And now the time has come…

It was fun for a while, got nasty for a while, and got to be the wrong thing for me for too long.
As a result this will be the final post on The Lunecy Review. I’d like to thank all the contributors, positive and negative, and all who lurked and read along the way too.
Maybe someone sometime will do something else for Lancaster. As of now it can’t be me… Good luck and God Bless you all.
Kev 9/12/2010

Norman Hadley – A Whoop Above the Dust

By guest writer Anthony Coppin – reproduced, with thanks, from the Garstang Courier.

Whoop Cover Image

Garstang poet Norman Hadley goes from strength to strength. This is a collection of his work from July 2009 to July 2010, and represents some of the best in regional poetry.

What comes across in most of the poems is a sense of place, of landscape, of nature.

The poems are challenging, too. For example, a three-line poem titled “Bleasdale” brings out the turmoil of the skyscapes often seen over that district. And links it to the burbling of its curlews in spring, asking, without a question mark, “Who owns what?”

The poem “Craven” explores what Hadley sees as an unexpected foreign flavour to that part of the North, while other poems, such as “Antipodes”, are more global in their geographical reach.

The book also contains a series of eight poems inspired by a competition linked to Castlerigg Stone Circle. Echoes of Arthurian legend, Viking invaders and metaphysical mistresses weave a sense of mystery in the mind as one reads the poems here.

There’s more than a bit of fun, too – for example in a poem with an irreverent look at the way parts of southern England got their names (with crafty references to naughty Chaucer).

Hadley, in my view, has similarities with Ted Hughes but without Hughes’ constant over-grittiness and pessimism.

‘Last job I could walk the length of a country’: Dan Haywood on the release of Dan Haywood’s New Hawks.

By Tom Bramhall.

Five years in the making, Dan Haywood’s New Hawks is a thirty-two song triple album taking folk rock and popular music in exciting new directions. Next Saturday 28th August, The Dukes on Moor Lane will feature a one off event to celebrate the launch of this Timbreland records release with live performances for the full DHNH ensemble in addition to multi-media installation and an illustrated talk.

In the run up to the event, Dan and I discussed his preparing for the release; the origins of the project in its native Scotland, writing and recording the songs and exploring some of their context – both personal and in the wider field of popular music. The following discussion took place via email back and forths mid-August 2010 and was concluded Sunday 22nd August.

Tom: Dan, the release date is a fortnight away – what’s been happening?

Dan: Hi – ‘the unofficial/local release date is at the end of this month, but the PR- set UK release date is much later in the year.

As things stand this week, I don’t know whether either will be met. In recent weeks, it’s been a blur of defective vinyl test pressings, jury service, live shows, sleeplessness and even conjunctivitis. 

Tom: I’d hoped to set us up there for debating whether or not things were drawing to a close … It sounds like new challenges have been presenting themselves?

Dan: Well that’s life, Tom. And I wouldn’t like to guess whether life’s drawing to a close.

Do you mean the vinyl release or the NH campaign in general?

Tom: I meant more the NH campaign as it gears up for the album release. What’s it like to be on-the-brink of putting this thing out there?

Dan:  When I delivered the final mixes to the label in February I felt satisfied – like I had won. Because that had been my goal for a long time. But now I feel excitable and tense, because I feel like we need to win again.

Tom: What’s the goal this time?

Dan: To win hearts and minds, like Lyndon B Johnson would have wanted! I want people to take to the album and to get the most out of it, which I believe is a lot. We’re gonna have to tread carefully with the PR, features like this and so on.

Tom: With that in mind, I was hoping you could give a brief summary of what Dan Haywood’ New Hawks is, as if I were completely new to it …

Dan: To be prosaic (which I believe is acceptable in prose) Dan Haywood’s New Hawks is a group of 32 songs. I could have called it Dan Haywood’s New Songs or New Bag or Neu Roses at the time they appeared, which are all prosaic too. But since then there’s been understandable confusion because it sounds like a band name and I don’t always disabuse people of that notion. It works that way too. 

When the songs get an airing in concert it’s the name of the act, regardless of whether it’s a solo, twenty-piece band or a fleet of laptops. It doesn’t have to be me performing either, which is an idea I’d like to try. The 32 songs (New Hawks!) were written in a short space of time and reflect each other (like the jewels on Indra’s net) and were my grand vision at the time. They live together. And the plan was for all of them to be recorded well and presented together.

Tom: – which I guess is what’s going to happen with this triple vinyl release?  To my ears they sound very well recorded …  

Dan: Thanks – most of the tracks have been recorded very well indeed. Largely small groups with vocals in a room with overdubbing in the same space. Mick (Armistead) used some great microphone techniques and placements, especially when we recorded in the church. Like an auditory holograph of where we were spatially. Easy to get into. But the recording period was almost five years because not every take or session was successful. Hundreds of hours of versions, filtered down to this set.

Tom: It comes across like a sprawling – though by no means incomplete

arc of songs, and much anticipated over a long stretch of time.

Without wanting to skirt over the effort and investment – which we

could probably devote a whole interview to, I wonder if there’s

any risk that some of the project’s subtleties could be dwarfed by the scale – in the writing say?

