Classical Beatles ~ Candlelight Concert ~ Review

Capri Cinema
Thu 30 Oct, 2025 

Candlelight Concerts began in Madrid in 2019 with the aim of making classical music more accessible to younger audiences. They now feature in more than 100 cities across the globe. The bulk of their concerts focus on classical composers, but they have smartly branched out to capture new audiences who want to relive the pop/rock music of the 60s, 70s and 80s. Our hosts for this Beatles music event were The Collective String Quartet.

It’s not often you get to hear Beatles music played live by a group of musicians but when I do I’m always amazed at the enduring quality of the songs. For example, when you strip away the inane lyrics of songs like I Want to Hold Your Hand you find a gorgeous and quite complex melody.

The Collective String quartet (violins, viola and cello) did a great job of leading us through a selection of The Beatles’ greatest hits. They began with what has become yet another classic, Here Comes the Sun and let the cello lead the way. It was immediately obvious that adjusting to songs arranged with just bowed strings would be necessary as there would be no picked melodies or favourite guitar parts.

Although the songs were announced in advance it sometimes felt a little like that Spicks and Specks TV show segment where you had to guess the name of a well-known song while listening to a completely different arrangement. Help was one of those.

Some songs, like Michelle and Eleanor Rigby, seemed more suitable for string arrangements than others. I found the arrangements of some songs a little over complicated. Penny Lane lost some of its innocent joy in this reworking, and the beautifully wistful We Can Work It Out’s melody got a little lost.  Other songs flourished with the same treatment. Come Together was wonderful. The original is so ‘other’ that it almost demanded an alternative avant-garde approach. It was a shame not to hear those weird and wonderful references to ju-ju eyeballs and toe-jam footballs however!

While it was strange that there was not a weeping guitar in sight, the Collective’s arrangement of While My Guitar Gently Weeps was delightful. It sounded almost as if George Harrison had written it for four instruments it gelled so beautifully. Eleanor Rigby has already been done by so many other artists, including orchestras, that it held no surprises – but again a very effective four part arrangement was in evidence. Similarly with Yesterday – no surprises. It stayed very close to the original, and we were told it has been covered at least 3000 times!

I was surprised that Strawberry Fields was attempted. It’s one of The Beatles’ more complex songs – but it worked well with the main melody being pitched very high on violin. I loved their version of With a Little Help From My Friends. It sounded like a jaunty old-time singalong in an English country garden.

One of The Collective members occasionally read from a prepared script to tell us a little about the next few songs. It was good to get advance notice of the song list so you could identify the songs more quickly but his delivery was a little wooden. It might have been better to be more spontaneous with these introductions. It adds authenticity.

It’s normal for musicians to challenge themselves and come up with arrangements that are fresh and offer new interpretations of well-known material, but there’s always a risk that you might offend the ‘respect the melody’ school of thinking. Overall though the Collective String Quartet presented a really entertaining show that delivered some old favourites with few surprises, while pushing the boundaries with some other material. And that’s just as it should be.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Badieh - Music from Central Asia

Rubab (Wikimedia Commons)

Nexus Art Venue
Wed 29 Oct, 2025

Badieh is a duo that play music from Central Asia – in particular the region of Khorasan. Khorasan reaches across several nations – Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, and Tajikistan – so their music is enriched by multiple cultural influences.

Iranian Mohammad Miraghazadeh plays the setar – a traditional thin long-necked stringed instrument from Persia. Ethnomusicologist Michel Gasco hails from Spain and plays the rubab:  an instrument with multiple strings, with several sympathetic strings like a sitar. It is considered to be the national instrument of Afghanistan.

These sympathetic strings are not played directly but resonate in tune with the plucked or picked strings causing something of a drone effect.

When the setar and rubab come together they deliver a very bright sound in both tone and rhythm. Most of Badieh’s material was instrumental and stems from the folk traditions of the border lands between Iran and Afghanistan. The few songs with vocals seemed especially ancient with plaintive, haunting melodies coming from distant worlds. At times they felt akin to chants.

Wonderful tabla from Pranav Ramji was the perfect complement providing some deeper bass notes against the strings, and adding catchy and complex rhythms. Ancient this music may be but there were plenty of foot – tapping songs. One or two almost rocked! I could quite easily imagine people dancing to these tunes when played in their homelands – if it were allowed.

Occasionally mournful and contemplative but this is mostly joyful, happy music with intricate melodies and stirring rhythms. A lovely concert that delivered old music to modern shores and where friendship, joy, and respect were very much evident in its execution.

