Where Are They Now?—Taff Trot / Brummie Schoolboy Edition

Back in the 80s, I used to be in a band with a guy called Martyn Hope—indeed, we went to school together. Back in the 90s, having read that, surreally, Elvis revivalist Shakin’ Stevens was a closet Red1, I went searching online to find out if he was a member of a late 70s cohort of Communist pop stars hailing from Wales. (Green “Scritti Politti” Gartside certainly was one.)

During my search, I was gobsmacked to discover that Martyn was now making a living as Shaky’s lead guitarist. It wasn’t that Martyn in any way lacked the talent for the job; it was just that this was even more surreal a scenario from my point-of-view than Shaky being a revolutionary. I still have a distinct memory as a kid of waking up on a schoolday to Shakin’ Stevens’s Green Door on Mike Read’s BBC Radio 1 breakfast show. Stevens is one of those people—like Celine Dion or Cliff Richard or almost anyone millions of Brits linedance to—who, despite being (because he is?) ignored/despised by hipsters and the mainstream media, sells shedloads of records. Apparently he played Glastonbury last year, though I’m not sure whether that means Shaky is cool now or Glasto is not; as regulars know, I don’t do “cool”, least of all the Glastonbury version of it.

A few weeks ago, Martyn and I got in touch via mutual friends on Facebook. He is a professional musician now and gigs with several bands as well as running an agency for them. Via his profile page, here’s a video to his playing on a track from the quiffmeister’s most recent Polish album [released December 2008]. Martyn is on the right, playing the nice Gibson, and takes a brief solo at about 2’11”. His picking throughout the song is rather more precise than the editing of the video. Martyn himself pointed out that, at the beginning, the drummer’s cymbal moves before he hits it.

  1. I’d like to make clear that I still haven’t found trustworthy independent confirmation of this rumour, and it might well be as true as the synthetic urban myth that Bob Holness plays sax on Baker Street—or indeed that His Holness was the man who put off Elvis himself during the infamous laughing version of Are You Lonesome Tonight?. []

Atheist Taliban Exposed By Daily Mail

The headline above is a lie, as is almost everything in an article in The Daily Mail, fisked here by the British Humanist Association.

[via wongaBlog]

Typical Bloody Scousers

You park the team bus outside Anfield on a Sunday and within minutes the wheels are off.

(Now that our improbable “breakthrough” season has officially gone down the tubes, can Villa just return to mid-table mediocrity again, please? I can’t be doing with the misplaced hope.)

Bat Into Hell

[A] bat, seen clinging to the external fuel tank of the Space Shuttle Discovery before its launch on Sunday, apparently clung for dear life to the side of the tank as the spaceship lifted off.

The shuttle accelerates to an orbital velocity of 17,500 milers per hour, which is 25 times faster than the speed of sound, in just over eight minutes. That’s zero to 100 mph in 10 seconds.

Did it make it into space? No one knows yet. But photos of Discovery as it cleared the launch tower showed a tiny speck on the side of the tank. When those photos were blown up, it became apparent that the speck was a bat.

Unfortunately, “Brian” is almost certainly an ex-bat.

[via Slashdot]

An Eight-Year-Old Watches Man U Versus Liverpool

From The Motley Fool:

My 8-year old daughter enters the room.

Millie: Aww, football?! Football is such rubbish.

As the daughter of a life-long Saints supporter she has a point.

Me: That’s true, but it’s not on for long.

A lump of sulk flops down next to me. I try to remember why other teams seem to pass the round white thing on the flat green stuff. I can’t remember. Suddenly the lump of sulk sits bolt upright.

Millie: Daddy, who’s the team playing in silver?

Me: Silver?! Oh, that’s Liverpool.

Millie: They’ve got a girl playing for them!

For a moment I feel like I’ve been transported back to St Mary’s but then I realise it’s not meant as an insult.

Me: A girl? What?

Millie: Look, there, she’s got blonde hair and she’s wearing an alice band!

Me: That’s not a girl, sweetie.

Millie: Men don’t wear alice bands!

Me: Well, actually…

Torres scores - 1-1.

Millie: Look! All the men are trying to cuddle her now, eeewwwww.

Me: No, that’s cos she, I mean HE, just scored a goal.

Millie: They’re cuddling each other because she scored a goal? Oh yuck, that one just kissed her!

Me: She’s not a girl, she’s a bloke!