Dan: There’s that risk. I mean, it’s not important to me that there are 32 tracks. If the thing said it all just 8, then good!  But I kept writing and writing until the circle closed, and it happened to be that way. If you take one song out it collapses. And it’s correct to be true to the initial inspiration, to stand up for your instinct. I trust it in this case. 

But you’re right. It seems like a gimmick, which is not the case. It’s the writing and the playing and the recording, which isn’t a novelty.

Tom: Well I wouldn’t have called it a gimmick. Just conscious as a listener and fan that when the scale of the project seems so vast, the risk would have been to lose a sense that there’s a rich crop of things going on under the 32 track, triple disc banner.

I’m appropriating you for myself a bit here, but I reckon this is what makes it a complete piece of work: all parts seems to reflect the whole?

Dan: It only seems vast because of the norms of medium. Hi Norm! But the running time of two hours ten is pretty standard for cinema. And because rock music is superior to cinema it packs a lot more in. In terms of marketing the album you can’t wilfully neglect the fact that it’s a long piece. And that’s often the initial point of interest. But it’s only the surface. It’s complete, not over-complete.

If everyone has the perfection they need (Hubert Selby?) then this is mine. I managed it, after almost fifteen years of writing songs and daydreaming.

Tom: At what point did you feel ready to begin working up the songs and sharing them with others?

Dan: The moment that I saw that they were finished. Or as the dust settled … after fifty re-drafts in the space of a month. It was making a sculpture out of a big, mysterious block of ice … chipping and carving away, night after night. I wasn’t sure how it would look, but I knew I would recognise when it was complete. One morning a sculpture was there staring at me instead of vice versa, with a plaque built in saying ‘play to people’! And I obeyed!

It ended a horribly reclusive period, because I knew I’d need help to play them, that I couldn’t do them justice. For most of the writing I hadn’t touched an instrument. It was all in my head. So I took up the guitar again, sought out some friends and got in touch with the outside world

Tom: I like that you describe it as a sculpture. There’s a monumental quality about the whole project.

Above you mention a writing period of fifteen years bringing you to the point where you were able to write DHNH. I’m curious to know how you’d describe the differences – if any, between this material and the things you’d written previously?

Dan: My writing didn’t really bring me to New Hawks, it was living that did it. I had been bringing songs to bands for years, and the clue’s in there – there was often a part of me which asked ‘will Bill and Richard like to play this? Will they humour me this time?’ So some of my older stuff was perhaps more self-conscious in that way. And often written for a certain arrangement. Also, my earlier songs are more emo-centric, me-me-me, emotive … because I was a brat and a cad and a less-travelled younger man. And later life and events and places stepped in and blew my mind and de-railed me and I found myself writing outside of myself. On another track. About other people and places, and animals and plants. 

Also, I was so thoroughly suffused with nature and rain and sun from eighteen months outdoors in Caithness, Sutherland and some of the islands that my new ‘country songs’ finally seemed more authentic than the old ones. I was finally able to name-check place-names and exalt overlooked fauna without looking too stupid.

The place reinvigorated and rebuilt me and made more room for folk and country concerns in my repertoire. The use of acoustic guitar became more valid, which maybe altered the writing a little. 

Tom: This ‘writing outside of myself’ seems really apt, I think. It brought me in as a listener, made me care about the experiences, interests and obsessions – if you like, that were reflected in the songs.

It sounds like you became a migrant of sorts, and in doing so you were able to move from a particular (’emo-centric’) to more universal subjects?

It’s something I really admire in DHNH – this sense of other: ‘other people places … animals and plants’. 

Dan: A migrant would fit. The album’s full of migrants. In ‘Family Tree’ we have a vagrant American bird accidentally blasted across the Atlantic which is transplanted to an apple tree in Britain. A migrant which becomes a vagrant. 

And parts of the album consider the Highland Clearances, the disgrace which forced locals to either migrate or starve. And some fled to America, and took their music with them, which fed American folk and later country music and rock and roll. Musically New Hawks examines those links. Elvis was a Scot! And there’s also our songs like ‘Superquarry’ which are partly about modern American investment and naval and military presence in Highland Scotland.

I had a friend in Caithness whose indigenous family was making a living from ‘Texan’ oil from The North Sea oilfields, and they lived on a Thurso street called John Kennedy Walk. 

And in the Clearances some Northerners ended up on boats headed for Australia, and it turns out that we have an Outback song on the album called ‘Jackaroos’, which is a term which means Australian cowboys, (as well as the stow-away Sailor in folk songs like Jack-a-Roe).

‘Jackaroos’ describes a very isolated community in the desert there– some of them originally from Scotland- ‘..This town has one Macadamed Street..’. Of course, I don’t know much about that outside of Flying Doctors, but I felt it strongly!  Because in a small way, I was a migrant for a time.

I took a job which required me to up-sticks and re-locate in a foreign culture five-hundred miles away. Away from my old life– had less than two weeks to think about it. I’d finally been chucked off the dole and I was desperate and I migrated to Caithness! Where the flows are paved with gold.

It was wind-farm work impacting on birds, and so these lonely transplanted English birdwatchers spend their time searching for migrant birds up there. Some native migrants, some alien.

