Bath and Beyond

Young girls who read regency romances would always remember stories about how the English gentry would spend their summer holidays in Bath. Ensconced in luxurious but outrageously expensive Georgian mansions rented out just for the season, families would savor the balls at the Assembly Rooms where doting mammas matched wits in pairing off their children with eligible parties. Well-bred young ladies paraded in their finest frilled muslin frocks, with ostrich feathers streaming from their hats, and twirling parasols trimmed in lace as they spent an afternoon at the milliner’s or perhaps had tea and scones in the Pump Room with their French au pair in tow. Aristocratic gentlemen, clad in skin-tight breeches and well-cut coats with magnificent cravats would take out their shiny Hessian boots and tool along the park lanes comparing their magnificent Arab stallions. The elderly, in turn, soaked themselves at the ancient Roman baths, believing in the restorative value of the thermal waters.

So ran the pages of Barbara Cartland and Jane Austen, which during convalescent periods following the births of my children, became regular fixtures on my bedside table. A case of delayed juvenile joys, you’d say, but at a time when my high school barkada would be sneaking into Mills and Boon romances, I was forced to read Kafka and Camus! And because those romantic images of Bath became indelibly etched in my mind, I actually pushed the office into sending me to attend the recent Bath International Music Festival so I could get the best of both worlds.

And I did. Bath was exactly as those great dames had written about –as if time had stood still for centuries. Now a World Heritage site in the league of Salzburg and Florence, the city is full of architectural masterpieces and curiosities. From the grand crescents of Camden and Lansdown to the cobbled alleys near the Abbey, I happily wandered through centuries of time and legend.

Bath is remarkably compact and an easy stroll from the Upper Town to the banks of the Avon Canal. At the heart of the city is the 500-year-old Abbey, which was constructed over the site of a Saxon monastery where the first King of England was crowned in 973 AD. The Abbey Heritage Vaults tell the story of 1600 years of Christianity.

Alongside the Abbey is the amazing Roman Baths complex–one of the finest ancient monuments in Europe, dating back to 2,000 years. As I walked on the ancient stone pavements imagining the grandeur of the Aquae Sulis, I thought of the fascinating stories of the goddesses, sculptures and steaming hot springs which have brought health and vitality to Bath visitors since early Celtic times. (Amidst the cold English weather which kept me wrapped in thick Scottish woolens, it was like spending a glorious day at the sauna!)

For a real taste of Bath, I sat back munching an authentic Bath bun in the homely atmosphere of Sally Nunn’s house–the oldest house in Bath–where she established her baking as a favorite of fashionable society in the 1680s. I strolled through the Parade Gardens, walked up and down Pulteney Bridge, and watched children following the Beaver Maze.

Together with the surrounding towns of Bradford and other areas in Salisbury and Wiltshire, Bath has retained the serene beauty and magnificent landscape which inspired many great artists like Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, Sir Walter Scott, Gainsborough, Handel and, more recently, aging rock stars like Peter Gabriel, Van Morrison and their illustrious new neighbor –Madonna. It seemed fitting, therefore, that a festival gathering top names on the international music scene would find fruition in the halls of Bath.

The opening night of the Bath International Music Festival, staged at the Royal Victoria Park under the gaze of the Royal Crescent, has always been a cornucopia of sights and sounds. This year, it was succeeded by 17 days of the world’s best in classical, jazz, contemporary and world music.

Under the aegis of the British Council, I joined 35 other promoters from various countries in seeking out the crème-de-la-crème. I was the only Asian in the group, as the others were there to strengthen the initiatives of tecmo-Europe. But to them, getting a Filipino perspective about the music presented was just as important.

We started off with a right royal performance by Courtney Pine–defined by The Guardian as "a walking encyclopedia of advanced saxophony." A young phenomenon of the ’80s British jazz revival, Pine has become the multi-faceted leader/composer of the new generation of UK musicians and the youngest public figure in jazz to be awarded an OBE. Firing the Jazz Weekend’s opening salvo, the dreadlocked Pine had the audience at the Forum howling and stomping as he blew his horns (at times even two simultaneously–look ma, no hands!) and made the bridge between flat-out jazz and the hippest end of the contemporary music scene. As a sign of eminent benevolence, Pine also picked the funkiest, most talented musicians to front for him. Case in point was Dennis Rollins of Badbone & Company, whom Pine acknowledged to the audience as "the sexiest trombone in town".