Millie: Why don’t they just shake hands or something then?

Me: Well, I, errr… I don’t know, they prefer to cuddle, I mean hug… you know what I mean!

Millie: Daddy?

Me: Yes sweetie?

Millie: Do you cuddle people in your team at work when you do something good?

Me: No!

Pause.

Millie: I bet you’d cuddle her if she was in your team.

Me: She is a he! Her name, HIS name, is Fernando Torres.

Millie: Fernando?! Is he the one ABBA sing about?

Me: No, I don’t think ABBA sing any songs about football…

Millie: Pffff, football is such rubbish.

My 8-year old daughter leaves the room.

Diversity Training

The other day, I was (as one so often is) on the door at the latter stages of a central Brighton soul and Motown event with a mixed-race lesbian bouncer. She leerily told me tales of her days running sapphic club nights, and how the punters only really started to pile in when she imported a couple of London-based girl-on-girl dancers whose speciality was a floorshow involving lit candles. Our conversation was interrupted at one point by her own girlfriend ringing her on her mobile and her answering, to my stifled amusement, with the classic: “I’ve told you about calling me at work.”
[I think this counted as another one of those situations designed to make a Guardian reader’s brain explode.]

Some time before closing time (1:00 am), the now tired-and-emotional attendees started trickling out. One forty/fiftysomething man and his partner (female) walked past us. He turned back, put his arm around my shoulders, and began:
“Tell me something, right? I don’t like black music, right?”
[bouncer and Pooter exchange glances] then continued:
“But [pointing at his missus] she made me come to this. And it was bloody good. Bloody brilliant. It was like Blues Brothers music. I thought it was going to be all, like, Barry White. Is there any more of this stuff I should listen to?”

The Mother Of All Funk Chords

Brothers and sisters, watch and listen as the universal language of music meets the multimedia multi-ethnic mega-mashup that is teh Interwebz and a groove is born [YouTube video].

Kutiman, a 26-year-old citizen of [sarcasm]the Evil Zionist Entity, isn’t too busy baking the blood of Palestinian babies into matzos[/sarcasm] to do a reggae one, with a ginga Rasta sharing lead vocals, and a cool hip-hop-jazz-funk-classical one, and a banging Mediterranean-Middle-Eastern one, and a 60s-lounge-meets-home-keyboard one [all links to YouTube videos]. I love the background household details in this one, and this is sweet.

Here’s Kutiman’s ThruYOU project homepage and his explanation of his work.

[via Tim Almond]

The Squeaky Wheelchair

Paul Evans worked for a company that built Websites for political organizations long before the current crop of johnny-come-latelys started twittering about “digital engagement” and “campaigning 2.0”. This post of his about the kinds of people who use the Net to harass politicians and the kind of people politicians should listen to—two groups that, in Paul’s imagination, could well be more closely related in real life than they are in their attitudes—is excellent.

Noblesse blancmange

For some lucky and rich people who describe themselves as Left-wing, one of the worst things about free markets is that they have given the oiks the freedom to enjoy the pleasures that were previously restricted to their betters. A real “socialist” state would provide the lower orders with more suitable goods: perhaps they would be allowed to see People Like Us with nice vowels do Shakespeare—only matinees, mind; wouldn’t want the unwashed sitting too close by in the evenings.

This piece by the legendary Liz Jones—is she a creation of Craig Brown? we should be told—exemplifies that attitude perfectly. Under the headline “IF ONLY WE’D HAD GREEN CUSTARD WHEN I MARCHED WITH THE MINERS”, ex-Communist Jones praises Leila Deen, the eco-warrior who slimed the Business Secretary Peter Mandelson. I reproduce the best bit of the article here, so you don’t have to visit the Daily Maily Website:

I was about to board a Virgin Atlantic flight from Heathrow to LA a couple of weeks ago.

I asked the woman at the check-in desk how full the plane was. ‘Rammed.’ How many children are near me? ‘Ooh, quite a few infants.’

As I only had a seat in economy, and didn’t want to spend 11 hours being made more deaf than I already am, I asked if I could pay to sit in premium economy.

‘It’s full,’ she said. Upper class?

‘No, that’s full as well.’ But I’d have thought that, what with the recession and the weaker pound and global warming, the plane would be almost empty?

‘No, it’s business as usual,’ she said, smiling sweetly. Bugger.

