Cassandra Voices

Category: Culture

  • Poetry: James Harpur

    Christmas Snow

    Never came that year, and yet
    It came in other ways, remembering the Light;
    As suds frothing in the Garavogue
    Around bridge arches, a scuttled trolley;

    It fell from lamps in Henry Street
    Illuminating tracer-lines of sleet
    And shoppers gripping rods of sleek umbrellas
    As if playing giant straining fish;

    It fell as stars above the Sugar Loaf
    Lit up as cats’ eyes by the gaze
    Of a farmer standing by a gate
    Above Wicklow and its mercury lanes.

    It flickered as a candle in a window
    In the round tower of Timahoe
    But only some could see the eye of flame
    Protecting sleepers in the graveyard.

    And when the sun emerged from night
    Snow came as seagulls spiralling up
    Like bonfire ash behind a tractor chugging
    Through slantwise fields near Baltimore.

    It came as shoals of clouds held still
    In the reflecting depths of Bantry Bay
    And as three harbour swans
    Turning their backs on the Atlantic;

    And as sheets and pillowcases hung on lines
    In Waterville and Elfin
    By women biting clothes pegs, dreaming
    Of visitors arriving from the east.

    And it was found as ironed table-cloths
    And icing knifed on marzipan
    In kitchens dimming into evening
    In Desert Serges and Kilbree.

    It gleamed as circles of the host
    For worshippers in churches lit at midnight
    Amid cities ablaze like fairgrounds
    Or villages as dark as silhouettes;

    And it appeared in moon-insinuated waves
    Unrolling across Long Strand
    Rearing up like angels made of spray,
    Roaring the word in tumbling syllables

    Then sucking in their breath to whisper
    It’s christmas, christmas, christmas …

     

     The Journey East
    (Winter 2010)

    The car revving up, the three of us
    wiping mist away to find a whiter world.

    Black-ice to Clonakilty –
    cortege of cars behind a spectral hearse.

    Strings of lights in Bandon, sapphire-cold,
    and the stars are moving through the river.

    On Cork’s Victorian viaduct, a train made of snow.
    We steam below the River Lee.

    Cork city crusts behind us;
    three swans on Slatty Water; feathery ice.

    The sun’s last x-ray radiates the trees.
    Lights turn red in Castlemartyr.

    Diesel-slush road. Across the Blackwater
    Waterford has drifted white.

    Inching mile by mile – through Iceland? Greenland?
    Wexford, another country.

    Dungarvan’s glittery square:
    each shop an advent calendar window.

    Beyond the Suir bridge the dark returns …
    but angels are alighting on New Ross.

    Rosslare night; chalet on a ghostly estate.
    Sound of wind in chimney.

    Dawn ferry, sudden vibrations –
    propellers churn the sea to snow.

    The swell-swing up and down and up –
    O let the voyage finish now, and grant us solid earth.

    From Pembroke Wales unfolds in white;
    a postbox in a wall, red as a berry.

    Below the Severn bridge –
    water turned to bone!

    The Somerset Levels, crisp and even;
    the motorway accelerates the dark.

    The night re-icing the Yeovil road –
    not now, not now we’re nearly there.

    Cattistock lumped with snow;
    wood incense, curtains edged with gold.

    A house on Duck Street:
    an outdoor light – a star that’s stopped overhead.

     

    Epiphany

    For twelve days the sky had been obscured.
    The guiding patterns of the constellations
    Lost behind a mesh of haze;
    Our trackprints filled with sifting sand
    Like a softly fading sequenced memory
    Or the healing drift of doubtfulness.
    Ascending to a ridge I saw the torchfires
    Of Ctesiphon burn like streaming hair
    And taken unawares was struck
    By a sudden longing for my country, my people,
    And such a pang for all things cherished
    For the sunlit gardens of my childhood.
    Releasing tears of deep relief – or grieving –
    I heard the other two spontaneously
    Humming a song of Zarathustra
    As we made our way on down the slope
    Away from the dying vista of the future
    Towards our past, closing in.

     

    Seraphim of Sarov
    (After a conversation between Nicholas Motovilov
    and Seraphim in November 1831)

    The day was born in twilight,
    grey above the forest glade,
    the earth deepening with snow
    as snow kept falling from the sky;
    the fields pure white below the hill
    beside the River Sarovka.
    I sat on a stump opposite him;
    all I could smell was fir trees.
    ‘The only thing in life,’ he said,
    is to make ourselves a home
    to welcome the holy spirit.
    Nothing more. All else will follow.
    Our souls use words for prayer,
    but when the spirit descends
    we must stay silent …’
    I glanced at him: imagine
    staring at the centre of the sun
    and there you see someone’s face,
    lips moving, eyes expressive,
    and you hear a voice speaking,
    feel your shoulders being held
    by hands you cannot see;
    in fact you do not even see yourself,
    just a dazzling light, diffusing
    and making the glade luminous
    and the snowflakes layering the snow.
    I felt such peace in my soul;
    no words could express it.
    And such warmth.
    No words can express it.

    Feature Image of Ben Bulben, Co. Sligo, Fellipe Lopes.

  • Recalling W.G. Sebald

    The attention in W. G. Sebald’s writing to the fascist era in European history anticipates many of the controlling measures of our time. Images abound throughout his work, leading to observations and recollections both of historical incidents, literary tradition and the lives of friends and immigrants, as well digressions on nature. We find a unique blend of memoir, historical and philosophical disquisitions, and a form of narrative storytelling based on fact with the occasional intrusion of fiction.

    W.G. Sebald

    Sebald’s oeuvre represents a novel semi-fictional genre with precedents in Nabokov’s Speak Memory (1951). In effect, he subverts fiction and its use of metaphor. He may be considered British in the sense that every European émigré from Otto Khan Freund to Sigmund Freud has been, and the speckled observations of an outsider about a new homeland permeate the texts.

    A professor of literature for many years in East Anglia University, Sebald died in a car crash following a brain aneurism. This ended a meteoric rise, and thwarted the possibility of a Nobel Prize for Literature. Albert Camus at least lived to receive the accolade before dying in similar circumstances.

    At many levels, Sebald’s books display a sense of impending mortality and certainly schadenfreude. He invokes a feeling of being among the last of the U.K. émigré intellectuals of cosmopolitan sophistication, and his work merits inclusion in the great Middle European intellectual canon of Franz Kafka, Joseph Roth and Stefan Zweig, among others. There is an abundance of cultural references that recalls this heritage.

    There is also an unmistakable Proustian feel to the descriptions, though oddly that author is never expressly invoked in what is Sebald’s factual narrative of ideas, or of images which play with memory though reflections distinct from Proust’s technique. Thus, we find no attention to high society, or social politics and love affairs, as much as memories of dislocation, a recurring outrage at man’s inhumanity towards his fellow man, and an acute sense of transience and fungibility.

    The Rings of Saturn

    The Rings of Saturn (1995) is the most obvious example of an exhumation of the European intellectual tradition. It begins with an admission that this is a reconstruction of notes a year after a hospital admission.

    An evocation of Rembrandt’s painting ‘The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp’ (1632) suggests more than a brief flirtation with the possibility of his death. He also compares himself to Grigor in Kafka’s Metamorphosis, when he awakens as powerless as a slug, and indeed Kafka is omnipresent throughout his work.

    Rembrandt’s ‘The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp’

    Visits to the most mundane of buildings or scenery stoke foreboding and evanescence. In a striking passages he visits the British coastline, where he equates declining fish stocks with human destruction and desecration in Belsen. It is a shocking juxtaposition of ecocide with murder and genocide, especially the Shoah or Holocaust, which also pervades this work, and indeed is all-pervasive as a backdrop or synonym.

    The great Irish humanitarian revolutionary Roger Casement features heavily in The Rings of Saturn  (1995), with the inherent contradictions in his life – receiving a knighthood prior to negotiating with the Kaiser during World War I – examined thoroughly. Casement’s gun running led to a show trial culminating in his execution, a scene masterfully conveyed in Sir John Lavery’s painting ‘High Treason: The Appeal of Roger Casement’ that hangs in the King’s Inns in Dublin where I lectured for many years. It is a sage warning that sympathy with the oppressed rarely, if ever, coincides with the interests of the establishment.

    High Treason: The Appeal of Roger Casement by Sir John Lavery.

