DID I TELL YOU EVERYTHING IS FINE [466]

I came very late to Al Jarreau’s song “Mornin’”, a quite irrepressibly positive piece of smooth jazz with electric piano and strings, and a hybrid animated and live action video to match. It is very easy on the ear.

On my first listen, my first thought was, “this is a bit Pages from Ceefax, isn’t it?”, which is not as obscure a thought as it sounds. Certainly, David Foster’s original instrumental version of “Mornin’” fits that description completely.

Ceefax, the BBC’s teletext service that began in 1974, was initially only seen by owners of sets capable of decoding that part of the TV signal. Meanwhile, with BBC One and Two only broadcasting a few daytime shows outside of the Open University, schools programmes and live events, a test card and music was played to fill the gaps. From 1980, a rotating series of news, weather and information named “Ceefax in Vision”, later “Pages from Ceefax”, began replacing the test card, while continuing to play music. This arrangement was still seen during the day on BBC television as late as 1990, later relegated to early morning and at the end of the day until the end of analogue TV transmissions closed Ceefax in 2012. 

Being of an age where I would have seen “Pages from Ceefax” during the day, I recognised that the music being played was not often heard elsewhere. Without exception, instrumental tracks were played, i.e. no singing, and they were often light or easy listening in nature, or bland an inoffensive at worst. Until 1988, there were still restrictions on the amount of recorded music being broadcasted in the UK, known as “needletime”, so this music would come from sources either exempt from these rules, like foreign recordings, or by licensing cheaper library and production music.

 

The “foreign recordings” element was often literal: VHS recordings of “Pages from Ceefax” posted to YouTube don’t often have the music picked up by their content ID system, although I found one 1995 example that used the 1981 album “Flashing” by the Japanese jazz pianist Himiko Kikuchi, or another from 1983 using the 1971 album “Sentimentálna trúbka” by the Slovak American trumpeter Laco Déczi.  However, British musicians and composers would also travel to Germany to record, with renowned library music names like Neil Richardson, Alan Moorhouse, Johnny Pearson and Keith Mansfield appearing under pseudonyms like “The Oscar Brandenburg Orchestra”.

 

Even at the end of Ceefax in 2012, the BBC were still using library music, this time more recent recordings licensed from Funtastik Music, which to me sounded more stereotypically like the “elevator music” under which the earlier tracks could be classified. Notably, the final song played was “B.A.R.T.”  a commercially-released song by Ruby, a rock band that featured Tom Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival, and better known from being played between gaps in BBC schools programmes. This was more a nod to the end of laid-back presentation that could no longer take place in a time when TV channels need to continuously hold the viewer’s attention – no longer can BBC Two casually open up at 9.30am, warn viewers that coverage of the TUC Conference begins in two minutes, then play “Nifty Digits” by Richard Harvey, as they did on 9^th September 1982, according to the YouTube channel that put up the recording.

 

But the earlier popularity of light music under big bands and jazz performers like Bert Kempfaert and Oscar Peterson, and the later existence of groups like The Test Card Circle point to the continued popularity of music of this type on its own terms, even down to CD reissues of production music albums made by labels like Bruton Music and KPM originally not meant for general sale. In this case, my brain has labelled it by where I heard that kind of music most, therefore as “Pages from Ceefax”.

FROM A WHISPER TO A SCREAM [465]

(2016)

I know the room in which I write these articles is messy, but at least I can still see the floor. For me, the archetypal definition of a messy room was the one I caught a plane to see. 

Francis Bacon was the Dublin-born British painter of visceral, violent intensity and twisted limbs, often in series of diptychs and triptychs, which remain unsettling and captivating. For me, the knowledge they were created in a studio setting of chaos and debris could not be separated from the finished works. Pictures of Bacon in his studio show him amongst various piles of paint pots and boxes, ripped-up books and newspapers lining the floor, paint mixed into the door and walls, but oddly nothing that could be mistaken as trash.

I am sure Bacon would have approved of my itinerary on 1st March 2016: the Guinness factory; St Patrick’s Cathedral, the Anglican cathedral where Jonathan Swift was once Dean; Trinity College library and the Book of Kells; and the Hugh Lane Gallery in Parnell Square, where Bacon’s studio was reconstructed and opened for public view in 2001. 

Virtually untouched since Bacon’s death in 1992, the studio was bought in its entirety by the gallery in 1998, shipping its entire contents from London, from the walls, windows and doors to even the remaining dust, with around seven thousand individual items digitised and recorded before being slotted back, like a jigsaw puzzle, into its original strewn form. You can look through the windows, then review the database on screens surrounded by the last six canvasses that remained unfinished after Bacon died.

