I can’t remember learning to read texts or music, so phonics means little to me. I do remember that different headteachers made us learn to write with different styles, with the result that my handwriting is completely illegible (“That’s not a signature,” stormed my first bank manager, “do a better one!”). Were it not for the PC, the gutter in which I am begging would be rather more modest.
(I’ve worked with quite a lot of illiterate musicians. One band of loutish Caribbean peasants had learnt tunes by playing along with a cassette recorder which slowed everything down half a tone. This, combined with their complete lack of understanding of the acoustics of the cheap Chinese horns purchased for them by their patron, a local union cacique, meant that they played everything in fiendishly difficult keys and using the most unlikely slide positions and valve combinations. I came to the conclusion that the solution was not to teach them to read, but to buy them a new cassette recorder.)
- Daniel Heinsius’ solitary phoenix and the final words of the beastly bookseller of Barcelona
In 1927 the Catalan literary researcher and writer, Ramon Miquel i Planas (1874-1950; henceforth MiP) wrote a little book, published in
- Standard Dutch
Via Onze Taal: “For years Martin van Acht (39) from Eindhoven thought that the only Dutch in existence was Brabant dialect.
- Mapfumo on the rocks
Global warming is a reality in Gracia, where the guy at Bar Musical Zimbabwe has included a sun setting behind a
- We’ve got a winner!
Sorry to break my normal Dutch–Catalan–English flow, but this is important: we’ve got a winner for the cowbike drawing competition! The winning
- The organ-grinder: his life and misadventures.
Born … amidst vexillophiles crying in the wilderness known as Belfast: Mechanical organs A Fisher-Price gramophone, apocalyptic experiments on the village church organ