    Vertigo

    Vertigo, (1990) is another non-novel featuring a trip to mainland Europe. It succeeds in stirring the same reflections on human infamy and cruelty as in his other work. This includes a disquisition on the incarceration of Casanova by the authorities for vice. Vertigo represents a grand tour through historical sites, with attendant horrors recollected, and brought into a contemporary frame.

    Italy is a prevalent and semi-fictional narrative chapter where we meet Kafka’s Dr K, before proceeding through personal narratives on friends and relatives disappeared, or driven mad or suicidal, with linkages to landscape and cultural artifacts. Here, we seem to be witnessing the unravelling of the immigrant through displacement.

    The book concludes in England with a vertiginous dream of environmental destruction influenced by a passage from Samuel Pepys – a description of the Great Fire of London of 1666.

    It occurs to me that it is exactly the sort of book that fascist authorities, presently resurfacing throughout Europe, would ban or burn. Or perhaps it is more likely to be the victim of a broader loss of historical memory, best described as a social media auto-da-fé.

    The Great Fire of London, depicted by an unknown painter (1675).

    Other Works

    The Emigrants (1992) is a story of dislocation obviously personal, but using the lives of others to show how awfully sad immigrant experiences can be. Suicides are much in evidence along with mental institutions. Cultural adaptation is always difficult for the emigrant.

    Furthermore, the grim industrial buildings of the North of England are wonderfully evoked in an analysis of the life and work patterns of the artist Herbert Ferber, who he met many times in Manchester.

    The book concludes with images of Jewish graves and a fascinating codicil on how even the ghettos maintained an appearance of normalcy, with functioning post offices and judicial systems, throughout the carnage of the war.

    The most famous and lyrical of his books is Austerlitz (2001), stemming from an apparently fictional conversation with a gentleman of that name in Belgium. Among his works, it is the one that most resembles a conventional novel.

    The oeuvres is virtually unclassifiable, albeit threading through it we find a transplanted and expatriated lens on a European history of cruelty, barbarism and murder – also evoked in Francisco Goya’s black paintings.

    Goya’s (La romería de San Isidro), A Pilgrimage to San Isidro, 1819–1823.

    Through the endurance of his writing, as the perpetual outsider, Sebald operates from outside time to provides a distinct perspective on what is happening in our present age.

    In a clairvoyant way Sebald’s books anticipate the revived relevance of the Holocaust, and spotlights the immigrant experience, while emphasising the importance of civility and culture. He also presage an impending environmental collapse.

    One of the last of the great European intellectuals seems to have anticipated what we are seeing in this period of greatly diminished civil and human rights; yet at a certain level he was merely asking us to remember, in a culture of casual forgetfulness.

    Feature Image: The Liberation of Bergen-belsen Concentration Camp, April 1945 Overview of Camp No 1.

  • Poetry – Edward Clarke

    Assembly

    One morning during the first week of Advent,
    _                                   When I was possessed,
    After a birthday’s dark exhilarations,
    _          By a terrible kind of nervousness,
    We saw, on stage, the judgement of our son,
    Before his class, the Egyptian pantheon.

    I was chosen, he said, to be mummified today:
    _                                    My life was cut short
    While I was out in my papyrus boat,
    _            Hunting hippos (a dangerous sport).
    Then they took the brains out of this son of ours,
    And placed his viscera, like pasta, in cardboard jars.

    As in the womb of Advent, I’d put myself
    _                                   In that small space
    In which they shut him, cured and bandaged up,
    _            And pray to God I feel the grace
    Of Christmas, afloat inside its heavily
    Expectant bustle, remote as a vessel at sea.

    And what strange afterlife shall I find there,
    _                                   On stage, when they lead
    Me out, to weigh my heart against its feather?
    _           Wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid
    In this book’s manger, roughly I perceive
    Angels, livestock, and men, the gifts you’ll leave.

     

    Image: Lighting of O’Connell Street Christmas Tree, Garda Band (1988), Dublin City Library And Archive.

  • Vendev’s Contest

    Taking advantage of their last night in the city, Boris and Semyon went to a theatre, something neither of them had done since childhood. But as luck would have it, at some point during the show, Boris’s wallet was stolen. He was upset, and more so when the police officers exchanged glances before giving him little hope of its recovery.

    “You see, Sir, we understand that Vendev was working the crowd last night, and Vendev can’t be caught. He is the cleverest thief who has ever operated in Belarus. Sometimes he works the same place for a week, but no one sees the slightest movement in the crowd when someone shouts ‘Stop thief!’ We’ve had dozens of reports and the leisure to compare them. He works alone and only in one place at a time, stealing a maximum of three wallets an hour. As for physical descriptions, he might be anything from a choirboy to Rurik the Varangian. All we know is his name…if that. His name is rumored about with a strange story of the reason that he steals…”

    The two men from Cosen were not comforted. Next morning, Boris couldn’t bring himself to take his train. Instead, he returned to the Pearl Theatre and sat on the terrace of an adjacent café. It was obvious he would not get his wallet back like that, so he must have been merely mourning it, like the simple-hearted fellow he was. A pure and harmless, even touching ritual. One which Semyon did not savor.

    Semyon was the cleverer of the two. Anyone could see that in a glance at those quicker eyes flickering from his expressive face. Impatient with Boris’s ruminative slowness, you could see him there licking and sniffing, as if smelling the humid soil back in Cosen. He was eager to get that train out of this larcenous, immoral town and begin the fall plowing. But Boris could not sense all the strange city things now tickling Semyon’s nose.

    The well-proportioned man in nondescript brown who sauntered out of the café had pleasant brown eyes, and seemed in his late twenties. Upon seeing Boris, he stared as if seeing an old friend, then strode to their table, taking a chair very near indeed to Semyon.

    “Good morning, my fine fellows! So seldom you get up from the farm! From the north, are we?”

    Semyon did not care to be so acutely read by a stranger, and stiffly replied, “From Cosen, Pán Stranger.” Though nearly on Semyon’s lap, the man addressed his conversation to Boris alone.

    “You are from Cosen! A sweet place, Cosen. But shabby. The manufacture? Why, nothing, Sir. Nothing at all!”

    Boris’s pride in Cosen was equal only to his ignorance of everywhere else. “It is not necessary for Cosen to manufacture,” he maintained loudly with a sweet, ingenuous smile. “Cosen is, as everyone knows, engaged in trade. And while Königsberg is boasted for its trade,” he compared his village to a great Baltic port with utter naivete, “A greater variety of food is eaten at all times of the year by people in Cosen than by those in Königsberg.”

    Semyon fidgeted uneasily, increasingly sure that the stranger was not smiling so broadly with Boris, but at him.

    “And you caught the show last night,” continued the young man in a fashion which was nothing short of uncanny. “How did you like it? What sort of performance?”

    “Oh, Madame Yelisaveta Can-Shay,” returned Boris, smiling to Slavicly mangle her name in what he considered a rendering both cultivated and French. “She does all sorts of things. First she acted a skeet,” he tried to say ‘skit,’ “Which I did not understand at all, but Semyon, there, found it funny. Then she danced with a little dog, looking exactly like a priest’s beard on legs…”

    “Madame, or the dog?” offered the young man, causing Boris an attack of laughter that rattled the table.c

    “And then, behind a screen, she moved puppets which looked like tiny people. And talked for them! She didn’t sound a bit like herself. It was miraculous! Afterwards, the theatre director himself walked out on stage, in a splendid suit, looking like a bridegroom! He thanked her, and we clapped like mad. Semyon and I, I mean, for the others were so shy. These city people! And the director seemed to want an encore very much, so I shouted ‘Encore!’ I was the only one, so it was very fortunate I was there, or the director and Panny Can-shay might have felt so badly. She sang Encore for us, which is a song. And that was all.”

    The young man seemed simply overcome by this gallantry towards Madame Canché, and rose to embrace Boris. For the first time since his arrival, Semyon could move his left arm.

    “But it was all dreadful and we should never have come,” said Semyon bitterly, while the young man showed no more partiality for the previous seat set against his ribs, and sat equidistant between the men, “Because Boris’s wallet was stolen and the police don’t think it will be recovered.”

    “Stolen by Vendev!” exclaimed the young man with enthusiasm, leaning forward with brightened eyes. “He was in the Pearl last night. I read it in the paper. By reports, he took six wallets and a lady’s Lyon silk handbag.”

