Britten Sinfonia

Posted in Music with tags , , , on May 13, 2015 by telescoper

Time for a lunchtime post while I eat my sandwich.

Last night I went to a Brighton Festival concert at the Brighton Dome by the Britten Sinfonia, featuring a programme of Mozart, Haydn and Stravinsky. The choice of pieces was made to explore the connections between two great composers of the classical period (Haydn and Mozart) and the Stravinksy’s much later neoclassical compositions. The similarities of structure and performance style are fairly obvious because Stravinsky was striving to make them so, so this point doesn’t need to be laboured although it does provide a good excuse to perform the pieces together. For me the real interest in the concert was partly in the works themselves – some of which I hadn’t heard before – and in their differences rather than their similarities.

The concert opened with Mozart’s Overture to the Opera Idomeneo, an energetic and dramatic work full of tumultuous climaxes that set the tone for the evening. That was followed by an excerpt from Act I Scene 3 of Stravinsky’s Opera The Rake’s Progress. To be honest I generally prefer Stravinsky when he’s not being neoclassical, but I do think The Rake’s Progress is a great opera and probably his greatest neoclassical achievement. It’s also the first time I’ve ever been to a concert in which the conductor, in this case Barbara Hannigan, turned around on stage and started singing or as I might put it more accurately, the first concert at which the star soprano also doubled as conductor. Anyway, whichever way round you think of the performance, she was great: a superb voice and suitably theatrical stage presence.

The first half of the concert closed with Symphony No. 49 in F Minor by Joseph Haydn, nicknamed La Passione. I’m by no means an expert on Haydn’s symphonies – many of them sound much of a muchness to me – but this is definitely an interesting one even if you’re like me and have difficulty telling your Sturm from your Drang. It’s a brooding, tempestuous work with some surprisingly modern characteristics, especially in the sudden changes of key and use of syncopation. My heart did sink when I noticed a harpsichord would be featuring in this work, but it says something for the piece that I enjoyed it as a whole despite the jangly intrusions.

Haydn wrote this while shortly after he had started work at the palace of the Esterhazy family in Austria, which had its own orchestra. An interesting quote from the programme reveals how much he enjoyed the freedom his employer gave hime:

I could make improvements, additions or cuts, and could try out daring effects. I was separated from the rest of the world, with no-one to disturb me or torment me, and so I had to become original.

I think originality in science works in the same way!

Anyway, after a glass of wine in the bar, it was back for Part 2 which opened with another Mozart overture, this time for the Opera La Clemenza di Tito, which was first performed in 1791 (just a few months before the composer’s death) followed by a concert aria Bella mia fiamma, addio (also by Mozart) performed by Barbara Hannigan again. The story goes that Mozart was pressurised into writing the latter piece and extracted his revenge by producing music that is a real challenge to sing. It has subsequently become celebrated test piece for female singers, a test that Hannigan passed with flying colours.

Finally we heard the suite of music composed by Stravinsky for the ballet Pulcinella. This was all new to me and I enjoyed it enormously, not least because of some very fine playing by the brass and woodwinds of the Britten Sinfonia. Although this is clearly neoclassical music, the similarities that struck me were less about the Mozart and Haydn we heard earlier in the concert and more with Benjamin Britten. Whether that was a deliberate choice or not, it provided a very nice ending to the concert for me.

I couldn’t fault the orchestral playing throughout the concert. Some of the music was extremely virtuosic but they were never showy, and I think they got the emotional feel of the pieces just right. The only other thing that struck me was that the orchestra, billed as a chamber orchestra, was much larger than I’d expected, so it produced a fuller sound that imagined beforehand.

There will come soft rains

Posted in Poetry with tags , , on May 13, 2015 by telescoper

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

 

R.I.P. Sir Sam Edwards

Posted in Biographical, Education, The Universe and Stuff with tags , , , , , , on May 12, 2015 by telescoper

I’ve only found out this morning that Professor Sir Sam Edwards passed away last week, on 7th May 2015 at the age of 87. Although I didn’t really know him at all on a personal level, I did come across him when I was an undergraduate student at the University of Cambridge in the 1980s, so I thought I would post a brief item to mark his passing and to pay my respects.

