Thank You Michael

Apart from death and taxes, I think another possible truism in life is that sometimes you don't know what you value until it's gone. With his death, I think Michael Jackson has reminded billons of people around the globe of this.

If you had asked me a few weeks ago whether I was a Michael Jackson fan, I probably would've said that I liked his music growing up but did not really consider myself a fan. The circus surrounding his personal life (actually did he ever have a personal life) left me cold and for a long time, it seemed that his name was synonymous with scandal rather than music. Even with the announcement of his impending tour dates the media focus was on his health, his wealth, body doubles and whether or not the whole thing was going to be a scam. Not about the man and his music.

Now he is dead and suddenly, all the scandal that surrounded him has melted away (for now) and the music has re-emerged. We're now reminded, post humously, of the brilliant legacy that he has left us. We've remembered why we loved him in the first place.

And I have been reminded of the hours and hours I spent as a kid and teenager singing his songs and making up dances with my friends. How at school discos, the girls would dress like Madonna but try to dance like Michael. How all the music videos I watched on the weekends as a teenager owed much of their format to his vision. I miss those less cynical times and perhaps he did too.

I realised Michael was also very much in my present. Billie Jean will always get me on the dance floor. And I confess I have a few of his ballads on my ipod.

I didn't realise it till now. I'm a fan. I'm sorry it took me so long.

Thank you Michael. For everything.

When the Rain Stops Falling

It's always interesting to track the signposts that lead you to an important juncture in life. A few weeks ago I was at the Origins Festival watching a documentary called Black Chicks Talking. The doco had been based on a book of interviews by Leah Purcell, who also directed and featured in the film. At the end of the screening, a Q & A was held whereby the audience was informed that Ms Purcell was currently in London acting in a play called When the Rain Stops Falling.


It was a busy week that followed but it seemed that everytime I opened a newspaper I would spot an interview with someone in the play. Or a favourable review about the play. Not long after, a friend from work told me about a brilliant Australian play that she had seen the night before. I must go she told me. I acquiesed to the inevitable and got the tickets straight away online.

I have now just returned from the Almeida Theatre where I saw Andrew Bovell's play at long last. It not only met my expectations but exceeded them. It was the best play I have seen in a very long while. It seamlessly combined good acting, excellent set design, good venue and an engaged and eloquent script. All elements combined which held me in thrall for a good two hours without interval.

The suprise for me tonight was how moved I was by the play. It wasn't the storyline (although good) that did it but rather the evocation of the Australian landscape through language and imagery. I found myself in tears when footage appeared of waves lapping up against a beach at night or the dark Australian sky filled with clusters of stars. I did not realise how much I miss the landscape and how deeply it is entrenched somewhere inside of me.

This desire for land and light and sea and sky is hard to explain to people. It therefore gave me comfort to read Andrew Bovell's words in the play's programme:

The Australian landscape and the sense of loneliness and isolation it evokes resonates in our collective consciousness and finds expression in our literature and art. Most of us live in cities and yet the sense of distance and space that surrounds us continues to play in our minds. I grew up in the isolation of the Western Australian wheat belt, a long way from the nearest city, Perth, which in itself is the most geographically isolated city in the world. There was space and time to fill out there. It is a strikingly beautiful landscape if you know how to see it and if you know how to be alone.

So beautifully put. I couldn't have said it better myself.

All the Single Ladies...

In my social and work circles I am surrounded by single women in their mid twenties to late thirties and the one thing they all have in common is that they worry about not having met a partner. Not being in a relationship and what this means if they want kids. When I sit and talk with them about it, I can feel their anxiety and pain.

What's wrong with me? they say. Why can't I meet anyone?

I don't know how to answer them. Because sitting in front of me is an intelligent, accomplished, beautiful, funny, down-to-earth woman.

Don't worry about it I eventually mumble, It'll happen.

But inside me is rage and anger. Why do my friends have to feel this way? Why do they denigrate themselves because of it?

Where does this pressure come from? Biology? Society? The Joneses?

My husband and I had a debate recently about this very issue. He said the pressure came from other women.

Well not from me it doesn't I replied.

But I take his point. What women wear. What women do. What women want. It's the sisterhood that is kicking us up the bum. In our strive to be superwomen, we set an impossibly high standard for all of us. We'll end us killing ourselves if not each other.

C'mon ladies. Let's just hang out. Like we used to.

String Metal

I've had an idea brewing for some time now for a show. I've been looking around for music to fit in with what's inside my head which is a dance piece which merges intense classicism with intense metal/punk thrashiness. I haven't been researching much, just mulling over the idea. I think of creativity like baking. You need to give time for the ingredients to synergise and rise up together.

The universe threw me this today. Apocalyptica. Four Finnish men who play metal cello.



Had I been researching, I would never had typed into Google "Finnish metal cello".

Love it.

Million Knives

Last night we went out in Camden to Proud, a 200-year-old Grad II Listed Horse Hospital in the Stables Market which has been redone into a live music and bar venue. We went to support our friend who was performing in his debut London gig with his band, Million Knives.

I haven't been to a gig in donkey's years. I felt my age in donkey's years when I walked into the smokey, booming venue. The too-cool-for-school brigade was out in force (after all - it was Camden) and I foresaw a long night ahead of me. I wondered how many Budweisers I would have to neck to numb the need to go home.

Fortunately I was only on my 2nd Bud (they were a fortune! £14 for a round of four) when I started to enjoy the electic range of bands onstage. The weariness of the day had fallen away and I started to appreciate the friendliness of the crowd and how easy it was to chat to strangers.

By the time Million Knives came onstage, me and my gal pals were front centre, screaming our lungs out and reviving the not-quite-dead 16 year old groupie that lives in us all.

When we stumbled out in the early hours, I'd met a bunch of great, new people and seen some great new bands. My taste for live gigs had been reborn.

Rock on!