This review also posted on The Clothesline.

Eric Bottomley

LISTEN

About a year ago an old friend passed away with a brain tumour – Eric Bottomley. Eric was well known in parts of the UK as an accomplished realist painter and folk singer. I had the pleasure of sharing a house with Eric in Dorset for several months in 1976. During that time I’d watch in awe as his canvases turned into lifelike trains or ships. But it was his singing and performing that had me more enthralled.

Eric was one of that breed of English folk performer who could make you laugh and cry in equal measure. A hauntingly beautiful folk ballad would be followed by a funny story that brought tears of laughter. Then back to the sentimental tears in response to another beautiful song. And so on. It was such a treat to watch him perform.

In the months I spent in Dorset I’d ask Eric to teach me some songs, and he’d patiently go through them with me, and write down all the words and chord charts. Watching Eric, and practicing these new songs I also learnt to finger pick.

On subsequent visits to the UK over the years I was never able to reconnect with him for various reasons. When I heard he’d died I felt surprisingly strong pangs of sadness. I thought it a bit strange to feel this much emotion for someone I had not seen for 49 years. Then I began to play some of the songs that Eric taught me and still knew how to play. I struggled to finish any of them as tears flowed. I tried another song, and then another, and then another. To my astonishment I realised I still knew 7 songs that Eric had taught me. That is a huge number of songs for one person to pass on to another musician.  Seven gorgeous songs.

As I played the songs Eric taught me down through the years I never really appreciated what a significant influence he was in my musical development; never appreciated just how much time he must have spent helping me learn those songs. Today again I began playing some of these songs and again found myself in tears. Eric was a wonderful singer: he had the ability to eke out every last nuance of beauty in a melody. There are songs that when you get them right they give you that thrill down the spine as you sing them and you know that people listening are feeling it too.

So, inadvertently Eric Bottomley has given me the endless gift of soul moving melodies. I think that’s why I felt so sad when I heard he’d gone. He’d given me a precious gift and I never got to thank him.

One of the songs he taught me was from Gerry Reffery: Patrick. Patrick as it happens is about a painter. So now Eric, whenever I sing this song you’ll be with me, trying to say thank you in song, and hopefully passing on the pleasure and beauty of the melody that do you and the song proud.

Thank you Eric. For the songs, your patience, the laughs, and the beauty of melody. Rest in peace. And I’m sorry about the porridge pots!

 

Photography: the Art of Composition

 

I have written elsewhere on my own approach to photography. I am flattered that someone has actually been inspired by my photographs and wants to know more about how I go about creating my images.

One aspect of photography that I feel confident talking about is composition.  I’m told I have a ‘good eye’ for composition and I think I have developed that aptitude further over time. Composition is the art of framing your images – what is in the image? is it close range? aligned with other elements? minimalist?  full of detail? There are many facets to composition and below is a list of the elements that I am mindful of – in no particular order.

1.      Perspective. Altering perspective can make a fairly mundane image into something much more interesting. Consider taking the photograph from different angles – up above, down under, over, beside; think about height and depth

2.      Context. Context in a very real sense is everything. A chair beside a table is not especially interesting. A fancy office chair beside a path in a public park is a much more interesting subject – it prompts so many questions. Why? Who? The chair in a park is in fact out of context – that’s what makes it interesting. A car in a café likewise - not something you normally see. Be on the look out for normal things in unusual places!

3.      Look everywhere. When you walk let your eyes roam up, down, left to right and back again. There are possible pictures everywhere. Walk with childlike vision – linger in places you wouldn’t normally; look at everything more closely. Look for patterns – on leaves, in the sky, on fences. There is magic in the mundane. Zero in on the normal.

4.      Don’t shy away from eyesores. There is beauty in chaos and mess. Mess is not always ugly. It can provide stunning unexpected abstract perspectives.

5.      Light.  Light is always changing – natural sunlight changes from morning to afternoon to dusk to night. The same scene can look quite different at different times of the day. Don’t just dismiss something or a place because “I have photographed that before.” Things look different under different lighting.

6.     Juxtaposition – look for unlikely companions. The minaret of a mosque looks great in the same frame as telegraph poles – likewise the telegraph poles! It makes both objects look more interesting.

7.     Boundaries and edges – keep an eye on the edges of things. Boundaries and edges always mean there’s a change of texture or mood. Eg shore/sand, grass/path, sky/horizon, fences/nature.  

8.      Light on water. This applies to all bodies of water – ponds, lakes, rivers, the sea. Light changes the colour of water and often bounces/reflects off it in interesting ways.