Sam Edwards taught a second-year course at Cambridge to Physics students,entitled Analytical Dynamics as a component of Part IB Advanced Physics. It would have been in 1984 that I took it. If memory serves, which is admittedly rather unlikely, this lecture course was optional and intended for those of us who intended to follow theoretical physics Part II, i.e. in the third year.
I have to admit that Sam Edwards was far from the best lecturer I’ve ever had, and I know I’m not alone in that opinion. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, his lectures were largely incomprehensible and attendance at them fell sharply after the first few. They were, however, based on an excellent set of typewritten notes from which I learned a lot. It wasn’t at all usual for lecturers to hand out printed lecture notes in those days, but I am glad he did. In fact, I still have them now. Here is the first page:

Sam_Edwards

It’s quite heavy stuff, but enormously useful. I have drawn on a few of the examples contained in his handout for my own lectures on related concepts in theoretical physics, so in a sense my students are gaining some benefit from his legacy.

At the time I was an undergraduate student I didn’t know much about the research interests of the lecturers, but I was fascinated to read in his Guardian obituary how much he contributed to the theoretical development of the field of soft condensed matter, which includes the physics of polymers. In those days – I was at Cambridge from 1982 to 1985 – this was a relatively small part of the activity in the Cavendish laboratory but it has grown substantially over the years.

I feel a bit guilty that I didn’t appreciate more at the time what a distinguished physicist he was, but he undoubtedly played a significant part in the environment at Cambridge that gave me such a good start in my own scientific career and was held in enormously high regard by friends and colleagues at Cambridge and beyond.

Rest in peace, Sir Sam Edwards (1928-2015).

Examination Time Again

Posted in Biographical, Education with tags , , , , , on May 11, 2015 by telescoper

Once again it’s time for examinations at the University of Sussex, so here’s a lazy rehash of my previous offerings on the subject that I’ve posted around this time each year since I started blogging.

My feelings about examinations agree pretty much with those of  William Wordsworth, who studied at the same University as me, as expressed in this quotation from The Prelude:

Of College labours, of the Lecturer’s room
All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand,
With loyal students, faithful to their books,
Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants,
And honest dunces–of important days,
Examinations, when the man was weighed
As in a balance! of excessive hopes,
Tremblings withal and commendable fears,
Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad–
Let others that know more speak as they know.
Such glory was but little sought by me,
And little won.

It seems to me a great a pity that our system of education – both at School and University – places such a great emphasis on examination and assessment to the detriment of real learning. On previous occasions, before I moved to the University of Sussex, I’ve bemoaned the role that modularisation has played in this process, especially in my own discipline of physics.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to modularisation in principle. I just think the way modules are used in many British universities fails to develop any understanding of the interconnection between different aspects of the subject. That’s an educational disaster because what is most exciting and compelling about physics is its essential unity. Splitting it into little boxes, taught on their own with no relationship to the other boxes, provides us with no scope to nurture the kind of lateral thinking that is key to the way physicists attempt to solve problems. The small size of many module makes the syllabus very “bitty” and fragmented. No sooner have you started to explore something at a proper level than the module is over. More advanced modules, following perhaps the following year, have to recap a large fraction of the earlier modules so there isn’t time to go as deep as one would like even over the whole curriculum.

In most UK universities (including Sussex), tudents take 120 “credits” in a year, split into two semesters. In many institutions, these are split into 10-credit modules with an examination at the end of each semester; there are two semesters per year. Laboratories, projects, and other continuously-assessed work do not involve a written examination, so the system means that a typical  student will have 5 written examination papers in January and another 5 in May. Each paper is usually of two hours’ duration.

Such an arrangement means a heavy ratio of assessment to education, one that has risen sharply over the last decades,  with the undeniable result that academic standards in physics have fallen across the sector. The system encourages students to think of modules as little bit-sized bits of education to be consumed and then forgotten. Instead of learning to rely on their brains to solve problems, students tend to approach learning by memorising chunks of their notes and regurgitating them in the exam. I find it very sad when students ask me what derivations they should memorize to prepare for examinations. A brain is so much more than a memory device. What we should be doing is giving students the confidence to think for themselves and use their intellect to its full potential rather than encouraging rote learning.

You can contrast this diet of examinations with the regime when I was an undergraduate. My entire degree result was based on six three-hour written examinations taken at the end of my final year, rather than something like 30 examinations taken over 3 years. Moreover, my finals were all in a three-day period. Morning and afternoon exams for three consecutive days is an ordeal I wouldn’t wish on anyone so I’m not saying the old days were better, but I do think we’ve gone far too far to the opposite extreme. The one good thing about the system I went through was that there was no possibility of passing examinations on memory alone. Since they were so close together there was no way of mugging up anything in between them. I only got through  by figuring things out in the exam room.

