Tour Down Under

The Tour Down Under is on again in Adelaide. Let's see if anyone we know is here.

Yes! Over there is The VeloDrone, with an attractive young lady. Oh! It's Marie, his niece, otherwise known as Madam Denis. They have new bicycles, and a new team, judging by the colours. Let's get nearer. Team Gymnosophy, well there's a surprise. They seem to be looking for someone.

The VeloDrone: Where are they?

Madam Denis: I'm sure they'll be here in a minute. Don't fuss.

The VeloDrone: I'm not fussing, but well..... yes I am! I knew it was a mistake to team up with Gymnosophers. They don't have that killer instinct. They may not turn up at all.

Madam Denis: Anyone would think you had a killer instinct.

The VeloDrone: I like a good contest, that's all. Where are they?

Madam Denis: Here they come now! Oh my! Look at them!

The VeloDrone: For heaven's sake!

Enter two Gymnosophers, wheeling their bicycles and not wearing any clothes.

Gymnosopher Ten ( for it is he): Hello! Are we late? Sorry!

Gymnosopher Five: ( for it is he): Yes, my fault entirely. I couldn't find my drink bottle.

The VeloDrone: Never mind that! Haven't you forgotten something?

Madam Denis: Pockets, for example?

Gymnosopher Ten: We do without pockets. And may I ask why you are clothed in luxurious Lycra?

The VeloDrone: There is nothing luxurious about it. In fact it is quite uncomfortable. Mine feels particularly tight this year.

Madam Denis: That is because you have not done your preparation.

Gymnosopher Five: He hasn't?

Madam Denis: No, he hasn't.

The VeloDrone: Yes I have, I have been eating carrots all week.

Gymnosopher Ten: Luxuriousness!

Madam Denis: Well, now gentlemen, if we are going to be an effective team, we must all work together, don't you think?

Gymnosopher Five: Hear, hear!

Madam Denis: I'm glad to hear you say that.

Gymnosopher Five: I am more flexible, being the younger of the two.

Madam Denis: I can see that!

The VeloDrone: Marie! Behave yourself! Come on! Let's get over to the starting line. Nice bicycles you Gymnosophers have, by the way.

Gymnosopher Ten: Thanks. They're Alexanders.

Carrots

May I ask, enquired Pliny the Elder, how one hears, or imagines one hears, carrots in a piece of music?

You mean in the Walton at the Lunch Hour Concert? I asked.

Yes. I can understand that you may have heard traffic, chipmunks, bees, and even the motion of curtains, but I fail to understand how one imagines one is hearing something that neither moves nor makes a recognisable sound.

In other words you're asking me what I think carrots sound like?

I am.

Well, you have to understand the process. Do you remember how I became confused because they changed the order of the program?

Yes.

This meant that I never really got into the second, genuine Walton. I was full of chagrin, and self-reproach. The repetition of the chipmunk and bee sounds held an interest for me only insofar as they proved that in music you can hear almost anything you want.

And so you thought of carrots?

No, no, not like that. My mind drifted off. And since I was planning to go to the Central Market at half past three, it drifted towards a shopping list of the things that I might buy there. Not oranges, I thought. Perhaps a pineapple. Not bok choy. Maybe some carrots.

Aha! Carrots at last!

Yes, and I was thinking of the two limp carrots in the fridge at home, and that I might not need a whole bag of carrots but could probably do with about four large ones which I could buy from the Seven Sisters. Four carrots. Then my attention returned to the music. Don't ask me why.

I expect it was guilt.

Maybe it was. And I thought, is it possible that as I'm thinking of carrots I might hear carrots in the music? It had certainly been possible for me to hear other things which hadn't been there.

The reverse process, said Pliny sagely. This time you are thinking of something beforehand and then searching for it within the music.

That's right.

And did you find it?

Yes.

So, the question is, what did it sound like?

It sounded like four orange notes, rounded, but pointy at the end.

Remarkable, said Pliny.

Ignorance

At the Lunch Hour Concert I was sitting behind four middle aged people who were together. Something nasty had happened in the garden of one of them. One said, Have you seen The Shining? No, said another, have you seen Eyes Wide Shut?

The Chamber Ensemble came on stage in twos and threes. As they appeared some people at the back would clap. This continued disconcertingly as the stage filled up.

The first piece was by William Walton. I don't know a thing about William Walton, except what was in the notes. He wrote some music for a Shakespeare film in the 1940s. A Shakespeare film. Classy.

So, I'm listening. I hear traffic. Sigh. I hear chipmunks. Yuk. I hear bees. Hmm. I hear spooky noises, like the movement of curtains in a dark house at night. William Walton must have written this one for a film as well, I think. A multi-purpose piece. And very 1940s-ish.

They stop playing. The conductor indicates a young man sitting in the sixth row on the left. The composer. He is Stephen Tanoto. He takes a bow.

Thus I realise, and so do the 4 in front of me, that we had not been listening to William Walton.

Ha Ha they laugh. Ha Ha Ha. We didn't think it sounded much like Walton.

Well, I did. But now I know it wasn't. I am miffed, and can't get into this new Walton which they are playing now. Sure it has chipmunks. And traffic, and what's this? Carrots! But I feel cheated. I had been looking forward to the Tanoto. It was based on a chipmunk-free madrigal, and I missed it.

This new Walton madrigal piece was in 4 movements. The people at the back clapped in between, with decreasing confidence.

It ended. The people in front of me clapped ostentatiously, turning towards one another and nodding. That was the Walton alright. We always knew.