Blogs
'Listen Again' to my BRFM Radio interview/performance with GVS (28/10/12) - South Wales based radio station
PART 1: (approx 30min into show)
http://www.podcasts.canstream.co.uk/brfm/audio/brfm_28-10-12_7-16_1351440004.mp3
PART 2:
http://www.podcasts.canstream.co.uk/brfm/audio/brfm_28-10-12_7-17_1351443602.mp3
More from the new musical by Rob Gittins and Mal Pope
Two developers bought a Frank Lloyd Wright house in Phoenix, Arizona and plan to demolish it to build two new houses on the property to sell.
The David Wright House
Wright designed the house for his son, David Wright, and David's wife, Gladys, in 1952. David was the son of the first of Wright's three marriages, to Catherine Tobin .
The developers bought the house in June 2012, and say they didn't know who Wright was or the significance of the house. The previous owners had bought it from David Wright's granddaughters. A preservation group was in the process of working to preserve the house and had started the process of applying for recognition of the house as a landmark but, in Arizona, individual property rights often supersede preservation and conservation. Even if the house is designated a landmark, that protection will only extend three years and then the owner will be free to demolish the house, which is what they've said they'll do.
According to an article in the NY Times , an anonymous donor offered to buy the house for a "little over" $2M but the developers refused to sell it. The developers had bought the house for $1.8M just last June but say they are " looking to clear $2.2 million from any sale," . Some say a threat by the developers to demolish the house is an attempt to hold the preservation group up for a higher price.
A petition to the city of Phoenix to preserve the house has been started:
http://www.change.org/petitions/city-of-phoenix-save-the-david-and-gladys-wright-house
And here are a couple of videos on yourube, from people who've toured the house:
The description of the house:
"The house, built in 1952, bears Wrights signature on a red tile by its front door equal parts seal of approval and certificate of authenticity. The wood on the cabinets, doors, desks, shelves and sofas, all designed by Wright, sparkled, having been brought back to life by coats of lemon oil Mr. Sells diligently applied early this week as a new real-estate listing went live.
Piano hinges, which line cabinets and doors from top to bottom, still hold strong. The floor, in colored concrete, has cracks that show its age but also lend it a degree of rugged charm.
...
" The house dances. The glass of its windows is mounted on frames that curve, following the flow of its spiraling walls. The furniture inside, all of it designed by Wright, is a study in symmetry. The kitchen tables round edges match the round edges of the fireplace, which match the round edges of the ramp that leads from ground to second level like an inverted U.
"The house surprises. Sheets of plywood hug support columns as they cross the innards of the closets in a childs bedroom, hiding them playfully as in a game of peekaboo. Inverted triangles carved out of galvanized steel hang from the edge of the roof, casting shadows on the ground that change as the sun moves."
A little interesting nugget that I didn't know was that one of Wright's sons, John Loyd Wright, who was also an architect, invented Lincoln Logs - http://www.incredibleart.org/links/jlwright/lloyd_wright.html
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Male, Female, Mixed, Chamber and Youth Choirs go head-to-head to win 5,000 prize fund
The Search for 40 Choirs closes 1 st of November!
Llangollen International Eisteddfods Musical Dire ctor calls for Wales, Scottish and Irish based choirs to sign up and compete: For the past three years we have had more English Choirs competing than any other home nation! Our home nations have such a strong choral tradition Dylan Thomas famously said that we are a musical nation . where are you???!!! To date for 2013 we have applications from choirs from England and also choirs from The Netherlands, The Philippines, Ghana, Russia, and South Korea! But only a hand full from Wales, Ireland and Scotland. Come on Wales, Ireland and Scotland your International Eisteddfod needs you!
Following on from a very successful 2012 Festival, whereby concert ticket sales were up by 2000 on 2011s sales, Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfods young and dynamic Musical Director has bold plans and aspirations, he is certainly making his mark on the world-renowned choral competitions at the International Eisteddfod.
NEW & UNIQUE :
- The coveted title of Choir of the World & The Pavarotti Trophy: NEW 2013 GRAND P RIZE OF 5 ,000!