I think the system we have here at the University of Sussex is much better than I’ve experienced elsewhere. For a start the basic module size is 15 credits. This means that students are usually only doing four things in parallel, and they consequently have fewer examinations, especially since they also take laboratory classes and other modules which don’t have a set examination at the end. There’s also a sizeable continuously assessed component (30%) for most modules so it doesn’t all rest on one paper. Although in my view there’s still too much emphasis on assessment and too little on the joy of finding things out, it’s much less pronounced than elsewhere. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why the Department of Physics & Astronomy does so consistently well in the National Student Survey?

We also have modules called Skills in Physics which focus on developing the problem-solving skills I mentioned above; these are taught through a mixture of lectures and small-group tutorials. I don’t know what the students think of these sessions, but I always enjoy them because the problems set for each session are generally a bit wacky, some of them being very testing. In fact I’d say that I’m very impressed at the technical level of the modules in the Department of Physics & Astronomy generally. I’ve been teaching Green’s Functions, Conformal Transformations and the Calculus of Variations to second-year students this semester. Those topics weren’t on the syllabus at all in my previous institution!

Anyway, my Theoretical Physics paper is next week (on 18th May) so I’ll find out if the students managed to learn anything despite having such a lousy lecturer. Which reminds me, I must remember to post some worked examples online to help them with their revision.

100 Years of Ladybird Books

Posted in Biographical, Education, Literature with tags , , , , on May 10, 2015 by telescoper

And now for something completely different.

Not a lot of people know that this year marks the centenary of Ladybird Books. That name is redolent with nostalgia for me and I suspect also for many other readers of this blog, as the Ladybird series played a major part in my education. I’ve written on a previous occasion about what a slow learner I was as a child – I didn’t really speak until I well after my third birthday  – but once I got the hang of books I became a voracious reader, with the Ladybird series forming a large part of my diet. Once a month or so on a Friday in the School of Mathematical and Physical Sciences we have afternoon tea and cake just to bring staff and students together for an informal gathering. Each time the cake has a different theme and this time we decided to celebrate the centenary of  Ladybird Books, not least because they played such a significant role in my education.

Here is the cake (designed by the inestimable Dorothy Lamb, who also knitted some Ladybird toys for the occasion). The two covers chosen were from the Ladbybird Junior Science Series, Lights, Mirrors and Lenses and Magnets, Bulbs and Batteries both of which editions were published in 1962. Seeing these covers again brought back a flood of memories of my own childhood in the 1960s.

LadyBird

I wish to make it clear that we did request, and were granted, copyright clearance by Penguin Books (who own the Ladybird imprint) to reproduce the covers, not that they lasted very long – about 20 minutes after that picture was taken the cake had been entirely consumed.

Anyway, we weren’t the only people in Sussex to be celebrating the centenary of Ladybird books.  Today (10th May 2015) was the last day of an exhibition called Ladybird by Design at the splendid De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill-on-Sea. If you missed it here’s a video describing it.

P.S. I should also mention that one of the interesting things about Sussex University  is the abundance of ladybirds on Falmer campus. I’m not sure what makes it such an attractive residence for these fascinating creatures, but no doubt there will be an entomologist out there who can tell me!

The polls and (all but one of) the forecasts WERE wrong. Ed Miliband was nowhere near becoming Prime Minister

Posted in Uncategorized on May 9, 2015 by telescoper

Fascinating detailed analysis of what went wrong with the opinion polls and Labour’s campaign strategy.

The Morning After…

Posted in Uncategorized on May 8, 2015 by telescoper

Just time for a few comments on the General Election result.

Contrary to the picture painted by nearly all the opinion polls, which indicated an extremely close vote leading to a hung Parliament, it is clear that there will actually be a majority in the House of Commons for the Conservative Party. This isn’t the result I had hoped for, but at least it’s a clear outcome.

One question on my mind is how the opinion polls managed to get it so consistently wrong. They were so wrong, in fact, that most pundits didn’t believe the BBC’s exit poll showing a far stronger Tory voite. TAs it turns out, even the exit poll was an understimate of the Conservative vote. The actual share of the vote is about 37% Conservative to 31% Labour whereas the opinion polls suggested rough parity at 34% each.

It seems to me that there are three distinct (but not exlusive) possible explanations of this, although before discussing them I should point out that a 3% error is within the margin of most opinion polls. Fluctuations of this size were seen during the course of the campaign, but the long term average was pretty consistent, and offset from the actual result.