As well as the wildlife that should have been there, like the worldwide Golden Eagle and the Black-throated Diver, we came across individuals that ‘shouldn’t’. I was lucky enough to come face to face with a rare falcon in Sutherland which had very much over-shot from its target in S.E. Europe. A male Red-footed Falcon, so far from home. Making sorties to seize and devour Highland Darter dragonflies. Mind-blowing. Seen by me and one other one morning. What became of him? What was going thru it’s mind? Nothing. 

And I also found an American wader up there, a Pectoral Sandpiper, in the course of work. August 2003. It had either just been blown 3000 miles off-course after heading to Central America, or was the progeny of an undetected pair which had. I was in my element up there.

I felt alive in that wilderness. But also a real outsider in those isolated communities. Nobody new what I was all about and I wasn’t so sure anymore. A thrill at times, crushing at others. The last song on the album is called Peatshack McKay ‘I coulda been a Peatshack McKay’ … or anyone as opposed to what I was born into. So there are these foggy notions of transmigration of souls. Personal transformations. Am I the same person that I was as a child? Or ten years ago? All that kind of shit. Terrifying and or liberating. So I was liberated and was a migrant writing outside of myself, and all the threads joined up.

Does this make any sense? More selfless. Now I’m almost back to square one but the album documents that transformation.

Tom: Again, all the above is why I tend to think of it as monumental, big catch work. Musically the sonic landscape seems to draw on as many different elements as they subject matter. I wondered if you could talk a bit more about the choice of instruments and how they could be seen to reflect the territory? 

Dan: As I mentioned, I felt legitimised to use country and folk instrumentation, rather than just fancying it. So, it’s great to have the pedal steel of GT Thwaite, who used to work out of Nashville, all over the record. It works so well. And it’s something that Caithnesians would like about the record, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers being very popular in Thurso, even among the teenagers. 

The fundament is the acoustic guitar because it runs on natural power. Something you could make sound with in a power cut! What little electric guitar there is on the album tends to represent supernatural agency now I come to think about it! 

I remember one Spring day we’d been out on Yellow Bog in Sutherland mapping wader territories, with all these exquisite display flights and reeling songs of Golden Plovers, Greenshanks and Dunlins. And in the evening we went for a drink in Thurso and there was a folk session there, and those repetitions and variations and patterns in the Celtic tunes were so similar to the wader song. I remember remarking upon it to my workmate and I remember him mockingly saying ‘deep!’.

The Celtic areas of Britain are the only places where you get these birds breeding and the bird songs and the tunes mirror each other. We were sat there in the pub and it sounded like we were still out on the moors. So it became important to find a band-member or two who knew Celtic folk music. And Mikey (Kenney’s) fiddling is so wild and free and perfect for the material.

He grew up going to Irish sessions in Liverpool. So there’s the knowledge and the technique along with his natural power! Early on I talked to him about birdsong and he mentioned Messiaen’s experiments with bird noise and we came up with a Messiaen-like arrangement for ‘Killer of Men’. 

It’s important to have musicians who have a deeper connection with other musics and other instruments – because I’m more or less limited to guitar and rock music. It’s a rock-orientated album, but with a highland/rural element woven in.

Tom: I wonder whether you see any comparison here between DHNH and the ‘new Caledonian’ folk music popularised by the likes of Alasdair Roberts, Trembling Bells etc.?

Dan: Well, I wish I was in Trembling Bells. I offered to fill in for Lavinia’s vocals if she became unwell and they managed to keep a straight face. I have a similar range! 

Is it called ‘Caledonian’?  I think of it as Trembling Bells as English music primarily. The bass player has got a funky soul. He’s from Inverness. Alex is very clever. He knows what he wants and he makes it so … and I wish I had his direct approach. Joe Boyd is a fan of theirs, but I doubt he’d dig us. Perhaps we’ll see. 

Alasdair is cool and sly with what he does. ‘Spoils’ is a very good record. 

I’m not sure there is a comparison with DHNH and either of the acts you mention, but I’d be happy to mentioned alongside them.

Tom: Rob Young called it ‘Caledonian’ I think. I mention these acts since the critical response will often read in their records a similar tact to the one you’ve described above – mainly musicians connecting with other musics and instruments – Celt et al. They’ve been credited with invigorating English folk tradition with their nods to lineage and history – an odd sort of heritage trip.

How would you prefer DHNH to be received, critically? 

Dan: I’d be happy for our album just to be received critically- never mind guessing how… because after several years of moderate endeavour we’re still under the radar. 

You mention nods to lineage and history– and one of the main themes in New Hawks is broken lineage. And also what happens when cultures start anew from a blank and grim canvas. To go back to that pub folk session in Caithness – I was perplexed that each time I went, there was a dearth of local tunes. The session players were playing Shetland tunes, and Northumbrian tunes and a couple of Irish ones so there was a giant gap, geographically, and we were in the middle of it. And that’s the way that the far North of the mainland seemed to me when I lived there – criminally overlooked and forgotten. A cultural vacuum despite being a fascinating area.

And I thought about lineage and what might been lost musically and spiritually because communities up there bore the brunt of the Clearances. Maybe that was why I wasn’t hearing local tunes. And also ‘the brain drain’ that occurs that affects rural areas like that to this day. And the effect of Dounreay experimental site, the biggest employer on the North coast for decades had and what effects its de-commissioning would  have. Further depopulation? 