I had hoped the dire straits in which the world now finds itself would have at least guaranteed a spare seat next to me on the plane. And I had consoled myself – while briefly thinking about my carbon footprint – with the thought that the plane would take off whether I was on board or not, so what did it matter?

This is the problem. Each of us feels so ignored, so disenfranchised, we no longer believe individual actions can make a difference.

So, well done indeed to a determined young woman called Leila Deen, who on Friday decided to get up early, make some custard and dye it green (rather than spend two hours deciding which ridiculous pair of shoes to wear, which is what most women of her generation seem to do these days), plonk herself outside the Royal Society and fling the custard in Peter Mandelson’s smarmy face.

It’s not April yet, but surely this is a parody?

Not Dead

Thank you very much to the PooterGeeker who sent me a Minolta SLR camera, lenses and other exciting goodies. You are star. I feel guilty writing so little lately when my readers are so nice to me.

The person who sent me that amazing gift is someone I have never met in my life, which brings me to my second point, a point that also links my two previous posts here. The photo of me and Thatch shows her presenting me with a scholarship at and on behalf of (the Association for Science Education and) the Royal Institution, where Susan Greenfield is currently a full professor and director—and responsible for rubbish like this. Greenfield’s an embarrassment to science. Normally it’s non-scientific academics who flit from medium to medium under the amusing banner of “public intellectual” making fashionable, unsubstantiated claims and demanding action. We expect that sort of thing from them and, usually, our elected representatives are sensible enough to ignore them.

I have attacked gibberish from Greenfield in the past on PooterGeek. Watch this YouTube video in which Ben Goldacre (who provided the link in my previous post) does the same on BBC’s Newsnight.

Яolcats

Via Ben Goldacre, “English Translations of Eastern Bloc Lolcats”.

Golly!

You Wouldn’t Steal A Parrot

The (Monty) Pythons raid YouTube, displacing poor-quality rip-offs of scenes from their films on the site by adding official, high-quality rip-offs. Are they mad? Well, they’re certainly richer. Their DVD sales have increased by 23 000 percent.

[via Slashdot]

Jew Do You Think You Are?

Whenever someone implies that anti-Semitism isn’t racism, I point out that it’s one of the few examples of discrimination that really is racism (unlike, for example, the invented thoughtcrime “Islamophobia”1 ) because the Ashkenazi Jewish population is as close as you can get scientifically to the common (and deeply flawed) notion of what a “race” is.

Adam Woolfe, who did his PhD at the HGMP-RC before it closed down, drew my attention to this paper in Genome Biology, “A genome-wide genetic signature of Jewish ancestry perfectly separates individuals with and without full Jewish ancestry in a large random sample of European Americans”, that shows this more rigorously:

Background

It was recently shown that the genetic distinction between self-identified Ashkenazi Jewish and non-Jewish individuals is a prominent component of genome-wide patterns of genetic variation in European Americans. No study however has yet assessed how accurately self-identified (Ashkenazi) Jewish ancestry can be inferred from genomic information, nor whether the degree of Jewish ancestry can be inferred among individuals with fewer than four Jewish grandparents.

Results

Using a principal components analysis, we found that the individuals with full Jewish ancestry formed a clearly distinct cluster from those individuals with no Jewish ancestry. Using the position on the first principal component axis, every single individual with self-reported full Jewish ancestry had a higher score than any individual with no Jewish ancestry.

  1. Many who use the word “Islamophobia” are, however, actual racists because they lump together multitudes of human individuals and assign to them both an inaccurate label and a set of presumed characteristics and/or grievances. []

For Statistical Sneerers Everywhere

This has to be one (if only one) in the eye for all those people who say there’s no point in listening to passenger plane safety announcements about how to slide down the inflatable ramp and put on your flotation aid because if there’s a crash the best you can hope for is to be a smear on a mountainside:

A US Airways Airbus A320 passenger plane carrying at least 150 people has crashed into the Hudson River in New York City.

A passenger who escaped from the aircraft told CNN: “A couple of minutes after taking off we heard a loud bang, the plane shook a bit and immediately we could smell smoke and fire.”

Fox News also quoted passengers as saying that everyone from the plane had escaped alive.

Offensive Language

Harry Windsor is a “thug” for referring to another soldier by the nickname “Paki”, according to Mohammed Shafiq of the Ramadhan Foundation, quoted by the BBC. The BBC page links to the Website of that organisation, where Shafiq also claims that the government of Israel is like that of the Nazis.

