The week after the...erm...weekend before

Universally acknowledged is the fact that the week after a concert (especially one as spiffing as Saturday night), Rudsambee-lets tend to go a little wild and become ever more unmanageable for ol' Maestro Boy, those who attend anyway. Last night was no exception. I will put the general chaos partly down to learning a new little ditty which is entitled Don't it make my brown eyes blue. In A-L's southern American drawl it sounded like a throwback to an Arthur Miller play and her suggestion of a voiceover during the final chorus ("I'm so blue... what can I do... without you?" etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum) was greeted with great enthusiasm. This, btw, is a song beloved of our York friends who we will be visiting in a matter of weeks. Now I am of the opinion that jazz (especially jazz with a touch of swing and a smattering of blues) causes perfectly respectable choral groups to regress into hysterical madness. Once again I was proved entirely correct. It is like a disease.

In fact, after the delights of the weekend, we challenged ourselves to two new pieces last night with a lulluby by Gorecki as well(haven't worked out how to correctly pronounce his name yet - leave it with me). While we are, in true Rudsambee fashion, singing this song in Polish, we took a quick peek at the translation which roughly seems to read, "Go to bed and grow up". This sentence of course could have many meanings depending on whether it is sung by a kindly mother looking fondly at her sweet child and thinking of the future when he will be a strong man or by a cross mother sick of her child's endless whining for the latest Wii game. Maestro Boy's recital sounded remarkably like the latter.

This next item will cause a shock wave to ripple, nay, tsunami (can that word be used as a verb - I don't care, I'm the Lord of the grammatical rules round here) around the Music Department of the University of Edinburgh. We took a quick look at Wade in the Water last night. We attempted this one before but consigned it to the proverbial Rudsambee waste paper bin. Maestro Boy (a man with a first class degree in music no less) looked at the sheet music asfresh and bemoaned the lack of variety for the poor ol' basses who "only get to sing a E except for one C near the end". We all agreed that this was a poor show indeed and reflected the generally dull nature of this piece (unless Eva Cassidy sings it in which case I rather like it). That is until Editor King (who also, as it happens, has a perceptive eye) pointed out that Maestro Boy was reading the percussion line. University degrees dumbing down? I think this proves it beyond any doubt.

Finally we listened to Helen's recording of Cloudburst from the triumph of Saturday night. Despite a couple of moments where we had a collective cringe, it really sounded good. What a great night that was! Speaking of the concert, thanks again to all those who came. Loads of money (I really mean loads of money) was raised for a great cause so cheers for putting your hand in your pockets. Claire 2's Lenny Henry/Comic Relief/ensure there are some 'sad footage' close ups and some jolly 'we're here to help' aftershots-esque speech seemed to work wonders (sorry about that sentence, try it again...). Jen wondered if she could have a recording so she could wander round Tesco's with a begging bowl.

And with that I must get back to a perculiar play by Louis MacNeice. Bet you wish you were me.

CSW

ps If you feel the need to pay this much for a copy, get in touch and we can almost certainly undercut the seller.