    “The scoundrel!” cried Semyon, his thin knees involuntarily jerking.

    To which the young man sighed deeply. “Do you know nothing of Vendev?”

    “Oh, the police told us everything.” Perhaps it was that note of childish arrogance in Semyon’s voice, but the young man’s full attention, once all Boris’s, was now his. “They say no one ever sees him, that he takes three wallets an hour, that he looks like a choirboy or Rurik the Vavavian, and something odd about him paying a debt to God.”

    “That’s it!” The young man slapped the table. “That’s Vendev. Listen. You mustn’t call him a scoundrel. It’s the strangest story. Many years ago, Vendev, who was an honest man then, made a bet with God. He expected to win, but lost. Don’t ask me what the bet was, because I don’t know. He had to pay the debt with stolen money. Perhaps because he was too poor. Perhaps those were the terms of his penance. He became the finest of pickpockets, and labors year after year, straining to pay his debt and be free. To be an honest man once again. That is Vendev.”

    The young man looked keenly round on his audience, especially Semyon, waiting to see if either pure-hearted Christian peasant would contest the vile theology and viler blasphemy of the tale. But Boris stared, full of wonder and…good land! There were tears in his eyes! While Semyon’s inexpertly controlled face clearly betrayed that though he found the story revolting, Semyon was afraid to criticize a city gentleman’s morals for fear of being called ignorant and out-of-step with the times. The young man’s smile widened in triumph, and as timid Semyon smiled back despite ignorance of the joke, the young man seemed about to be reduced to helpless laughter!

    Then it happened: Semyon’s hand had been automatically seeking his wallet every quarter of an hour for the past eleven, and did so now. It crawled over the rusty woolen vest like an eager crab to caress his pocket, and froze in disbelieving horror before it felt again, fumbling and pinching. A look like death by poison spread over Semyon’s lined face. The young man appeared to see nothing and twitched Boris’s lapel playfully, asking whether he were married. Semyon’s face had grown hard, his stare on the young man’s back like that of a hunter at a fearsome but cornered bear.

    But the young man knew that Semyon’s ideas of how to deal with a thief were as hard, as rigid and formulaic, as his stare. The young man crossed his legs comfortably and laughed when Boris said that yes he was, praise the Lord, married. A thief must know, better than anyone, the little signs that betray a man, for he has more to lose, and Vendev knew that Semyon, even if he could manage to conceive of a thief who did not immediately dart away, was incapable of calling ‘Stop Thief!’ on a sitting man. He would be equally incapable of announcing a thief with any other cry than the time-honored ‘Stop Thief!’ Just as he was incapable of buttoning down his waistcoat in the new fashion, but felt compelled to button it up to his chin. Vendev knew that for as long as he, Vendev, sat on the chair, he was as safe as if in France, and that he could sit in a chair indefinitely. Whereas if the two hardworking farmers tried to sit on chairs in broad daylight, on a weekday, for more than an hour, they would either die or explode.

    Vendev took out a cigarette, which he then lit and enjoyed at leisure, savoring that first bouquet of smoke, a conscience that had been trained not to bother him, and the pleasant weight of Semyon’s wallet. Won the gentleman’s way. In a contest of wits.

  • Greg Clifford Announces Latest Release

    Following on from last months ‘Alone EP’, Greg Clifford has released a music video for ‘Brontide’, which features on his forthcoming LP ‘Lines Of Desire.’

    Brontide, which is defined as the sound of distant thunder (created by seismic activity), is a song and video about isolation, alienation, confusion and fading memories. According to Clifford, ‘this is an emotionally layered and charged production. Brontide, for me, symbolises impending doom and gloom. Dementia, in this case, is the suggested source of sadness’.

    The video was filmed in Co. Sligo earlier this year. Clifford explains

    we filmed in my Grandaunt’s house. She was a big part of our family and would spend almost every Christmas with us. She sadly passed away and the house was left to my Dad. Earlier this year we travelled west to clear out the rest of her belongings before the new owners moved in. It’s surreal and rather harrowing making sense of someone else’s belongings. It’s quite incredible how much one accumulates in a lifetime. It’s subsequently prompted me to de-clutter, as I don’t wish to be someone else’s burden when I’m gone. To break up the emotionally and physically draining days my Dad and I decided to shoot some video footage. I felt it was important for the family to have this sentimental visual documentation, irrespective of its artistic merits. In a reversal of our usual roles, I manned the camera while he featured in the video. The house was like a time capsule and is quintessentially Irish in nature, equipped with the obligatory Catholic iconography and mismatching, and rather barmy, wallpaper and carpets.

    Greg and his father, who release work under the moniker CLIFFORD CLIFFORD Productions, made the most of the location and opportunity. According to the songster: ‘it’s incredible getting to work with my Dad. He’s a true artist, who has inspired me throughout my life. He’s incredibly thorough and committed to artistic disciplines. He cuts no concerns. We have a unified artistic vision and are both influenced by the German filmmaker Werner Herzog’, who is a proponent of trusting impulse and intuition.

    Werner Herzog’s aesthetic was the driving force behind the video’s approach: ‘Coincidence always happens if you keep your mind open, while storyboards remain the instruments of cowards who do not trust in their own imagination’.

    In Clifford’s opinion, ‘I feel the video truly captures the themes expressed in the song. The emphasis was placed on suggestive footage rather than conveying a clear narrative. I held the camera very close to the back of my Dad’s head at times to coax the viewer into immersion, allowing the audience connect with his abandonment and reflections. I filmed through glass, which distorted his face, and shot him staring vacantly into mirrors, which creates a sense of loss and confusion. This, for me, suggests he is being denied access to his memories’.

    The poignant video, which is layered and open to interpretation, captures a sense of beauty in decay and the importance of letting go. Time waits for no man.

    https://www.facebook.com/gregcliffordmusic

    https://www.instagram.com/gregcliffordmusic/

    https://twitter.com/GregClifford87

    https://gregclifford.bandcamp.com/

  • Poetry – Kevin Higgins

    Our Posh Liberal Friends
    for Susan

    Whenever I show them the Future,
    they refuse it;
    say: this future has bad hair,
    waves its arms around too much,
    is too Jewish,
    or not Jewish enough,
    too not-a-woman,
    or the wrong sort of woman.

    This Future has a face that one day
    might raise the corporate tax rate
    by zero point five percent,
    and is a little too insistent
    that poor people be allowed live,
    give or take, as long as the rest of us.
    That sort of thing scares the people we dine with
    nights we’re not dining with you.

    I ask the barman for more finger food,
    picture the ocean raging into the restaurant,
    and them still sat there muttering at the chicken goujons:
    the people we talk to won’t vote for
    such extreme solutions. No one wants to live in Cuba,
    one of them says, as she’s washed out the door.

    I pray, when all the futures
    they’ve turned their noses up at
    are safely in the mud
    and the men in boots and leather come
    to escort us all to the Processing Centre
    in the back of a truck
    that I be shot, cleanly through the skull, at the front gate,
    so I don’t suffer their groans
    about the quality of the gruel,
    and how that last beating one of them got
    was clearly in breach of the Human Rights Act
    and worthy of a curtly worded,
    but still civil, letter to The Observer.

    Feature Image: ‘The Temple of the Liberal Arts’, by Jacques Sablet (1749-1803).

  • Irish Musicians’ Lives Without Live Music

    In the presence of great music we have no alternative but to live nobly … and indeed one can hardly think of life without music.
    Sean O’Faolain

    In March the live music industry essentially ground to halt in Ireland. Sadly, owing to safety concerns, live music remains prohibited under current restrictions, and now even buskers are banned from playing.

    Undoubtedly, the first lockdowns provided for a period of reflection, and many artists appreciated getting off the merry-go-round of gigs and promotional events.

    Indeed, music was to the fore throughout the spring. Who can forget the indomitable spirit displayed by musicians singing from balconies? Although in Ireland, where few of us live in apartment blocks, most musicians were reduced to entertaining the birds, or other local fauna, in their gardens.

    It is apparent that many musicians used the time wisely – drawing inspiration from introspection – embarking on new projects, and finishing off old ones that had been gathering proverbial dust in hard drives.

    Yet as time goes by it is clear that among the biggest losers from Covid-19 are musicians, and others involved in the live music industry. The term ‘gig economy’ actually derives from the way most of them have been earning a crust since time immemorial. But in March the taps stopped flowing.

