Saturday 30 April 2022

Live music and stuff in Las Palmas and Santander, April 2022

April came and April went. Here’s a summary:

  • 1 April: Cuarto Burlé @ Auditorio José Antonio Ramos, Parque Doramas, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria
      Cuarto Burlé, a reincarnation of Flor de Canela, was playing as a part of the clown festival «Mujeres con narices». Xerach Peñate (drums, vocals), Núria Balaguer (vocals, percussion), Marta Bautista (bass, vocals, percussion), Paula Vegas (keyboards, vocals, percussion) and Dani Barcala (guitar).

  • 6 April: «Herencia flamenca» @ Palacete Rodríguez Quegles, calle Benito Pérez Galdós, 4
      The first show from the cycle «Acento flamenco» featured Miguel Carmona (cante, cajón), Antonio Heredia (guitar) and Laura Heredia (baile).
  • 9 April: Musicando @ Auditorio José Antonio Ramos
      Musicando is 100 — well, not years, but 100 concerts since it started in 2016. The 100th Musicando concert featured Osvaldo Hernández (drums), Néstor García (guitar), Diego Martín (flute), Leandro Ojeda (bass), Totó Noriega (percussion), Yone Rodríguez (musical direction, timple and guitar), Josué Santana (piano); the singers Patricia Muñoz, Mara Pérez, Iván Quintana and Fabiola Trujillo; Yul Ballesteros (guitar), Hirahi Afonso (timple), Miguel Afonso (accordeon); Mojito con Morena (Totó Noriega, Sofiel Del Pino, Marta Bautista and Carlos Martín Brito); verseadores Yeray Rodríguez, Luz Mila Valerón, Francisco Sánchez and students of CEIP Santa Bárbara.

Back (or forward?) to Santander...

  • 4 March — 1 May: «Piel y pulpa» @ El Palacete del Embarcadero, Muelle de Calderón, Santander
      An intriguing exposition by the Basque artist Marisa González.

  • 20 April: Antonio Gamaza Quartet @ Rvbicón, Calle del Sol, 4
      Antonio Gamaza (piano), Roberto Gamaza (drums), Iván San Miguel (double bass) and Javier San Miguel (saxophones). The complete concert is available here.

  • 24 April: MAR (Micrófono Abierto Rvbicón) @ Rvbicón
      MAR is back! That evening, I felt rather tired and didn’t stay for long (they started about 21:45 instead of 21:00), but I fully intend to come again next time.

  • 28 April: MAES Quartet @ Rvbicón
      A young band from San Sebastian playing hard bop standards. Featuring Nicolás Alvear (guitar), Eneko Arbea (drums), Mikel Legasa (piano) and Jorge Luengo (bass). Watch the full concert here.

  • 30 April: Antonio Canales @ Plaza Porticada
      Throughout the Saturday, there were a number of activities dedicated to the International Dance Day, culminating in a sevillana “flashmob” featuring about 500 dance school students and Antonio Canales. Granted, it was not a real flashmob as “a group of people who rapidly assemble, perform an unusual and seemingly pointless act, and then quickly disperse” — there was nothing rapid about either assembly or dispersal of this crowd, and the event was advertised many days before, and I reckon those who invited Canales must have felt they were getting very little value for money. (It was free for the onlookers like me.) Still, it was nice to see so many dancers enjoying themselves.

Looking forward to more music in May.

Tuesday 26 April 2022

Fahrenheit 451

a film by François Truffaut

Truffaut’s first film in colour, Fahrenheit 451, based on Ray Bradbury’s dystopic novel of the same name, was not exactly appreciated by critics. I wonder why. Didn’t they like the futuristic (by now, retrofuturistic) fire engine which could only work because it’s red? So cool.

This is the second movie I’ve seen in Filmoteca de Cantabria. Starring Oskar Werner as Guy Montag, Julie Christie in the dual roles of Linda Montag and Clarisse, and Cyril Cusack as Captain Beatty.

Saturday 23 April 2022

Babardeală cu bucluc sau porno balamuc

a film by Radu Jude

How come that in all these years — starting 2014 — I’ve never been to Filmoteca de Cantabria? An oversight that I’ve just corrected. As we are no longer required to wear the face masks in most indoor settings, this was also my first maskless cinema visit since 2020. What a difference! No more fogged-up glasses. Cheers for that!

