Issue #4 : Music for High Streets

This issue’s featured piece of music is:
String Quartet No. 13  (Op. 133) – ‘Grosse Fugue’  by Ludwig van Beethoven
And the featured recording is by:
The Alban Berg Quartet

I was recently in the city of Portsmouth (how I get around, eh readers?). Set up in the pedestrianized High Street was an authentically suede-tasseled, suited, booted and head-dressed um-troupe of ‘Native North Americans’. Similarly authentic Native American synth music (inc drum machine) um-pumped out of a giant CD player off to one side, while four or five of the Natives shuffled dismally around in a circle, ‘dancing’ while sub-standardly playing oversized pan pipes. The entire spectacle was – not unlike the city that was hosting it – utterly shoddy and unconvincing and frankly laughable. As I stood in the grey drizzle and watched, disbelieving, really, that such a performance was capable of attracting the inevitable crowd it had of slack-jawed shoppers, a paralytic wino staggered forward to join in with the dance, a super-strength can of lager for his oversized pan pipes. The Native Americans weren’t sure how to react – should they laugh along with his increasingly out-of-control lurching, like the crowd was gleefully encouraging; or should they lead him gently away, back towards the bush from out of which he had originally emerged? Sadly I didn’t hang around long enough to find out, as I was ushered firmly back into the bush. Thankyouverymuch.

A week or so later I was walking down my own hometown High Street in Winchester, when sure enough, here were the shoddy Native Americans again, shuffling around, this time attempting a kind of ‘war dance’ using plastic hatchets outside Debenhams. Those crazy guys! I thought, marching past contemptuously.

And then a week or so after this I spotted them again, the High Street this time being that of Southampton (these guys live in a high-rise tepee on the outskirts of Eastleigh). This time, however, they were between shifts – sitting on a wall reading tabloid newspapers with their legs crossed smoking cigarettes (King Size peace pipes). I nodded hello; they nodded back. I lingered; noticing that whichever High Street these guys are appearing at, they always have a presentation case sitting on the pavement out front, filled with CDs of their authentic music. Today this presentation case appeared to be full and untouched, but then maybe they’ve just been keeping it topped-up all afternoon (to encourage pity). In response to this overt linger, one of the boys dropped his tabloid and stood up because, I think, they were worried I was about to run off with the presentation case, or felt sack with a few coins at the bottom, decorated with drawings of eagles. To becalm him, I threw a 20p piece towards the felt sack, but it missed and rolled away down the High Street towards New Look. The Native American and I regarded one another through the soft rain.

Anyway. The other night I was in the pub with my friend Johnny, and I was telling him about these Native Americans that seemed to be following me around or vice-versa, when he broke in and said: ‘I have one of those CDs.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I have one of those Indians’ CDs. It’s really good. Don’t be such a snob. I always buy CDs from street performers if I like what they’re doing. I’ve picked up some really great albums that way in the past. I can lend you a few if you like.’
‘Really great albums? Is this some sort of sick joke?’
‘I’m serious.’
(This conversation really did happen, by the way. Last week’s Lemmy conversation really did happen also; it was just significantly shorter than perhaps I described it. Thanks, though, for the emails saying you “weren’t surprised” Lemmy’s favourite composer was Charles Ives. I’ve spoken to him subsequently and learned that, in fact, it’s John Cage.)
‘You buy buskers’ CDs? But you’re a semi-professional musician! You of all people shouldn’t be encouraging these sorts of things.’
‘To prove how good they are, I’m going to lend you some.’
‘No, please.’
‘Just give it a try.’
‘Oh for God’s sake.’
And well. I have them in a small pile here on my desk.

Anyway. There is an occasional exception to this indefatigable defilement of our cherished High Streets, which tends to involve string quartets. One sad fact behind this exception is that often these string quartets consist of flaxen-haired, earnest-looking middle-upper class females. Their hair wisps about all lovely and daydreamy in the High Street breeze, don’t you find? Also, even if they’re not very good, and/or are hacking their way through the Four Seasons or the University Challenge theme tune, it makes a pleasant change from plastic-hatchet war-dancing and howled, atonal ‘Blowing in the Wind’s. Conversely, however, I am often rather irritated by their smug, middle-upper class superior expressions with their music stands and righteous taupe cardigans, and eyebrows all arched in mock-ecstatic rapture at ooh golly, such a fiddly-diddly bit! Real music, clodhoppers. Come on, let’s kind of… waft into Body Shop. (Sometimes, if there are men too, they have on ‘comedy’ bow-ties. Oh Gavin, you’re such a one.)

Anyway. One piece of music you’re unlikely to hear outside your local Greggs is Ludwig (White) van Beethoven’s infamous ‘String Quartet No. 13  (Op. 133)’, otherwise known as the ‘Grosse Fugue’ – a  piece widely considered to be one of the most technically demanding pieces for musicians called Felicity to play whilst blocking the Boots electric doors. Also because if you heard the ‘Grosse Fugue’ played down your local High Street, you’d most likely impale yourself upon a kindly chugger’s clipboard, somehow. This is ultra-introspective, punch-myself-in-the-face music: coo, stark. For me, its most disturbing element is that it manages to scour one’s face and hands so, despite being in a major key; almost as if ol’ Ludwig’s knowingly rubbing your nose in it – that even the sunny side of your soul is similarly diseased. Beethoven wrote this when he was completely deaf (and drunk, and dying), and at the time, like much of his downright-odd later music, it was much derided by the experts of the day (‘repellent’, ‘an indecipherable, uncorrected horror’, ‘heizolruckstossabdampfung’). These days many consider it his crowning glory; greatest achievement; and so on until everyone has fallen asleep. I don’t really ‘get’ this 100% (perhaps 60-70%), but I wanted to get that story about the Native Americans in, since they were beginning to freak me out and this has been like an exorcism, like last week’s elephant / woman Polaroid. Thanks to everyone who sent in similar Polaroids of their own, by the way. Two or three were subsequently forwarded to the RSPCA, and I have since been arrested.

Download the ‘Grosse Fugue’ for free here

Buy the album from amazon.co.uk here
Or from amazon.com here

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