The organization’s Chairman and Patron, Muhammad Umar, has his own page there also, headed with an image of Umar “presenting Services to Humanity award” [sic] to Mahathir bin Mohamad, former Prime Minister of Malaysia. Here are some of the words of bin Mohamad, offered in the Service of Humanity:

The Jews for example are not merely hook-nosed, but understand money instinctively.

The Jews robbed the Palestinians of everything, but in Malaysia they could not do so, hence they do this, depress the ringgit.

We [Muslims] are actually very strong, 1.3 billion people cannot be simply wiped out. The Nazis killed 6 million Jews out of 12 million [during the Holocaust]. But today the Jews rule the world by proxy. They get others to fight and die for them. They invented socialism, communism, human rights and democracy so that persecuting them would appear to be wrong so they may enjoy equal rights with others. With these they have now gained control of the most powerful countries. And they, this tiny community, have become a world power.

Double Knockout

A lot of women think testosterone is a dangerous substance, but without it mankind would be incapable of feats like this.

[Flash video, via The Motley Fool]

Endangered Pink Lizards Threatened By Invasion Of Feral Goats

Seriously.

Family Resemblance

One thing I forgot to say when I posted those old photos: if you look at my father in the second one you can see why my sister and I reacted the same way to seeing Willem Dafoe in Mississippi Burning1 : “That’s dad in the 60s!” Until then, he’d been a Graham Greene character, working undercover for the Secret Intelligence Service in West Africa and wrestling with Catholicism; but now we knew he’d had to flee to Sierra Leone to assume a new identity after fighting the Ku Klux Klan with Gene Hackman.

  1. Brad Dourif’s in it too. He doesn’t play a kindly park keeper. []

Happy (western, heliocentric) New Year!

I hope that, wherever you are, you enjoyed the extra second imposed upon you by the imperialist forces of the dominant scientific-capitalist worldview and that you have a prosperous 2009.

As for my year so far, I jogged wearily to the gym this morning, dreading the crowds of resolutioners (though it hasn’t been too bad in the past), only to find that the place was closed for the day. This didn’t happen under the old management. Weaklings!

This might be a Message From God. I used to ride a real bicycle—a handbuilt tourer, the sort of thing the maker won’t hand over until you’ve signed a pledge to keep a woolly bobble hat on your head and a Thermos of industrial-strength tea in one of your pannier bags at all times—and sneer at people on exercise bikes, but fat as my thighs grew on my daily three-quarter-hour commutes across London, they have recently reached seam-busting proportions. The sad truth is that my legs no longer fit into my gay trousers.

On the subject of bicycle thighs, here’s New Year’s honorand Victoria Pendleton, gold-medal-winning cyclist:

Nerdy Vicky
nerd girl

Sexy Vicky
goddess

Who could resist a woman who can lift twice her own bodyweight?

Top Chef

Tim Newman is a blogging engineer, currently terraforming the far eastern Russian island of Sakhalin, a place Wikipedia describes as “less cold than inland Siberia”, with a view to it being fit for human habitation some time in the 22nd century. His account of his ten days spent on a Russian icebreaker is entertaining.

In Search Of The Perfect Pitch

Clive Davis is a champion of singer/musician Curtis Stigers, who had a couple of enormous mainstream hit singles and then made the journey from pop to jazz years ago. Sadly, it seemed at first that only seven people noticed his migration, including Clive—or as, as wardy observed, seven and two ragged tigers.

This year, on the basis of one single I heard on the radio, I bought East Of Angel Town by Peter Cincotti, who made the opposite transition. I’m making that single, Angel Town [MP3, 4.3Mb], available temporarily to encourage you to buy the album too. Download it now before it’s gone. East Of Angel Town sounds like it had the budget of Gladiator spent on it. In fact, some of the people involved in the last over-produced album I raved about were also involved in the making of this one. After a live small band performance of another track from the album, you can see the cash being thrown at parts of the fully arranged recording in this extract from a TV show on YouTube [lower-resolution—and therefore faster downloading—version here.]