Ironically, in the movie that I watched, Un polvo desafortunado o porno loco (Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn), the face masks are de rigueur.

I found its 106 minutes a bit too long for the message, especially the first chapter featuring the protagonist’s never-ending walk through Bucharest, but maybe it was really meant to be like that. The third chapter also could have been shorter. The second chapter, unashamedly Pythonesque, was my favourite.

Not for the easily offended; nor exactly a comedy, although it depends on which of three alternative endings you choose.

Thursday 21 April 2022

My mum used to say — Part 2

A follow-up to the 2019 post.

  • А поворотись-ка, сын!: “Turn around, son!” (an opening line from Taras Bulba): asking somebody to turn around (in order to check them out from another side)
  • Акулина: referring to someone wearing a headscarf “babushka”-style ♦ «как Акулина»
  • бзик: странность, причуда // oddity, quirk ♦ «с бзиком»; see also с завихрением
  • в долгах как в шелках: said about someone (usually herself) who owes money to many
  • варежка: рот // mouth, trap, yap ♦ «закрой варежку!»; see also раскрыть варежку
  • во даёт: (talking about a person who did something unexpected) well I never; see also ну ты (вообще) даёшь
  • вре́зать: to give a smack to somebody ♦ «ща как врежу»
  • всы́пать (по первое число): to punish, to beat somebody; see also дать дрозда, метелить
  • вырви глаз: (said about food or drink) very sour, spicy or strong ♦ «хрен — вырви глаз»
  • дать дрозда, дать прикурить: задать жару, задать перцу // crush, destroy, punish; see also всыпать, метелить
  • ждать у моря погоды: to be in a state of uncertain expectation
  • завеяться: to go out ♦ «завеялись в кино»
  • затариться: закупиться // to stock up
  • зачуханный: dirty, unkempt; unsightly, inconspicuous
  • зла не хватает: expression of annoyance or anger
  • из носу потекло: a joking response to somebody who says «тепло» (“it’s warm”) when it’s actually cold
  • кофей, кофеёк: coffee
  • как в лучших домах Лондо́на: “like in the best houses of London”; very chic, classy
  • манатки: пожитки, добро // things, belongings, stuff ♦ «собирай свои манатки»
  • метелить, изметелить, отметелить: to beat up; see also всыпать, дать дрозда
  • на́ ночь гля́дя: late in the evening
  • на тобі, боже, що мені негоже (Ukrainian; corruption of на тобі, небоже, що мені негоже): about giving away worthless junk to charity or as a gift
  • намылиться: get ready to go somewhere ♦ «ты куда это намылился на ночь глядя?»; see also настропалиться
  • наплевать: (I, we) don’t give a damn ♦ «да наплевать»; see also начхать
  • настропалить: настроить против кого-либо // to set against somebody
  • настропалиться: show intention to go somewhere; see also намылиться
  • начхать: (I, we) couldn’t care less; see also наплевать
  • не было у бабы забот, так купила порося: said about somebody (usually herself) voluntarily taking on chores
  • ничего себе заявочки: (ironically, about someone’s requests or statements) wow, that’s a good one
  • ну ты (вообще) даёшь: (addressing a person who did something unexpected) well I never; see also во даёт
  • по сводкам Гидрометцентра: “according to a report of the meteorological centre”; (ironically) as heard from some authority
  • подсуропить: ненароком навредить; подложить свинью // inadvertently harm somebody
  • прижучить: catch red-handed; reprimand; punish
  • раззява: разиня // gawk, gaper, scatterbrain; see also раскрыть варежку
  • раскрыть варежку: to gape ♦ «а я стою, варежку раскрыла...»; see also варежка
  • рассупонить: развязать, расстегнуть // untie, unfasten
  • рассупониться: расстегнуть на себе одежду, раздеться // unbutton one’s clothes, undress
  • расчекрыжить: to tear up, to cut up crudely, to destroy; see also раздраконить
  • сагитировать: to convince, to persuade, to inspire ♦ «сагитировала за грибами смотаться»
  • с завихрением, с завихрениями: (about a person) odd, weird, bonkers; see also бзик
  • соплёнок: цыплёнок // chicken; see also цыплак
  • чих напал: (somebody) has or had an attack of sneezing
  • чо́боты: boots, shoes
  • что мёртвому припарка: said about something patently useless
  • явился не запылился, явилась не запылилась: (ironically) said when someone finally turns up