- NEW for 2013: Voice of the Futur e competition : PRIZE FUND 2,000 (inc invitation to perform in a major Eisteddfod concert)
- NEW for 2013: Children s Choir of the World Trophy : PRIZE FUND 500
- NEW FOR 2013: Youth Choir s go head to head with Adult choirs in the choir of the World Competition
- NEW for 2013: Conductors Prize Trophy : PRIZE FUND 250
- New for 2013 : Musical Director Award: awarded to the best performance of a work by a living Composer
- NEW for 2013: NO PRELIMINARY ROUNDS FOR CHOIRS O R DANCE GROUPS
- NEW for 2013: Age restrictions and rules relaxed: Choral applicants will be allowed to have 10% of the choir, marginally over or under the age limi t on the day of the competition
See full details online: www.international-eisteddfod.co.uk
Eilir Owen Griffiths, the Musical Director explaine d: The Choir of the World competition attracts competitors from global Nations, it is respected and coveted World wide. Adding this substantial prize fund was one step towards broadening the competitions appeal, but making the competition accessible to Youth Choirs brings a whole new dimension to the Eisteddfod. It is vital to give a positive platform for our youth to compete in a healthy exiting environment. The new 10% relaxed age rule, opens the competition up to a broader spectrum also, we expect fierce competing from all ages
Eilir Owen Griffiths also announced that for the first time in many years, there will be no preliminary rounds for choirs or dance groups. Eilir Owen Griffiths said As a past competitor at Llangollen myself, I know what a wonderful an experience it is to stand on that World renowned Pavilion stage. Dozens of adult and countless childrens choirs travel, from four corners of the globe to compete at Llangollen International Eisteddfod to rob them of the opportunity to grace the pavilion stage would be a sin! They are committing so much to our Festival by travelling so far, it is only fitting that we return that commitment and we offer huge unique Welsh Welcome by allowing all choirs and dance groups access to our stage.
Phil Davies Chairman said: We felt for those who had travelled so far and did not make it to the stage to compete, therefore we praise this bold decision by Eilir to allow access for ALL to the sta ge .
Further competition detail:
- 40 Choirs will compete for the coveted Pavarotti Trophy in the world renowned Choir of the World Competition.
- The search for the Voice of the Future furthering the sol o career of a young singer under the age of 35
- Musical Director Award, awarded by the Eisteddfod s Musical Director for the best performance of a work by a living Composer.
- Conductors Prize Trophy awarded to the most inspiring Conductor
- Authentic Vocal F olk Ensemble for no more than 10 performers to present a programme of authentic music representative of th eir local or regional tradition
Fees:
- An application fee of 8 0 will be introduced in 2013 for all groups entering the Eisteddfod Competitions
- Solo e ntry remains free
- New opportunity for non-competitive groups to come and perform at the Eisteddfod: application fee 5 0
Hello, I have a friend in Wales who has been shortlisted for A Hero's Wedding. Please go here before Oct. 29 and vote for Emma York and Steve Young: http://www.heroswedding.co.uk/ vote-here/
Scroll to the bottom of the page to vote!
Steve is a member of Walking with the Wounded and was with the group of disabled veterans that walked to the North Pole. If you happen to know Steve, please keep this a secret. Thanks!
This was written by my good friend Glyn Scott from Barry.
I never could find them. Every week was the same.
Wheres my rugby boots , love? last minute as usual.
Where you left them probably. Ive told you before Im not touching those disgusting muddy relics. Isnt it time you stopped running round like a schoolboy every week? Very encouraging my wife.
Dont go on woman.
Its never again, when you come back with your aches and pains. Shes got a tongue that could rivet battleships.
Im going to hang my boots up, love she kept on.
I could hear her still going on as I slung my kit in the car.
Ideal weather I thought, dry and sunny but with a hint of heavy moisture that could cut the game short. Great in the bar early before the sun had firmly set.
I ambled into the clubhouse leaving my kit on the back seat where it could fill the car with its own unique fragrance and the sun would have at least a moment to attack the dampness.
