My new album

After a relatively quiet summer on the photography front, I recently had a run of portrait sessions that have given me so much satisfaction, it felt like it was time to bring a few examples together in a blog post. (Regular readers - thank you, darlings, thank you - will recall that I do this from time to time...) I hope you enjoy them. And I ought to stress upfront what a debt of gratitude I owe to all my friends who give their time and energy so freely to take part in all this, and then let me share the results. Thank you.

Sometimes, the most gratifying results can be matters of pure chance and improvisation. For example, when Hannah - after gamely agreeing to perch precariously on some steps in King's Cross - looked up and grinned:

Or when I suddenly remembered that the inside of the BFI (the old National Film Theatre) sported the same colour scheme as H's other outfit. It must've known we were coming...

One of the characteristics I like to bring to portraits if I can, is some kind of signature element that makes them more meaningful to the person kind enough to model for them. Recently, I photographed Ellie for the first time. E is an expert and enthusiast on all things German (including fluency in the language), as well as being a fellow music obsessive. I also needed to bear in mind that the weather on the day we'd arranged to meet was due to be absolutely shocking. So I came up with a route that meant we could shoot entirely under shelter, and also build in my increasing fascination with using station tunnels and architecture as atmospheric but somehow non-specific backdrops.

For maximum flexibility, I suggested E wear black. This meant that we were able to match the colours of the German flag by finding a convenient South West Train...

...and reflect Ellie's musical side by taking some shots at the Royal Albert Hall.

While getting from location to location, we improvised almost all of the pictures at station stops along the way. The shot directly below was taken at Waterloo, and beneath that, one of my absolute favourites from the session, at South Kensington. E had really got into her stride by this time, and simply walked out to the middle of the tunnel, turned to the camera and said 'How about this?'. *Click*.

I was overjoyed when Paula and Andy agreed to be photographed. It's great taking portraits of a couple because you can benefit from the interaction between people who are totally relaxed with each other. I also knew that Andy's very English demeanour contrasted with Paula's Brazilian features would be a particularly photogenic combination, and suggested that for some of the photos we went almost for a kind of movie-poster feel. They really rose to the challenge! - witness Paula's expert femme fatale below. I made sure to capture a softer version, too.

I wanted to give each of them their spell in the limelight, so took some individual shots as well...

...with Paula managing the additional feat of wearing an outfit that matched one of the walls we passed:

But there was a lot of fun to be had putting together the double portraits, which involved me thinking harder than ever about the composition. One key principle I kept in mind was that both Andy and Paula are tall - and I tried to get away where possible from the temptation to take 'standing side-by-side' pictures and use angles and the location to vary their height and posture:

Finally, my most recent pictures have been for an actual commission (although, I hasten to add, still very much on an amateur footing). Two friends of mine, Bob and Katy, have formed a band, The Disappointment Choir (find them here and here), and asked me to take some pictures for them. This would be interesting, because it would involve certain elements I wasn't used to: I needed to remember to take some 'square' pictures (for use in download or CD inlay artwork); I had to ensure there were more serious (versus 'cheerful') photos than usual; again, there were two people, but this time not a couple. However, the DC actually gave me quite a relaxed brief and complete freedom over the locations. As you'll see, they arrived with a distinctive look; I found them, among other things, a leafy bench, a piano and a spooky tunnel.

An audience. (With Nicola Benedetti.)

While hanging around dangerously near the Royal Albert Hall box office during the Proms, I spontaneously purchased tickets for Nicola Benedetti's recital, which took place last night.

The performance itself was charming throughout and in places spectacular. Nicola B's latest CD is part-classical, part film music (I've hesitated to buy it, to be honest), so the programme reflected that, too: we heard the 'Schindler's List' theme, and something from 'Ladies in Lavender' (no idea) but I felt this sort of thing was comprehensively knocked for six by a dazzling Saint-Saens rondo, for example. A generous performer, NB included some ensemble pieces which allowed some fellow musicians - some of whom, including her sister, she had played with for some years - to shine. So, we heard a lovely early Mahler quartet, and best of all, the entire second half was given over to Tchaikovsky's Piano Trio, written in memory of Nikolai Rubenstein. This work (Opus 50, for fans of, er, Opus numbers) was new to me, and I was totally hooked from about a minute in. Sombre, certainly, but always with a memorable hook or burst of jaw-dropping frenzied activity (as NB described it, talking through the piece beforehand, 'we're all scrubbing away!') around the corner, to catch you by surprise and keep you immersed.

Well, keep me immersed, at any rate. And Mrs Specs. I'm not sure I can speak for anyone else.