The following day, we de-frosted our limbs with Salsa Celtica, a ten-piece band of Scots who found their ideal sound somewhere between the Rio Grande and the Firth of Forth. Finishing Friday night in style, Salsa Celtica set out to prove that Bath dancers can party just like the audiences they’ve wowed from Glasgow to New York– with or without the kilt.

Time was, some people think, when there was just one kind of jazz. But listen closely and you’ll realize that jazz was really the earliest "world" music, opening the 20th century with a globalisation of sound that took Africa, old Europe and the newfound land of America, and mixed them for a whole new era. The indomitable black American spirit brought the spirit of improvisation back to Europe and taught musicians that they could explore three places for their music–inside themselves, around the world and in their own traditions.

Lebanese virtuoso Rabih Abou-Khalil related his cosmopolitan understanding of the blues to the evocative music of his classic Arab lute (oud). Already celebrated throughout Europe but on his first major tour of the UK, Abou-Khalil merged cultural identities with a truly international line-up which included French star Michel Godard on tuba alongside Syrian frame drummer Nabil Khaiat, Italian clarinettist Gabriel Mirabassi and American harmonica guru Howard Levy (ex-Flecktones). With a definite push for the audience to buy his latest album "The Cactus of Knowledge," Abou-Khalil and his friends offered a scrumptiously delicious array of tunes which took us to heights of perverse pleasure as traditional Arab soundscapes blended with post-bop grooves. Their rousing performance was made even more seamless with Abou-Khalil’s storytelling sweep which left the audience in stitches.

Providing a stark but refreshing contrast was pianist Matthew Bourne (not to be confused with the renowned Swan Lake choreographer from Adventures in Motion Pictures). Winning the Perrier Award for Young Jazz Musician in 1991, Bourne strode in with his gangly frame and shaven head then promptly floored his audience by saying that most of his time is spent forgetting how to play. Improvising with a baby grand against keyboard sampling, Bourne warned that his music could be disturbing and was unlikely to get played in many dinner-jazz shows. But we unanimously agreed that his imagination used a far-wider palette of sound (on and off the piano), plus a little more active use of wit (thanks to a canned plea for applause from The Simpsons).

Blowing like a tempest as he rounded off the Jazz Weekend was alto saxophonist Maceo Parker. As one incredulous reviewer put it, "if anyone wasn’t dancing at this show, they were either dead or outside having sex." Parker was the mighty James Brown’s right-hand man for so long that he learned to exist on a diet of pure soul music. For a decade now, he has turned to bringing the world his own non-stop, breath-taking excitement with a band that will not let the party stop until the windows rattle. "Hurricane Maceo" played like he was born to make us dance until dawn. . .get-down-and-stay-down! Get the picture?

Days later, I found myself on a pilgrimage to mystical Stonehenge and Avebury where, clutching a Viking rhune, I took myself back to the time of the Druids and praised the Mighty Spirit for "Creation." Later, I journeyed to the picturesque Cotswolds, and as my feet took me to Lacock Abbey–the film set for Harry Potter–I tried to shut out the Mad Max guide’s juicy tidbits on Charles and Camilla’s trysts in the lanes of Lacock. Wingardium leviosa!

As I looked at the massive stretch of greenery and bucolic serenity seemingly detached from the everyday problems of the world, I could only sigh and wonder if someone like me could ever fit into such surroundings. Bath was an entirely different world–but one I will gladly retreat to whenever the pressure is too great.

Yes, the city is a symbol of the once-ostentatious and indifferent English aristocracy, but in Bath, I also learned that music indeed has the power to make sense of what is wrong, to reconcile and create harmony, and to celebrate a common humanity in diversity. The multi-national focus carried by the Jazz Showcase seemed a timely decision on the part of the UK organisers as the world continues to live with the war on terrorism. Musicians and their endless inventiveness give us hope. They create visions of better ways of living, and remind us that we are not all destined to dance to one global tune.