One explanation is that the turnout was fractionally higher among those who had expressed a preference for the Conservatives than those who had indicated that they would vote Labour. A few percent difference in this would have made a huge difference in key marginal seats. Perhaps the Conservatives just mobilized their voters more effectively. The other explanation is the reappearance of the “shy Tory”. This was generally accepted to be the reason why the opinion polls got it so wrong in the 1992 General Election. People might tell a pollster what they think he/she wants to hear, but actually vote differently when they get to the polling station. The last option is that some people may well change their mind when they see the ballot paper. Opinion polls generally only ask about the party, not the specific candidate. Perhaps seeing the name on the ballot paper makes a small difference?

Whatever the explanation the fact of the matter is that we have a Conservative majority government and whatever we think about that we just have to make the best of it, though I am worried about many things. The future of the National Health Service now hangs in the balance. And the fact that the SNP  won 56 out of 59 seats in Scotland makes me wonder how the United Kingdom can possibly survive much longer. I wouldn’t bet against Scotland being an independent country within a few years at the most. It seems we will also have a referendum on whether to remain inside the EU…

As expected Caroline Lucas held onto her seat in Brighton Pavilion (winning by a very large margin). Labout took Hove by a narrow margin, but Nancy Platts fell just short of ousting Simon Kirby in my own constituency, Brighton Kemptown. Only 600 votes in it. Close, but no cigar for Nancy.

Why You Should Vote

Posted in Politics with tags , , on May 7, 2015 by telescoper

SuffrageI came across this wonderful photograph this morning via Twitter and couldn’t resist sharing it here.

Some people fought very hard to secure the right to vote, like this courageous Suffragette addressing a vast and hostile audience on Newcastle quayside way back in 1914. The rights we enjoy today were hard won. Don’t squander them.

Polling Day Memories

Posted in Biographical, Politics with tags , , , , on May 7, 2015 by telescoper

At last we’ve reached General Election day and I’ve just been to cast my vote in the crypt of St George’s Church in Kemptown, very close to my Brighton residence.  It was quite busy this morning when I got there, and I had to queue to get my ballot paper. I don’t know what the turnout is like this time, but I hope it’s good. I don’t think there’s really any excuse for not voting, although some people seem to prefer to whinge than to vote.

I doubt if I’ll stay up late tonight to watch the results come in. Polls don’t close until 10pm and until then there’s a blackout of press coverage relating to the vote so there’s nothing to follow until quite late at night, when I’m usually tucked up in bed with my cocoa.  The latest opinion polls suggest that the Conservative Party may just get the biggest share of the vote, but it is highly unlikely they’ll win a majority of the seats. The likelihood therefore is abother hung parliament, at which point there’ll be some frantic negotiation behind the scenes. It will still be interesting to see how the horse-trading works out over the next few days, but after three weeks of phoney war we’ll soon have to face up to reality. I’m not really looking forward to that.

On the corresponding Polling Day eighteen years ago in 1997 I was actually in Lawrence, Kansas. Don’t ask me why. I’d arranged a postal vote, but had to watch the proceedings from afar on the TV. Some expat British friends of mine decided to hold a party that night in their house and I went along to drink beer while the results came in. Watching a British election from the midwest USA is a bit strange, but it’s improved by the fact that the polls close in the UK at what is early evening Kansas-time and it’s all pretty much over by midnight.

That election I was swept up in the euphoria generated by the prospect of a New Labour government with its slogan “Things can only get better”. When they won a landslide majority we celebrated in grand style, singing Jerusalem in the back garden and then tottered not-too-soberly to a tattoo parlour to have a red rose put on my arm.

We had a great time that night, and the good vibes continued after I returned to London from my short stay at the University of Kansas. It didn’t take long, however, for my enthusiasm to wane. Instead of doing the really radical things their large majority would have allowed, they didn’t seem to have the gumption to tackle the really important issues. Then of course Blair took us into Iraq and, despite having voted Labour all my life before then, I vowed never again to vote for the Labour Party while it was led by the people that made that decision.

But I’ve still got the red rose tattoo and this time I returned to the fold by voting for Nancy Platts in Brighton Kemptown. I wasn’t initially very impressed with Ed Miliband but I have changed my mind over the last few weeks. I think during this campaign he has behaved with great dignity and strength of character in the face of some pretty nasty personal attacks from his political opponents. Now I really hope that Ed Miliband leads the next Goverment of the United Kingdom, although it will probably only be able to do so in some sort of coalition with the Scottish Nationalist Party and possibly the Liberal Democrats.

For what it’s worth, my predictions for the consituencies in Brighton is that Labour will win both Kemptown and Hove, whereas in Pavilion Caroline Lucas of the Green Pary will hold the seat for the Conservatives.