(2016)

During the week I was in Dublin, I visited the studio twice, and overwhelmed both times. Framed by its windows, I could only take in the tableau as a whole – I never thought to look through the database, because I had no idea where to start. Only now looking back through the pictures I took through the window, using an iPhone 6 with a good-for-the-time 8-megapixel camera, I was immediately drawn to the numerous tins of white Dulux Trade Vinyl Matt Emulsion paint – it was mentioned that Bacon used acrylic paint in addition to oils, and these appeared to be it. I tried to find what use it would have in an artistic context, but I was being pointed back to its suitability for “low traffic rooms” like hallways.

Boxes that previously contained VAT 69, a blended scotch whisky, and Krug champagne litter the floor, but like the door and walls, may have been used to blend colours. I read later that pairs of corduroy trousers were also kept in the room, which I couldn’t quite see, that had paint applied to them and used to add texture. Bottle caps are as often used to apply paint to canvas as much as the numerous paintbrushes. Reference books, prints and photographs are scattered – I can only assume that Bacon’s filing system was just knowing where everything this, but seeing a book on Velázquez being near the surface was appropriate, his portrait of Pope Innocent X informing many Bacon studies and portraits.

I am not sure about needing to retain the many cans of varnish and fixative, but in looking at the positioning of the main H-frame easel in the room, with a skylight looking down on it, and in front of a window, Bacon had his back to most of the room, with everything having the potential to be some sort of a tool at any point. That can be the only reason there was no need to clean up the room: everything was where it needed to be.

(2016)

AND I DON’T THINK I’LL BE COMING BACK AGAIN [464]

Detail from "Dare to Be Stupid"

On Tuesday 27th August 2024, the following message was sent out across social media by the brilliant parody singer and songwriter “Weird Al” Yankovic: “About a year ago, my old record label replaced all my old music videos with upscaled HD/4K versions. Some folks really liked it, and some folks really didn't. Well, I hate for anybody to be disappointed, so now BOTH versions are available on YouTube - take your pick!”

I wasn’t aware that the original versions of some songs had been removed from view. I love the videos for “Living with a Hernia”, Weird Al’s take on James Brown’s “Living in America”, and the note-perfect Devo pastiche “Dare to Be Stupid”, as much as the songs themselves, and the artistry in matching the spirit of their targets both audibly and visually means they have to be taken together. 

MTV came along at the perfect time for Weird Al, and just as changes in consuming music means he now puts out songs as and when they are ready, rather than waiting to compile an album’s worth of material, it is natural that YouTube would present the perfect opportunity to lay out your life’s work as accessibly as possible.

However, I made the mistake of looking at the upscaled videos on my phone first – the pictures seemed a little sharper, and the colours more vibrant, which led me to think that they have gone to the original source, whether that be film, or a tape format like U-Matic or Betacam, and made a new scan. 

"I Lost on Jeopardy" - what happened to the categories?

This is clearly not what has happened, seen most clearly on the video for “I Lost on Jeopardy”. The film was originally uploaded in 2009, and while the picture quality is listed as “480p”, the picture itself is soft, like it came from a standard format VHS cassette, which can only achieve half this resolution. The upscaling, listed as 1080p HD format, appears to have been made from this version, using an A.I. upscaling program: outlines are suddenly sharp, and surfaces smoothed out, with text suddenly coming into focus the nearer the camera gets, particularly detrimental with the video’s need to show you a standard “Jeopardy” question board.

A.I. has been used in film preservation for years, helping in the more menial correction tasks like picture stabilisation, and removing scratches and dust that weren’t already caught by photochemical and other cleaning processes. Even then, this requires close examination of what has been done – I remember watching an explanation of the restoration of Fritz Lang’s 1927 film “Metropolis”, showing that the interpolation performed between individual frames that removed scratches and excessive film grain also removed the bottom of someone’s leg, which had to be manually corrected.

It is important to note that, like some people may refuse to watch a film or television programme because it is in black and white instead of colour, it is feasible that rejecting a work because it is not in “standard definition” is possible, which may have prompted the original A.I. transfer of Weird Al’s videos. The ephemeral nature of music videos may mean that master tapes are harder to find, but the care and attention could have been used to ensure the highest-possible quality of these videos simply costs more money than running them through an A.I. scanner program. Perhaps running a previous DVD of Weird Al’s work through an upscaling Blu-ray player, interpolating the picture to HD quality as it goes, would have produced a better effect.