    Lacking a live audience that is intrinsic to a performance, and which no Zoom session can replicate, we’ve heard that some are no longer even taking up their instruments.

    It was a mad enough career at the best of times, with many doing it for the buzz rather than the money. Sadly, many may never resume their careers.

    As we strike a balance between safety and the wellbeing of the population, music should figure prominently in the conversation, and state funding of the arts should be at least commensurate with other EU countries. In the short to medium term, concerts may take a different form, but we do need to make them happen or face a cultural decline that we may never recover from.

    We asked a number musicians and others working in the industry to strike four notes in response to the pandemic.

    From the top:

    Fin Divilly – Songwriter and Performer
    John Cummins – Poet, Musician and Creative Workshop Activist
    David Agnew – Musical Artist and Legendary Concert Performer
    David Keenan – Songwriter and Performer
    Aisling Moore – Songwriter & Performer
    Gareth Quinn Redmond – Ambient Composer
    Daniel Lambert – Music Venue Owner, Band Manager and CEO of Bohemians Football Club
    Avoca Reaction – Drag Artist & Producer
    Ger Murphy – Live Streaming Host, Photographer and Gig Organiser
    Robbie Dingle: Songwriter, Busker and Artist
    Stephen James Smith – Poet

    Fin Divilly – Songwriter and Performer (Also featured in the cover image by Daniele Idini)

    Optimistic Note: In the face of financial and social pressure, songwriters have far more to sing, think and talk about. Dreaming of comfort and stability is far more fruitful than the real thing.

    Pessimistic Note: Read above on a bad day when you can’t even support your arse in a pair of trousers.

    Practical Note: More time alone allows for more self-reflection on what it is you truly want to be creating and who you are.

    Existential note/How you are coping: Read above and picture me smoking, drinking and writing in peace at home in my underwear, forgetting what day of the week it is.

     

    Veteran Oboe player David Agnew by Virtuoso Fotografia

    David Agnew – Musical Artist and Legendary Concert Performer

    Optimistic note: Lucky to be supported by the broadcaster I work for, recorded many pieces remotely and lucky to have performed live several times despite restrictions.

    Pessimistic note: Worried that vaccines won’t bring the live experience back in a meaningful way for classical music. It will be a long time before older audiences will congregate, I’m sure.

    Practical note: It has given us all the time to evaluate exactly who we are as musicians, and value what we do. It has been difficult to maintain match fitness, going from one hundred concert performances a year for the past forty years in my case, to six small-scale live performances with twenty-five people in the large church. You need the constant organic and charged musical environment with colleagues and the big audience-throng to sparkle.

    Existential note/How you are coping: Online teaching has been rewarding. Remote recording on your own is difficult but fantastic to see it mixed and realised in the final cut. Writing, collaborations with others, when we haven’t had the time before has opened up new avenues and friendships. When we get back to something, and we still don’t know what that is going to be, we will have a greater sense of value and appreciation of everything we’ve probably taken for granted, and assumed would last forever.

    John Cummins. Daniele Idini/Cassandra Voices

    John Cummins – Poet, Musician and Creative Workshop Activist

    Optimistic note: time to take stock, see where my art is at…time to plan an approach when allowed to play again … levelling the playing field somewhat in the industry across the board, artists can stream easily enough, if they so choose…

    Pessimistic note: the impact on the mind and the pocket of so many people who have had the rug pulled…

    Practical note: difficult and frustrating for people to plan anything with certainty…

    Existential note/How you are coping: trimming the day down to its particular parts – having a morning, slow and steady … being in the afternoon … embracing the evening … connecting to the night … whether we like it or not, we are all in this together … I try to keep an eye on the bigger picture and not get bogged down in just me and me and …

    Songwriter David Keenan by Mark William Logan

    David Keenan – Songwriter and Performer

    Optimistic Note: Being creative and expressing observations, internally and externally has always been the go to reaction, a means of understanding. I sense a unity in the artistic community in the face of the current restrictions and the trauma inflicted on our way of life. Swells of creativity are stirring as people are going to their tools and collectively spewing. Adversity breathes action and there’s a duty to self and to the craft to try to articulate what we’re seeing now and beyond.

    Pessimistic: The eradication of live gigs has been a severe trauma on the individual, the facilitators and the audience. Live medicine, that age old human ritual is being denied. Psychologically this is so destructive as well as to the livelihoods that have been erased. It brings into question the concept of essential work and how reverence for the Arts has diminished in recent times. I worry that the Arts are not being valued as crucial sources of emotional and psychological wellbeing and will continue to be devalued in the new year.

    Practical note: Those involved in the production side of the industry have vast experiences to teach. I suggest that initiatives to support unemployed teachers such as these should be set up to help them pass on this knowledge to young and old. The same goes for funded workshops for artists be it online or in person. We have to revalue the work, not devalue it even more in a time where so much is given away for free online, almost expectedly so. The shop local concept should be encouraged and applied to Irish Musicians / Artists. Buy a physical copy of a record / t-shirt / book from your favourite artists or venues. Streaming is of no use in terms of making a viable living.

    Existential note/How you are coping: I’m doing my best to stay as creative as I can and trying to protect my energy reserves, building for the new year. These past few months have invoked a lot of anxiety, confusion and anger but it’s important to me that I try to grow and turn the base into something pure. Expressing myself through music and words has always gifted me healing and renewal. I’m staying as tight as I can to those lights, hopeful of what’s to come.

     

    Ashling Moore by Megan Shannon Photography.

    Aisling Moore – Songwriter & Performer

    Optimistic note: I think there is a lot of opportunity to wrote and really find myself as an artist. In terms of the music industry, there is more and more recognition from the government and others of how important music is. I just got awarded a grant to start my EP which is a helping hand. Also a scheme might be coming out that pays musicians hourly like other jobs which is ideal.

    Pessimistic note: Trying to be inspired to write about things other than the lockdown can be difficult. It is hard to know how long it will take before performing can go back to the way it was

    Practical note: Lack of practice with performing.

    Existential note/How you are coping: I’ve started reading books again. I’ve started exercising and being more aware of what I’m eating. It’s been hard but I have a socially distanced gig coming up so that has helped a lot. Knowing that there is solutions being created gives hope to us musicians

     

    Gareth Quinn Redmond by Daniele Idini

    Gareth Quinn Redmond – Ambient Composer

    Optimistic note: I felt very vindicated having spent so much money on recording equipment at the start of the first lockdown, it has been a lifeline being able to continue writing and recording throughout the year. I’m not sure what state I would be in now if I didn’t have this set up.

    Pessimistic note: It has been a tough year mentally, which got even harder at the start of October when I lost one of my best friends and bandmates to suicide. I have a great support network of friends around me but nevertheless it is so hard to grieve his loss when nothing about my day to day life reminds me that he is gone.

    Practical note: It has been a great year for reflection but this is constantly overshadowed by the eternal dread of possibly not gigging ever again, not like I did before anyway. I can’t imagine doing anything else in my life, so I’m worried about the impact the new reality will have on the arts.

    Existential note/How you are coping: Taking it day by day, my family and friends are so supportive. Compared to many I am very fortunate, I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

     

    Daniel Lambert – Music Venue Owner, Band Manager and CEO of Bohemians Football Club

    Optimistic note: we’ve been given the space to somewhat remove ourselves from the rat race, to breath and contemplate.

    Pessimistic note: the lack of a clear date for the restart of live music as we knew it makes it hard to motivate each other.

    Practical note: spend the time wisely, develop the online shop, investigate opportunities outside of core gigs, see the opportunities in difficult times.

    Existential note/How you are coping: by swimming in the sea every single day.

    Optimistic note: It’s nice to have a break from the hustle.

     

    Avoca Reaction by Kyle Cheldon Barnett

    Avoca Reaction – Drag Artist & Producer

    Optimistic note: It’s nice to have a break from the hustle.

    Pessimistic note: Performing on Zoom/similar platforms is a paltry substitute for a real crowd at a regular gig.

    Practical note: All of the work opportunities I’ve had since March have been better paid than pre-pandemic.

    Existential note: The first lockdown showed me how much my self-worth was tied up in my work/output. Over lockdown I’ve been working on finding satisfaction outside of performing.

     

    Ger Murphy – Live Streaming Host, Photographer and Gig Organiser

    Optimistic note: I’m in the unique position of doing pretty well out of Covid so not sure my opinion counts! But here ya go…. A lot of people and businesses were working nonstop, gig to gig, so this break has given time to look at how they work and hopefully come back stronger.