The Hall was packed. And yet I've never known an audience quite like it. It's as if they didn't really know why they were there. As regular readers of this blog (thank you, darlings, thank you) could attest, I've been to gigs of all types, shapes and sizes and I still wasn't quite prepared for the sheer randomness of this crowd.

Might need to make something clear at the outset - I am absolutely NOT an elitist, snobbish type who only wants cobwebbed experts at classical concerts. (I'm no expert myself, although I may possess a few cobwebs.) For example, people who get annoyed when folk don't know when pieces start or finish. I am NOT one of those. If someone accidentally claps between movements of a symphony or concerto, I am totally fine with that. You haven't ruined my night. In fact, good on you, applause-wielder, for coming along and getting into it. It'll be you and yours who turn up again and again, and keep love for the music going.

In fact, I am being ultra-inclusive, by not making excuses for people. I expect them to treat the music they've come to hear or investigate with respect and attention, whether it's their first concert or their thousandth. You won't catch me saying, 'Oh well, you've only come to three of these so far - of COURSE you'll be wanting to behave like an arse.'

Because that's what happened. Lack of politeness and consideration, on a kind of 'hive mind' scale. I did not expect to see or hear, for example:

• A group of young women directly behind us who waited for each piece to START before swapping around in their seats, zipping and unzipping their bags, taking out drinks and clunking them against the seats in front, chatting. Maybe their local pub always has a world-class violin player on of an evening, hence their confusion.
• A couple in front who were so loved up that the woman kept rubbing, disturbingly hard, her partner's bald head. It was like she was buffing up a billiard ball. In fact, I suspect he had a full head of hair when they met, now consigned into oblivion. The problem with such a smoochfest is the constant movement - snuggling together, then apart, then whispering to each other, then taking photos (after being asked not to) then FILMING! Thanks, my view is much better* now I can see it through your iPhone. (*No, it isn't.)
• The bloke on my immediate right spent part of the concert trying to wrap his programme around his face. He was by himself, for some reason.
• The woman to Mrs Specs's immediate left was using her programme to fan herself, but with so much literal 'gusto' that Mrs Specs was caught in the slipstream. The same woman also produced some eats for her son just as the lights were going down for the second half. Crisps. (To his credit, he lowered them onto the floor - RUSTLE, SCRUNCH, CRACKLE - for later.)
• And if you're about to say - you were just unlucky, you obviously just had seats among a bunch of maniacs - well, you make a fair point. But I can still cite the incessant use of flash photography as well as constant movement between selections by audience members all over the Hall as signs of more remote irritations.

Also - the coughing. I know people always moan about this. What surprises me is that it got so bad during this concert that it became obvious: no-one with the slightest inclination to cough tried to stifle or tackle it. They coughed during the quietest moments. They coughed at the exact point between the music fading into silence and the applause starting. During the Mahler, I really felt like we were hearing a quintet with the audience as fifth member, on lungs. No-one attempted a gentle clearing of the throat. It was as if we were sitting in the middle of a raging TB epidemic. I've heard of 'mass consumption', but this is ridiculous, etc. Ho ho ho ho. *HACK*

Famed jazz egghead Keith Jarrett (and I LOVE him) has become notorious for railing at, er, 'ejaculating' audiences, accusing them of coughing through lack of attention span - that is, you're not transfixed enough so you don't try and suppress coughs, fidgeting etc. I still - just about - think this is a bit graceless and off-beam. First: if the audience really ARE bored (and they aren't), then arguably it's KJ's problem and responsibility. Second: it's a slightly awkward stance with KJ in particular, because he wails like a banshee when he plays. "Hey! You in the crowd! Shut your noise up!" *sits at piano* "Wurrrrrgh! Hnnnnnnng! Gnnnarrrgh!"

But I'm now starting to think that KJ has tapped into something that really could be true. Not that we might be too dull to engage with the music. More that some people now go to concerts with the point of view that the evening is in fact, really about them, and not the artist. Why should they behave differently out than they do at home? Why should they not do exactly what they want to, even if does affect others' experience?

Context is everything. My fellow gig-goers at, say, Camden Underworld do this sort of thing all the time (ok, perhaps not polishing the bald heads of their companions to a shiny glow, there's a mirrorball for that), but it's a standing venue, the music is always loud, etc etc. So you move about, and you chat. But extreme metal fans are often fantastically polite - the outlet for their pent-up energy is the noise itself. The rest of the time, enormous Vikings who are so hard they have tattoos on their piercings and essentially give the appearance they could snap me like a twig, in fact spend gigs buying each other drinks, taking quite a lot of care of each other, checking they're not in everyone else's way and basically behaving with twenty times the bonhomie and goodwill we witnessed at the Albert Hall.