9.      Old and new. Similar to juxtaposition because there is inherent contrast between things that are old and things that are new.  Easy to spot in the architectural landscape. Similarly people – babies with the elderly for example.

10  Move your feet. I read once that the best photographers are those who use their feet! Don’t be afraid to change the angle just a couple of steps to the left, or a few steps further back. Or move to the side of the subject and take it in profile. Look for the best or most interesting angle.

11  People: unposed is nearly always better.

12  Architecture/Built Environment Many towns and cities display infinite variety in their buildings. Old/new; small/large; religious/ secular; residential/commercial. Isolate the details of what defines a building and take close-ups – gutters, gables, steps, windows, etc

13  Animals are always a great subject but are often hard to catch unless they’re asleep. It  requires a lot of patience.

14  Layers. You will be surprised how often the visual world presents itself in layers. Sand/sea/sky is an obvious one. Footpath/hedge/house might be another. Ground/trees/sky…..

I hope some might find this list useful. Please leave a comment or question below if you’d like me to elaborate more on any of these points.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Accidentally Like a Martyr ( a review from 2021)

 Henry Wagons Does Warren Zevon

Governor Hindmarsh Hotel, Wed 28 Apr, 2021

Many of Warren Zevon’s songs begin with an instantly recognisable and catchy hook. Such is the intro to Lawyers Guns And Money – power chords belted out with a pounding beat and a great melodic hook – and so the show began. Henry Wagons in handcuffs was a nice touch. It also provided a clue to his curious interpretation of the music and persona of Warren Zevon. The infamous Excitable Boy was next up (“He bit the usherette’s leg in the dark”) as Wagons hopped and strutted around the stage. Zevon himself typically exhibited little extravagant movement as a live performer – whether on keyboard or guitar – and it was a little disconcerting to watch these classics in new hands.

We learned that Zevon briefly studied classical music with Stravinsky and then heard a song that bore useabsolutely no clue of that tutoring – I Was In The House When The House Burned Down – but it offered evidence of his bizarre approach to lyric writing. He had a penchant for lyrics that were off centre and occasionally outrageous or shocking. The epic tale of a mercenary named Roland is a case in point. Wagons seemed to have settled into the Zevon stream by now and really nailed the vocal on Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner. He seemed more comfortable singing the lower registers in the slightly slower Zevon songs where the notes are longer and more sonorous and the melodies easier to land on. And despite these being rock songs melody was always paramount in Zevon’s material.

Two Hawaii based songs – the catchy Hula Hula Boys, and Desperadoes Under The Eaves – a song written during a period of extended isolation in a Hawaiian hotel – rounded out the first set and Wagons left the stage in handcuffs once more.

The second half began with Wagons appearing in bathrobe and towel saying he wasn’t ready but the band cajoled him into singing Johnny Strikes Up the Band anyway. I’ve always regarded this song as a brilliant example of how a band might start a gig. It was a shame that the power and appeal of this song was sacrificed to humour.

In general though, the insertion of humour made the show more enjoyable. Zevon after all was a quirky character and Wagons has every right to interpret the music and context in any way he sees fit but there were times when his lighthearted approach detracted from the gravitas of the material.

The band competently rolled out Poor Poor Pitiful Me and the aching Carmelita while Wagons finished his shower.

A quiz show involving members of the audience revealed little new info about Zevon and probably could have been omitted but some obviously enjoyed it. Using Accidentally Like A Martyr as a prop for some cheap audience engagement however just devalued the power of a truly great love song.

The show concluded with a song that Dylan recorded – The Mutineer – with Wagons on grand piano.

A really enjoyable night; Wagons and the band did a great job of reworking these classics. In terms of stage craft, it‘s so hard to get the balance right in these ‘tribute acts’. Henry Wagons is not Warren Zevon and he does a fair job of doing it his way even if a little disconcerting.

What definitely shone through however is how great these songs are; many rue the fact that so many tribute acts are hogging the play space in live music venues these days but this is another batch of material that deserves a second hearing, and the opportunity to be passed on to another generation. Warren Zevon was an extraordinary songwriter/singer who for whatever reason never got the musical headlines he warranted.

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Murray Whispers

Adelaide Ballet
ILA, Fri 15 Aug, 2025

Adelaide Ballet is a newly established dance company created to ‘fill a gap in the South Australian artistic landscape’. It has secured the Immersive Light and Art (ILA) venue as its home performance space on Hindmarsh Square. Murray Whispers is their first offering for season 2025, and it’s a stunner.