So that was my angle on lineage and history, and the songs seem to part fill the cultural vacuum, whether it’s imagined or not! There needed to be a song about Castletown and a song mentioning Dunnet and Strathy, and here they are. Terribly presumptuous, but I felt overwhelmingly inspired and it just happened. It’s not all as calculated as it sounds on paper. And I built them from the ground up, to reflect the landscapes and the weather and the fauna. I really think they do– honest, Tom. 

One of the few chord sketches I did when I was living there was based on the shape of the coast from Strathy Point to Dunnet Head. The chords were to a song called Middle Nowhere. That shape (of the coastline) was ingrained in me and still is. But I remember designing the chords while looking at that view from the bedroom window, with Orkney off in the distance. ‘Yes, that fits … that doesn’t … an A minor works for Sandside Bay…!’ So it’s a kind of country music without much human history to go on, made from studying what remains. And examines the severed links rather than perpetuating traditions like folk tries to. Just cos information is scant, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. 

In ‘Family Tree’, we’re looking at significant moments in family lineage – forks, dead-ends, tragedies, downwards spirals. ‘There’ll be a song new to the family tree’. There’s a lost vagrant songbird singing to deaf ears at the top of that tree. The song was valid in the New World. It’s still beautiful but now a bloodline has ended. The Proclaimers sang about ‘all the blood that flowed away’ in ‘Letter from America’… I was just reminded of it. 

‘Family Tree’ lingers in the moment when a family’s fortunes (with Les Dennis)change. It’s a lament. The moment when the black sheep of the flock is born, if you forgive my mixed animal metaphors. Everything turns around and there’s suddenly no immediate precedent. Bad things happen and history is no longer keeping you out of danger.  

Your babies are tainted and continue in your image, or you might feel inclined to eat them. The album is full of genetics and heredity: ‘I’m sewing a Smiley Patch into my daughter’s jeans’ when ecstacy comes to town via California, Glasgow, and filters through the umbilicus. That’s ‘Smiley Patch’, and there’s also ‘Muscle Beach’ with sea-life evolving in the wake of that Tsunami. From enzymes up. A churn of plankton. Stunned sharks coming to with a glut of food floating around them. A lazy lady by a Thai swimming pool with a dog that’s ‘bad and bred for it’. Traditions of change. The ecology of disaster. 

Tom– you’re a health professional by night– do you think I’m mad and sick? I sound it and I worry about that. Anyway, that’s lineage and tradition and folk in New Hawks. I don’t know whether I’m reinvigorating folk tradition, but I’m trying to do my best for Northern Highland tourism and making the best of what I know. 

Tom: Sounds more like ethnography to me say, than tourism. I wanted to ask whether you’ve ran into many conundrums, ethically – supplanting yourself so completely in this territory and creating/dedicating a monument to it … How have folk in Caithness/Sutherland reacted to DHNH?

Dan: I was living and working in Caithness and Sutherland and travelling the Islands for a while, but I had to leave there in a hurry and didn’t keep in touch with any of the locals. Most of the writing was done after the fact, back in England. So with one or two exceptions it’s probably safe to say that no Cattichs or Gollichs or Hebrideans are aware of our project. For a start, it’s a tiny population, so the chances are slim on account of that. 

I happened to meet a Caithnesian in Lancashire (very rare!) a few months ago, and I got onto New Hawks and he seemed staggered and pleased by the subject matter- and the small world syndrome – ‘do I know the house? I used to live in it!’… that kind of thing. So that was a confidence booster for me, although he didn’t actually hear the material. I do worry a little about what the locals would make of it, but I’d like to think there could be few serious objections. Maybe on grounds of my singing pitch … but I think they’d recognise at least something of themselves and their environment in the songs and enjoy that.

I don’t want this album to be like a Wicksploitation Movie. And since the whole inception of the material was un-self-conscious and spontaneous, I can step back – ‘the muse did it, not me!’. I’ve erected a small monument to a time and a place and how the time and the place interacted with me. It’s all true, but it’s art too! And that exempts me from being too even-handed. 

The album does poke fun at the game-keeping industry. I doubt many keepers would be fans. 

Cloud-base permitting, all tourists notice the giant monument looming over Golspie, on the side of Ben Bhraggie. And as you probably know it’s a posthumous tribute to the glory of the Duke Of Sutherland, paid for by his descendents. I think they had the locals quarry all those tons of stone near Brora, cart it up on the hill and so on. To pay tribute to a thief and a killer. At least an eagle shits on his head from time to time.

Anyway, by contrast my little monument is harmless and discreet and isn’t looking down on anyone.

Tom: Am I right in thinking the record is dedicated to the people of Caithness & Sutherland?

Dan: Yes, that’s right. It’s the inside back cover of the booklet. I believe ‘The Very Best of Dr. Hook’ has the same dedication.

Tom: Will you be touring the record up there? 

Dan: I was talking with a friend today about the possibility of New Hawks: The Movie! A documentary/musical that would involve us retracing my steps in the North seven years on. And to film a NH gig  in Skinandi’s (AKA Skins), Thurso’s nightclub where me and my pardners spent many a refreshing night, would be a key scene.