    Pessimistic note: Can’t see live events coming back for another 6-12 months so bulk of my mates jobless until then.

    Practical note: I have a live streaming company so never been busier.

    Existential note/How you are coping: I’m graaaaaand.

     

    Robbie Dingle by Daniele Idini

    Robbie Dingle: Songwriter, Busker and Artist

    Optimistic note: I’m finding this time to be very productive and am using the time to hone and polish my skills. I have surrounded myself with great musicians and am learning and busking on the street every day (with safety precautions). I am finding myself to be more focused and driven as it gave me the time to really think about what I want to do, projecting myself and thinking about my future in music. In the band I am in we have been chosen to be part of a Covid series called “justtheone” alongside some great artists and this gave us a kickstart to release more which I am very excited about.

    Pessimistic note: The fact that bars have been closed and sessions I used to play at, open mics, jams I attended and hosted I am missing the interaction with a crowd and artists. In these spaces artists share their ideas and performances. Artists polish and cut the fat off songs to see what works and without this space I feel it will have a detrimental effect on art, creativity and an artist’s livelihood.

    Practical note: With no gigs and regular busking I have set up a PayPal and moved into the city centre to play every day. The money earned from YouTube videos via PayPal has paid for a bike I now use to travel mobile and light around the city. The bike has a rack and I just use my busking amp and guitar which is very handy. No time on buses which is saving me money and I can access and travel to places that I could not before as I used to carry a hiking bag with all my busking stuff for the day. Now I can busk, go home for lunch, relax, recharge my batteries and even busk a second time.

    Existential note/How you are coping: Recently I moved to the city centre to busk and play every day and sometimes struggle with rent (like everyone if you’re not a politician). Some days can be very bad and others brilliant. This can be due to the weather, location or getting stopped by the police if there is a congregation of people. The public are very generous to us and I feel we are much appreciated during these hard times. People light up as many have not heard live music in weeks or even months, they dance and sing and for us to bring that out of them while doing something we love outweighs anything negative about a buskers life.

     

    Poet Stephen James Smith by Babs Daly Grace Photography

    Stephen James Smith – Poet

    Optimistic note: What won’t kill you….

    Pessimistic note: Many won’t recover.

    Practical note: We’re learning

    Existential note/How you are coping: ‘Let everything happen to you / Beauty and terror. Just keep going / No feeling is final ― Rainer Maria Rilke.

    Are you a musician denied a living from live music? Answer these questions in the comments section.

    Optimistic note:
    Pessimistic note:
    Practical note:
    Existential note/How you are coping:

  • Open Mike

    Everyone was amazed when it happened and I mean everyone, including Jeffrey. For weeks now Ramona had been hanging around in “Murphy’s,” a pub in Nice where, every Wednesday night, they held an open mike. A real beauty, with auburn hair and glittering eyes, she brought her violin with her, and when she played, there was a hush… because she played so well. And of course, all eyes were focused on her athletic, yet graceful movements.

    “Who is she?” asked Denis, a regular customer. The long-haired barman just shrugged his shoulders. Fortunately, for the small band of regulars, mysteries of this kind don’t last long at Murphy’s.

    An Italian, in her last year at the conservatoire in Nice, the first time she’d showed up in Murphy’s, it was with a young man who also happened to be from the conservatoire.

    Jeffrey was the one who’d started Open Mike. On any given Wednesday, he was the king of what was at best, a shabby pub. The performance space was so small, that in an effort to avoid each other, musicians had to constantly move. In addition, the way to the bathroom was right through that area. So, there was a constant stream of people trying to break through the band.

    But this was exactly what the musicians here were used to. In fact, what better way to perfect, not only their musical skills but the ability to play in challenging conditions.

    All musicians and singers were welcomed here. But most of the regular players belonged to the busking bands. Their specialty was strolling from table to table, singing and larking about the restaurants.

    They had little tricks to delight the audience. Like swapping guitars between two players in mid-song without losing a note. Playing in restaurants and hotels was mostly a publicity tour.

    Although the tips were important, what they wanted was a private gig. That’s where the big money was.

    All the bands got private gigs. Some more than others. Jeffrey knew all the musicians in Nice. Truth be told, he’d trained most of them. Some came from England, Europe, and America seeking the Riviera’s cocktail of sunshine, music and money. Jeffrey was a highly entertaining person with a good sense of humour, but he could also be as twisted and complex as a spider’s web. Lately he was complaining that Pierre was playing the guitar too loud. Not an unreasonable point, but it could have been made in a reasonable manner. Nonetheless, when Pierre was at loose ends, Jeffrey approached him to sit in on a few gigs.

    Jeffrey said, “If you want to play with me, you’ll have to be my bitch! This was vintage Jeffrey. Pierre didn’t like it. He was a macho guy from the suburbs of Paris. It’s fair to say that if you needed Jeffery, you’d need a shrink as well. To patch up your battered ego. But if you survived it, the end result was good. It knocked all the nonsense out of you. So, when Jeffrey saw Ramona, like a peacock, he was quick to fan out his feathers. What he loved more than anything was fresh blood.

    Ramona stood by, watching them perform, while like a neon sign, Jeffrey’s smile flashed. Squeezed into that little space, he played harmonies with Greg and Johnny, kicking his slender long legs in the air.

    Bob was playing the drums as a precariously placed pint of beer trembled, on the window sill behind him. The pub was busy. People were half talking and half listening. Ramona stood right next to the band. Though classically trained, she was totally absorbed in this popular music. Seeing she was on her own this time, Jeffrey invited her, with her violin, to join in on their new song. Improvising, she weaved herself into the session so seamlessly, that everyone was enchanted.

    Then the musicians changed. Ryan came in with the double base and George swapped guitar with Johnny. Jeffrey swapped with Connor, Daniella walked over to the microphone and the new group started to play the crowd pleaser “I’m Your Venus.” Ryan, a large looming figure, who looked not unlike a hairless gorilla was playing the double bass and singing the chorus with total abandon: “I’m your Venus! I’m your Venus!”

    “No, you are not!” retorted a male voice from the bar.

    Jeffrey leaned towards Ramona to say something. Then they went out on the street to sit at a table, where Jeffrey ordered two shots of brandy.

    “You were amazing,” he said to Ramona. “And the way you managed to improvise just now was great! Rolling his cigarette as he spoke, occasionally he raised his head to look at her.

    His constant smile distracted her from those desperate eyes. He was tall and skinny and although already in his 60’s, Jeffrey was still good looking. Ramona’s smile was a bit more demure.

    Later, he raved to everyone who would listen, “She’s got so much talent, and she is only 21!”

    It was already spring, and soon summer would come rolling in like a big wave. Everyone would be gigging somewhere, vocal cords stretched to the limit, as the audiences in private gigs demanded more songs. But still, the musicians showed up at Open Mike. Sometimes to engage extra musicians for a specific gig, or replace a musician that left the band.

    It was a rehearsal of sort, as they all knew most of the same songs. Jeffrey knew thousands.

    “I’ve got a gig in July,” said Jeffrey. “But I’ve got no band.  They left me.” Smiles and rolling of the eyes ensued, as if this was the best thing in the world.

    “Said I was too much of a drama queen,” he volunteered. Elated, Jeffrey was teaching Ramona how to sing and to play the drums.

    “She came over last Tuesday,” he said, “And we practiced for hours. What a voice she has!”

    As he said that, Jeffrey looked at Daniella. He was an expert at double edged sentences, serving a carrot for one person, while he stuck it to another.

    One of the few female singers around, Daniella was a solid performer, but Jeffrey was determined to put her down. After all, she wasn’t his protege.

    For years he’d talked up what a dream it would be to team up with her, but when he finally got the chance, he did everything to derail it.

    But now Ramona was the star. He was showing her the ropes. Telling her which songs worked if you were after a big tip. Jeffrey had extensive experience.

    He regaled his friends with descriptions of how sexy she was. How she acted in his apartment when she came over to practice. “If I wasn’t so much older than her, I would have thought that she was trying to seduce me. The other day, she said that it was too hot in the room and she started taking off her blazer! She had this tiny little top on underneath. It was just too much for me.”

