Tranquility

Two companionable crows admire the sunset

Ah, tranquility! A state much sought after, and best achieved without the aid of tranquilisers if you can manage it; there's lots of tranquility outside, if you just go and look. But, of course, you must do whatever you need to do, in order to stabilise your boat in rough seas, walk that tightrope, keep those plates spinning, or whatever your metaphor of choice is, especially at this stressful time of year. Why do we do this to ourselves?

So do go easy on the alcohol an' that if you're no longer young and stupid: I know it can take some of us a very long time to figure out that they really don't help as much as we think in the tranquility stakes. Actually, my advice is to go easy especially if you're young and stupid. I don't know about you, but I am so grateful mobile phones with video capability were still a Sci Fi fantasy in my younger days. It really doesn't bear thinking about. It's bad enough being remembered as an idiot, but for there to be irrefutable evidence...

So, look, if you're in need of calming down just now, I think I can help. Here's one of the best Joni Mitchell covers I know, Madeleine Peyroux and K.D. Lang duetting on a very laid-back version of "River". Give it a go:

Or how about this fado-ised version of "A Case of You" by Ana Moura:

Tranquility restored, I hope, even if by means of two beautifully sad songs.

BTW, that unusual instrument doing the dulcimer fills from Mitchell's original is a "Portuguese guitar" (as opposed to a Portuguese guitar), a sort of hybrid of a 12-string guitar and a mandolin, and a descendant of the mediaeval cittern as used by troubadours, themselves the distant forebears of singer-songwriters like Joni Mitchell. That curious fan-like cluster of rods at the end of the fingerboard are actually the tuners for the twelve strings, an 18th century innovation known (in Britain, anyway) as Preston tuners.

OTOH, if you've overdone the tranquilising and what you're in need of is a bit of livening up, why not give this a try: OK Santa, a contender for Best Christmas Single Ever if ever there was one – admittedly never a strong pool of candidates – from someone definitely in need of a little tranquilising himself, probably with a dart gun from a safe distance, John Otway. Warning: you may not be able to get that catchy tune out of your head for days. And, yes, that is a Sinclair C5.

My annual "book club" post has been taking a break for the past few years, as I have been attempting to moderate my book-buying habit, but I've had a bit of a relapse this year. I'm not going to own up to how big a relapse, so I'll simply recommend these two:

Starlings, by Jem Southam (raft, 2025)

Longer-term readers will know that I have admired the work of Jem Southam for many years, and indeed have been on Christmas-card terms with the great man (simper...) since doing a workshop at Duckspool in 1995. I confess my heart sank a little when this volume was announced: the spectacle of so-called murmurations of starlings gathering to roost has become something of a photographic cliché in recent years, but – having seen the work collected as Four Winters when it was exhibited in Bristol's RWA in January 2023 – it seemed likely he might have something of his own to add.

Indeed, as expected, the photographs in this book, all from one dark December afternoon in 2023, share a strong family resemblance to that body of work: on the edge of darkness starlings gather, flicker over sombre reed beds, and settle for the night. Southam is not one for the jaw-dropping image, unless your jaw is dropped by subtlety of tone, mood, and composition. So, rather than yet another series of spectacular murmuration displays, this is a record of an atmosphere, that same dim, frigid light that was captured so well in Four Winters.

But a really good book is always more than its contents: it is a physical object to be held in the hands, and so its design and materials matter. This one (I have the soft-bound version) has got it just right: large, but not too large to handle (27.5 x 32.5 cm), tactile, and beautifully designed and printed. Unlike far too many photo-books these days, it demands to be held and admired as an object of delight. Highly recommended.

Selfie time! Jem Southam is the one on the right

Near Dark, by Chris Dorley-Brown (Dewi Lewis, 2025)

You may recall that back in June I was encouraging you to sign up for the Kickstarter campaign to fund the publication of this book by Chris Dorley-Brown. It finally arrived in November, and was worth the wait. In a way, it's an urban version of Southam's crepuscular work: London streets caught entre chien et loup (between dog and wolf) as the French say, at that in-between time when the day relaxes, darkness gathers, and the lights come on (cue Angelo Badalamenti's theme music to Twin Peaks). It has always been a favourite time of day for me, a time for waiting for buses, after-work shopping, and anticipation of the evening to come, and Dorley-Brown renders it superbly with the granular detail only a large-format camera can capture.

If you get hold of a copy (which you should) you will notice my name and that of at least one reader of this blog listed in the back as Kickstarter contributors. Well done us! As my special edition "extra" I chose the print of the Regent Street angel:

Regent Street 2021, Chris Dorley-Brown

We'll soon be going away for our customary end of year procession around south-west England: Southampton to Dorset for Christmas, then Bristol for New Year. Sadly (for us), our favoured Dorset rental has now gone off the market – people may actually be living in it, which is good, really, I suppose – so we'll be trying out another one. Who knows, it might be even better! We will have wi-fi, so I might post the odd seasonal reflection or photograph, but if I get very tranquil I also might not.

So thank you for continuing to read this blog, especially those of you who take the trouble to comment, whether publicly on the blog or privately via email (although not you, you annoying fake-comment spammers, who seem to be slipping through a lot more lately), and let's hope for a better, more peaceful year in 2026! Even if that ████ Trump will want to take the credit for it... (oops, there goes my US visa!).

A reminder of spring, for those who like that sort of thing.

(our back garden, March 2025)