It’d be testing for my nerves,  but I hope that can happen one day. Me in tears of joy thru a barrage of bottles. A kind of closure for me, maybe.

I was never a musical animal up there. A hiatus as a performer. Kept my urges well hidden. So it would be ace for me to do this in those fantastic places. And a general tour of Scotland too.

Tom: I’d love to see that. I hope it happens. Where will the ‘tour’ be taking you during the next few months?

Dan: The dates are scattered as yet. We are hoping to have a more concentrated run at the end of the year when the PR and the booking agent have created a fearsome machine.

Ones I’m looking forward to as they stand are Shambala Festival somewhere in deepest Northants, The Union Chapel in London which is a beautiful venue, and this imminent New Hawks event at the Dukes theatre in Lancaster.

Tom: No time like the present to ask what the townsfolk can look forward to at the Dukes next week? 

Fun – with a capital ‘ph’. The studio theatre is going to done up like Santa’s Grotto, and you’ll queue up to sit on a variety of musical knees, which isn’t true. But it will be a 3D immersion into the psychological landscape of the album.

There will be art by painter Simon Nixon, including one work kinda inspired by one of the tracks. That was his suggestion, and I’m very flattered. And noctuid and sphingid textiles by Jenny McCabe, and her video for Kopper Kettle. Exhibits of album artwork too, and some floral arrangements, still lives and suspensions. A game-keeping theme.

New Hawks-themed cocktails available at the bar. There will be a big back-projection screen and an even bigger front-projection screen in the main space with hundreds of my weirdo Highland images to look at. The premiere of Renfrewshire filmmaker Kevin Cameron’s video for ‘Spate River’ which was shot in the Outer Hebrides, and a mesmerising montage for our 11-minute recording of ‘Eagles of Black Sutherland’ which has been painstakingly sequenced by Steve Wade. 

We’re going to get the sound very posh and have nine of us doing live music sections too, a bit like a gig. With spiels, or Q and A sessions in-between songs. Like a New Hawks open evening.

Tom: Sounds like a solid welcome to the world inhabited.

Is there space here d’you think to speak about the other people been involved in the project since its beginnings?  

Dan: I’d like to do an on-screen shout-out to my main man Bill Myall who was involved right at the start and has now re-joined. He’s a graduate of the 80s/90s Lancashire bands scene, in Krill and Carrot On The Floor, but in more recent years his main job seems to be encouraging and spurring and sparring and prompting Dan Haywood, musician. In fact there are a coupla lines on the album that are just for him. 

Jenny McCabe has been greatly helping the visual side of DHNH from day one- for instance, she put together the lovely big booklet that goes in the box. 

There have been over twenty players who have been kind enough to play with me over the last few years, and sometimes I wonder what I’ve done to deserve their time. I’m very lucky. But there are too many of these funny little commoners to detail them all. 

Theresa joined me early on and her wild cello and viola prowess and melodic instinct are a crux of our live shows. And she’s all over the record.  

As I’ve mentioned, finding Mikey Kenney was a big step forward for us too. He’s a real fan of what we do.

Richard Turner has been invaluable to the project too. As well as being the perfect foil to my wayward guitar he’s a guiding hand in our web presence, and introduced my songs to Pete at Manchester’s Timbreland Recordings, who released our old EP and take a gamble on this triple album.

Tom: Is there anything you’d like to cover that we haven’t already?  

Dan: Dunno … If you think of owt else you’d like to know, praps you could bring it up in the Q and A bit on Saturday! There’s lots to talk about. We’ll bring a boom mic down over you, like on Question Time. Thanks for taking an interest Tom. You are the ‘freak press’ round here! You the man. Or one of them.

Tom: Thanks for taking the time Dan and best wishes.

Dan Haywood will be discussing the New Hawks project and performing songs from the same live in The Round at the Dukes’, Lancaster Saturday 28th August 2010. For more DHNH dates visit

Tom Bramhall writes and plays for Ponies ( ). A selection of Ponies recordings can be heard at

Kowalski Published

Lunecy congratulates local lad Brindley Hallam-Dennis on the publication of his collection of Kowalski stories, “That’s What Ya Get!” Click here to read all about it.

Pascale Petit’s new collection, What the water gave me, 23rd June, the Storey Auditorium, Lancaster.