    As the weeks went by, Ramona became part of the scene. She was gigging with Jeffrey. The violin was only used occasionally, because Ramona quickly became a jack of all trades, playing the Cajon, the banana shaker and singing. Jeffrey taught her the song “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend” which she sang in her charming Italian accent.

    “I really like him,” She confided to Daniella one day. “What do you think”?

    Daniella answered with a look of disapproval.

    “Yes, I know he is much older than I …”

    “MUCH older,” said Daniella, “But that’s not it.”

    “What is it then?”

    “He’s complicated and hasn’t been kind to his previous women.” This meant nothing to Ramona. She was in love! Daniella reflected to herself, “He is only kind when he wants something.”

    But Ramona, at age 21, still believed that she could change things.

    Astounded by his good luck, Jeffrey was beaming. He looked ten years younger. “I’m so in love!” He declared to all. At Open Mike, he didn’t drink his habitual shots of brandy.

    “Ramona has me on a healthy regime. She worries about my drinking.” He explained with pride.

    To be fair, everyone was enchanted. After all, if a fellow who’s nearly over the hill can net such a beauty, there is hope for us all.

    Some even imagined there was future potential for the pitter patter of little feet.

    Ramona received a scholarship to do her Masters at the Paris conservatoire in September. She considered declining, because she was having so much fun. The summer was full of excitement.

    Beautiful Daniella was singing, “Sway with me,” Johnny was on the drums, and spending a lot of time adjusting some buttons on his amplifier, Pierre played electric guitar.

    “Too loud,” said Jeffrey, before he walked out.

    Because Pierre’s band in Paris played instrumental rock, he wasn’t accustomed to accompanying a singer.  All he cared about were the pyrotechnics on his guitar. If it meant drowning the singer’s voice, then so what? Jeffrey had found little success reminding him that the singer was the focus.

    “You have to make the singer sound good”. Pierre nodded his head, but when it came to playing, he defaulted back to his own style.

    Nonetheless, Ramona joined them and played the Cajon. In her new dress, she looked sexy with the instrument strapped to her hip. Later, sitting with the other musicians, she and Jeffrey ordered shots of brandy.

    The health regime hadn’t lasted long. They were invited to a private party in a villa near Monaco. Jeffrey was over the moon, because a young, and good looking, millionaire there asked him, “Where do you find a girl like that?”

    “How can I reply?” He said, grinning from ear to ear.

    “In a Christmas cracker,” someone offered.

    “So, is Ramona going to stay in Nice?”

    “No,” said Jeffrey, “I think it’s important that she does her Masters”. Then he paused and looked around. “It’s ok. I’ll go and visit. She’ll come and visit. We’ll work it out.”

    In October, when summer began to fade, Open Mike, with its surprises and mysteries continued. The musicians’ expectations dropped dramatically, but for hardly any money, they grabbed any small gig that came their way, just to carry on and keep their musical muscles tuned. Bands managed by business minded people did well financially, wintering in Barbados, the Bahamas, St Bart, even Australia. They performed for the richest people on the planet, including but not limited to Putin.

    Ramona came back from Paris a couple of times to join the musicians at Open Mike, playing the Cajon, or the banana shake and the occasional song.

    “Where’s Jeffrey?’ Someone asked.

    ‘Oh, he isn’t well,’ said Ramona, rolling her eyes.

    “She knows how to handle him,” someone said.

    Jeffrey went to Paris from time to time. He spent all his savings going back and forth.

    “What’s it like?” asked his friends.

    “It’s great. While Ramona goes to the conservatoire, I busk under a bridge on the Seine. And at the end of each day, I bring home food for my woman.”

    He insisted on saying how great it was to be able to play what he wanted. Not beholden to anyone. Winter was coming and soon it would be Christmas.

    Jeffrey decided to make a surprise visit to Ramona, but he was a little subdued when he came back from Paris.

    “I think it’s over.”

    “Why? What happened?”

    “She wasn’t happy to see me. Just asked what I was doing there. She spent the whole weekend in bed eating Nutella with a spoon straight from the jar. She was so indifferent. But when I decided to leave and said goodbye, she started crying. There was nothing I could do.”

    Jeffrey’s appearances at Open Mike became rare. He complained that Pierre had taken over and that the music was overpowering. Daniella suggested that they could gig together, inviting him to lunch at her parents’ house. There he met her friend Elena, who also sang and played guitar. Daniella was considering forming a band with her.

    Jeffrey made a beeline for Elena, and spent the whole lunch romancing her. Daniella was none too pleased. But Elena assured her that she had no interest in Jeffrey. He was far too old.

    “Can you believe it!” Said Daniella to her friend Johnny. “Right in front of me, Jeffrey asked Elena to gig with him. He was complimenting her, and telling her she’s the best singer in Nice.

    She has never in her entire life performed a gig. Ok, she is an ok singer and an ok guitar player. But just ok! But you know what the worse thing was?

    How she squirmed and giggled with such pleasure while Jeffrey was basically insulting me.”

    “Well, said Johnny, you know that’s Jeffrey’s specialty, the old divide and conquer. He’s getting Elena on to his side and pitting you two against each other. Don’t be upset. It’s pure manipulation. He does it to all of us. Perhaps he wanted to show Ramona that he could replace her.” Daniella’s dark eyes flashed her fiery indignation.

    “But where is the loyalty?”

    “To be fair, Elena does know a lot of the songs and that makes him comfortable. Because at the end of the day, he is scared. He is scared of not being up to scratch.

    And with her he is still a star, because she can prop him with her guitar playing.”

    When they were back from the gig, Elena called.

    “So how was it?” Asked Daniella.

    “It was fine. They could’ve done without me. I just used the banana shaker. But I still got paid”.

    And later Johnny was heard to say, “Imagine, splitting your money with one more player you really don’t need?”

  • Featured Artist: Kimberley Wallis

    I waited at my usual train station, taking photos and watched the people around me and wondered what was going to happen to all of us. Covid-19 had reached our country, our state and our city. Cases were springing up everywhere and the decision had been made to shut down our office and everyone was to work from home. A couple of days later all the offices in the city were shutdown. Restrictions and lockdown had begun.

    The New Normal © Kimboid

    Trains still ran for essential workers who had to carry paperwork at all times, but for most of us it was off limits and would be for another thirty-six weeks.

    For the last eight years or so I have been photographing my commute, using windows, doorways and reflections to frame the people and their stories. It started as a way to bring some art creation back into my life. I had learnt photography from my father who taught me how to work a darkroom, film cameras and the joy that comes from capturing an image. I went on to study photography after school and fell completely in love. The years went on and the need for enough money to live, and then life pulled me away from the practice. But once I hit my thirties I realised how much I was missing, and it was time to make it happen once more. So I challenged myself to capture images on the way to and from my work. My obsession with commuters had begun.

    Confidence ©Kimboid

    Public transport is a heartbeat of a city and a visible microcosm of our society. No matter what socio-economic, political or cultural background you come from it is one of those things that everyone uses, a great equalizer.

    Commuting in Melbourne during peak hour has become my meditation time really, it is hard to describe but it is the few hours of the day where I can focus on my art and reflect on my own thoughts and see myself within the people around me. No-one talks on the train, no-one makes eye contact. People dive into their devices and try to avoid others, they just want to get to their destination without incident, “don’t make eye contact with the crazy” is the unspoken rule.

    Brood ©Kimboid

    I read the newspaper in between my stops and become furious at the decisions being made, punishment and outrage seems to spin the wheels of our media these days and it saddens me. I look at the people going about their everyday life and wonder if they will ever become aware that their pain, their struggles and sense of isolation is not unique but yet felt by everyone.

    It is these scenes that I love to put a spotlight on, to show others what they miss by looking down all day. Street photography is a unique beast, it has varying opinions but really I see it as capturing now, the current history, the current people, places and faces. This year more than ever I have come to realise how important it is that someone, somewhere is taking images of the mundane. We lose a giant reflective mirror on ourselves if we don’t take the time to focus on what’s around us.

    Resign ©Kimboid

    I purposely choose to use a mobile phone rather than a heavy bulky DSLR for my commuting images. I like the challenge of the technology; it reminds me of using a thirty-year-old film camera where you never know what you are going to get. Mobile phone cameras have a level of unknown, for example – how far can you push it? Can you find the edges of the extreme and still produce a good image?  You don’t have to be technically minded to use one either and that accessibility in particular I love. It removes one of the biggest barriers which can scare people off the art – which is “How do I use this thing?”