And talking of the Albert Hall, I also gloomily realised that I had been spoilt by being part of so many Proms audiences - lauded by performers as among the most attentive, and silent, crowds worldwide. I hope Nicola B and pals were so 'in the moment' - and their performances would suggest so - they weren't affected by one of the least interested and aggressively selfish crowds of all time. Everyone stopped clapping as soon as possible, by the way, and headed off. Whatever encore they had prepared, we threw away.

Cello songs: Jo Quail

Back to Electrowerkz last night - London's most consistently surprising venue. Last time, the bar area had a carriage from a tube train in it. This time we were waved through an entirely separate series of corridors and up the stairs into a larger room (which I'm guessing is where the after-hours club nights take place). After a visit to the merch stand, I put my rucksack up on a nearby ledge to stow away my purchases, only to notice that the handy surface was a mortuary trolley. At least, it really looked like a mortuary trolley. Two of them. At that point I noticed that some of the headlining band's t-shirts seemed to be hanging off a gallows pole. I know there's a lot of goth/dark folk stuff at Electrowerkz, but if they were trying to get across a 'bad artists only play here ONCE' vibe, they were succeeding....

Top of the bill were the enigmatic Rome, who play 'martial folk' music. I'm not especially good with these kinds of genre names - martial folk, as far as I can tell, essentially means mostly acoustic music that still carries a power, drive and discipline (thanks, live, to some brilliant percussion work) that would suit a march - particularly of the funeral variety. It's reductive, though, because if you were really expecting 'martial' music, you wouldn't necessarily expect the range, sensitivity and soul you can get from this band in particular. Not sure they play over here very often - really glad I got to see them and will look out for them again.

I was actually at the gig to see one of the supporting acts, Jo Quail. Regular readers of this blog (thank you, darlings, thank you) may recall that I'm a huge fan of Matt Howden, aka Sieben, who creates spellbinding music by looping only his violin and vocals. I'd seen Jo Quail's name in connection with Matt's work - they had shared stages before and in particular they played a recent gig together in Sheffield. Further investigation on YouTube and the like yielded remarkable results, so I ordered Jo's album, 'From the Sea'. The CD is a marvel, but witnessing a live performance brings home even more so the skill and flair involved in what she does.

Classically-trained, her weapon of choice is an electric cello - an extraordinary object in itself which barely moves (it's fixed firmly in place) but looks so arresting that it becomes the 'other character' on stage. Another devotee of looping, Jo builds each instrumental up layer by layer to include melody lines, and often percussive or atonal effects, to reach life-affirming levels of intensity and complexity. As a self-confessed 'how are they doing that?' geek, I would've been quite happy just to watch her play all night. My eyes were darting between her left and right hands, getting my head around the fact that she was controlling God knows how many streams of sound while picking the bass notes out at the same time. All the same - in the end, you kind of give up and give in to the gorgeous sound.

What can be more satisfying than to hear an act you really rate guide an audience (that for the most part is probably not their own) through that 'oh - hang ON' tipping point and into a smitten silence? Brilliantly, we got to hear some relatively meditative tracks from the current record but, in the mix, were two new songs from the next album which totally lifted the roof off (and no doubt sent the mortuary trolleys spinning out the back doors and down the stairs). 'Laurus' in particular - the track in the video I've embedded below - has a beat to rival any bit of techno or electronica (let's call it, er, "tech-llo" - yes, that'll catch on) and seeing just how she does it is enough to draw a 'Snakes alive!' from even the most reserved individual.

See her live if you possibly can. Yes, the music is great, but so is the performance. For a start, it's massively refreshing to see that at the moments of greatest intensity - when the artist seems to get truly lost in the music - Jo has a broad grin on her face. And while there are no vocals in the songs themselves, her chat to the audience between numbers is funny and engaging. About to tap the cello with a slightly odd-looking object (to achieve, no doubt, a particular kind of percussion sound), she told us, 'For those of you that don't know, this is my aunty Heather's hair-brush'. I'm now really pleased that, at future gigs, I will be one of the people who DO know. I will be able to look around me, nodding at bemused concert-goers, as if to say, 'Yep! It's aunty Heather's.'

The Jo Quail website is here - proceed! (I note with interest that Jo has her own logo and typeface. More of this sort of thing.) Check out the events page. Her next concert with Matt Howden (including a collaboration) is in Sheffield in early November. Then at the end of that month, she appears at St Leonard's in Shoreditch supporting Jarboe, along with Bitter Ruin, another band I've been raving about constantly in recent months. It's as if someone was trying to construct my dream bill. Hopefully see you there.