by Carla Scarano D’Antonio
England won against Slovenia! How proud everybody was, celebrating with flags and songs. Entering the Storey in Lancaster a few men with St George’s Cross flags, worn as cloak, were cheerfully toasting at the bar.
In our way we celebrated as well with an evening out listening to the mystical poems of Pascale Petit’s new collection, What the Water Gave Me, Seren, 2010.
In the half-light of the Auditorium the pictures of the painter Frida Kahlo projected on the screen gave us a clear clue for the poems. Each poem of the collection has the title of a painting, giving an alternative view of it and exploring its deep significance as well. The collection also goes over Frida Kahlo’s life, her relationship with her mother, the bus crash whose painful consequences affected her throughout her life, her stormy marriage with the muralist Diego Rivera (her second accident, she said) and above all her art: the way she chose to recover from sickness and withstand pain.
A great poet and a great painter met face to face, supporting each other’s art, their images interweaving to create a story, the story of Frida’s life and of her work, showing every shaded corner, revealing every slight emotion, fearlessly.
Some poems describe the paintings, interpret them, focus on details, other poems concentrate on what came before or after the painting, giving a new version of it. Every poem is a work of art like the painting that inspired it. And Frida Kahlo’s life was full of events, of determination to survive and see it out, and to transform a trauma in a masterpiece.
Pascale Petit has written about paintings in a previous collection, The Treekeeper’s Tale. Here she was inspired by the paintings of Remedios Varo and Franz Marc. A pamphlet, The Wounded Deer, fourteen poems after Frida Kahlo, was also launched at Tate Modern, London, in the 2005 Frida Kahlo exhibition.
In What the Water Gave Me the poet goes deeper and deeper in exploring and understanding the painter, and then goes beyond. Frida Kahlo is the inspiration driving Pascale Petit to face and analyze the main topics of life: birth, pain, love, motherhood, sex, death.
Frida Kahlo had success and appreciation as an artist but her family life was unhappy and frustrating. Diego often cheated on her even with her own sister. And she couldn’t have children: she had three miscarriages, because of the accident. Love, both in the poems and in the paintings, is often described as abuse and pain, and the experience of making love mixes with the trauma of the accident.
Her life was dedicated to art not just as a vocation but also as a tool for survival, the anchor that replaced her failed career as a doctor and her disappointing relationship.
Her roots are in Mexico with all its colours and golden light, Aztec mythology, love for animals, nature and religious traditions.
Some of her surreal paintings reminded me of the work of the Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch, his tiny figures evoking subconscious monsters and everyday crimes.
Pascale Petit’s poetry unravels the invisible thread of the images of the paintings with the patience of a philologist and the artistry of a new creator. Certainly we had the chance to watch and listen to the work of two great artists who give widely and generously.
The event was particularly interesting thanks to the great poetry, the great pictures and the participation of the audience. It could not have been otherwise with such a combination.
And come on England!

Word Soup – Preston

Not strictly within Lunecy’s geographical remit, but here are some clips of Lunecentric talent wowing the Ribblelands last night.

Spotlight June 2010

It was a Spotlight of two halves (football references being the order of the night) with five open mikers and another five on the bill.

Kate Davis was first up, with three poems. Sadly for the camera, her set suffered from Paper-Over-Face Syndrome, so it was the last, unscripted piece that came across best from my vantage point, with more tales of pangolin-mangling.

Newcomer Carl Peters followed with his story Elijah. There were more paper-in-the-way problems for the poor cameraman but it was an amusing performance, steadily gaining in assurance.

Linda Keith impressed with some poetry promoting New Zealand every bit as effectively as Peter Jackson and the Conchords combined. Did anyone catch the title of either piece?

Alan Alvarez took us in an utterly surreal direction. Judge for yourselves.

Pascal Desmond was on top form – this was the most disciplined and structured piece I’ve seen him do.

Mihkel Hassan & James Edgar were an intriguing pairing, fusing up-to-the-minute hiphoppery with traditional singer-songwriterliness to good effect. James had bravely fought through illness to complete the set – whether the illness added to his Lamontagnian gravel-itas would be hard to say.

Joy Ahmed’s reading was themed, recalling a Black Country childhood with a tender but not over-honeyed gaze. Having both my grandmothers from Wolverhampton, I recognised the landscape as utterly authentic. We were even treated to a display of technical skill with a pantoum – an ultra-difficult Malaysian form. Good stuff.

Tony Walsh emits charisma the way an AK47 emits rounds.; it is physically impossible for a sentient human being to remain indifferent within a mile radius when he’s on stage. His Mancunian marathon Rain Dance dazzled the audience throughout, drawing on cultural references from Marx and MacColl to Giggs and the Gallaghers. The footage has not been cleared for public consumption but I am advised that there is a better version out there – as soon as I have it, I will post a link. Everyone should see this – the pacing and phrasing are masterly and there was more than enough recognition even for an out-of-towner like me to feel involved.

Mollie Baxter had a tough assignment, then, following on with her performance of Keeping Light, scripted by Blackpool playwright David Riley and based on one of my stories. But Moll played a blinder (OK, enough football references) and really brought the story to life. I had been a bit concerned that people’s attention would wander after twelve minutes of prose before the punchline but scanning around the audience showed that everyone was completely drawn in. Well done, Moll.

New Potato Scene rounded off the night in fine style. Their performance was propelled with so much brio that the odd stumble didn’t matter tuppence. Amidst the larking around, though, these guys showed they could carry off a serious song with class – hence my pick for the highlight of their set.

In summary, a cracking night. There are plenty more clips here.

Next Spotlight will be July 16th.

