Recitals, minstrels and dead dogs

It’s every student’s nightmare. Half an hour, and 25% of your degree is done. A mere 30 minutes in which you have to prove the fruits of three long year’s worth of hard labour (slash practise), in which you are face to face with your examiners, and upon which your final result essentially rests. Welcome to the world of the music student, and as May comes to an end, the halls of music departments up and down the country resound with frantic final rehearsals for end of year recitals.

Celyn, having survived the traumatic dissertation hand in, rush of final coursework submissions and the dreaded Africa exam (a one-year module on all of the music on the whole of Africa from the beginning of eternity until the present day – great idea) had his recital – his last ever undertaking as a University of Manchester undergraduate student – on the 1^st June. Obviously I wasn’t going to miss it for the world and, as the dates coincided with yet another holiday (the Ascension – love the pick and choose attitude of the French towards Catholicism. Holidays – in. Church – out.) I was lucky enough to enjoy a four-day sojourn across the channel to indulge in some much needed musical therapy. As expected, I was completely taken aback at the high standard and quality of the recitals and, being soppier than a machine-load of sponges, I’m not going to lie, I definitely had a little cry or two *sniffsniff.. just so proud y’all*!!

But seriously, whilst marvelling at how much hard work had gone into each, and just how talented my peers actually were, it was also a chance to enjoy some high-quality repertoire – something of which there is a notable lack out here. The standard musical fare in Sarlat is Keen’v and Magic System on repeat, with the occasional Lady Gaga tune thrown in for good measure. So it was a welcome relief to hear, amongst others, Kaija Saariaho’s mental yet fantastic NoaNoa for flute and electronics, a tear-jerking Lament for Two Violas by Bridge, a Spanish fiesta on piano with a little Takemitsu interlude, the whole of the extremely sexy tenor sax Concerto for Stan Getz by Richard Rodney Bennett, Hall of Mirrors suite from East Kilbride’s very own saxophonist Tommy Smith, and Debussy’s mesmerising clarinet rhapsody and rather lesser-known songs for soprano... pheewph. 

And so ends third-year...

I think the success of every recital was epitomised as we all gathered on the grass outside the Martin Harris Centre, sipping champagne and eating chocolate cake (courtesy of the Raggett family collective) and enjoying the late afternoon sun in the knowledge that everyone had now completed their degree. Congrats guys... I is proud.

On a much smaller scale, I was lucky enough to indulge in a little bit of music-making of my own, although it was no way near the standard that I had been treated to in Manchester. Receiving a last-minute call from some musicians in St Julien de Lampon, I ended up finding myself playing in a quartet (two oboes, horn and ‘cello) for a fête in nearby Gourdon. Only having time for one quick rehearsal, we actually managed to pull it off quite well, and though we expected to play for a mere 15 minutes, we ended up spending three hours playing a medley of classical arrangements (a few Bach fugues, a Vitali trio, and Schubert’s Moment Musical) as well as a couple of rags, some film music, and a fair few well-loved French numbers. Although notably lacking in audience members, the highlight was definitely the bizarre wandering ‘Bacchus minstrels’ – fantastically dressed, and always in character, it certainly made for an interesting afternoon, if not one of the weirdest things I have ever seen.

Laurent, Bernadette and Dominique

And dead dogs? To cut a long and rather disgusting story short, I ended up spending one Saturday canoeing down the Dordogne with a bunch of bénévoles (volunteers) in order to clean the banks and the river itself. With the promise of a day’s worth of canoeing, a midday picnic, and an apéro at the end, obviously I was definitely up for it. Especially as, in my opinion, the Dordogne wasn’t actually that dirty – one look at the Union Canal shows that there are spots far worse to be tackled. Heading happily off with Greg (Lucie Pérusin’s boyfriend), the morning was spent picking up miniscule scraps of ancient bin-bags and rejoicing if your ‘team’ was lucky enough to find a discarded water bottle – sheesh, this was hard work (!). However, on the approach to Cénac, the real cleaning began. Underneath a water pump jutting out into the river, we came across a whole load of industrial waste; four tractor tyres, iron rods, broken doors, gigantic metal screws, as well as random household objects such as chairs, clothes, and half a sofa. Big congrats go to the other volunteers who, between them, managed to haul up everything from the dirty river bed and, precariously balancing their finds on their (now extremely low) canoes, rowed to Cénac to empty the dechets into an express-built bin. Slightly less laden than the others, we went slightly slowed and trawled the banks to catch anything else that had slipped through the cleaning net, as it were. Unfortunately, this was when we came across a half-submerged suitcase which, on closer inspection, contained a fully-grown and fully-deceased dog.

Without going into details, it was absolutely rancid. Take one dead animal, some water, a few weeks of intense sunlight, and an enclosed space – the result? The foulest smell imaginable. I was not the only one who witnessed a reappearance of my breakfast when a particularly strong gust of wind blew the stench our way. Although always fancying myself as a bit of an eco-warrior, there are some things I cannot do, and touching that suitcase after having realised what was inside was one of them.

Giving the canoes a well-needed wash at the end of the day

A thank-you poster from the organisers at the after-clean-up apéro

Frankly, I was shocked at the extent to which people disregard the environment around them – especially when it is in a region such as this. Not only is the Dordogne uncommonly beautiful, but I reckon a good 70% of its economy relies on tourism – how do they expect to attract people from far and wide when their pride and joy is being treated as little more than a gigantic rubbish can? With four groups of volunteers each cleaning different sections of the river, we more than easily collected enough rubbish to fill our allocated industrial sized rubbish carton. Add to this the inconceivably inhuman side of putting an animal – alive or already deceased; I don’t care – into a suitcase and lobbing it over the side of the road into a river. Seriously, although we had a great time in the canoes and really getting our hands dirty, this really makes you think about the importance of the environment, and how easy it is to disregard that which is around you. 

Although I’m not going to turn vegetarian anytime soon (sorry bro), I think this has definitely had an impact on my outlook towards a more ecologically aware way of living, and of looking after your surroundings. At least, I hope it has anyway.