When that sequence was shot, last year, Cincotti was only 24. It’s an advantage for him (I think), given his demographic, that he looks like a well-preserved thirtysomething. He certainly performs like someone older. Two interesting things: according to his MySpace page, although East of Angel Town has been released and promoted all over Europe, it doesn’t come out in the States until the 27th of January next year; according to the intriguing blog thread headed by the following post, Cincotti’s producer, David Foster, used to have perfect pitch, but he doesn’t any more:

Is Perfect Pitch Dying Out Like the Honeybees?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve heard several accounts of perfect pitch recently starting to fade for people who’d possessed the faculty all their lives. Other musicians have reported hearing the same.

I’m no expert on perfect pitch, but, as a musician, it’s something I’ve been around for years. (I, myself, don’t possess it - and wouldn’t want to, as it would annoy me when listening to musicians tuned above or below the standard A440, or using non-traditional and microtonal tunings.) But I’ve never before heard of perfect pitch fading. I’m guessing it’s a new - or, at least, newly common - phenomenon, and surely a great subject for some enterprising psychology graduation student to study.

The discussion below this is fascinating. I don’t believe perfect pitch is “dying out”. And I also think that people are becoming more sensitive to deviations in relative tuning, just as they became more sensitive to deviations in timing, and for similar reasons. When drum machines became widespread in the 80s and I was listening to lots of music that relied on them, the rhythmic looseness of a lot of recorded music from the 60s and 70s started to set my teeth on edge. Similarly, since the arrival of quartz-locked electronic instrument tuning and pitch correction software, I find it increasingly difficult to tolerate errors in my own or anyone else’s intonation. I don’t have anything like perfect pitch, but there are albums of stuff I can’t listen to any more.

This technological trend has had other odd side-effects. When bands used to play with instruments that were less accurately tuned to begin with and which also were more prone to drift out of (and into) tune during performances, the differences between the guitars and keyboards and vocals at any given moment and over the course of a track “thickened” the overall sound. This richness now has to be generated with various kinds of electronic post-processing. A related kind of manipulation—now made possible by pitch-correction software itself—that has become fashionable is to shift a generally accurate vocal performance up slightly so that it is, on average, microtonally sharp. This has two flattering effects: because most pop singers slide up to notes, it renders the attack of each of their top lines closer to the correct note; and because the melody is then slightly out of tune with the rest of the recording (which, as pointed out previously, is very tightly in tune with itself) it psychologically lifts the singer out of the backing and into the foreground. [And I’m not even going to get started on this year’s Kanye West album…]

Irony roundup:

  • Curtis Stigers migrates from pop to jazz in the face of stubborn opposition from Clive Davis the record producer, but his change of direction is praised by Clive Davis the music critic.
  • Peter Cincotti goes the other way, insisting on being backed by New York’s finest, and then tours the resulting album around Europe for months before it even gets a US release.
  • Computer scientists develop technology to manipulate the pitch of any melody instrument, including the human voice, almost undetectably and it’s used by music producers to put bad performances in tune and good ones out of tune.

That’s showbiz.

Time Travel

There aren’t many photos of me and my sister as children so I was especially touched when my (British) cousin, Teresa, sent me a couple she had found when scanning her father’s collection.
The first one I’ve posted here is of Teresa and me visiting our grandmother in Walton in Lancashire. Uncle Bernard has always been a keen photographer. All credit to him for getting the exposure right on a scene with so many differently reflective elements in it, back in the days when slide film was even less forgiving than it is now.

My dad was teaching on the payroll of the UK civil service so I suppose I must have been fresh from a boat or plane trip paid for by Her Majesty. (I used to be a member of the BOAC Junior Jet Club!)

Teresa and Damian

Here’s a close crop (the original is portrait format) from one of me, my father, and all of my British cousins—including Andrew at the back, who comments here from time to time as “Andy C”. You’ll notice I’m wearing the same sandals you saw back here.

family outing

Now, if I can just find one of me on a beach with a white grandparent, I can start thinking about becoming Prime Minister.

“In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.”

Congratulations to the Web surfer brought here by a search for:

interracial dates that like Radiohead”

You have hit the jackpot.

On The Thrown

[J]ust how effective is it to insult someone in an alien cultural idiom? Bush, naturally enough, looked bewildered, but he ducked speedily and seemed none the worse for wear afterwards. Gordon Brown, I suspect, would have stolidly absorbed the blows; Obama would probably have caught one shoe in each hand before throwing them across the room for three points into a waiting waste-paper basket. But none of them, surely, would actually have been offended.