    Noone ©Kimboid

    Accessibility has not helped make the industry take mobile photography seriously however. It feels like some days people think that if too many people know the secrets then we have ruined the entire industry. This is an opinion I completely disagree with. More people taking more photos only generates more ideas, more focus and new identities.

    Same ©Kimboid

    Like all change, it’s slow, competitions now have specific categories for mobile photography, but they are lesser in their reward. It is a reminder that acceptance of quality in particular has some way to go.

    Next Sensation ©Kimboid

    The reality is, however, that it doesn’t matter what equipment you use, a great image will always be a great image. You can’t make a technically perfect but poorly captured image brilliant. You either have a great image or you don’t. You can’t force it and you can’t force others to like it. In particular, I wish I could tell my younger self that. Just be and create what you see, ignore the noise, ignore the internal self-judgement. Your own unique view has substance and worth.

    Lash ©Kimboid

    So what’s in the future? Hope I think. It will be months still before I can regularly shoot on trains again but it is allowing me time to consider what’s next and to reflect on what I have captured over the years. I am currently trying to put together images which will be turned into a book. I have been published in a couple of different books this year and I have another coming out next year which be amazing. Exhibitions and competitions I have put on the back burner until I am ready to come out of this covid-19 slumber.

    There is always work to be done, and images to capture, and although times at the moment make it hard not only to get out physically, but emotionally and mentally to have space for creation that will change. Things always do whether we want them to or not. Life and art are precious and for those that like to create the two are often intertwined.

    Stay Safe, Stay Well.

    Self Portrait ©Kimboid

  • Cross-Cultural Branding: ‘Glocalisation’

    Much (reasonable) Ado about Branding and its components

    HSBC. The world’s local bank. Clever.

    Pepsi brings you back to life. Not a smart one, since in Chinese this translates as “Pepsi brings your ancestors back from the grave[1]”

    Mercedes Benz branded itself as ‘Bensi’[2]. Blunder. “rush to die” is what ‘Bensi’ sounds like Chinese.

    A brand can be a name, term, sign, symbol or design, or a mix of them all[3], which are used to identify goods or services of one or a group of sellers. Branding helps in differentiation and enables consumers to recall memories, thereby facilitating the initial buying process, or perhaps triggering frequent purchases which brings customer loyalty.

    Historically, branding was pursued via effective advertising, both above and below the line. In the East and South Asian markets, however, word-of-mouth remains a key channel of marketing communication, leading to changes in the way branding has come about.

    The 3Es of Business Branding are Efficiency, Effectiveness and Experience[4]. It can be argued that although a business needs all three of them to sustain a successful brand, increasingly it’s the ‘experience’ component that differentiates one brand from another. Thus, it is not always about what makes you different, but more importantly, what differentiates you from others.

    Enrique Iglesias

    It’s increasingly difficult to have an efficiency advantage, or even an effectiveness advantage. Take for example, Enrique Iglesias – performing a selected list of his all-time hits and going live in a large music stadium. The auditorium is packed with two thousand people and even the cheap seats went for about $100 a pop. At the end of the performance the whole auditorium erupts in ecstatic applause.

    Later on, Enrique ran a social experiment (as he often does) to test what would happen if he took the same ‘product’ and placed it in a different context. So, he decides to go into a subway station in New York city (which had great acoustics). He dresses up as a busker, posing as a random musician on the street trying to earn a crust.

    Iglesias sang the same hits with the same gust one weekday morning. There is security around, nonetheless. You can imagine what happened next. A crowd gathered and everybody was hushed and mesmerized, and it all ended with a big applause at the end.

    No, it didn’t go that way.

    Only a few people stopped. Few gave him money and a thousand people simply passed by without paying the least bit of attention to a busker playing a few hit songs.

    So, what was different in this situation? Well, everything really – maybe it wasn’t the right audience. It was not the right time. They weren’t in the right state of mind or mood. They weren’t expecting it; they didn’t desire to hear this music.

    Or they simply couldn’t appreciate it without the branding; without the context; the stage; the auditorium; the advertising, and maybe the ticket prices they paid in the first place also led them to appreciate the pieces more. It was just not the same experience when he played for free.

    Substance over Style

    Between 1900 and the 1950s, the whole idea about business was efficiency[5]. It was about having access to the supply. It was about controlling the supply. Demand was far in excess of supply at that time.

    Among the famous products from that time was the Ford Model T. The famous car available in any colour as long as it was black.

    Ford Model T.

    The major innovation of that time was the assembly line. And the assembly line was all about efficiency. The objective was to try and get a certain level of output with diminished input to achieve economies of scale. And management of the time was all about the ergonomics of reducing waste in that sense. Their objective was to reduce waste by maintaining the same or reducing input with time, and increase the output – then finally to increase the value at the end of the day.

    Efficiency is alive and well today. Recently, Price Waterhouse Cooper interviewed a handful of CEOs, and asked them what were some of the major projects they were launching. 70% said a major cost cutting initiative[6].

    Does cost cutting actually work? There’s a recent report in the Harvard Business Review that looked at companies within their sector with below average costs, versus those who had above average costs[7]. It shows that very few of the companies with below average costs had above average profits. those with above average costs had above average profits. i.e., if one did have above average profits, it was typically because one also invested with higher attendant costs.

    So, when it comes to cost cutting, it’s okay to cut the bad costs, and not cut the good costs.

    Effectiveness

    Our next concept is effectiveness, at the industry level, whether a firm is into making automobiles, or maintaining a green supply chain, the focus is largely on value creation. As mentioned earlier, efficiency was all about having a certain level of output with less input – but value chain is quite different.

    This approach demands to know: how do you get more out of limited inputs? For example, if you think about it from a people perspective, one aspect of this is about: can I achieve the same end with fewer labour inputs? Basically, would firing people be a good option? Or from a value perspective effectiveness, can you train them?

    At a product level, we can look at something like a razor from the perspective of effectiveness. Think of Gillette’s original safety razor? It was a single blade and the idea was that you wouldn’t cut yourself.

    The next big innovation was the second blade. The first blade gently lifts the hair out of the follicle. The second one swoops in and cuts it off, giving your face the feel of a baby’s skin.

    Gillette Mach 3 razor, circa 2015.

    The next innovation was the MACH3, three blades – so, what’s the third blade for? Maybe it exfoliates your skin? Within six months, the competition came in with four blades. Then a few years later, Gillette came out with the Fusion which has five blades. And today, we are aware of MACH14 with 14 blades.[8]

    This idea of effectiveness leads to a race in terms of performance. But all of these competitions lead to diminishing returns. The second blade adds a lot over the first blade, the third a little less, and so on. The more and more blades you get the greater the diminishing returns.

    When it comes to computers or smartphones companies are competing with diminishing functional benefits. Most people don’t even know what the RAM is on their PCs anymore.

    Now do we choose our Mac or iPhone based primarily on its quality? Do we really get a better battery life, higher screen resolution? If we did, we might have chosen an HTC or a Samsung. Therefore, the value chain missed out on a critical component, and that is the consumer of that value chain. Consumers pay over good money for what the companies have created, but they’re not part of the value creation process in any way.

    If we consider value within the chain, experience is where the real focus should be. The argument is that no value is created outside of the customer or consumer experience.

    Attention to ‘the three Es’

    Therefore, a few questions to be asked when working on your brand development. First, how much effort and attention are the top management paying to each of these three Es?

    Does the product or service actually have efficiency advantages? If they do, are they actually trading at a lower price compared to the competition? Is that their only differential advantage? Or are they similar to the competitors on the functional and utility benefits? And maybe, whether the firm knows it or not, the experience is actually what is differentiating them from the competition.

    A really important question is: if it really is about experience, how are you going to design and deliver experiences? This includes examination of how that experience is different to the design of the product or service itself. There have to be real and radical changes in the way firms design and deliver value to their consumers depending on the market.

    For effective cross-cultural branding, go ‘Glocal’ while still staying Global

    Word-of-mouth and virtual marketing are also extremely powerful tools in convincing us[9] to transactions frequently with specific businesses over a period of time. Advertising on social media and other channels has also proved effective in establishing brand names.

    For example, you may recognise Nike from its symbol or slogan (‘Just Do it’) faster than you would identify Adidas from theirs; Mercedes, BMW and Suzuki are most identifiable through their logos in their sectors, along with Coca Cola or McDonalds in theirs.

