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Fortnight Publications Ltd. After the Ball Is Over Author(s): Mark Storey Source: Fortnight, No. 94 (Nov. 29, 1974), pp. 15-16 Published by: Fortnight Publications Ltd. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25545251 . Accessed: 28/06/2014 18:59 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. . Fortnight Publications Ltd. is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Fortnight. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 78.24.220.173 on Sat, 28 Jun 2014 18:59:43 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

After the Ball Is Over

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Fortnight Publications Ltd.

After the Ball Is OverAuthor(s): Mark StoreySource: Fortnight, No. 94 (Nov. 29, 1974), pp. 15-16Published by: Fortnight Publications Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25545251 .

Accessed: 28/06/2014 18:59

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

.

Fortnight Publications Ltd. is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Fortnight.

http://www.jstor.org

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FRIDAY 29th NOVEMBER 1974/15

'A Journey' is to my mind the best of the stories in this group. It

contains the most viable male

character in the book, a trade

unionist of Belfast origin who is

possessed of what MacNeicc called 'the cold hard fire of the northern

er'. This character pathetically but

touchingly shows off before a

socially superior woman with whom he is never at ease, except in- bed.

Their meeting was a lluke. their brief affair an interlude, 'and they would be together or not be

together as life the gaffer thought lit.' A hard little nugget of a story,

but it is marred by the anecdote of

It a. who went to bed with Jim for a

week, and was so sore thai she

finally had to have stitches, this

erotic detail is gratuitous and false to the tone of the tale. The balance

of a story should not be risked for so negligible a return.

In style 'A Scandalous Woman' is less blatantly sensual, less

glamorous and gimmicky, than 'The Love Object'. Its language is

cool, crisp and direct. In content. Miss O'Brien has moved away from facile eroticism to explore human contacts (or the lack o\ human con tacts) of a more subtle and complex kind. In sum, a scandalously good book.

Guinea Pigs Mike Walford

John McGuffin The Guinea Pigs (Penguin Books)

This is a hard-hitting book. At times

it is sarcastic to the point of

bitterness, at other times it is

macabre and witty, but it is always incisive. The contents of the book are probably not too much of a

surprise to those living in Northern

Ireland. Its main contentions are

that the population as a whole and 14 people in particular are and were

respectively being used as 'Guinea

Pigs' to perfect methods of internal

security, both in terms of

interrogation techniques and also in

methods of turning people against guerillas, as well as the introduction of new methods of'crowd control'.

The main portion of the book is concerned with the arrest and sub

sequent eight day long interrogation session of 12 men who were 'lifted' on internment day. McGuffin's idea is that these men were unwittingly

picked out as the subjects of a

particularly vicious experiment, which was to test out new sensory de

privation methods like hooding, standing at a wall for hours on end (an innocuous sounding but rather

nasty invention ofthe Russian secret

police called the 'Stoika'), and also continual high pitched sound in the

background (white noise). At the same time there was almost total

sleep deprivation and food depriva tion for eight days. McGuffin has used a lot of documentary evidence to show conclusively that this all

happened and was done quite deliberately. The real sting comes when he accuses the Army of not

being interested with information on the IRA but in testing out how far and effectively they could go in their

sensory deprivation techniques. To back up this controversial idea

McGuffin draws on a wide range of circumstantial evidence which when added together makes a very

convincing argument. One major [argument is that it is impossible

under 'normal' laboratory condi

tions to carry out absolutely disorienting tests, for the simple reason that a paid volunteer or a

volunteer from the armed services knows that however frightening the

experience that they are not going to be killed or purposely driven mad. The introduction of internment was however a magnificent oppor

tunity to pick some subjects and take them the full distance carefully recording all their reactions. These

people had no idea what was

happening to them or where they were, in fact they were in a condition of blind terror. The second

important piece of evidence was that

only some of the men were in the IRA and those that were only very small cogs. Had the interrogations been for the purpose of extracting information surely the Army

would have concentrated on the

bigger fish? The things that all these men had in common were the facts that they were all young men and all