But whether or not you agree with my political opinions, please get out there and vote. Tomorrow, VE Day, is the 70th Anniversary of the end of the Second World War in Europe. Remember that as you cast your vote, and have faith in the democracy so many gave their lives to defend.

The Lads in their Hundreds

Posted in Music, Poetry with tags , , , , on May 6, 2015 by telescoper

So last night I had my first experience of this year’s Brighton Festival when I went to the Theatre Royal in Brighton to see a show called The Lads in the Hundreds, performed by a group from Comédie de Picardie which is situated in Amiens, capital of the Somme region of France. The cast for yesterday’s performance consisted of just four people: Tchéky Karyo (actor); Edmund Hastings (tenor); Michael Foyle (violin); and Edward Liddall (piano). The performance consisted of dramatic recitations by Karyo (mostly in French) interspersed with music, mostly settings of English poems by English composers such as Ivor Gurney and George Butterworth, as well as a couple of instrumental numbers including a beautiful pared-down version for piano and violin of The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams which  was, apparently, how it was first performed. The title The Lads in their Hundreds is taken from a poem by A.E. Housman which was among those set to music and included in this show.  Young Edmund Hastings performed this and the other songs with a bright clear and very English tenor voice, dressed in the uniform of a British soldier of the period. Overall the poetry and music create a very poignant blend that brings together moving expressions of loss and remembrance for the fallen of the First World War with stark descriptions of the horror and brutality of conflict.

I particularly wanted to see this show because I had studied (and much admired) the British poets of the First World War when I was at school, especially Wilfred Owen, but knew nothing of French war poetry of the same era and was very keen to find out more. Although I haven’t studied French since O-level, I am glad these verses were performed in their original language. Poetry can be translated, of course, but it rarely gains anything in the process and often loses a lot. Despite being at pains to drink French wine before the performance to assist my powers of recall, I did struggle a bit to follow some of the poems with my schoolboy knowledge of French, but that difficulty was far outweighed by the expressive sound of verse that can only be achieved when spoken in the language in which it was conceived. A couple of the poems were performed in English, including one with a musical accompaniment in the form of an arrangement of the beautiful Andante movement from Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony for violin and piano. That combination took me completely by surprise and had me at the brink of tears.

It’s interesting that the poems echo the savagery and futility of war in much the same way as the poems of Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon, but the music chosen is quite different in that it draws greatly on English folk music and is consequently quite nostalgic in character. Perhaps the “English Pastoral” style particularly associated with Vaughan Williams was an attempt to cope with the trauma of the First World War by evoking an idyllic representation of the English countryside as a world apart from the horrific realities of the Somme. French poetry and English music together created a whole that was much more than the sum of its parts. It was an evening that was both fascinating and deeply moving and I’m glad I made time during a busy week to attend it.

To end with I thought I’d include the poem I mentioned earlier that was performed to music by Beethoven. The poem is called The Andante and is by Albert-Paul Granier, an officer in the French artillery, whose name was completely unknown to me until yesterday but who wrote poetry which bears comparison with that of any other poet of the Great War. He was killed in action in 1917. To prove that there are exceptions to every rule, this poem is exquisite even in translation (by Ian Higgins):

The rain, endlessly unravelling;
the rain, shovelling at the mud the whole sullen day;
the rain, unendingly sobbing its toneless chords;
and the whispering wind, crumbling the cloud into drizzle . . .

Why, this evening, am I haunted so
by that majestic andante
from the Seventh Symphony?

Its chords, as magnificently simple
as the triumphal arches of the ancients,
hold me in a vast enchantment.

Its harmony is velvet to my soul,
its murmur a caress that soothes
the melancholy as we pick our way
along the bank of this canal.

The rain has never stopped . . .

The mud is all long, snaking rivulets of agate
and clouded onyx, chopped into splashes
with every drawn-out hoof-fall of my horse.

The rain has never stopped, the whole lead-blue day.

The andante
gently eases my resentment
with its divine serenity . . .

Ah, those Sundays, not two years ago —
the Sunday afternoons,
the lamp-lit hall,
the huge orchestra a single mind and spirit
in every flying bow-tip:

The miraculous fluid
a fountain spreading up to the galleries, then
falling like snowflakes onto souls laid bare,
like springtime sunlight through stained glass
on a girl’s communion veil.

The andante,
the andante is gentle, with a touch of sadness,
like an autumn evening over ponds,
or the voix céleste of an organ;
and my chrysalid soul
weaves itself a wonderful cocoon
from this aching blessedness,
on the purple silk weft of the rain.