At the bar Pete was checking off the team. Youre ere. He said licking his pencil. You fit ?
Im ere. was my honest reply.
I scanned the bedraggled group of human shapes known collectively as The Veterans.
I always had pre- match nerves, wondering whether I would let myself down. However looking around at the assembled crew, in comparison, I was practically a thoroughbred.
Where are we playing? a faceless voice asked.
Pengarn, have we all got transport? Pete enquired. Yes. was the collective reply.
Pat arrived shepherding a fresh faced lad who was wearing a fixed grin, and sporting new boots.
Ive brought along the wifes kid brother, if were short like.
Were always short. Pete coughed on his cigar. He fixed the lad with a deep frown.
Mind you, dont run around too fast this afternoon, young un. We old uns cant keep up see.
The lads grin disappeared. Poor misguided fool, probably thought wed welcome a fit young hero with open arms. In the car park the bartering began.
Ill come with you then, so I can have a drink after the game.
No its my turn to drink, I drove last time.
Liar!
This ritual continued to the point of fisticuffs. Then as suddenly as it started it was resolved and the convoy would depart.
For company I had Dave and Jed, real opposites on the great human scale. Dave, cool and neat, blazer buttons sparkling over designer jeans. Jed, on the other hand could best be described as comfortable in appearance. He overwhelmed the back seat. His face looked like sandpaper. This was not recent designer stubble either, this was one of his long standing features. He would leave his face get hairy then half way through a decent shave hed get tired and give up. During the journey I could see Dave admiring himself in my wing mirror, flicking his hair. Very much the ladies man was Dave he sat upright in the front seat next to me. Jed on the other hand snored his way through most of the journey, obviously no pre match nerves there. It was a not comforting to realise, that in a short time, I would be looking to these two for support in a dour physical struggle, thank goodness it was just a rugby match and not Rourkes Drift.
We all arrived together at Pengarn Rugby Club and formed a circle, like a wagon train. Dave and I prized Jed out of the back seat.
Youll have to get a four door car. He wheezed at me, Im not built for these flash sporty things
For Gods sake Jed, dont die out there today Ive an important date tonight. Dave was never subtle.
Your concern for my welfare is touching, my son.
Right Pete boomed. Lets get out there run off the jet lag.
Any journey, no matter how short reminded us of our ageing muscles. Well, some of us had arthritis and rheumatism. Help the Aged could have legitimately sponsored our team.
In the changing rooms the thick smell of liniment oozed and mixed with the stench of mouldy kit. Jed was now stripped down to his shorts.
Hey Buddha, fold all that skin up in a shirt will you! All of Jed chuckled and rippled on the edge of the bench.
From next door we could here the sound of young warriors audibly psyching themselves up for their game. It had little effect on us, we knew we werent playing them, they were the home first fifteen.
We jogged onto the field loosening up as best we could, arms flailing everywhere. The pitch was like a bowling green very impressive. No slope thank God, this week we wouldnt have to run uphill. The surface was lush and soggy, ideal for tackling and even just for falling down exhausted.
Are you B.P.Llandarcy ? questioned an official, all blazer and club tie.
No. Barry Vets.
Oh. youre not playing here, he said indignantly as if our mere presence soiled his beloved pitch. Youre down the road on the training pitch.
Typical sighed Pete.
We bade farewell to the beautiful carpet and clacked mournfully down the uneven country lane, where another official greeted us by a hole in the hedge.
By ere ,lads his rolled cigarette stuck firmly to his bottom lip. He announced himself as the other teams trainer and from his outward appearance we would not have been surprised if we were playing whippets or pigeons.
The pitch was another matter. On all four touchlines sheep were grazing and the grass resembled someone with a bad haircut.
Theyre bringing the M4 through ere , announced our trainer friend, proudly.
Have they already started? asked Pete.
Be fair weve shovelled all the cow and sheep shit onto the touchlines. He pointed to a great steaming Offas Dyke at the edge of the pitch. I contemplated the unhappy possibility of being tackled into that lot.