physically in very good shape. The fact that they were young and not

experienced meant that they would not guess what was happening to them and also they would have not

much idea about resisting these

techniques. McGuffin also thinks that the Compton Report on these

allegations of torture, actually achieved its main task which was to cover up the real reasons for the torture. The Press totally destroyed the Compton Report which made

extremely inept attempts to whitewash the whole affair. But the row about "brutality" and "ill treat

ment" served to obscure the

experimental nature of the whole

operation. The book also follows up what

happened to these men. A lot of them have been released for a long time and live at the same places,

which should be comment enough on their level of involvement. As far as their mental condition is concerned there is cause for alarm. There has been no official attempt to find out about the effects on these

men. but they are all still suffering

after-effects such as acute paranoia,

blacking-out phases and more

generalised nervous ailments such as tics. Several of them have been

awarded damages in court in

unopposed cases? presumably the Government prefers to keep a low

profile. Perhaps the most significant part

of the book is contained in the final

chapters, where incidents and facts

about institutional initiatives on

sensory deprivation as well as other

aspects of the beginning of 'Strong Statism' are creeping in. The case of

the Baader-Mcinhof group in

Germany is a good example. Ulriche Meinhof was brought to court in

such a nervous state that there was a

huge row. But the German police barracks now have special cells,

designed, with advice presumably from the Army, to facilitate sensory

deprivation methods, as highlighted

in ihe international press. More

recently in Britain the Sundav limes discovered the ominous

development of a special punish ment wing in Wakefield jail which

they were trying out on some

prisoners who were on the edge of nervous reakdowns. Is it possible that Britain is going to create an

improved version of the Brazilian

dungeons in case they need to hold

political prisoners? It is an open secret that the Police Special Patrol

Group in England gets training from the army, and as the main

purpose of the SPG is to break

pickets one is left wondering when the first rubber bullets are going to

be fired at miners or power workers,

particularly in the light of the

deepening economic crisis?still, in the cryptic words ofthe author ". . .

don't worrv there's still ten vears to l?84."

Festival Music_

After the Ball is Over

The last two weeks have been very

jolly, and I say that with more than the taste of garlic bread lingering

on, and not just because I dreamt last night of David Cutts cursing all the people he had to give Press

passes to. Mind you. the garlic bread was very good, even when the concert before it wasn't, and it deserves a little fanfare of its own. In

fact, when you think about it, and

thinking is not easy on the last

Sunday of the Festival, there are a

number of pleasant gastronomic memories which could well account for a general disarming of the

critical faculties. (A subtle ploy, that, sir!) This year's Festival,

whatever it,might have looked like on paper beforehand, has managed to create a pleasantly relaxed

atmosphere, in which there has been

plenty to enjoy.

|ftook&\\s I

I #US%& COOKERY I

^H ^^ Irish Countryhouse ^H ^H Cooking ^H

^H /?os/e 77r?r?e ^H ^H CpADT A superb collection of

^H ^H

^" ^ recipes from Ireland's ^H

^H One Hundred Years of famous country houses.

^H ^H

Irish Rugby ?4-95 _H ^H Edmund Van Esbeck

^H ^H

All the personalities, ^H

^H games and statistics. The HUMOUR ^1 ^H perfect gift for the rugby M , _ _H

enthus.ast. ?3.75 Don't Shoot I'm Not

^H Well ^M ^H Tec/ Bonner ^H ^B

A book for dipping into ^H H POETRY last tmn9 at night. That H

^B . _,. J . ?s ?f you sleep better after ^| Another Kind of a hearty ,au h - H

^B Optimism H

^m Basil Payne ^M

^H A collection of poems,

^H ^H

some humerous, some ^H

^H serious, which convey ^H ^M

love and loneliness, _ ^B ^B loyalty an-" loss. fTpTl _H ?2.45 8& L-LLLI QHI and Macmillan

-

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16/FORTNIGHT It's impossible to give a fair

account of all that has taken place. Nor have there been themes

pursued, to give unity to the

proceedings. In practice this has not

mattered, and the principle of

something for everyone, usually enunciated at Festival time, has

operated pretty successfully. As last

year the Studio Opera Group was

performing in the Arts Theatre. I

didn't get to Hansel and Gretel, but

gather that it was something of a hit.

