Pablo Casals - one of the great cellists of the 20th Century - was born on the 29th of December (today!) in 1876 (not today. Ages ago.)
One hundred and forty years later, I listened to his recording of Bach’s third cello suite over breakfast. If you’d like to listen too, then this week’s playlist is your friend. If not… listen to it anyway. Why not?
The days when I leave enough time to eat breakfast at home are few and far between, but when it happens, this is usually my time for reading (likely), Desert Island Discs (likelier) or scrabbling through my unanswered emails (likeliest - sad though I am to admit it). But today it was Suite No. 3 in C Major, and the first half of Suite No. 1 in G, with yoghurt, pineapple slices and coffee. The Bourée, my favourite, I listened to twice.
I soon realised three things:
Pineapple and coffee isn’t as good a combo as I had previously imagined.
There are few things in life as deeply, spine-elongatingly satisfying as the last eight bars of of the Prelude from Bach's first cello suite.
Even so, the Bourée remains my firm favourite. This is largely because it featured on an archaic computer game that my sister and I used to play together when we were little, and hearing it even now is a nostalgic pang - like the olfactory rush when you catch a familiar perfume in the air as a complete stranger walks past - but significantly less romantic. I'm not sure it can get less romantic than Windows 97. I can’t even remember what that game was called, but I think a medieval castle was heavily involved. My sister is actually a fabulous cellist,and hearing her play the Bourée is something of an emotional overload. Pang city.
Sometime during this reverie about my sister, and the joy of Windows 97, iTunes herded me onto the Gigue, and so my thoughts shifted back to Pablo Casals, and one of my very favourite anecdotes, which is this:
When Casals was in his nineties, he was asked why he it was that he continued to practice the cello for several hours each day. He replied:
“Because I’m beginning to notice some improvement.”
I can’t get enough of that story.
I love it because it speaks to me of two very different truths about practicing, and about being a musician.
That a man who was widely considered to be among the great masters of his instrument would still want to keep practicing in his nineties is certainly heartening. Artistry and the bliss of facility are worth dedicating your life to, and practice is just a happy and productive part of that.
Another interpretation, however, could dredge up the gloomier reality of the practice room. The hours that can go by seemingly without improvement. Tendons pinching, fingers blistered and self-esteem aching.
Days, weeks, the best part of a century and still I’m playing scales?!
Every passage re-started. The untiring metronome. A fumbling thumb.
I know very few players who haven’t been bowed down at one point or another by the self-flagellating approach to improvement that is so often learnt from the beginning, along with clefs and do re mi. But, as luck would have it, there is another brilliant Casals story for those moments when it’s all a bit much, and for days when your hands feel like aubergines.
This story was used in the film A Late Quartet, but the anecdote, as recounted by Christopher Walken’s character, was actually borrowed from Cellist, the autobiography of Gregor Piatigorsky:
'“Mr. Casals.”I was introduced to a little bald man with a pipe. He said that he was pleased to meet young musicians such as Serkin and me. Rudolf Serkin […] had played before my arrival, and Casals now wanted to hear us together. Beethoven’s D-Major Sonata was on the piano. “Why don’t you play it?” asked Casals. Both nervous and barely knowing each other, we gave a poor performance that terminated somewhere in the middle.
“Bravo! Bravo! Wonderful!” Casals applauded. Francesco brought the Schumann Cello Concerto, which Casals wanted to hear. I never played worse. Casals asked for Bach. Exasperated, I obliged with a performance matching the Beethoven and Schumann.
“Splendid! Magnifique!” said Casals, embracing me.
Bewildered, I left the house. I knew how badly I had played, but why did he, the master, have to praise and embrace me? This apparent insincerity pained me more than anything else.
The greater was my shame and delight when, a few years later, I met Casals in Paris. We had dinner together and played duets for two cellos, and I played for him until late at night. Spurred by his great warmth, and happy, I confessed what I had thought of his praising me in Berlin. He reacted with sudden anger. He rushed to the cello,
“Listen!” He played a phrase from the Beethoven sonata. “Didn’t you play this fingering? Ah, you did! It was novel to me…it was good… and here, didn’t you attack that passage with up-bow, like this?” he demonstrated. He went through Schumann and Bach, always emphasising all he like that I had done. “And for the rest,” he said passionately, “leave it to the ignorant and stupid who judge by counting only the faults. I can be grateful, and so must you be, for even one note, one wonderful phrase.” I left with the feeling of having been with a great artist and a friend."'
So today I decided to make like Pablo, shift my Eye-of-Sauron focus away from faults and flaws, and stay on the lookout for the little things that satisfy and inspire.