The other team arrived and fortunately the word athlete was not an expression you would use to describe them, any more than it would be for us. Jim our touch judge arrived and surveyed the mountain of mixed manure.
Gordon Bennett, who trained these cows, Billy bloody Smart, theyve all shat on my touchline.
The referee was suitably aged with thin stark white legs protruding from baggy shorts. He was arguing with our winger Nipper.
Look, I dont mind looking after asthma pumps, or even false teeth, but I draw the line at half a fag and a box of matches.
I always have one at half time, Ref, to calm me nerves like
For some unknown reason I chose this moment to remember Shakespeares the seven stages of man All the worlds a stage, well if thats so then there were a few of us on this pitch who are in danger of falling off said stage.
As I stood waiting for the whistle to commence hostilities, I looked to the nearby road and the interlocking hills that rolled off into the distance. Cars zoomed by carrying screaming kids, late businessmen and old couples poodling along on a Saturday afternoon drive.
And what of those hills? Did they hide secret spouses , maybe even my own, neglected by their partners and now clandestinely meeting their lovers in lonely country lanes? Hes at the rugby he wont be back for hours.
At last the first whistle, followed inevitably by the first scrum, I positioned myself in centre of the front row and gratefully clutched Jed and Bob for support we attempted to outstare our opponents. Gingerly, like hens settling on eggs, we locked into the opposition scrum with the odd grunt to make it seem like a major physical effort.
Ten years ago we would have stood five feet apart and charged at each other like raging bulls, but the bones were somewhat brittle now.
God, its dark in here. said my opposite number.
Jed, breath in your stomachs blocking all the light. How am I supposed to see the ball?
Their second row began to mournfully whistle Me in my small corner.
If youre not going to take this even half serious Im going off! said the ref angrily.
Games like this were uneventful. Hopes of a score from either side generally went unfulfilled. The few spectators seemed to regard it as a duty to watch. We settled into another sedate scrum, when suddenly a fist flashed past me and connected with my opponents already well worn nose. He hardly flinched and scanned the scrum for the culprit. I looked back to see the face of the young wifes brother ridden with guilt.
Trying to make a name for yourself, sonny? my indignant rival growled. I sighed at the inevitable. The lad had a lot to learn and it wasnt long in coming. Sure enough in the next melee, a high pitched scream rent the air and we parted to reveal our young friend spread-eagled, the earlier fixed grin had returned and was now joined by glazed eyes.
There were no fisticuffs in his support. Firstly, he got what he deserved and secondly, even throwing a punch, in these our sunset days, risked permanent injury.
We lifted him by the arms dragging him through the manure and propped him against the hedge.
As Shakespeare had said, he had been seeking the bubble of reputation. Unfortunately for him, the bubble had soon burst when their hooker caught up with him.
The game had settled down when something unexpected happened. Like a ghost from the past we surprisingly managed to actually string a number of passes together and the ball arrived in Nipper our wingers gnarled hands.
Nipper had been quite a sprinter in his day, his wiry frame and incisive running had graced many a pitch. We waited with bated breath. He had plenty of room and had just rounded his opposite number, his legs pumping rapidly. We all expected him to dart away, brief glory returned, adding wings to his feet. But no, it was not to be. The scene took on almost cartoon proportions, his legs were frantically moving up and down, but he was going, nowhere.
Managing to achieve a sort of glue-footed trot, he had left us behind, but that was no recommendation, in fact it proved to be a hindrance as he found himself isolated and alone with no one to pass to and some distance to go to the try line. Much as he tried to accelerate it was not going to happen. The final indignity was when he was over taken by a sheep, bent on rescuing her lamb that had lodged itself in the hedge surrounding the pitch.
The pained expression on Nippers face galvanised me into action. To save this once brave athlete any further embarrassment, I tackled him myself. Pete arrived moments later.
What the hell are you doing? he asked.
It was an errand of mercy. I said reverently. He had no way out
He understood. Nipper remained face down in the mud, physically unhurt.
We gathered round him unable to touch him, instinctively knowing that he had an incurable virus.