especially for the children in the audience. It was only a pity that

Menotti didn't have much appeal, because here was a double bill that

would surely have won a lot of

people over to opera. The Telephone is a light, inconsequential piece, but as sung by John Dallas and Irene Sandford (rather inappositely clad) it had pace and humour. Nothing troubling, admittedly, but a good curtain raiser to The Medium, a real

bit of unadulterated melodrama. Here we were, back in the seedy world exploited by Menotti in The

Consul, and everyone rose to the

occasion. Mary Gilmore, as the heroine (if that's the right word for

the crooked medium driven to mad

despair and eventually murder) had the measure ofthe part, histrionics and all, and she was well supported by ihc rest of the cast.

Pretension there was in this Festival, as in all festivals. It reared its head

rather disturbingly in a concert

given in the Ulster Museum by a

young group of musicians called

Deamtiger, for no very good reason

and no doubt for some very bad reason. Dreamtiger was rather an

amorphous group, with very few of

its members playing the same

instrument twice: this in itself is

distracting and often unnecessary, in that there's no real point in

having three pianists in the same

group, whether or not they can play

anything else. The programme too was amorphous, with bits and pieces that had little enough relation to

each other. There were works of

substance, but we had to wait for

these, and the concert got off to such a bad start that it was inconceivable that Messiaen and Schoenberg

would survive. This is where the

pretension came in. In a bid to cash in on the Scott Joplin vogue, the

group played a couple of rags,

arranged by their director, Douglas

Young. The arrangements were

travesties of the originals, the

performances pretty disastrous. It was hardly surprising that Charles Ives's Largo for violin, clarinet and

piano sounded rather unconvincing after that: it's an unconvincing work

anyway, but strangely haunting in a

perverse sort of way. (I keep getting bits ofthe bizarre violin line floating through my head.) Yitkin Seow

threw down his viola to play a couple of Ravel piano pieces, nicely

enough, but rather so-whatish.

Kathryn Lucas, the flautist, played solo items by Varese and Berio. but

this was all merely pate de maison. before Webern's classic arrange ment of Schoenberg's Chamber

Symphony. Here the group did show

its claws, though I must confess that

Sehoenberg's original version seems

to me to be that much richer and more satisfying. However, let that

pass, here we are at the interval, a

few nips of red wine, and then the

piece we've come for. Messiaen's

Quartet for the End of Time.

Contrary to expectation, the group achieved here what had eluded them earlier: they got to grips with a

stunningly complex work and laid

bare what seemed to matter most. It was not a great performance. But it

had great moments, especially that endless melodic line from the cello

in 'Louange a l?Eternitie de Jesus',

suspended over quiet chords on the

piano: here the maturity of vision of the cellist, Rohan de Saram, shone

through. This was rapt playing of

the utmost beauty and poise. And

remarkably Monica Huggett on the

violin matched this quality in the final movement, where she echoes the cello's earlier meditation.

Of course, there are softnesses and softnesses, as the concert given

by Swingle II demonstrated. This

was in the Whitla Hall, where a

South American group, Urubamba was also playing as a fillup. There's a limit to what you can do with a

charango, a bamboo flute and drums made from tree trunks, and

everything the group played tended to sound like the last piece. That's not to say they weren't an extremely nice, gentle group, obviously absorbed in their music, delighting in its primitive simplicities and sonorities. But a whole concert

would wear thin. The reincarnation of the Swingle Singers was

sufficiently subtle for most people not to be able to tell the difference.

The main change is that this lot are

English, and that means they are

'products of the invaluable English choral tradition' which has already produced King's College Choir and Julie Andrews. This group, and its

predecessor, is a remarkable

phenomenon. It consists of eight hand picked singers who rely on the

microphone and a sound mixer for their effects. What this means is

that they never sing above piano. There is no denying their

astonishing vocal skill and range. But the musical rewards were

negligible.