A very creative age, Storey Auditorium, 15th June

by Carla Scarano D’Antonio
A surprisingly fresh event, considering the mature age of the participants, at the Storey Auditorium last Tuesday with the Morecambe Bay Writers and the writers from the Rainbow Centre in Morecambe.
It was the result of a Spotlight Community Writing Project facilitated by Sarah Fiske, honorary member of the Morecambe Bay group and tutor of the Rainbow group.
She introduced the event and the writers as supportive, creative, full of sense of humour and variegated. And it was exactly what we had, a taste of sincere, original writing with a tint of lightness.
Jean Pollard of the Morecambe Bay Writers started the reading with Dawn over Morecambe Bay, a contemplation of the beauty of the bay at dawn, ‘the sea laps softly shoreward with a sigh’ and ‘the sands shine gold beneath the climbing sun’.
Soup Therapy by Jenny Dighton was a brilliant response to the ordinary frustration of life generating anger. Making a soup is a good alternative to shouting or banging and is ‘nourishing and warm’ as well.
A short story was the following piece, To B or not to B by Christine Mary Malone. A delicate, exhilarating story with a romantic ending.
Sounds in the wood were the inspiration of One Whole Year in the Wood by Audrey Skinner, ‘naked branches growing’, ‘silent flakes’ of snow make a melody only a poet can hear.
Kevin Skinner read Chocolate Raisins by Tom Johnson, who inspired the group but unfortunately died some years ago. Eating a full packet of chocolate raisins has a hint of eroticism, and after the ‘guilty pleasure’ a well deserved cigarette.
The story of a rebelling sixteen year old girl is the theme of Carol Stenning’s Change. The wizard of the village made a spell on her: ‘repent or change, change forever’. And she metamorphoses again and again wandering about. Eventually the dream ends and she is in her bedroom.
Sarah Fiske read Today and Buying Shoes by Freda Moore, two true, straight poems about getting retired (‘I don’t feel decrepit’) and buying a pair of new shoes (‘my waking nightmare’).
Memories of old times came to us with Judith Hamer’s For Old Time’s sake, a cracking piece comparing her first encounter with her future husband in Blackpool and their going back there after fifty years.
Jean Pollard ended the reading of the Morecambe Bay writers with Evensong, a humble hymn to dusk.
Most of the pieces they read had been published in two collections of prose and poetry, A Bowl of Cherries, Roadwork Publications, 2007 and A Breath of Sea Air, Mayoh Press, 2009. Their website is
The pieces of the writers from the Rainbow were inspired by images and paintings. The pictures were projected on a screen during the reading.
From bobbin lace making (The Blue Thread by Mary Wetton) to Picasso’s Weeping Woman (Weeping Woman by Kay Beattie), the moving simplicity of the first was balanced by the deep, detailed analisis of the ‘woman trapped in the frame’ of Picasso’s painting.
Then The Daily Orange by Terry Cottington where the bronze statue of Boudicca by James Thorndyke at Westminster bridge is the point of arrival of a slightly drugged young lady eager to look like the heroine, naked and all.
The three last pieces, Rabbit Stew by Jo Hoyle, A Work of Art by Maureen Wattam and The Cobbler’s Last by Hazel Birkinshaw, stood out for their apparent simplicity and accurate observation. They gave the right close to the event.
The venue was warm and comfortable as usual, the reading was entertaining and pleasant, the writers charming. As Sarah Fiske said we hope it is the start of more readings where other writers’ groups can perform their work.

Don Giovanni, Lancaster Castle 14th & 15th June

by Carla Scarano D’Antonio
Attending an opera in a venue that is not a traditional theatre is always intriguing and risky. The experience can be new and unpredictable so you never know if you are going to hear and see well.
I believe that the Shire Hall at Lancaster Castle has a perfect acoustic and is also a beautiful venue, the music floating in the vault, the coats of arms like decorations of a scenery and the evening sky illuminating the interior.
Though the space for the stage is narrow and the actors or singers have to find their way among wooden stalls and stone stairs, running the risk of being unintentionally tripped up, the result can be brilliant. In fact the stage and the stall become one, the actors mix with the audience, which is consequently totally involved in the play.
This is what happened with Don Giovanni, the libertine punished (from the Spanish legend of Don Juan and a moralistic play, El Burlador the Sevilla by Tirso de Molina, penname of the Spanish monk Gabriel Téllez)a drama giocoso by W.A. Mozart, libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte, first performed in Prague in 1787.
The singers, Mark Saberton as Don Giovanni, Thomas Eaglen as Leporello, Serenna Wagner as Elvira, Sarah Helsby-Hughes as Donna Anna, Nicholas Sales as Don Ottavio, Elise Dye as Zerlina and Luke Thomas as Masetto, had a good Italian diction and performed a masterly execution both in singing and in acting.
It is not so common that the characters of an opera fit the appearance of the singers so well because vocal talent is usually considered more important than the physical aspect. And it is in a way. But it is also awkward for the audience to get involved in the story where a passionate hero weights a hundred kilos or a delicate bride is fifty years old or more. Everything is possible of course and it depends on the point of view.
The audience was very much involved this time both in the music and in the story. We heartily laughed when the prankster Don Giovanni played his jokes against the ‘hot’ Donna Elvira (how could she still believe in his love at the end?) or the serious, but maybe equally ‘hot’, Donna Anna, who looked for revenge for attempted rape and her father’s murder. And we horrified when we realized that our hero was also a criminal, he killed Donna Anna’s father at the beginning, and a rapist.
A complex character wonderfully depicted by Mozart’s music and da Ponte’s words, whose animal instincts (‘Mi par di sentir odor di femmina’= I think I smell a female) mix with his ‘good’ intentions of ‘comforting’ women from their boring lives…or dull husbands. On the other hand he needs women (‘Le donne son necessarie come il pane o l’aria che respiro’= women are necessary to me like bread or the air I breathe) so he can’t help but keep seducing them with the obsession of a collector and the skill of a sly old fox.
The line between what his victims want and what he forces them to do is very thin and the ambiguity of words shape each time a different perspective. After all everybody has fun with Don Giovanni and when finally they attack him and he is sent to Hell we wonder if it is a real happy ending.
‘La commedia è finita’, as Canio the clown would say, no more drama, no more fun, no more enemy to aim at. The scapegoat is gone. Life goes back to ordinary with all its dreams and nightmares.
But we had great fun for about three hours at Lancaster Castle with Heritage Opera ( tel. 01772451991).
Other pieces on offer at the Castle in 2010 are Madame Butterfly ( 9th & 10th August) and Die Fledermaus (1st & 2nd November).