Now don't go before watching this:

Team players: 'Beyond Shame'

Something a little bit out of the ordinary to report on this time. I want to tell you about a play I saw a few nights ago - not my usual gig/exhibition 'comfort zone', so I'm exercising some slightly different writing muscles. Still - I had the best possible reason to be there. Full disclosure: the writer is a friend of mine, Sadaf, and this was her first play. 'Beyond Shame' had been accepted for a read-through performance as part of the Angelic Tales festival at Theatre Royal Stratford East.

The festival is designed to showcase new writers, and stages more or less a play per night for a week. The company behind the initiative, Team Angelica, choose the winning submissions, and start by mentoring the writers - Sadaf was keen to point out how helpful TA's John Gordon was in helping her develop the script. They then spend 1-2 days rehearsing each one until they're 'match-ready' to go before a live audience. To me, Sadaf was already a winner - to be one of the five selected (when the team received 75+ submissions) is a fantastic achievement.

I'd not been to a theatre evening quite like this one before. Because both Team Angelica and the Theatre Royal are heavily involved in the community/education side of drama, we had a great warm-up from the show's director, who primed us to think about certain elements of the play in readiness for a short discussion afterwards. He invited Sadaf up on stage to discuss the title of the play. I liked this inclusiveness - as if we, the audience, were somehow a natural extension of the whole workshop environment. Could something we thought or said spark a reaction, revision - or a brand new idea, even - in the writer's mind?

When the lights went down, I experienced the same tingle of anticipation I get at a gig where I've heard the band's records but not seen them live. I already knew that S had a way with words (from hard-hitting non-fiction to some genuinely lovely 'stop-you-mid-scroll' lyrical tweets) but this was a PLAY - a whole universe conjured up in her mind, from scratch. And the focus really is on the writing - the staging is minimal and the cast hold the scripts - and what it produces in your imagination.

At the risk of embarrassing S (oh, what the hell - I'LL TAKE THAT RISK), I can honestly report that I was completely blown away. To give a brief plot outline: a teenager has taken his life, and it's established in the very early scenes that we're observing his funeral - along with his ghost, who provides a commentary on events and on occasion - at moments of frustration or high emotion - addresses the attendees directly. They of course do not see or hear him. In flashback, we find out the events and experiences that drive him to suicide.

I want to include as few spoilers as possible - since the play will almost certainly be developed further and performed again - but Sadaf tackles head-on a perfect storm of issues, and not just the ones that make the headlines. Abuse and intolerance (racial and religious) are in the mix, but dovetailed into an equally searching examination of the pressures on adolescents to conform, and struggles with changes to mind and body when becoming an adult.

Sadaf explained in the Q&A that the piece started life as a short story, and I think turning it into a play was the first brave and brilliant decision (of many) she made about it. Brave, because once you're writing a play, you need other people to get it out there, and I love that sense of confidence and faith in the material. Brilliant, because her sense of dramatic tension and ear for dialogue are gifts to the actors.

I was also delighted (given the subject matter) simply by how funny the play is. Gallows humour is present from the outset: we're allowed some respite from the tension, then the chills become all the more powerful. S also sends up - gently and not so gently - the family and community with a superbly crafted pincer attack: Adam, the super-aware main character, who delivers some stinging lines ('you're told what to study, you're told who to marry, then your wife tells you what to eat') and Huma, the epically judgemental Imam's wife who delivers some of the play's most hilariously intolerant remarks without ever becoming a stereotype.

But what really makes me think that S must absolutely do more of this sort of thing, are some crucial signs that suggest to me she is a born dramatist. There is some serious sophistication - and experimentation - going on with the stagecraft and the play does not patronise you - you've got to keep up. We slip between past and present with no joins. One actor doubles up for two crucial roles, creating disarming parallels between them. And there is a really bold move towards the end where not only Adam but Huma as well, 'break out' and address the audience directly. This section includes, I think, some of the best writing in the piece as it simultaneously brings the two most 'opposed' characters closer together, fills out your understanding of why they both behave they way they do and clarifies some of the play's most searching questions. (Questions I'm still thinking about days later.)

Cap doffed, too, to the cast and direction. All the players were superb - they made it easy for us to forget they were reading and I stopped noticing the scripts very early on. Particular mention should go to Hormuzd Todiwala as Adam - a tour-de-force of a part where the actor has to convince as a small kid, stroppy teen, and inhibited, defeated young adult - and Sajeela Kershi as Huma, for keeping her monster all too human. The director, Rikki Beadle-Blair, had nothing but praise for the writing, but mentioned his constant aim to keep the pace up, to do justice to an already tight script. He did a brilliant job, because everything about the production seemed vital and secure - no evidence of nerves or awkward pauses, and not a single actor 'dropped the ball' at any time.