Well if you wanted real purity, you couldn't have done betfer than gone to hear Eduard Melkus play

unaccompanied Bach on a baroque violin. This was music unadorned and straight from the shoulder

(literally) perhaps a little dry and

academic for my taste, but never , dull. Melkus played with commit

ment and liveliness. Of course, his instrument lacked the body that we

almost take for granted in modern

fiddle playing, and the thin tone, however authentic, robbed the

music of some of its reverberations. But it was an achievement to bring off such an austere programme, and to draw a packed house at the same

time. If the string quartet as a genre has

a reputation for austerity, the

Allcgri did their best to dispel it in

their two Elm wood Hall concerts.

They have made quite a name as

interpreters of Shostakovich, and

they may well be happier in these more approachable works than in

Mo/art. Certainly they made the two Russian quartets they played (Nos 7 and 8) immediately accessible. Their Mozart was good, iii places extremely good, but

occasionally a bit slap-happy. The second week of the Festival

ended with two major events: the B Minor Mass performed by the

Belfast Philharmonic Society and the Ulster Orchestra with Leonard

Pugh (who earlier had shown what

they could do in Schubert's Ninth), and a jazz concert with Humphrey Lytttleton and Buddy Tate. It is sad to report that the first event was a

long way short of ideal. The soloists sat looking justifiably glum for

much of the time, as behind them

the choir roamed aimlessly and

painfully through one ofthe greatest choral works there is (but never

meant to be sung by a crowd that

big). There was little life in the

Orchestra, and a monumental

cock-up at the start of the Agnus Dei. On to Humphrey, as staid as

the rest of his band, but still in

command, his lip as controlled as

ever. Jazz in the Whitla Hall is rather like holding a religious service in the Guinness Spot (in reverse), and this final concert, even

with Buddy Tate livening things up in the second half, never really

rippled and rumbled as some of the lesser events in the South Dining

Hall did. As was expected, insistent

applause ruined most items at

crucial junctures. There's lots I've missed out. And.

oh dear oh dear, this all sounds rather mean-spirited for someone

who says he's been enjoying himself. I swear I've enjoyed it all, and

proffer thanks to the Director and his staff for laving it all on. I look

forward to next time. (And if you're still not convinced, you should see

me when I'm miserable.)

Mark Store}

The poems _^_B_^_^_B_|_D^?^__|__"^9^_^_H taken from Anthony _____________wS_t^0m^t^SS___m Weir's book of translations ^^^^^^^^^^k_r^^i_i___k *^L^H

be published by _____________L^^/Yfa_fc^____________H in December ^^^^^^^^ {J_^___9^_j_________|

CarlBagge ^^HA T_im ___fj______B ENORMOUS BULLS i_^R ^fl| l_f(_______[

Enormous bulls _____ ? if _____!_______}

^^^7 I^SBf^^B ^^b Al ^__E__K_H

through calf-stencils ^V AM \H|^H|^H in Christian comfort.

^B _fl__7 HJ___B___i

Arthur Rimbaud

THE PLUNDERED HEART My poor heart's dribbling at the stern,

my heart covered in nicotine:

they squirt soup onto it in turn.

my poor heart's dribbling at the stern:

beneath the quipping unconcern

of sailors raucously obscene,

my poor heart's dribbling at the stern,

my heart covered in nicotine!

Ithyphallic. erkish, lewd, their dirty jokes have tainted it!

In the wheelhouse there are crude

graffiti, ithyphallic. lewd.

O let my heart be cleansed, renewed

by wondrous waves immersing it!

Ithyphallic, erkish, lewd, their dirty jokes have tainted it!

When they have chewed their quids to pulp. O plundered heart, what shall I do?

Bacchic hiccups, sniggers, yelps. When they have chewed their quids to pulp: my guts (if I can only gulp my heart back) will be churning, too:

when they have chewed their quids to pulp, O plundered heart, what shall I do?

Carl Bagge HAS DIED

Has died was one of was born was one of to the last

who was

who came to

who became and who was

if he had

and was

that was

it was was

was not so very who was

but will

it came

all who

who had

always so faithful

and the children.

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