Wednesday 6 April 2022

Shadows

a film by John Cassavetes
music by Charles Mingus and Shafi Hadi

The closing titles of Shadows say “The film you have just seen was an improvisation”. According to Wikipedia, “it was intensively rehearsed in 1957, and in 1959 it was fully scripted”. So... were those titles a lie?

I say, if it looks and sounds like an improvisation, it probably is an improvisation. Some scenes in the film look like they were scripted and others as if they were not. I suppose the adventures of Lelia were scripted and rehearsed more than those of the trio of slackers Ben, Dennis and Tom.

Shadows opens the John Cassavetes cycle organised by Filmoteca Canaria.

Monday 4 April 2022

Amor y asco

by Bebi Fernández
illustrated by Rebeca Khamlichi
preface by Nemecatj

No pain, no gain. There’s no love without pain. The deeper the love, the deeper the hate. And so on and so forth goes the list of dialectical pairs we were fed ad nauseam.

Here’s another one: Amor y asco, “love and disgust”, in a form of prose poetry by Bebi Fernández — apparently, super famous Spanish feminist influencer of whom I never heard before.

Sorry, I don’t buy this.

Sunday 3 April 2022

Amoureux de ma femme

a film by Daniel Auteuil

Charming, light-hearted and not particularly deep romantic comedy starring Daniel Auteuil, Gérard Depardieu, Sandrine Kiberlain and Adriana Ugarte. I spent best part of its 84 minutes waiting for a twist that never came.

Friday 1 April 2022

El viaje de las palabras

by Clara Usón

“Did you know that Chekhov had a pet mongoose named Svoloch?”, asked Tamara one day.

No, I didn’t. The whole story sounded just like one of those spoof literary anecdotes attributed to Kharms: “Once, when travelling in Ceylon, Chekhov bought himself a mongoose that he christened Svoloch”. A quick Internet search brought numerous confirmations of this factoid, always accompanied by the same grainy photograph: that of Chekhov and another guy, said to be midshipman Glinka, sitting on a bench and petting a rat-like creature each. One does not have to own a mongoose to take a photo like that.

OK, heard, researched (kind of), forgotten. Now I wouldn’t be surprised if Google started to spoil me with stories about Svoloch on regular basis. But no. The pesky mongoose appeared, à la Borgesian hrön, in a physical book that I already had with me.

Miss Lucía Almandoz (apparently, an alter ego of the author), licentiate in Spanish philology working on her Ph.D. thesis about Chekhov, is inexplicably transported from 1987 Barcelona to the writer’s estate of Melikhovo in 1892. There, as countess Lucía Rodolfovna Almandozovna, she finds herself vying for the famous writer’s attention with Lika Mizinova and another — clearly fake — countess, one Klara Mamuna; bathing in the river; treating the Chekhovs to caviar and salmon; singing Yellow Submarine; finding and losing a fictional lover; and yes, taking Svoloch for a walk.

As one could expect, meddling in the past brings about zero changes, desirable or otherwise: everything goes exactly as it was described in Chekhov’s biographies so familiar to Lucía. Well, she tried her best. I found it especially commendable that she attempted to prevent Anton Pavlovich from writing his world-famous and dead boring plays — maybe her motivation was a bit selfish, but still.

El viaje de las palabras was first published in 2005. A bit late then to point out a few word choices that are bound to grate on a Russian ear. I’ll do it anyway.

