O Armature!
Dec. 11th, 2025 10:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
baroque_mongooseLast year I organised a couple of concerts in this town. They were the first two concerts here ever, in fact, given that not so long ago this place was a disused airfield and a golf course; and, given that d'Artagnan is a truly outstanding singer and it's very easy for me to get hold of him, naturally I asked him to do the first one. He did some lute songs, accompanied by Elizabeth Kenny. The second one was Catherine King and Frances Kelly (mezzo and harp respectively). Both concerts were greatly enjoyed by those who attended, but neither of them broke even, so I regretfully decided not to do any more. I'd hoped to be able to do a proper series, but it was not to be.
Even two small concerts turned out to be a surprisingly ambitious project. There's all sorts of stuff you have to consider like public liability insurance, dealing with the strange quirks of the venue (we had the concerts in the secondary school, which wasn't ideal, but there was really nowhere else suitable), and a certain amount of musical cat-herding. I could really have done with some good solid support, and there is, in fact, a local arts organisation; but I'm afraid they were of very little use. All I got from them was a few encouraging noises and one very half-hearted volunteer, who, when push came to shove, eventually distributed about ten flyers. He seemed to be much more interested in convincing me he was an excellent baritone, presumably in the hope that I'd hire him to do the next concert. Yeah, no, mate, not if the first two don't do well due to lack of support; and in any case I can get better singers.
So I was distinctly miffed when I saw that said local arts organisation was enthusiastically backing a truly hideous sculpture made by a local artist. This thing consists of ten large pentagons (the whole thing is tall enough to frame a person for a photo), apparently thrown together at random angles and then fixed into place. There's no skill involved; give me fifty lengths of scrap metal and the right welding equipment, and I could make that. But the musicians I brought here were all out of the very top drawer and had been honing their skill for years. I bemoaned this situation to d'Artagnan, complaining that this thing wasn't even a proper sculpture, just an armature; and he, being who he is, decided (quite correctly) that I needed cheering up.
A day or two later I got an e-mail from him, bearing an attachment. This most excellent dotty genius had composed a short but dramatic recitative in the style of Handel, pitched for my voice, beginning "O Armature! O tenfold Pentagon..." It was absolutely what I needed. I laughed till I very nearly cried.
So now you know why I can no longer so much as see the word "armature" without, at the very least, breaking into a broad grin. And, while I'm feeling a little better today, I'm still not fully sorted... so I need all the amusement I can get.
Even two small concerts turned out to be a surprisingly ambitious project. There's all sorts of stuff you have to consider like public liability insurance, dealing with the strange quirks of the venue (we had the concerts in the secondary school, which wasn't ideal, but there was really nowhere else suitable), and a certain amount of musical cat-herding. I could really have done with some good solid support, and there is, in fact, a local arts organisation; but I'm afraid they were of very little use. All I got from them was a few encouraging noises and one very half-hearted volunteer, who, when push came to shove, eventually distributed about ten flyers. He seemed to be much more interested in convincing me he was an excellent baritone, presumably in the hope that I'd hire him to do the next concert. Yeah, no, mate, not if the first two don't do well due to lack of support; and in any case I can get better singers.
So I was distinctly miffed when I saw that said local arts organisation was enthusiastically backing a truly hideous sculpture made by a local artist. This thing consists of ten large pentagons (the whole thing is tall enough to frame a person for a photo), apparently thrown together at random angles and then fixed into place. There's no skill involved; give me fifty lengths of scrap metal and the right welding equipment, and I could make that. But the musicians I brought here were all out of the very top drawer and had been honing their skill for years. I bemoaned this situation to d'Artagnan, complaining that this thing wasn't even a proper sculpture, just an armature; and he, being who he is, decided (quite correctly) that I needed cheering up.
A day or two later I got an e-mail from him, bearing an attachment. This most excellent dotty genius had composed a short but dramatic recitative in the style of Handel, pitched for my voice, beginning "O Armature! O tenfold Pentagon..." It was absolutely what I needed. I laughed till I very nearly cried.
So now you know why I can no longer so much as see the word "armature" without, at the very least, breaking into a broad grin. And, while I'm feeling a little better today, I'm still not fully sorted... so I need all the amusement I can get.