Reflecting afterwards, I realised that the best and most accurate compliment I can pay Sadaf and her production is that I would never have believed it was a debut. The structure - complex but clear, and very precise - it was completely a play and you could not achieve quite the same effects with it in another format. And the dialogue - totally natural, brilliantly varied, satirical and heartfelt. Just keep writing, S, and don't stop.

* * *
You can find out more about the excellent work Rikki Beadle-Blair and Team Angelica do at their website here. And you should definitely consider giving S a follow on Twitter - especially since you'll want to know when her next play is ready!

Dig for victory

Back in Spring, I wrote excitedly about how one of my favourite bands, Bitter Ruin, had launched a campaign on Kickstarter to raise the funds for recording their new album. In a brilliant turn of events, they hit their target in a single day. (Re-live that epic experience here, thrill-seekers!)

As one who pledged, I have a very nice edition of the album (and some splendid extras) to look forward to. But one particularly attractive feature of the campaign is how BR's Georgia and Ben have kept us backers involved throughout the process. Going beyond just Kickstarter updates, they've supplied us with news snippets and photos covering the planning, recording, gigging - basically a fascinating (and to their credit, pretty much relentless) diary of a band who have gamely opted to produce their most important record yet under the scrutiny of their fans.

Now - it's done, and a track called 'Diggers' is available AS I TYPE.

If you do happen to remember (or go back to) my previous descriptions of what BR do, you might call to mind how, playing live, there is this totally involving sense of theatre and melodrama about how they put the songs across. In the best possible way, they are immersive, exhausting and cathartic. One of the most extraordinary things about 'Diggers', then, is its tension and control. A genuinely eerie work, it's singular enough to completely ensnare new listeners but also give us relative veterans - who possibly thought we knew our way around the band - cause to think again and picture a whole new sonic area for BR to explore. Georgia holds all that energy back (if your heart doesn't flip over at the restrained, descending vocal line around 2.10 then you are MADE OF STONE), while Ben's repeated mantra - (lyric: "I've been waiting for you") - only emphasises how time stretches out when waiting's all you can do.

I have a fondness for hypnotic songs that don't quite resolve but instead leave you in suspense, haunted - and as a result, with the compulsion to play it again - just in case it sorts itself out next time. My personal pantheon of these tracks includes Elvis Costello's 'Beyond Belief' or Peter Gabriel's 'Mercy Street' - records made by experienced, established talents who were bending certain rules they'd helped establish. 'Diggers' stands shoulder to shoulder with the best of these - but from a young band with life-affirming reserves of talent and ambition.

It's only been out for a few days, but I can't go more than a few hours without playing it. (And for a while there, it was every few minutes.) Here is the video, and you can buy the track here on BR's Bandcamp page.

The album itself isn't officially out until next year (so you can guarantee I'll be raving about it on the blog then). However - roll up, roll up - there is a chance to buy it early, at the band's two launch shows. The London one is coming up very soon - 7 September - and you can get tickets here. (I'll be there, and it'll be fantastic to see you.) Not sure if I have any readers in Dublin, but just in case - your gig is on 27 September and you need to get a move on, it's nearly sold out. Ticket link is here.

I know I've spent approximately a paragraph sounding like a virtual street team - but that's how it works. I want as many people to hear this band as possible. If you're looking for a band who demand - and deserve - your devotion: this is where to start.

Lightning conductors

For those of you who just think I've been spending all my free time at the Proms, well ... you're pretty much right. If you dip into this blog frequently (thank you, darlings, thank you) you may remember that I recently wrote about hearing the whole of Wagner's Ring cycle in a single week. Since that heady, surreal experience, my doggedly loyal Proms attendance has continued, but on a slightly more relaxed basis.

Primarily, this is because Mrs Specs is involved, and in 99% of occasions that means - we're getting seats. Bizarrely, as I wedge my ample centre of gravity into one of the Royal Albert Hall's compact receptacles, I do find myself gazing idly and almost wistfully up at the gallery. I can still pick out the exact bay - that is, the particular arch above the rail around the upper edge of the Hall - where David (classical music guru) and I watched most of the Ring operas, easy to spot thanks to the array of lighting that was above our heads and the nostalgic, evocative sign of the Gents over by the nearly wall.

Now installed in our circle seats (possibly never to free ourselves), we have been privileged to hear just one sublime performance after another. To avoid forgetting anything, I am going to employ a Bulleted List:

• Beethoven's 4th Piano Concerto, and Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, conducted by Mariss Jansons.
• Bach's Easter and Ascension Oratorios, conducted by Sir John Eliot Gardiner.
• Sacred music from Gesualdo and Taverner, performed by the Tallis Scholars, directed by Peter Phillips.
• Brahms's German Requiem & Tragic Overture, along with Schumann's 4th Symphony, conducted by Marin Alsop.

