The thing is about whatever’s on the box at the precise moment you’re watching is that you could miss it, never to be seen again. Unless it’s something that will be repeated, the experience will be lost forever. The pitfalls are many. You could get distracted by the phone, overhead air traffic, underhead street violence, the murmurings of whoever’s in your company. I have a pet hate, and that is people talking over whatever I am trying to watch. I need to know the words Jeremy Kyle is about to utter on the subject of infidelity, just as I need to know what Richard/Judy/the suburban cunthead loose women have to say about fashion. It’s not that I would subscribe to any of these viewpoints, or actually choose to watch these programmes (honest). But if I’m in the presence of images flickering on a screen accompanied by dialogue, don’t talk to me. I need to know what’s being said. Turn it off and I’m happy to talk about anything.
Mr Beaten finds the genre of ‘film’ intriguing yet difficult. He loves to watch them (films), but is not very good at understanding the words spoken, and often misses key plot points. His favourite trick, therefore, is to wait for a key moment and say ‘what did he say? Sandwiches on the settee?’ I have developed a technique of responding as quickly as I can, and very quietly so I can continue to pay attention to what is really going on: ‘No, he said “See you in Hawaii.”’ The problem is that what I want to do at this point is stab him in the eyes.
Now let me talk about jazz. This is something I find interesting: Why does anyone think it’s OK to talk all over someone’s live performance? I know in the white wig days that people would swan in to ‘the play’ whenever they fancied it and traipse around gossiping in the boxes and buying oranges from prostitutes whilst the actors bellowed their lines. But the theatre has moved on from this, and we sit in silence, obediently getting bored or being engaged, depending on the quality of the work. Perhaps this isn’t true of weekday matinees where school kids feel free to comment on the action as it goes along ‘Oh my days! She’s a butters!’ ‘Your mum!’ etc. Apparently this is great as it shows they’re paying some attention, and actors will say things like, "There’s just no bullshit performing to kids. They’re so honest. So direct. I find it marvellously inspiring" I don’t think they hear the words ‘You ugly chief.’ and if they do they have this filter which translates them into whoops of admiration. Sometimes these audiences aren’t commenting on the action at all, but calling to each other about who fancies who, who’s dumping who, who’s a slag doing ‘it’ with someone not considered cool. This is when actors say "bunch of cunts. Can’t they see what I’m trying to do?!" and slope off to commiserate over a ‘pint’ at the ‘pub’.
I’m getting off the point, which is that at the theatre (excepting schools performances and panto), audiences sit quietly, wait till it’s finished, and clap at the end. Not so for jazz, which for the most part happens in bars and clubs. Mr Beaten has been playing several venues recently. Many of these have been in a recital, concert hall setting. He has also been playing a lot with his ‘jazz mum’ – a London diva of some renown - at the Vortex jazz club. Jazz mum is a lovely lady who wears ‘jazz gowns’, and has a ‘rock against racism’ past which has never quite left her.
Her devoted fans lap up her repertoire, whether she’s on form or not, and the Vortex is the temple at which they worship. This is one of those places with a loyal group of respectful audiences who like to sit at tables soaking up the (non) atmosphere of ‘JAZZ’; they liked smoking cigarettes, but now they suck plastic ones; they might wear vegetarian shoes; they definitely think you have to drink red wine in order to listen; but they save their chat for between sets.Given the recent past, it’s understandable that I’d been lulled into a false sense of security. So when Mr B played at a ‘music venue’ in convent garden I was surprised by the level of noise coming from the people there. Admittedly, half of the venue was taken up by diners, many of whom did not know who was playing. I wouldn’t expect these people to show much sensitivity, even though Mr B diligently announced the name of every tune for us. The diners scoffed and laughed at their own personal hilarity. I think there was an office party at one table – they were the worst, obviously.
What was ridiculous were his friends who had actually come to hear him play. There I am watching and listening to a solo of B’s when into my line of vision lollops a classical conductor friend of ours. He sits himself down opposite me with his back to the players, kissing me on both cheeks, and begins the pleasantries! Does he really think what we did this summer is more interesting than the music being played? Maybe it is, but save it: "the jazz is for right now; you can tell me later".
I’m not actually that enamoured of the jazz idiom, but I must show support, and give constructive notes afterwards. This is part of the marital contract after all. I don’t think this is exceptional behaviour: as I have already said, there are plenty who watch plays and find them interminably boring, but they don’t discuss the weather throughout, or how they’ve moved along the allotment waiting list.
I can excuse the denser members of my coterie for feeling they have to fill what they perceive to be ‘silences’ in which they say to me ‘you look like you’re absorbing every note,’ and ‘he’s very talented.’ This is forgivable if irritating. But this man is a musician, and for some reason he thinks his interminable symphonies more deserving of concentration and attention than this crazy jazz, which is basically background music. I want to punch him. But then, I never liked him much anyway.
I think the answer is to be world-domination-level-famous, and then you can play at international concert halls and tell people off for coughing, like Keith Jarrett. As Mr B’s manager, I’ll have to see what I can do. In the meantime, I can’t change the weatherspoons-as-venue culture – alternative places need to be found.
