Synchronicities

Bloomsday was fortunate, through its theatre director, Brenda Addie, to secure the talents of Deborah Kayser, singer, and Nick Tsavios, contrabass, and Paul Goddard, an actor for its most recent fundraiser. It was a concert style performance with three elements: Nick and Deb sang their own composition, 'Me Eba/ I Am Eve', a medieval Irish poem which reviles Eve's womanliness and reads it as sinful and destructive. They also performed some medieval French chansons with  an Arcandian flavour, and Nick performed on his magnificent 170 year old contrabass a punk minimalist piece. He also accompanied Paul's reading of 'The Nightingale and the Rose'.

Oddly, we found all sorts of synchronicities with the Oscar Wilde stories read so beautifully by actor, Paul Goddard. We were pleased Oscar was not as perverse as his Irish antecedents, and it was interesting to ponder whether or not his father, the antiquarian collector of Irishry (also a distinguished Dublin surgeon), might have known of 'Me Eba.'  The deep depressiveness generated by the old poem was slightly alleviated by 'The Nightingale and the Rose' and comprehensively banished by 'The Remarkable Rocket' with its plethora of voices, which Paul rendered so remarkably.

The event worked well at the Celtic Club, and despite the weather (the contrabass had to be protected from it), the acoustics of the verandah were even more exciting than the Club. Our Arcadian setting, close to the garden, meant that we got some unanticipated bonus notes from very entranced birds.

The music was a challenge, but a delight for many of our patrons. One of them, James, expressed his appreciation of the event very eloquently and with his permission, you may enjoy sharing in his pleasure:


Too often ...  through laziness or diffidence, I don't express my thoughts about something which feels really important to me, and then, as time goes by, I let it lapse and be swept unrecorded into a hazy collection of memories.  But even though it's late at night now, I feel an urge to say something to you about this evening's entertainment.  ...
 The programme notes were so helpful- .... Paul's readings were splendid, he has very lovely voice and style and he does sport an Oscar-ish look, no? maybe a MacLiammoir to be?- and what about the Box Hill blackbird?- no nightingale he, but his timing was perfect, and his whistle was a welcome complement.
But it's about that  beautiful couple Deborah Kayser and Nick Tsiavos that I wanted to say a word to you.
As you know, I don't move in artistic circles, and I am a true neophyte when it comes to anything slightly out of the ordinary in music or theatre.
But from the very first moment when those two unlikely looking artists started to make their music together, I was spellbound.
He, a hirsute Hellenic, with a Ulyssean grasp of his rosin'd oar in one hand and the mast of his massive contrabass in the other; she a gazelle elegant Siren, with alabaster skin and dreamy brown eyes, I sensed there was something special coming up, and so I had a good grip on my chair.
And then his chunky fingers seemed to slim out in to extensions of the bow as he drew out those graceful mahogany notes from that huge wooden barque- they throbbed in my guts, those notes, as he caressed, stroked and plucked his accompaniment. And then her exquisite swan's  throat leant in to the wind, spinning and drawing out and bending ductile silver yarns, those  dreamy filigree eerie threnodies as she portrayed the evil Eve as depicted by self-tortured ancient Irish monks, or the sweet plaintive bergere chansons of mediaeval France.
I crashed on her rocks, let me tell you. As all would have seen, it was so clear that they were making more than music together, and that she was firmly tied to his mast, as they turned their barque to Ithaca. May their journey be a long one.
That was an inspirational experience for me,  I thank and congratulate [Bloomsday].

Another fundraiser to remember. It's like may never be seen again.