Category Archives: life

Boknördstestet

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Väldigt svårt att uppskatta hur många böcker jag läser per år numera. Jag svarade i detta test “runt 50 stycken”, eftersom jag vet att jag sitter oftare framför datorn och läser något än stänger av och tar upp en tryckt text och ägnar tid åt den, men förmodligen sammanlagt hinner titta i en bok i veckan åtminstone. Det ligger böcker överallt i huset, och jag bläddrar eller läser ofta i flera på en gång. Jag är ju en van bokläsare, och köper och lånar en hel del böcker fortfarande, trots att det finns internet om man vill bli underhållen eller bilda sig. På högstadiet på 70-talet läste jag omkring 200 eller 300 böcker om året, har jag för mig, men det var det enda man hade att göra på rasterna i skolan de åren, och det blev ibland två böcker om dagen, med det jag hann läsa hemma också.

Länkat: hittade detta test på Barnens Bokklubb via Jessikas blogg.

Utmaning – 12 stycken personliga musikval

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Hos The Real Mymlan hittade jag en utmaning: “visa mig din musiksmak och jag skall säga dig vem du är”…. Regler: räkna upp 12 musikstycken och ange gärna en länk till en spellista med dem på Spotify eller liknande musiktjänst. Det skall vara musik som angår dig personligen, inte din topplista med vad du anser vara den bästa musik som har gjorts. Tänk inte för länge, notera det som först dyker upp ur minnet och känns rätt!

Så här blev det 12 ganska spontant uppletade stycken som stämmer med mig och vad jag har lyssnat på de senaste (snart) 50 åren:

1. Glenn Goulds tolkning av Bachs “Goldbergvariationer” (versionen från 1981, lyssna helst till alla variationerna också…)
2. en fräsch tolkning av arian “Zerfliesse” ur Bachs “Johannespassion” (himmelskt)
3. Thelonious Monks “Ruby, my dear”
4. Bill Evans och Monica Zetterlund i “Monicas vals” (Waltz for Debbie)
5. “I let the music speak”, Anne Sofie von Otter sjunger ABBA-låtar (timingen är inte den bästa i alla låtarna, men arrangemangen är intressanta och hon sjunger snyggt)
6. Steely Dan “Any major dude will tell you” (eller nåt annat från “Pretzel Logic”, eller “Can’t Buy a Thrill”, eller nåt annat)
7. Elton John “I need you to turn to” (fint “klassiskt” arrangemang, återhållsam sång, jag gillar de tidiga Elton John-albumen)
8. Purcell “Music for a while” med sopranen Sumi Jo (ett stycke jag själv har studerat en gång, men jag är inte sopran)
9. Mozart “Exsultate, jubilate” med sopranen Kathleen Battle (borde hellre vara Maria Stader, men fanns inte här)
10. Fabio Biondi med orkester spelar Vivaldis “Vintern” (hela deras version av “Årstiderna” är jämfört med en välspelad, tam och “trevlig” standardtolkning så annorlunda att man ramlar omkull av förvåning och skrattar högt av förtjusning)
11. Anne Sofie von Otter sjunger sånger av svenska tonsättare
12. Bachs kantat nr 32 i en fin gammal 1960-talsversion, där en pojke sjunger sopranstämman

Länk till Spotify för att lyssna igenom vad jag valde för musik på denna spellista.

Challenge: list 12 tunes or pieces of music (recorded) that say something about you, and what you like — but do not try to make it a top list of the “best” music you know! Put a link to a Spotify playlist if you have an account, or a link to another music service where your choices can be found.

Nothing to tell

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The art of blogging has been almost given up and forgotten in the last months, during which I have done very little online – except checking my Facebook and Myspace and a discussion forum, but not contributing much. I read other people’s music blogs, though, when the subscribed ones drop their newest content in my reader.

Haven’t been painting or composing or writing much lately either. I studied painting once a week from February to May, but did nothing new that I want to show here or in an exhibition (we have an annual amateur salon on the local library but I wasn’t prepared to participate this summer), just still life exercises in acrylic on cheap paper, to learn more about light, balance and colours.