One wonderful phrase. One note.
Maybe that way I’ll be still be practicing when I’m in my nineties.
When re-reading this extract from Cellist, I found myself paying more attention to the very next paragraph than I had done before.
This is because last night, when flying from London to Boston, I had a little trouble with my papers. Something was being flagged up in the system as pending that should have said
processed. It was all fine in the end, but...
The queues at immigration were unusually long last night. As I was being led off to the secondary investigation room, almost three hours after my flight had landed, the homeland security officer walking with me turned to one of his colleagues and said, with no effort to lower his voice:
"... And the next flight's in from Israel. Now we'll have to deal with a fuck-load of Jews."
I didn't know what he meant by that. Except that maybe I did.
And I kept schtum.
I suddenly remembered something my Dad said when Transport for London first introduced personal Oyster cards, and I couldn't understand why he was so resistant to the idea.
"It's fine as long as you have a benevolent government. But these things can turn quicker than you might imagine."
Dad, if you're reading this I'm sorry for laughing at you in a manner probably not dissimilar from Le Fou laughing at Maurice in Beauty and the Beast.
This guy - a government employee - didn't even bother to lower his voice, and I didn't say anything.
Because he didn't even bother to lower his voice.
And because he had my passport in his hand.
Anyway. Here's the passage that came straight after the joyful, life-affirming Casals bit:
I was the possessor of a so-called Nansen passport, established by the League of Nations for people who lost their own country of birth and were wanted nowhere else. The strange document attached to me gave no indication as to my nationality, and the place and date of my birth were so illegible that each time I entered a new country the officials argued if I had been born at all. Landing in New York, Oscar Wilde, when asked what race he was, wrote, "Human." A man with a Nansen could not be that witty when crossing borders.
Now let's have some music.
When Pablo Casals was 13 years old, he and his father went for a walk in the old port district of Barcelona and found themselves in a secondhand bookshop. It was there that he unearthed the sheet music of Bach’s Cello Suites. The pages were apparently crumbled and discoloured, as the Suites had been all but forgotten - dismissed as dry, academic exercises only. Casals spent almost half a century working on them (or living with them, depending on your interpretation) before he felt ready to record all six. By the time Casals recorded the Suites (between 1936 and 1939) they had lain dormant for almost two hundred years.
They are now the bible for every cellist.
Hand on heart, I'm not sure if this week's offering counts as a playlist, but I'll live with it.
You can listen to Bach's Cello Suites 1 & 3, played by Pablo Casals, here.
The Cameo
My guest this week is Angus Denoon.
Angus is a chef, an independent food trader, and a ray of sunshine in human form.
What’s your job title/profession?
I make the Bengali snack jhal muri, and run the Everybody Love Love Jhal Muri Express.
What would you love for people to know about your work?
The potential of the simple snack is enormous- it can open the mind to think, the body to move, the heart to open.
What do you wish people would stop asking about your work?
As most people over here don’t know what it is I'm making, I am very happy for people to ask questions. Much better they ask and have an interest than to be ignored.
What made you/helped you to choose what you do?
Obviously I did choose on some level what I do, but it was almost that it was chosen for me by forces I don’t truly understand.
What’s your perfect breakfast/lunch for a workday?
I make this muesli arrangement with fresh juice, ginger, nigella, fruits, coconut and sweet spices that can see me way over the horizon and back again.
What’s your perfect time to wake up / go to bed? (When do you actually wake up / go to bed?)
I like to get up early go to bed late and to sleep in the afternoon.
What’s your alarm sound?
At the moment its Stevie Wonder's Love's in Need of Love Today.
Do you have a set morning routine?
I been doing these breathing exercises and a bit of stretching lately and it's a game changer. It takes only thirty minutes, but I get a least two hours more to the day - and things look a lot brighter.
How do you get to and from work & what’s your journey like?
My work takes place all over the place so every time it's different. Sometimes I go in my van some times on public transport with my trolley. It always seems to feel like an adventure when I'm off and running - that's a good thing.
What does your workspace look like?
It's a round Bengali flat basket with all my tins and jars, spices, aromatic vegetables, sauces, spoons, old magazines for cones, incense, a music system, a knife and a lime press. This sits on an old Argos trolley that is highly decorated with garlands, plastic flowers and hand painted signs.
Preferred tools of the trade? / Essential work items?
I have these knives I get in Kolkata, They're made from old hack saw blades sandwiched between a bit of wood and secured with three nails. Very simple, very cheap but the best knives for what I do. They're super light and fast and made of soft metal so very easy to sharpen. I also have wooden lime squeezers that act as a chopping block too. Both the knife and squeezer wear with age and become part of my hands.
