A couple of months ago, a crowd of music lovers packed the gunnels and stuffed the rafters of an east London annex for the first ever gado gado – a night of new compositions, dance, puppetry and visual art.
I had the pleasure of premiering several chamber pieces, which I’ll be posting here as we mix down the recordings. Enjoy!
My father’s mother had a lot of love for me, and none at all for my music. She didn’t hate it exactly, just couldn’t see the point. As inoffensive and artistically void as a doorbell. An extremely long doorbell your grandson got annoyed if you tried to talk over.
Our compromise was elegant and simple: we talked about music, we could even talk about my work, but I agreed not to play her my tunes and she agreed not to ask if I’d meant it to sound like that.
She passed this summer. I was touring in Canada at the time with Flora Curzon, a violinist and old friend. The piece came little by little, and we’d find nooks and crannies to practice it – park benches, stage wings and, in the below case, a hotel coat check (our room neighbours having complained about the noise).
It’s a song for my grandmother and about my grandmother. And writing it felt a little like cooking beef stroganoff in memory of a vegetarian, but it’s the best way I can say what I mean.
– Credits –
Jon Whitten – Composer and Baritone Ukulele
Flora Curzon – Violin
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