, one now has to tick a box to denote acceptance of a number of terms, which now include this:

2. On each table there is now one of these small cards:

3. The act is now introduced by a compere who stands at the front and who, before calling the musicians to the stage, reminds the audience of the need for quiet during the performance.
   

The improvement in audience behaviour between those earlier visits and now has turned a previously good night out to a great one - and I wish that certain other venues (Pizza Express Jazz Club...) would follow suit.

Set List

Trio

1. Isfahan (Billy Strayhorn and Duke Ellington)
2. Magic Dance (Kenny Barron)
3. New York Attitude (Kenny Barron)

Barron - solo

4. The Mountain (Abdullah Ibrahim)
5. Song for Abdullah (Kenny Barron)

Trio

6. Canadian Sunset (Kenny Barron)
7. Nightfall (Charlie Haden)
8. Calypso (Kenny Barron)

Othello - Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-Upon-Avon

To Stratford to see Othello.  A late booking resulted in a great price for a room at The Arden:

A rest and a change and we headed off to The Encore for dinner.  View from our table on the first floor:

A burger for me and lamb rump for Amanda:

To the theatre:

And so - what of the play?  

This was the first time we had seen Othello.  Although I had made myself familiar with the plot beforehand, I was certainly not au fait with the details of each scene.  I knew that the play was supposed to begin with a conversation between Iago and Roderigo; however, when the first two actors on stage began to speak, I began to think that perhaps I had missed some detail, and that this was an initial 'stage-setting' conceit by a pair of minor characters - think "Night Watchman 1 and Night Watchman 2".  One character in particular, spoke so quietly and quickly as to be barely audible or comprehensible from our usual seats in the centre front row of the first balcony.  

Imagine, then, my dismay when it became clear that these two were, indeed, Iago and Roderigo.  I wracked my brain - usually I make myself aware of posters announcing last-minute changes to the cast, but I recalled nothing about that night's performance.  In spite of this, I became convinced that not only must Iago be being played by an understudy, but by an under-prepared and nervous understudy at that.  Sadly, no such excuse could be applied.

Will Keen, playing Iago, is an experienced and capable actor of stage, film and TV so, being charitable, I could only conclude that his performance was the responsibility of director Tim Carroll. Unfortunately, what might have worked on TV, or even in a studio theatre, where sotto voce dialogue, subtle inflections and underplayed facial expressions would all be observable to the audience, here it just didn't work. Further - the performance was simply not consistent with the view that Iago is one of Shakespeare's most malevolent villains.  Later, I also reflected on the fact that it did not seem likely that a man of Othello's age, maturity and experience would be so taken in by someone so apparently creepy and obsequious as this Iago.

I persevered, straining to hear and understand Iago and also trying to ignore the voices in my head that had started to declare, "This really isn't very good, and some of the staging is equally bizarre".  As an example of the latter, there were a number of instances of what Peter Viney in his blog (listed under Reviews below) called "declaiming forward".  That is, characters spoke their lines straight out to the audience (it felt as if we were in direct line of fire), even though the characters to whom they were speaking were standing on balconies behind them.  Those characters, in turn, also declaimed to the front of the stage, but thereby effectively to the back of the heads of those to whom they were speaking.  Viney described this as a "strong style choice"; I described it somewhat less charitably as "confusing and pointless"...

The interval.  Fearing I was alone in my observations, I held back until Amanda caught my eye and we both burst out laughing.  "It's not my imagination - this is bad, isn't it?", I asked her. "Oh yes!", she confirmed.  We compared notes and she confirmed most of my feelings.  For a brief moment we considered leaving - for the first time in 45 productions over a decade, but since we had paid good money for our seats, had a hotel room across the road, and nowhere else to be, we decide to stick it out.

When we returned to our seats, a very pleasant young woman sitting next to Amanda asked if we were enjoying it (it was clear from her demeanour that she was).  Trying hard not to 'harsh her buzz' we responded gently in the negative and explained why - one of the first indications that this truly was a Marmite production.

To be fair, I enjoyed the second half slightly more than the first, but largely that was due to there being more action, rather than any improvement in the production.  However, once again the stylised direction left me cold in places.  Specifically, the decision to stage Othello's killing of Desdemona in a complete blackout might have seemed good at the time - "imagined horror is worse than actual", and all that - but it didn't work, and the author of "The Real Chris Sparkle" blog (link below) summed it up perfectly: 

"The ultimate act of horror in the play, when Othello kills Desdemona, is unexpectedly performed in total darkness, as if to deny it’s really happening. All we can hear is some uncomfortable scuffling, like the sound of a fishmonger trying to restrain a feisty flounder flapping around on a slab. I’m afraid it was quite ludicrous."

The mainstream media reviews for the production had been mixed, with an average rating hovering around 3 out of 5.  What proved more interesting was, after the performance, reading the comments on the RSC Facebook pages relating to the play.  It quickly became clear that a significant majority of theatre goers were enchanted and enthralled by the production, eulogising about both the direction and the performance of Iago in particular. Somewhat reassuringly there were a smaller, but still significant, range of responses that cited the same criticisms we had voiced.  Following an exchange of comments with some who enjoyed it I concluded that it would be genuinely interesting to study (if only the data were available) the correlation between "enjoyment of production" and "distance from stage", "number of RSC productions previously seen" and "age of audience" - perhaps we were just too far from the stage, too old and too programmed by other plays to see the supposed good in this one.

My final comment - possibly unfair, but a view genuinely held: while I was watching Iago, I kept being reminded of a series of sketches in the BBC comedy programme "The Impressions Show", in which Jon Culshaw poked fun at Ross Kemp and his programme "Ross Kemp on Gangs".  Never again will I be able to watch Othello without thinking of Will Keen's Iago, and Culshaw's "I could see it was about to kick off - so I got out of there!"

A good night's sleep, and then down to breakfast:

followed by a walk around town, some shopping and then a straightforward run home.

Reviews

#BrumHour

All That Dazzles

Birmingham Mail

British Theatre Guide

Broadway World

Morning Star

Peter Viney's Blog

Stage Talk Magazine

Stage Talk Magazine

The Daily Telegraph

The Guardian

The Real Chris Sparkle

The Reviews Hub

The Stage

Theatre & Tonic

Theatre Weekly

Warwickshire World

West End Best Friend

What’s On Stage