  • “¡Queridos Pavel Egorovich y Evgenia Iakovlevna, queridísimos Batiushka y Manushka...!” (p. 35*): Lucía, who speaks fluent Russian, addresses the parents of Anton Pavlovich as if they were her own father and mother, respectively. The correct Russian word for mum is matushka (матушка), not manushka.
  • Batiushka —le dijo a Evgenia, cogiéndola familiarmente del brazo—” (p. 37): here, for some reason, Lucía calls Chekhov’s mother batiushka (батюшка), “father”.
  • Lucía says “mi nombre completo es Lucía Almandoz Quesada (en ruso Lucía Rodolfovna, ése es mi patronímico, porque mi padre se llama Rodolfo)” (p. 42). Fair enough, but a full Russian name contains just one patronymic while “Lucía Rodolfovna Almandozovna” appears to have two. A more Russian-sounding surname would be “Almandozova”. Mind you, “condesa Almandozovna” could have been introduced for comical effect; cf. Countess Alexandrovna in Woody Allen’s Love and Death.
  • Throughout the text, “Lucioshka” is employed as a diminutive of Lucía: “Lucioshka (¿por qué no conseguía que los Chéjov la llamaran así?, ¡sonaba tan cariñoso!... En las novelas rusas a las Veras se las llama Veroshka; a las Sonias, Soniechka; ¿por qué no podían llamarla a ella «Lucioshka»?” (p. 69). The short answer to Lucía’s question is that no Russian would ever say “Lucioshka”. They’d rather make use of the existing names like Lucichka (Люсичка) or Lucen’ka (Люсенька), both diminutives of the unrelated female name Liudmila (Людмила).
  • “No me han costado nada, me las ha regalado Gavrila, su mujer, ¿para qué las quiere ella, si su Nikolai ha muerto?” says Agafia referring to Nikolai’s widow (p. 133). Gavrila (Гаврила), however, is a variant of the male name Gavriil (Гавриил); it sounds weird applied to a woman.
  • “Ha llegado un hombre santo al pueblo, un stranniki” (p. 233): stranniki (странники) is plural of strannik (странник), so one of them should be “un strannik” or “el strannik”. Curiously, the footnote on the same page consistently refers to stranniki in plural: “Los stranniki o errantes eran miembros de una secta religiosa disidente que predicaba la ruptura con las ataduras del Estado y la sociedad, para ellos la encarnación del reino del Anticristo, y vagaban como «espíritus libres» por las tierras de Rusia, viviendo de la mendicidad.”

These puzzling blunders aside, the novel is practically perfect: well-researched, well-written, inventive, at times hilarious, and a joy to read. One of the rare cases when I’d like the book to last longer.

Chéjov, por su parte, no hablaba con nadie, estaba de un humor melancólico y hacía bolitas de pan en silencio, mientras, a su derecha, Lika Mizinova le contaba algo a Vania con aire de conspiradora y Evgenia, que había sentado a su lado a la falsa condesa, no cesaba de agasajarla. «¿Quiere un poquitín más de caviar, Excelencia?», le preguntaba, cuando si algo había hecho Clara Mamuna en esa cena era comer caviar, la que más. En cambio Lucía, a quien todos debían esas abundantes reservas (aunque ningún Chéjov tuvo la delicadeza de mencionarlo), apenas lo había probado, porque le quedaba muy a trasmano. Antes de que la Mamuna acabara con todo, le pidió a Masha que, por favor, le acercara el caviar, pero Masha no la escuchó o, si la oyó, no le hizo caso, y la condesa Lucía Rodolfovna en persona tuvo que levantarse de su silla para, pasando una mano audaz sobre la cabeza de Evgenia, capturar a tiempo la fuente de caviar que la falsa condesa ya estaba atacando otra vez con una cuchara. Y, de repente, se produjo una situación muy tensa: todos callaron. De pie, la condesa Almandozovna con la mano derecha blandía en el aire la fuente de caviar y, sentada, dándole la espalda, la condesa Mamuna empuñaba la cuchara. Lucía se sintió a punto de explotar: «¡Este caviar es mío y yo ni lo he probado, todo se lo ha comido esta señora!» (eso hubiera querido decir), pero su exquisita educación se lo impidió.
— ¡Oh, perdona, Clara!, no me he dado cuenta de que te ibas a servir — le ofreció con la voz más forzada, al tiempo que le presentaba la fuente.
Y Clara Mamuna se sirvió, dejó la fuente limpia.

* Page numbering as in: Clara Usón, El viaje de las palabras, Seix Barral, Barcelona, 2021.