The Bard of Tysoe

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Thursday, 3 December 2015

Wanting to like: a personal (sustained) note on classical music criticism…

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Generally, I have a lousy memory. Yet, held in my head is a bank of hundreds of concerts (both as audience member and performer): some ...

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

Hark, hark, I hear the minstrels play…

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My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song. – William Shakespeare: As You Like It I think ‘ p...

Sunday, 29 November 2015

This above all: to thine own self be three…

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The unabashed melodiousness of Brahms is without apology. – Steve Spice I like to imagine Brahms wandering around Europe – or eve...

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Thursday, 26 November 2015

All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey…

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…I’ve been for a walk on a winter’s day : well, autumn’s – but that breeze, “ after summer evermore succeeds ”, truly felt like “Barre...

Tuesday, 24 November 2015

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me…

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The Ballad of Windmill Hill For Keith… The man clambered to the windmill, blunt pencil in his hand; Head empty as his notebook: ...

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EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT THE BARD BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK:

The Bard of Tysoe: Copeland, Cumbria, United Kingdom; Originally an amateur musician… — yet having worked in IT and marketing communication for a quarter of a century — both as manager and consultant; as well as writing for the Guardian… — the Bard retired for medical reasons; and now devotes his life to keeping as healthy as possible by putting one foot in front of another (badly, but semi-frequently); watching the world, with all its vagaries, go by (in great puzzlement); capturing what he sees (in words and pictures); and trying to leave a trail of happiness in his wake. What matters most to him are beauty, truth, cats, and fairness — in whatever myriad forms they occur — and he despises inequality, greed, fascists, and hate. His favourite occupation is thinking; and he was (therefore) — for a handful of years — the Orchestra of the Swan’s ‘writer in reticence’. You are now, though, most likely to encounter him staring into space, with a thoughtful grin beneath his wonted hat and dark glasses, walking stick in hand, somewhere in the quieter parts of the Northern, North Western, and Western Fells of Lakeland. (He resembles nothing so much as a badly-dressed Herdwick.)

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