Musically, I am jumping between very different things. I have been learning some jazz standards on piano (I am not very good at playing and can’t improvise much), for example “Hallucinations” by Bud Powell. Then I have been playing the piano part to “Åkersbergavalsen” a lovely waltz written some years (or decades?) ago by Ove Gardemar. It was used when a song group led by Christina Nordstrand was entertaining old people at a hospital with spring and summer tunes. I have made and published (on SibeliusMusic) some revisions to my song “Elisabeth dansar” – a short, lyrical tune for children. Yesterday I started to put the music from Beethoven’s op. 131 into Sibelius notation, to see if I could learn something about string quartet writing by this exercise. (There seems to be a file of the LvB op131 in Finale notation available at Project Gutenberg but it is an experience to notate it from the pocket score, too) I often get ideas for new compositions and sound works, but nothing that seems important enough to start working on. You have to imagine at least some sort of listener for a piece, and if not, don’t waste your time. Being a composer is really frustrating most of the time, especially if you are not a performer yourself, and if you lack the social skills needed to build a network of contacts in the musical world…

Hope you are having a nice summer, readers!

Atonal Paj (=No Key Lime Pie)

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pajdeg:

200 g Digestivekex
1 dl vetemjöl
1 tsk kanel
1 tsk vaniljsocker
1 dl flytande margarin
några droppar vatten

Krossa kexen och blanda allt i en matberedare. Tryck ut i en pajform och förgrädda mellan 5 och 7 minuter i 200 grader.

Fyllning:

1 burk sötad kondenserad mjölk
4 äggulor (spara äggvitorna till maräng om du vill ha det ovanpå pajen, annars till en omelett eller nåt annat)
saft och fruktkött från 2 stora gröna limefrukter

Rör ihop allt med en gaffel i en bunke. Äggen skall först blandas väl med den sötade mjölken, så det ser ut som en normal sockerkakssmet. Limesaften skall röras in i det hela så att äggen och mjölken koagulerar av syran.

Därefter, antingen:

A) Låt pajskalet kallna och fyllningen tjockna någon timme, och fyll sedan pajen och ställ den i kylskåpet. Klart att äta när det är kallt och smeten har stelnat.

B) Fyll pajskalet med äggsmeten och grädda ca 8 minuter i 200 grader. Låt svalna och ställ i kylskåp. Godast att äta kall som efterrätt eller till kaffet nästa dag.

C) Gör som ovan men fortsätt med att vispa till en marängsmet (se någon vettig kokbok för recept på hur och vad) och grädda pajen tills marängen fått färg. (Detta är supersliskigt, och om man misslyckas med marängen blir det väldigt äckligt med den klibbiga äggvitesåsen som dränker allt. Går dock att rädda om man ställer den i kylskåp tills man tål att se den igen.)

Arbetsrum

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When I am not reading the newspaper, other music blogs, music discussions or web pages I have looked up to understand something, while listening to Beethoven’s Ninth or some songs by Steely Dan or a cd with Anne Sofie von Otter, I am sometimes writing arrangements of Christmas music, looking at music composed by my friends, or reading a page or two of serious fiction or theory, but when I am not doing this – or watching the snow that fell yesterday – I have these paintings to work on. The Red Road is almost finished now. The abstract maritime landscape with the beams of light is just a sketch to a larger painting I will make some day. The simplified little copy of Enguerrand Charonton’s The Coronation of Mary (original from 1454) is what it is – a naive exercise. Here is a detail of the original:

I just couldn’t forget that filthy old wreck, Marilyn

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In the summer 2002, we were on the lookout for a replacement for Carolina, the narrow, well-sailing “RJ-85” sailboat we had bought while we lived on the West coast (our third or fourth boat, was this). One of the stepsons wanted to take over Carolina, if we were thinking of getting something bigger and more comfortable for our vacations. For some reason I believed that a more reliable (with inboard engine) and spacious boat would be the only thing I needed to be happy for the rest of my life, and if I didn’t get it, my life would never be what it should have been, given my interests and background! The first possible craft we decided to look at was a “Schelinkryssare” (a 35 ft cruiser designed by Oscar Schelin) from 1971. She was called Marilyn, and for sale through a yacht broker in Stockholm.