This music is almost beyond review - I can only rhapsodise about being lost in glorious surround-sound, immersing myself in divine melody as performed by orchestras, choirs and soloists operating at something like peak performance. (Although after one piece, David - punctuating the rapturous reception with masterful timing, as ever - muttered, "Problems with the horns, I think". He didn't elaborate. There was no need. This is why I insist on applause every time he, like an orchestral Fonz, enters a blog post.) The two choral concerts in particular were literally restorative, as they were performed in the late-night Prom slot, almost lulling the audience into a kind of heavenly waking slumber. Perhaps fearful of everyone getting too relaxed, they seem to arrange a brief Radio 3 interview in the middle of the late-nighters to perk everyone up. The chats are always informative and entertaining - but it's also very endearing that they all seem to begin with a kind of thigh-slapping "Bach is GREAT, isn't he?" / "Do you know what, HE IS!" exchange, just to make sure every last drooping eyelid is hoisted.

What this run of concerts has particularly got me thinking about is what it's like to see classical music. Again - going back to the Ring - although they weren't staged, you had soloists acting parts, so it seemed perfectly natural to watch, not just listen. So even though I wasn't following an opera plot on these occasions, I found myself really staring hard at the performers - and, unsurprisingly, the conductors in particular. I hadn't really appreciated the visual aspect of a classical gig before.

John Eliot Gardiner marshals the forces of the Monterverdi Choir and English Baroque Soloists (his own troupes, so there are already formidable levels of rapport and mutual respect) without even needing to use a baton. His arms almost seem to become totally curved, describing flowing lines in the air, so that he seems to ease the music out of the players and singers. He has gone on record as saying how Bach's music feels engineered to make listeners want to dance - and he enacts this on the podium, always on the move. I wonder if the choir and orchestra know they're on the right track when they produce this reaction in Sir John - that even while he's in control, they take their lead from the effect the sound they're producing is having on him. It's remarkable to see that exchange actually happening.

And Marin Alsop is a force of nature. She's already making headlines as the first woman to conduct the Last Night of the Proms at the end of this season. We can't go to that, so we were quite curious and excited to get to see her now - and we weren't disappointed. I haven't seen anyone - male or female - combine such high-octane levels of authority and abandon. To start with, Alsop didn't use a score for the entirety of the evening. An impressive feat of memory in itself, this also meant there was nothing physically between her and the players. She seemed to fizz with energy, covering every inch of the podium and almost launching herself towards whichever section of the orchestra she was conducting. While the concert was inevitably dominated by the expressive Brahms pieces, I was particularly impressed with the performance of the Schumann. (The two composers are linked - an up-and-coming Brahms met Schumann and championed his music thereafter.) I'd not previously encountered the piece, which seems to get more captivating as it goes along. In the later movements, Alsop drew an almost jazzy zip and lightness of touch from the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, which made me itch to hear the work again as soon as possible. (For reference, it's dangerous to let me near the Amazon app on the way home from a Prom...)

I'll reserve the final word, though, for another extraordinary performer - the Japanese pianist Mitsuko Uchida, the soloist for the 4th Beethoven Piano Concerto. The three of us watched her play in a state of near-hypnosis. (David happened not to be free for this gig, but we had asked along a colleague of mine, Ellie, who I have discovered is equally immersed in classical music lore - to the point where she nailed the composer of the encore before we found out what it was. I fear when David and Ellie meet, there will be some kind of 'music stand-off' where we get to gleefully test their knowledge offering only Pimms and ice-cream as prizes.)

Uchida is so remarkable to watch, I think, because she seems somehow sustained by the sound of the orchestra. I always expect soloists to almost wrap themselves around their instrument, clinging to it for succour, but not so here. When Uchida isn't actually playing, she sits back - folds her arms or hugs herself, basically relaxing her body (even though mentally, I'm sure she must be totally 'on') and listening. She moves to the music, makes eye contact with the players and conductor and is quite happy as certain movements end to give herself over to cries of joy and even in one memorable instance, punch the air kung-fu style in the conductor's direction. So assured is she that, feeling the heat during the first movement, she flings off her ornate jacket and lays it on the piano stool, just in time to resume playing in her sleeveless t-shirt. Literally, one of the coolest virtuosos I've ever been privileged to see. (And hear.)