Black Rock by Amanda Smyth

Reviewed by Judith Coyle, syndicated with thanks to Lancashire Writing Hub.

Black Rock, the debut novel from Irish/Trinidadian writer Amanda Smyth, was included on Oprah Winfrey’s ‘25 Must Read Summer Books’ list and has been endorsed by British writer Ali Smith so it has garnered a fair bit of attention. (In the US the novel is entitled “Lime Tree Can’t Bear Orange”).

For me the book’s great strength is the way in which Smyth’s often poetic writing manages to appeal to all our senses. Trinidad and Tobago seem to spill out from the pages. You can feel the sun, the heat, feel the dust in your eyes, see those vast blue skies. One of the senses that she really stimulates is taste with abundant references to food and drink: coconut cake, breadfruit, Machineel plums, mangoes, oranges and limes and planter’s punch. It is a very ‘visual’ novel, related to the reader through the eyes of the narrator and central character, Celia, whose mother died giving birth to her. The novel is the story of Celia’s personal and geographical journey, from childhood innocence to the many challenges of adulthood, from the small island of Tobago to the larger one of Trinidad.

A seductive, almost hypnotic fairy tale atmosphere pervades the novel which is shot through with Gothic imagery.

For instance we learn that a former neighbour, an undertaker, indulged in necrophilia and there are references to ritual, sacrifice and obeah (voodoo shamanism). When Helen Rodriguez suffers her nervous breakdown she appears in a “long silver dress” that has a “silky train” and she tucks her “dirty feet” under her as she sits down. However, despite these examples I felt that the novel did not deliver on its cover note’s promise that it conveyed “a vivid sense of the supernatural.”

While Black Rock has been compared to Jean Rhys’ Wide Sargasso Sea, for me it had echoes of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, from whence Rhys’ book emerged. Just as St John Rivers rescues Jane Eyre who has fled from horror and who collapses in a delirium on the moors, so Celia falls into a fevered faint on the boat to Trinidad and is rescued by the noble but naïve William. Like Jane, Celia falls into a job easily (things just seem to happen to Celia) and also like Jane, she becomes enamoured with her employer.

Smyth does effectively convey the islands’ colonial life of the 1950s which is revealed through the hierarchies: Caribbean natives are servants and helpers; male Europeans, even the swarthy Dr Emmanuel Rodriguez, who is Portuguese, are in positions of power and control. The women are beholden to men, none more so than Celia herself, who I felt was portrayed as a victim because of her race, her gender and, we gradually realise, her extraordinary beauty. Given my own interests, I was impressed to read that the book was nominated for a NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People) image award for best work of fiction by a debut author though I was uncomfortable with some aspects of race in the book. Aunt Sula comes across as the strongest black character but others seem just a little stereotypical: the clairvoyant Mrs Jeremiah; the docile William and his pre-gangsta rap era brother, Solomon. Also Celia’s beauty is enhanced because she lighter skinned than the other native girls. I know that this was, and still is, often the case, that light-skinned black people are viewed as superior and more attractive than their darker counterparts – but it was a message I would have preferred not to have come across yet again.

Celia, as narrator, is herself a visually-oriented person, an observer, and for me this was the source of the book’s great weakness. Celia tells her story in a staccato, detached, matter-of-fact manner. I understand that this style reflects her youth and her emotionally dead state following the rape but it also meant that I did not feel much empathy for Celia, apart from when she suffers her defilement. She appears to have little inner life and for this reason I did not find the novel “intensely moving” as promised in the book’s blurb.

For example, she chooses to cleave herself to Dr Emmanuel Rodriguez yet I am not sure why she loves him. It seems to be mainly because his seduction methods are a sharp contrast to those of the rapist Roman Bartholmew. Rodriguez approaches her as gentle lover and helps remove the pain of her rape. Yet even he turns cold and hard hearted, choosing to uphold the status quo – life with his English rose wife – rather than to commit to Celia.

I also found the novel’s ending rather too neat and I felt frustrated that her parentage was portrayed as somehow more noble, more civilised and grand, because it emerged from the coupling of a black woman and a powerful white man.

Would I recommend this novel? Yes, for anyone who wants to escape to the sun-drenched islands of 1950’s Trinidad and Tobago. But if you are looking for emotional depth I would go elsewhere.