I hopped on board, and looked with disgust at the far from ship-shape mess on deck, and all the things that were broken, misplaced, filthy, rusty or dented. Ropes left on deck everywhere, the sails attached to wires in the mast that were not running straight and free for hoisting, the wood on the cockpit benches was rotten, and the steering-wheel was dysfunctional. The cabin smelled unpleasant, there was green-ish water under the worn but nicely varnished floor, the propane stove with its old bent pipes and fittings made me look for the emergency exit and pray that none of the other prospective buyers would light a cigarette when on the ship, the bunks and the cabinets needed repair, the hull isolation was filthy and ugly, the electric system needed immediate replacement, there were signs of water-leakage through the top door, et cetera. Much work. Not worth the fairly high price. However, the sails seemed to be both new and okay (even if the rig looked ridiculous), the 27 hp diesel engine reliable and quite new (but a high-risk: fixed on just three of four mounts, all rusty), and the hull seemed strong and well built. And the poor wreck had a soul… So I was quite taken, and couldn’t leave her until I had walked the deck two rounds more, trying to notice all the faults!

In my fantasies, I could see, hear, and feel what it would be like to own a boat with a personality like that, and appreciate the possibilities and advantages of this model. I also imagined my grandchildren in the future would say, “When we were small and sailing with Grandma on Marilyn“… I wanted so much to be someone possessing an old plastic 35 ft sailboat with an old-fashioned, beautiful light grey hull, a blue line and a nice name, so I could not think of much else, or sleep, but had to get up in the middle of the night and look at myself in the bathroom mirror and weep hysterically! We looked at other Schelin:s, at several different other models, and weighed price against what needed fixing. Sometimes we were tempted to buy one of the practical, clean, nifty, good-enough, plain but well-equipped and reasonably priced boats we found. But we never could agree on which one.

The summer months went by. I took a navigation course in the autumn, to have a systematic brush-up of the stuff I almost already knew, and to get a navigation certificate. I returned to visit Marilyn, every time I was in town! When she was sold, I went there to say goodbye to the ship, and talk to the yacht broker. I asked what price they finally had agreed on, and if there had been anything reported from the hull inspector. There was no special discount, as there had been no evidence of any severe faults. The buyer was a carpenter from Denmark, who had remarked, “Good for me to have some work to do, or else I will drink too much beer!”

After the navigation course was completed, the instructor offered an opportunity for a practical exam, consisting of navigation exercises and manoeuvre training onboard his motorboat — in his hometown, an hour south of Stockholm. I signed up, but got extremely anxious about the entire event. It was to take place on a weekday in November or early December, so the prospect of being at sea at that time of year was unpleasant, and the idea of travelling alone, that far away and early in the morning, made me feel completely at a loss. I contacted another woman from the course, and she offered to help me out with a hike from the University, if I could make it to the Statoil filling station there on my own, and meet her at 7 AM. Thankfully, I got ill, so I had a reason to cancel it without feeling like a fool.

Just before Christmas, my husband heard from a colleague in Finland that there was perhaps an interesting boat for sale in Turku. A widow with an “H-35” from 1981 (a 35 ft cruiser, a well-sailing quite modern boat by a Finnish yacht designer) was thinking of selling it. We got a report from a first inspection on site. “Nice boat, but the ‘skitigaste’ (=filthiest) thing I have ever seen”, said our friend. Negotiations with the widow started, held in a mix of Swedish, English, German and Finnish, to be understood. Husband and son went to Turku with a passenger ferry, to have a look. Enthusiastic (or – the son – rather indifferent, disillusioned and tired of all the previous arguments) they called me and asked if I could agree on taking this fantastic chance to get a boat with great possibilities, at a bargain price!

“Okay; of course…” (What could I say?)

At Christmas 2002, I was writing on my first and only work for orchestra, Winter into Spring, or Töväder (Thawing Weather), something I was really serious about. Hubby was thinking, talking and dreaming about how to transfer Euro money for the boat payment, how to fix a boat transport and how to start the boat renovation.

A Friday evening in January 2003, we got on a small car ferry from Frihamnen in Stockholm. It was a beautiful night, with a full white moon shining over dark islands, dark water, snow and ice. Chunks of ice in the shipping channel were hammering on the ferry hull, all the hours we went through the vast archipelagos on both sides of the Aland Sea. I could hardly sleep, mostly because I was so fascinated by the landscape outside, and the other unfamiliar sensations. We arrived in the grey morning, and got our car off the ferry in Turku, drove through the town and out to the sleepy suburb where the boatyard was situated.