What are your work hours like?
When there's work you do it. It's catering basically, and catering is not about tea breaks or lunch breaks - or really any kind of breaks as you always five minutes behind.
Do you work with fixed goals in mind or take it day by day depending on what comes up?
Day by day, with the goal of being a smooth seamless operation with enough time not to sweat.
What inspires you?
That regardless of who or what they are, or where they're from, when you make people food with care in front of their eyes and nose they all soften.
What’s your favourite thing about your work?
I see the sunny side of humanity.
Least favourite?
Having to rush to break down a job.
What do you do to get through days when you just don’t feel like it?
Loud music. This week:
Kindred The Family Soul - Never Know.
Leon Thomas - Sun Song.
Ane brun - Words.
Do you have a go-to treat to get you out of a slump?
I don't really - maybe I should. Generally if I’m off it's because I'm tired and not eating properly and all that. So sleep, good food, swimming, table tennis, nature and being still do no harm.
Go-to work snack/sustenance?
Water, bananas, beer, grass.
What’s your favourite part of the day?
Early morning.
Least favourite?
3'o'clock in the afternoon.
How you define a good/successful day?
Some days the hands are more alive, the heart more open and you laugh more. Those the good days.
What’s been your favourite failure? One that you learnt a lot from, or one that you can look back and say ‘well I got through THAT, I’m unstoppable!’
Tom Waits sang about successful failures and I had a life time of what some could see as failures but I like to think of them as success failures as I kept on going regardless and eventually the rough edges smooth over and your time comes.
What’s your top tip for the work-life-balance conundrum?
No idea but if you enjoy your work, and your work is your life, then you enjoy your life.
Do you have any hobbies/passions outside of work?
Loads.
If so, how do you make time for them? Where do they fit into your day/week?
Still working on that.
What’s one piece of advice you would give to someone who wants to do what you do?
Look people in the eye and treat everyone the same.
What’s the best piece of advice someone’s ever given you? (Or worst!)
Reach for the stars and always put love first.
What’s your top tip for getting things done?
Lists help, so does clarity of direction but ultimately just go and do it.
Angus has been featured in the Guardian, The Telegraph India, Street Eats London, India Today, and more.
Also, his blog surely has the best name in town: mongo denoon and the ok catering success.
The Everybody Love Love Jhal Muri Express is available for hire. Check out the website, and get in touch.
A Poem
Beautiful Old Age
by D.H. Lawrence
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies.
If people lived without accepting lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.
Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.
And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -
And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it's been a life!
This poem is from the collection Pansies, published in 1929.
Links!
If I ever find myself unable to take heart from the teeniest-tiniest glimmers of improvement, this Sesame Street clip will usually do the trick. Let Elmo's enthusiastic, dogged perseverance, and Yo Yo Ma's gentle, radiant encouragement of Elmo's (let's be real) horrifying violin playing be an inspiration to us all.
Now I can neatly (so neatly) segue to what I believe to be the greatest Tumblr of all time: YOLO MA. My only complaint is that it's been dormant for so long. Someone needs to find this website in a secondhand bookshop, and reinvigorate it, thus inspiring countless generations to come.
My lovely Dad - Maurice to my Le Fou - sent me these videos this morning:
Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, translated into Yiddish and performed by Daniel Kahn.
And here’s Leonard Cohen singing (in Yiddish) Un As Der Rebbe Singt in 1976.
Uh oh. This week's newsletter has failed the Bechdel-Wallace Test so far.
Quick! 'Increase your lady knowledge' with A Woman to Know - an excellent newsletter by Julia Carpenter. Every email tells the brief tale of a fascinating woman I'd never heard of before.
Forget the gold bikini. For people with mental illness Carrie Fisher was a queen.
I've been really enjoying all the voices championing Carrie Fisher's role as a mental health advocate, feminist icon, and powerhouse, while so many are intent on worshipping her effigy as a mere mega-babe.
Please allow me this indulgence: it's Good Morning from Singin' in the Rain. This scene has never failed to brighten my eyes, even when I intended to watch it for wallowing purposes.
For Nightlife Organizers, Keeping Queer Clubs Safe Is a Delicate Dance.
My friend Rosie wrote this eye-opening article about the importance of hiring bouncers who understand the communities they're serving.
Useful! 7 warming up and cooling down exercises for musicians. And - obviously - anybody/everybody.
Caitlin Moran, on how to make 2017 better than 2016. The answer? Elmo-like optimism, with Yo Yo-like kindness. (I'm paraphrasing.)And that's it! See you next week!
Love,
Katya
The Katch-Up's header illustration is by the brilliant Tamsin Baker.