–Tom Chatfield at Prospect magazine’s blog

[Reporter, Muntadar al-Zaidi’s action was a] victory for human rights

–Aicha, daughter of Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi, while declaring that her charity would honour the reporter with a medal of courage

“It’s not the despair; I can cope with the despair. It’s the hope I can’t stand.”

Cornershop Man watches every single cricket international he can on his satellite TV under the counter—and, unlike me, he fails the Tebbit test. At the start of the week, I asked him: “Suppose you’re looking forward to whupping England’s backsides?”
“Hmm,” he inhaled, “I don’t know. You’ve got some good bowlers with you. You could give us a run for our money.”

As I said to my dad later on, he neglected to factor in England’s seemingly infinite capacity for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

I’m turning the radio off now.

Jumpers For Goalposts

[UPDATE: For the hordes arriving here after searching for the comedy catchphrase “Jumpers for goalposts”, you’d probably be better off reading this.]

Yesterday afternoon, I interrupted some desk-bound consulting work that, even if I weren’t prevented by an NDA from doing so, would put you to sleep instantly if I told you about it, to listen to the second half of Aston Villa’s five-goal match with Everton. I’m glad I did. Briefly: Ashley Young overturned a late-injury-time equaliser from Everton with an even later winner.

It was an extraordinary thing to happen anyway, but, watching afterwards on the Internet, there was something about the desperate joy of the goal that almost brought a tear to the eye. And Young is so small and so fast and so, er, young, with his little gloved hands fanning back and forth looking like they were hidden by oversized shirt sleeves, that he could have been a schoolboy winning a game on the local recreation ground. The cameras also caught the moment afterwards when Martin O’Neill, Villa’s manager, grabbed Young and shouted at him: “You’re a genius! A genius!”

It must have been maddening for Everton supporters, but all the neutral commentators I heard loved it. As the team in the studio on Match of the Day afterwards said, the whole game was like a journey into the past—in a good way. The ref let the mostly English players play, and they played mostly English football: it was furiously fast with benign but fierce tackling that was fairly policed and wasn’t marred by diving.

Fab facts:

  1. Villa against Everton is the fixture that has taken place more times than any other in English football and, until today, each side had won it seventy times.
  2. Martin O’Neill has never lost at Goodison Park, either as a player or a manager.
  3. Ashley Young went to school with Lewis Hamilton. Who would you back to win a race from a standing start over fifty yards—with Hamilton in a car?

Right. Back to work.

Always To The Swift

This is a neat little article that sketches out why your skin colour doesn’t determine your chance of growing up to become an elite sprinter; but your genetic make-up might:

There are no sprinters of note from Asia, even with more than 50 percent of the world’s population, a Confucian and Tao tradition of discipline, and an authoritarian sports system in place in the most populous country, China. No white sprinter can be found on the list of 100-meter sprinters; the best time by a white, 10 seconds, ranks more than 200th on the all-time list. … All of the 32 finalists in the last four Olympic men’s 100-meter races are of West African descent.

Note the distinction: West Africans dominate sprinting. East Africans do better at distance running. So already, the evidence points beyond race toward a more precise category: population.

As Fray poster Njuzu puts it, “Race is a very inexact and unreliable proxy for genetics.” Race is not a causal unit [But] the salient level of analysis [is that of] genes. There’s no such thing as having fast-twitch muscle fiber because you’re black. The causal unit is a gene, or a network of genes, or a network of genes and environmental factors. Being black only makes you more likely to have a genetic variant that makes you more likely to have extra fast-twitch fiber. That’s a lot of “likelies,” not certainties.

How To Look Polished

Anna “little red boat” Pickard, who is female and blessed with a fine head of hair, has identified an exciting new product for those, like me, who are neither:


Shiny head!
Originally uploaded by anna pickard.

Great Moments In Music Pedagogy, No. 2 980

The guitarist in the band I’m in has a diploma in (popular) music performance and his music theory is pretty good—certainly better than mine—but he was never taught any music history and he’s only just turned twenty-one. So when, during a discussion about the scores the sax player had written1 for himself and the trumpet player yesterday evening, I made a casual remark about how individual instruments used only to sound right in a few specific keys and even now wind instruments compromise with equal temperament, he asked me what exactly I meant about “equal temperament”. It took about five minutes of pity rays bouncing off the side of my head during my fumbling explanation before I remembered that our new keyboard player is a piano tuner by trade and left it to him.

  1. with the nifty Finale []