“And here she is – our new boat.”
“Uh-hu. Nice.”

(That? The ugly, wet, sad thing with a snow drift on top? Did I borrow a fortune from mother, only to spend it all on this practical joke? My God – what a bargain! My life is over now, absolutely over. This is The End.)

I climbed the ladder, which a kind owner of a neighbour boat had helped us with, and silently started to inspect my new ship, beginning with clearing the deck from as much ice and snow as possible. There was solid ice in the engine room, too. And water in the cabin, dripping everywhere, through leaks in the roof, from the melting snow and ice on deck. A lot of woodwork was in bad condition from this neglect to cover the boat properly for winter. The radio and the VHF telephone were dripping, also. There was an ugly old propane stove, with bent pipes and suspect fittings. Et cetera. And not even a trace of a soul. This boat was dead. Gone. Beyond rescue. Just a piece of indestructible fibreglass.

The seller arrived. She was a tiny and elegant woman, in fur coat and small boots, but she jumped onboard like a cat or athlete, without using the ladder. She laughed happily at everything we said, and smiled at the Swedish-speaking gentleman who functioned as her driver, interpreter and technical expertise. When she understood that we had actually bought the boat, liked and wanted it, and had the intention to move it to Sweden the same afternoon, she was so happy so she had to demonstrate her ability to stand on her head, there, in the snow! From other sources, and from evidence in the boat, we learned that this Moomin character (and her late husband) had maybe been fond of the more pleasant aspects of boating. For example, beer. During the renovation, we found that it was not possible – in any one of the 35 ft of this ship – to be out of reach of a beer bottle opener. There were a dozen of them, mounted with great care, in the most imaginative places. The maintenance of and care about the rest of the equipment, on the other hand…

Chasing foxes

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This morning, I watched two small foxes playing in the meadow between the village school and the old feldspar mines. At first I wondered why two cats were running like that — or was it martens? No, foxes. A beautiful chase, like two waves of red fur flowing over the field, and then rolling on over the road and into the wood.

The Viol That Casts The Longest Shadow

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Memory is hard to catch, for where its shadow falls, often the details and emotions that could make it a really good story are impossible to find again.

Maybe it was like this:

Around 1991-93, in a music school in southern Sweden, I was in a group of students who were rehearsing for a performance in “ensemble class” – an activity where we were supposed to try other instruments and genres than we usually studied as main subjects. In my group were, as I can remember: Jakob the Nervous Trumpeter; Sara the Energetic Singer & Dancer; Hanna the Humorous Clarinetist; Dermot the Cool Irish Organist; Stefan the Smiling Trumpeter; and me – Maria the Motherly Composer & Singer.

We had decided to perform two songs. I remember one of them was “Fever”, in a simple arrangement. We were gathered in the room otherwise used for voice lessons. A small classroom with a sturdy electric piano, a cassette deck and microphone, a mirror, some desks and chairs, book cupboards with sheet music, framed posters from musical productions, and, in a corner, a double bass.

Jakob and Stefan decided to alternate as bass players and tenor singers. Sara, Hanna and Dermot took care of the other voice parts, plus assorted percussion instruments. I sat down at the piano and tried to play some chords, with a jazz organ sound and appropriate rhythms.

We worked on it for some time, and with much of the energy spent on the wrong things, since nobody except perhaps Sara had enough self-confidence and ensemble experience to rely on for a concentrated effort, we got tired and decided to take an early coffee break. I left the piano and was about to head for the door, while the others continued to make jokes about our coming performance, and suggested ideas for how to improve it with gestures and other routines. Jakob and Stefan had been competing over who played the bass the best – or in the silliest way, and Jakob still danced around with it, but with his attention more on the discussion than on the instrument.

I can’t remember if I saw or understood what Jakob tried to do next. If it was an attempt to treat the double bass as a simple guitar, and just let it rest for a while – leaning it to a chair, or if he thought he could let go of it where it stood, as if gravitation did not exist, I don’t think he even knew this himself. Our music school’s double bass died an instant and disgraceful death a second later, when it slipped on the floor and crashed into the electric piano.