A thousand twangling instruments

 

 

 

 

 

 
A while ago Nat and I were lucky enough to work with Underworld’s design collective Tomato on an ad. Sadly (and unsurprisingly) Karl and Rick couldn’t do the music for it – they were a bit busy on a little project they were working on for their old chum Danny Boyle.

Having spent the weekend mesmerised by how good the opening to the Games was, (the only discernible flaws being Seb Coe’s mandroid delivery, and the discontinuity in the lighting during the Bond/Queen sequences) I’ve just bought the soundtrack and I implore you to do the same! Not just for the incredible music (two beautiful new tracks by Underworld that were so moving where they appeared in the ceremony – ‘Caliban’s Dream’ and ‘And I will Kiss’.

But also because you get  two very beautiful pieces of writing with it. One by Danny the Champion of the World. And one by Rick Smith, the man responsible for the sound. It’s such a lovely hymn to Britain’s aural landscape that I wanted to share it here in case you don’t buy the album.

“How do you soundtrack a city? Or a nation? Is there a score to be written for this green and pleasant land of song, our forever awe-inspiring country? How do you start to summarise the very sound of a place when – in just under two hundred years – one small border town is capable of producing both Edward Elgar and F Buttons? You can’t, so you don’t even try. You follow your heart and you look for the defining moments in culture, the sounds that continue to resonate.

It’s the peal of bells drifting miles across the Welsh valleys and it’s the shudder of bass that shakes the foundations of an underground house club in Dalston. It’s the gentle picking of guitar strings around a festival campfire and it’s the bombast of a band at the height of their powers playing beneath the impossible arch of Wembley Stadium. It’s the tinny sound of R&B coming from a mobile phone speaker on the top deck of a bus and it’s the children’s choir from Southwark. It’s the distant echo of steel pans. It’s the bosh of a drum. It’s the hum of traffic. It’s the London Symphony Orchestra and it’s the warmth of Studio 2 in Abbey Road. It’s all this and so much more.

Music is Britain’s cultural heartbeat; it’s a perpetual act of revolutionary thought. From William Blake to the Beatles via the Clash and the Chemical Brothers, the soundtrack to our lives fizzes and hums all around us like a stray signal from a radio dial that your internal antenna just can’t help but tune into.

Two hundred years ago Goethe said that architecture was like frozen music. Well in today’s Britain the inverse is true, music is the fluid architecture all around us.

The isle is full of noises. The soundtrack writes itself.”

Rick Smith Music Director London 2012 Olympic Games Opening Ceremony.

 

What a genius. Here’s wishing him a speedy recovery from his exhaustion. To quote Caliban again, we can only dream of working with him now!

 

 

 

From Netface to Twandanas – new work from Olympics agency Perfect Curve

We are blinking well loving the new series of Twenty Twelve.

This little snippet shows Siobhan Sharp at her incoherent, BullShit-Bingo-ing Best…

Continue reading “From Netface to Twandanas – new work from Olympics agency Perfect Curve”

Praise be to Alain

I (Lol) went to Sunday School last sunday with some friends.

Well, a Sunday Sermon, to be exact; run by the School of Life. This one was being led by (Sir) Alain de Botton.

Of course God doesn’t exist,’ began Alain. ‘Let’s get that one out the way right now.’

But that wasn’t the point of his sermon. And nor is it the point of his new book ‘Religion for Atheists.’

His point was that religions of the world all have a lot going for them – lovely rituals, beautiful traditions, and overall, the enduring sense of community that they bring. All of which he argues that the secular world could benefit from. His point (cheeky though it was) was that we should stop mocking the world’s great religions, and learn to steal from them instead. We should pretend like we’re at a pic ‘n’ mix or a buffet, and just take out the best bits.

One of these best bits, he argues, is the sermon itself. An inspiring talk that is designed to persuade you of something, and to embue your life with more value. (The School of Life’s Sunday Sermons are certainly inspiring. They take place every month at Conway Hall. There’s even one coming up in a few weeks by Rory Sutherland.)

Above all, Alain sermoned, religion is a great host. It’s bloody great at bringing people together. (Almost as good as it is at tearing them asunder in war). Basically, argues Alain, why not have this togetherness but without the dogma?

It was hard to disagree with the man, captivating orator that he is. So much so that near the end, a Jew stood up in the audience and admitted to everyone that he goes to the synagogue once a week – not because he believes a jot of what the Torah has to say – but because he enjoys the sense of community.

But it wasn’t until the end, when we all stood up to belt out William Blake’s ‘Jerusalem’ – that great, rousing, secular hymn – that you really got the essence of it. So warm and uplifting it felt to be singing in unison with five hundred other hungover strangers, the effect was almost – well, biblical.

The upshot was that my friends and I, all of us staunch unbelievers, left Conway Hall in Holborn with the feeling that: here was a man who was bang on the nail about most everything, and properly inspiring. A man whose every word you want to hang on. And a man you’re more than a little bit in awe of.

In short, we might have accidentally found ourselves a new God.

Oops.