Lost youth had struck.. It would come to us all, that final moment when nothing functions, when the spirit is willing but the flesh is non-existent. That time when you have to hang up your boots----- forever!
Our trainer came on quietly and gently lifted Nipper to his feet, leading him to the touchline. Two ancient spectators removed their caps as a mark of respect, they had in by gone days experienced that irrevocable moment. Nipper staggered off to the changing room alone. Jim wondered whether he should follow to make sure he didnt try anything silly with his soap on- a -rope.
What did Shakespeare say, they have their exits and entrances.
How long to go, Ref? I asked.
Five minutes, pal.
We played out the rest of the game, shook hands and ambled off to the changing rooms, picking up the still concussed infant on the way, nobody knew the score or cared.
A lone perplexed cow chewed on the cud. Like all females, she probably had trouble understanding the sorry sad mess that was the male of the species, bovine or human.
Are we playing next week? I asked.
Taking Nippers fag from the referee and lighting up Pete said Depends on how many of us are still able to walk let alone run. He said.
We made the most of the hot showers, soothing aches and pains and within
two pints of beer from the kitty all sense of melancholy had ceased, even Nipper was offering his services as a future physio and cuts man.
Well its either that or shopping with the wife. he said.
A shudder ran around the assembled masses. A couple of jugs were emptied until those of us dry and driving began to protest a need to return home ditch our cars and salvage what was left of the drinking night.
So is it never again? my wife was lounging on the settee as I arrived home.
No, might as well keep going for bit I said, Youre a long time not playing you know.
Huh! Men will be boys I suppose. she said
Stone Soup Theatre Presents A Child’s Christmas in Wales Adapted from the story by Dylan Thomas
By Ceri Shaw, 2012-10-24
Back to Christmas In Wales
One of the most enduring, yet oft-forgot holiday memoirs, Dylan Thomas A Childs Christmas in Wales comes to life, again, at Stone Soup Theatre, recreating the nostalgic times of Thomas childhood Christmas when everything was brighter, better, and more alive. Come experience a slice of Dylans memories and find your own in the colorful characters, family dynamics, and live Christmas music in Stone Soups new version of this holiday classic, performed by both youth conservatory graduates and seasoned professionals, guaranteed to entertain kids and adults alike!
The production begins with a $10 preview on December 6 at 7:30pm and runs through December 24th. Showtimes are as follows: 7:30 performances on all Fri/Sat evenings; 2pm matinees on the following days: Sat & Sun, 12/9, 12/15, 12/16, and 12/22; and 12:30 and 4pm performances on Sun & Mon, 12/23 12/24. Ticket prices are $20 for a single ticket and $18 apiece for a group 4 or more.
Tickets are available for purchase by phone at the Stone Soup Box Office at (206) 633-1883 or at www.brownpapertickets.com , 800-838-3006.
About Stone Soup Theatre: Seattles only one-act theatre company dedicated to the preservation of the one-act play. We present professionally mounted productions, youth conservatory training, summer camps, and after school programs. Stone Soup is a part of the 4Culture Touring Arts Roster. For more information, log on to our website at www.stonesouptheatre.org .
Last Saturday saw a pulsating battle between the "Valley Commandos"- Pontypridd and Irish region "A" side- Leinster in the British and Irish Cup.
The match was touch and go right to the end. A generous referee allowing seven minutes injury time, during which Leinster scored a try which gave them a three point lead. However, the mighty warriors kept driving forward and, in the very last play of the game, scored the try which won them the match 25 - 23.
It was like a return to the days of professional rugby and another massive scalp for Pontypridd, who beat a Leinster team for the first time. A great result from a great team.
Another point...
Can anyone in the world of AmeriCymru organise a tour of the Welsh organisations for me? I perform comedy / poetry and would happily sleep on floors and rough it just for the chance to perform in the US.
I'm very easily pleased and don't moan about much. I don't eat too much and I am house trained.
Let me know if you can.
Dylan The Musical. A new musical written by Rob Gittins and Mal Pope. Premieres 2014
Director Michael Bogdanov
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