Tardistaff

Pals of mine on the Earth's surface, away from cyberspace, will know that I love 'Doctor Who', almost beyond reason. Peter Capaldi, who becomes Doctor no.12 later this year, is the first new arrival to the role since I started blogging, and I'm basically unable to resist posting about it. Intriguingly - and I realise my impression of this all depends on which articles and websites I happen to see, and who's sending their opinions into my Twitter and Facebook feeds - the usual desire/debate about the Doctor becoming anything other than a white bloke seems to have reached something close to fever pitch this time round. I don't really know why this is, but it's made me think long and hard about the show, and about how and why it's worked since it regenerated itself back into life in 2005.

My upfront disclaimer should read something like this: I've found something to enjoy in pretty much every Doctor Who episode I've ever seen ('classic' and 'current' eras), and I'm not terribly interested in picking holes in the series to justify why it's never been the same since [insert year/Doctor of your choice]. So please take my musings more as observations than criticisms, because no idea or development that has seemed to me odd, out of step, daft or over the top has ever stopped me just revelling in the sheer Who-ness of what I'm watching - and happily allowing myself just to be glad and thankful that it came back at all.

So with that in mind, if (when?!) they do cast, say, a female Doctor, 90% of me would be totally thrilled - exhilarated that whoever the showrunner is at the time has the guts to do it, and excited about where it will take the series. But the other 10% will be fighting back a sense of disquiet - because it strikes me that it might be more sexist to cast a woman Doctor at this point than a male one.

Those who reject the idea out of hand can probably point to nuggets of info from the series itself for arguments. The Doctor has always been male, up to now. (If he'd always pinged back and forth between genders, things would be very different now.) He's a grandfather. He's always been straight (you might think Tennant and Smith have been 'goers' but Hartnell pulled in 'The Aztecs'). Time Ladies - sorry if that's a bit Downton, but I have no idea what else you call a female Time Lord - have so far regenerated into new women. None of this represents any reason not to change it, but you would need to deal with it. Yes, 'the Doctor's an alien, he/she can do what he/she likes' and you could throw the entire continuity out of the window, but I don't think many of the fans, male or female, would actually want that. A woman Doctor - yes, please, but with a proper explanation; something fully and consistently worked through that fits with what's gone before.

Otherwise - do you not risk making the Doctor female for politically correct purposes only - and as a result, end up casting a woman in unwittingly tokenistic fashion. Should we 'absorb' her into a male part, and attach her unceremoniously onto the back of at least 12 male interpretations? Obviously, there are plenty of actresses who'd turn this into something amazing, but sadly, they would probably be doing so for a male showrunner, with a staff of mostly male writers, who are unlikely to write a woman Doctor very much differently from a male one. Which would be a waste. Basically: I don't think a woman Doctor would hurt the show at all. But I think the show could hurt a woman Doctor.

I am fascinated by the idea that the programme's flexibility - you could do anything you like with the main character because he changes - has led to people almost expecting it to shoulder a 'right-on' burden. (No-one is really expecting a Jemima Bond, or Dreadlock Holmes anytime soon. Although I would definitely like to see the latter swapping his cocaine for weed, and taking weeks or possibly months to solve a 'three pipe problem'...)

I think with Who, this is something that has gone hand in hand with the 'soapification' of the show since it came back - because soaps deal with 'issues'. Don't get me wrong: I feel the emotional heft of the new version, and looking at companions' lives outside the Tardis etc has proven to be a sophisticated way of modernising the old warhorse. But it has meant the show has sometimes felt like Sons and Doctors, or Extermination Street.

When things got a bit sensitive in the old days - say, Pertwee's Third Doctor in anguish at Jo Grant leaving to get married - they were moments of rare import. But Russell T Davies (surely the most PC, on-message showrunner they could possibly have chosen), ramped it up to unprecedented levels once the enticingly dark Eccleston incarnation left and David Tennant stepped in. Here was the first 'matinee idol' Doctor. His first two companions fell in love with him. To break away from this, they installed a comedian as his third companion, as if anyone who didn't fancy him had to be a bit of a loon. (Thank heavens for the brilliance of Catherine Tate.) Dara O Briain's 'something for the Dads' routine where he pours scorn on the use of sexy female companions is accurate and hilariously told, but it doesn't quite cover the fact that we've also had a hell of a lot of Sexy Doctor. Also intriguing that the leading gay character was made outrageous and promiscuous, and the key villain (John Simm's Master - villainous Time Lord, our hero's nemesis, etc) was a very 'now' maniac out of a zeitgeisty psychopath chiller-thriller. I bet I wasn't the only viewer who longed for more than five minutes of Derek Jacobi's ruthlessly controlled version.