    Rear light of a Mercedes-Benz C-Klasse.

    Companies have continued to leverage these brand assets for decades now. At the same time, they have gone global, and through that internationalization arrived an understanding of the importance of global branding, but also a nuanced awareness of local factors, a phenomenon referred to as glocalization.

    Just think of HSBC’s slogan for example: ‘the world’s local bank. Local banks staffed by local peoples,’ which highlights the importance of local knowledge and inclusiveness.

    Marketing localization involves taking the source content and adapting it to meet the cultural environment of the target location. [10]. Transcreation on the other hand, is taking the message and recreating it.[11] From language to imagery, the original message and the ‘transcreated’ version can look very different.

    Lux Lessons

    Let us look at how cross-cultural branding may work in favour or contrary to the interests of companies who adopt it. Lux, a popular name in beauty-healthcare and toiletries, translates as ‘strong man’ in Chinese.[12] This fundamentally contradicts the image of a young lady on its package!

    Lux Soap.

    Lux entered the Chinese market in the 1980s and a popular Hollywood actress did their TV commercials then. While bathing herself in a large bathtub (certainly an exotic scene to the Chinese viewers at the time), she said seductively “I only use Strong Man. How about you?” Lux became a household name within a few weeks!

    However, given that the Chinese use characters based on ideograms and the majority of people are unfamiliar with the Roman alphabet, international brands have to be careful in choosing an appropriate Chinese name.

    In Taiwan, Lux means ‘beauty,’ which matches the packaging and how the image of Lux is projected in adverts. Marketing localization focuses on expressing a culturally appropriate message, whereas transcreation creatively transforms the message in order to maximize cultural resonance.

    As a language and culture loaded with symbolism and imagery, a direct translation can often lead to comical or negative results. A brand name that has some meaning to the consumer will be more easily recalled. In addition to linguistic cues, other factors that affect the translation/naming process are identified as follows: a) Reflecting product benefits or industry characteristics; b) Quality and brand positioning; c) Links to logo or packaging; d) Country of origin effect, and finally; e) Traditional values, Beliefs and customs.[13]

    The social standards of customers differ from culture to culture; one wo/man’s meat is another wo/man’s poison. The ethical values of an organisation determines its corporate image, and ultimately its brand identity.

    The company’s culture, heroes, stories and beliefs play a significant role in shaping how its brand and related components are built. An example is how innovation and knowledge inform the different themes or logos owned or used in the Google search engine every day.

    Google’s glocal initiatives gives it a secure, trusted and all-encompassing image around the world. Albeit, there are privacy concerns now leading to serious accusation of wrongdoing. In addition to privacy issues, Google has also been a bad boy when it comes to paying taxes and exploiting tax loopholes. Such factors detract from a company’s brand image.

    Another example of a ‘glocal’ initiative is with how local level managerial delegation works for Microsoft. Similarly, in order to celebrate its long-term market share and participation, Coca Cola in Turkey briefly renamed itself Koka-Kola[14].

    Other examples from the fast-food market include how McDonalds serve dishes and meals that are specific to country contexts and diets. Thus, a meal in the Middle East would have very different ingredients (reflecting local tastes and taboos) from one served in India and China. Similarly, KFC in China serves rice with most orders.

    Cultural and cognitive connections are also crucial in international marketing initiatives as companies compete for market dominance. Marketing should establish immediate, cultural bonds with target audiences. Equally important, however, is to guard against over-indulgence in some markets. There may be a danger of patronising a culture when a brand is obviously trying to localise its offering.

    Waning Faith in Brands

    In 2015, The Economist presented the results of several surveys that warned about waning faith in brands.[15] In North America, consumers said they trusted only about one-fifth of brands. In Europe the proportion barely reached a third.

    In a world in which brands ruled for more than a century (e.g. Coca-Colonization, and Tesco-ization, or McDonaldization as presented in research on Globalization), what explains this trend? The ease of accessing information should theoretically make consumer-choice processes easier. Of course, even in the virtual world, full information is not possible.

    For brands striving to maintain ‘global-ness’ in their adverts and action, some suggestions would include effective communication of goals, messaging and brand values to stakeholders. This involves explaining, developing and encouraging your vision with employees as much as with customers.

    Another important approach is to make use of advanced Translation Management Systems (TMS) that can be used for storing industry-specific and company-specific terminologies such as a tagline or product features. This is mainly to get the tone of your advertisements right!

    The next issue is to increase communication with your transcreation team, throughout a project timeline. You should be on hand to to answer questions, discuss disparities, and offer support.

    Finally, it is necessary to spend time building trust in your team, by asking generic as well as specific questions, such as will the translation of a German slogan work as well in Canada or another European market? Will your imagery convey the same meaning in China as it does in the US?

    A well-established content in one market may not be appropriate for the new market and you have to trust that your transcreation team knows what is the best move. Thus, it is vital to choose a localisation or transcreation team that are aware of cultures and customs.

    Featured Image: Enrique Iglesias, Vilnius, Lithuania 2007.11.29 by Kapeksas

    [1] Zakkour, Michael (2014). China’s Golden Week – A Good Time To Make Sure You Don’t ‘Bite The Wax Tadpole, Forbes https://www.forbes.com/sites/michaelzakkour/2014/10/02/chinas-national-day-golden-week-a-good-time-to-make-sure-you-dont-bite-the-wax-tadpole/?sh=5ab534f8560f

    [2] Etymax (2014). Creating the right name for your brand to prosper in China, https://www.etymax.com/blog/creating-the-right-name-for-your-brand-to-prosper-in-china/

    [3] Academy of Management, AOM, https://www.ama.org/the-definition-of-marketing-what-is-marketing/

    [4] Wetzlinger, W. et al (2014). Comparing Effectiveness, Efficiency, Ease of Use, Usability and User Experience When Using Tablets and Laptops https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-319-07668-3_39

    [5] Mukhopadhyay, B.R. and Mukhopadhyay, B.K. (2020) Efficiency, effectiveness, experience: Building Business Branding, https://www.sentinelassam.com/editorial/efficiency-effectiveness-experience-building-business-branding-504297

    [6] PWC (2015). 18th Annual Global CEO Survey, A marketplace without boundaries? Responding to disruption, https://www.pwc.com/gx/en/ceo-survey/2015/assets/pwc-18th-annual-global-ceo-survey-jan-2015.pdf

    [7] Kumar, N. (2006). Strategies to Fight Low-Cost Rivals, Harvard Business Review, https://hbr.org/2006/12/strategies-to-fight-low-cost-rivals

    [8] Burns, N. (2006). Shaving With Five Blades When Maybe Two Will Do, New York Times, available at https://www.nytimes.com/2006/01/19/fashion/thursdaystyles/shaving-with-five-blades-when-maybe-two-will-do.html

    [9] Whitler, K. (2014). Why Word Of Mouth Marketing Is The Most Important Social Media, Forbes https://www.forbes.com/sites/kimberlywhitler/2014/07/17/why-word-of-mouth-marketing-is-the-most-important-social-media/?sh=6e86aa5054a8

    [10]  Johnson, J. (2017). Localization vs. Translation: What’s the Difference and Why Does It Matter? Forrester, https://go.forrester.com/blogs/localizationvstranslationwhatsthedifferenceandwhydoesitmatter/

    [11] Wolfestone (2016). What is Transcreation and how is it different from translation? https://wolfestone.co.uk/insights/blogs/transcreation-different-translation

    [12] Mukhopadhyay, B.R. and Mukhopadhyay, B.K. (2020). Corporate ‘glocalization’ through cross-cultural branding, The Sentinel, https://m.dailyhunt.in/news/india/english/the+sentinel-epaper-senteng/corporate+glocalization+through+cross+cultural+branding-newsid-n185737912

    [13] Kimbarovsky, R. (2020). How To Create a Unique and Memorable Brand Identity in 2020, https://www.crowdspring.com/blog/brand-identity/

    [14] Mukhopadhyay, B.R. and Mukhopadhyay, B.K. (2020). Corporate ‘glocalisation’ through cross-cultural branding, The Sentinel, https://www.sentinelassam.com/editorial/corporate-glocalization-through-cross-cultural-branding-477722

    [15] The Economist (2015). It’s the real thing, https://www.economist.com/business/2015/11/14/its-the-real-thing