The interactive set cleverly recreates the feel of the Murray. Mist rises from the early morning river as we watch the natural world slowly waking up. Gradual stirrings in silhouette reveal creatures taking in the new day. Uncertain, careful, they gently expand into their day as the sun rises. They become the flowers, trees and animals of the riverbank. Sometimes they dance alone, sometimes joined together as one – a tree, an animal, a feeling. Guided by a gorgeous atmospheric musical score from Ashley Hribar it is at times breathtakingly beautiful. Yes mesmerising.

As the day grows longer projected scenes take us to another part of the Murray – cliffs, reeds, ancient tree trunks, rock pools – all carefully chosen to reflect the very essence of Australia’s greatest river. It was so easy to imagine yourself there sitting on the banks. The projected video images show trees and reeds swaying gently in the wind. Birds occasionally flit through the scene as dancers weave gracefully in and out of the landscape. And as the sun sets and dusk draws near we see birds returning to their homes in the trees, and our dancers slow down and once again become silhouettes in the fading light.

This reviewer lacks the credentials to assess the finer points of ballet technique but enjoyable as it was there were some minor imperfections: a few slight missteps when moving from one position to another, and an occasional lack of synchronicity with the soundtrack – but again very minor.

Tiered seating would improve the line of sight for those in the back rows – they would have missed much of the opening scene that took place at floor level. Nevertheless, a great debut offering from Adelaide Ballet that has whetted the appetite for what’s to come.

Choreography: Sarah Humeniuk and Rejane Garcia

This review also published on The Clothesline.

Adelaide's Algal Bloom

 

I have lived in Adelaide most of my life. Adelaide, like all Australian cities is on the coast - the sea is never far away. My first memory of the sea was travelling down Anzac Hwy as a kid in the family car. We used to have a competition to see who could see the sea first. ‘I can see the sea’.  ‘I can see the sea’ chants rang out from the back seat as the sea appeared as a thin sliver on the horizon.

 

The sea has always been synonymous with joy in my life: a place that meant fun, a celebration, coolness after a swim. My Adelaide beach has featured at every stage of my life: a place to make out with your teenage girlfriend,  to work on that suntan, do some exercise, lie in the shallows, collect sea creatures, watch the sunset, enjoy a leisurely stroll, and in later life simply a place to enjoy the natural beauty and a sense of peace.

 

Apart from early evenings on hot summer days Adelaide beaches are rarely crowded. They stretch from Port Noarlunga in the South to North Haven - some 30 to 40 kilometres. Fine, silky sand as good as you'll find anywhere in the world. Above all a place of respite and regeneration. You notice that people are rarely badly behaved at the beach. The sense of space and wind and the nature of the salt air seems to bring out the best in people. 

In January this year (2025) there were reports of people feeling sick after swimming in the waters of the southern Fleurieu. It was attributed to something called an algal bloom. This bloom slowly worked its way around to St Vincent's Gulf and by June had breached the entire Adelaide coastline. Dead marine life started appearing on our beaches: stingrays, sharks, seahorses, crabs, puffer fish... . the number of carcasses multiplied. Our beloved beaches had become places of death. Like an underwater bushfire the algal bloom wiped out most of the gulf's marine life. A place I had turned to all my life for peace and quiet became a constant horror show.

 

I can no longer walk along my beaches. I can walk near the sea as long as I can't see the dead creatures washed up on the sand. To walk along the sand now breaks my heart. Adelaide, the city between the hills and the sea, is now the city between the hills and a marine graveyard. People no longer go fishing or crabbing. My son can no longer go for his daily ‘sanity swim’. Thousands of Adelaideans now have to look elsewhere for that respite and regeneration.

 

Climate change has come home to roost on our doorstep with a vengeance. The warnings of environmental disaster have been clear and persistent for 50 years and we have done little to address the crisis.

 

For decades fruit growers and agriculturists have been using various chemicals and fertilisers to boost production in the fields and orchards alongside the Murray River.  In 2023 record floods along the Murray washed thousands of megalitres of river water into the sea at the Murray mouth. Occasionally in recent years our gulf waters have heated up sufficiently to prompt the onset of small algal blooms. A particularly long dry winter in 2024 didn't allow the gulf waters to cool and when that warmer water mixed with the tainted river water from the Murray the perfect conditions for the creation and spread of the algal bloom were present. So we now have this environmental disaster on our doorstep. The sea still sometimes looks gorgeous and blue and inviting from a distance but it is devoid of marine life. We have killed all our fish.