I'm also minded to think that even the idea of the Doctor as 'role model' is extremely modern and really took root in the Tennant years. For large chunks of his existence he's been a cantankerous contrarian git, but it took the later Tennant episodes to make the Doctor literally messianic (remember him hovering, arms outstretched, rejuvenated by a world saying his name?).

In the Steven Moffat era, we have had the most 'alien' Doctor since the revival ... a Tardis crew with a genuinely different dynamic (Doctor as gooseberry - keeping the Davies kitchen-sink drama without placing the Doctor at the centre) ... and in River Song, one of the strongest characters the show has ever had. With the casting of Peter Capaldi, it would seem he has addressed another criticism of recent Doctors - they've been too young - and again the relationship between Time Lord and companion will need to shift into something different.

Moffat gets a lot of flak, much like - well, almost anyone that's ever been in charge of the show ever. I have some sympathy, not specifically with him, but with Who supremos in general. Cast an older Doctor, and people ask why he's still white and male. Would a white woman have been fine? Should she have been young or old? Would a man still have been ok if old and non-white? I can see the appeal of just leaving things as they are. At least you're then offending everyone equally.

But I - yes, I - am not the man to be so easily bowed. Moffat will have to move on eventually, which means I can then take over. I have at least two ideas to sort this out, hopefully to everyone's satisfaction.

1) The 'Slightly Nerdy' Solution. Who geeks may remember that due to some archaic bit of scripting, there is apparently a rule preventing Time Lords from being immortal - they're allowed twelve regenerations. This means that Capaldi is the penultimate Doctor (and we may already know who the 13th incarnation is, too, I suppose). In all likelihood, they will just pretend this rather inconvenient continuity niggle didn't exist - it wouldn't be a problem, although ignoring it might irritate a few old-school fans.

The show tackled the problem head on in the Tom Baker (Fourth Doctor!) story 'The Keeper of Traken', where the Master reached the end of his regenerations, and simply re-booted himself by taking over someone's body. Admittedly, that was an act of, well, murder, so the Doctor is unlikely to follow suit - but it would clearly be easy enough to plot around the problem if they choose to.

At that point, I would make the switch. Something really out of left-field would have to happen for the Doctor to launch into a completely new life-cycle so do it then. Find a way that works (Doctor has to merge with a Time Lady? Parallel universe where genders are reversed?). Move Moffat and Doctor 13 on. Bring in a female showrunner, a female Doctor, and some female writers and really go for it.

2) The 'Even Better But A Bit Pricey' Solution. Why did Davies get loads of spin-offs and Moffat none? I can only assume: budget. However, let's find some cash down the back of the sofa for a series NOW featuring a Time Lady. We can still have our female showrunner and writers, because Moffat has got the original series and 'Sherlock' to look after. He's got to let this go. Leave it, Moffat. This series could be about:

• River Song, who we know can regenerate. So whatever your feelings about the current character, or Alex Kingston's portrayal, relax - because in a couple of years, there'll be a new River, and so on.
• Romana, a Time Lady companion from the show's classic run. She was first played by Mary Tamm then regenerated into Lalla Ward. She left the series to pursue adventures in a parallel universe anyway, so, you know, the actual treatment has ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN, for pity's sake, and Lalla Ward could return to reprise the role in the same way Sylvester McCoy did at the start of the 1996 TV movie.
• The Rani - evil Time Lady, originally played by Kate O'Mara. To have a female lead play a recurring anti-hero role (Fu Manchu style) would be really subversive.
• Or OK, a completely new character. *suppresses inner, and indeed outer, geek*

I would genuinely prefer to see any of these options over turning the Doctor into a woman - as though that would suddenly make everything ok. It won't. She would eventually regenerate back into a man. She would struggle to establish a distinct identity from the male versions. We're going to do this, so let's do it properly.

First footnote - You'll notice I ended up focusing on changing the Doctor's sex over, say, his race, age or orientation. Well, an older Doctor has now been cast. Equally (since all regeneration seems to be is some kind of cell renewal), it seems to me they could cast a non-white actor at any time and there would almost be no need for comment. The Doctor is always the outsider, so it will take a more aware and knowledgeable cultural commentator than me to identify whether the show can - or should - offer any comment on race issues. But changing the Doctor's sex goes further and deserves, I think, a reinvention of the format.

Second footnote - I am sure that out of my regular readers (thank you, darlings, thank you) who like this show, at least 100% of you may well disagree with at least 100% of what I've said. Fortunately - despite the disproportionate passions Who seems to inflame in people - it remains just a TV programme. This means, by definition, that all of our views are valid, that it's worthwhile exchanging those views, and that all of us can remain friends throughout.