Archive for the ‘Australia’ Category

Academically approved

August 21, 2019

On Friday with D to the Conservatorium to see/hear a “dress rehearsal” of Psyche, billed as an opera by Meta Overman.

What is she? I hear you ask (not) – assuming you’d even determined the gender.

MO was born in Rotterdam in about 1907. She emigrated to Australia not long after WWII with her young son and pianist husband.  The impetus seems to have been to escape post-war privations in the Netherlands – relatives had accommodation on offer in Perth.  To escape the Perth heat, they moved to Albany.

Albany!  I have spent time there on account of my late aunt.  In the early 50s it must have been a remote spot indeed.

Overman wrote Psyche for the first Perth Festival, in 1953.  It is based on a novella/fairtytale by the Dutch writer, Louis Couperus.  A 1908 translation is available online.

The Perth Festival was and remains a venture of the University of Western Australia.  Psyche was conceived to be performed at the sunken garden there which was used as an outdoor theatre (my mother related to me more than once seeing Jacqui Kott there in Midsummer Night’s Dream).  It’s a special place amidst the sandy wastes of the West.  Meta Overman’s ashes were scattered there and, as it happens, I scattered (unauthorised by the University but at her written request in a document found amidst her effects) some of my Albany aunt’s there when the time came.

Psyche eventually had 10 performances there in the 1955 festival.  It was poorly attended and a financial disaster and this amongst other things apparently led to the end of Overman’s marriage.  She decamped to Melbourne with her son and  (I infer: he is  apparently still living and was active as a jazz pianist as recently as 2012) a rather younger man (not that there is anything wrong with that).

It is easy to imagine why Psyche was not a success with the 1955 Perth public. Aside from the obscurity of its fin-de-siecle source, it  was a novel work – scarcely an opera in conventional terms.  Only two characters – Eros and Psyche’s elder sister, Emeralda, are portrayed by singers.  Psyche herself was represented by a dancer, a male (I assume) dancer represented the Chimera and a Satyr who interact with her – with the Satyr (shades of Debussy) also shadowed by an obbligato flute soloist.  Psyche’s younger sister was represented by a harp solo.  The balance of the instrumental music was provided by Overman’s husband on the piano.  Two other characters were spoken by actors.

For this revival, Jeanell Carrigan semi-orchestrated the piano part for a small ensemble whose makeup seems to have been determined by the availability of the SSO fellows – a string quartet, double bass, flute, oboe and bassoon.  The solo harp and flute parts  were retained and JC herself played a still-extensive piano part.

The music was accessible and dramatically apt without stretching many boundaries and to that extent can be excused criticism of the sort that Dr Carrigan (in my opinion unduly dismissively) levelled against Elliott Gyger’s music in her review of Oscar and Lucinda .

In the scene involving the Satyr the music launched slightly incongrously into treatments of O du lieber Augustin and another song which I recognized but still cannot name.  There may have been other songs referred to here.  The best I can do by way of explanation for this is that in the novel as translated the Satyr is dismissive of “classical music” and these songs therefore represent something more popular. he Wikipedia entry on O..Augustin, which should be updated in the section on “Use in other musical works” to include reference to Psyche, mentions that “The melody is also used in “Daar wordt aan de deur geklopt”, a Dutch children’s song for the celebration of Saint Nicholas Day

I felt the instrumentation was a little cautious and could profitably have expanded, even with the available forces, more beyond the still very evident backbone of the piano part.

The actors both had microphones, which was in my opinion a misstep even if necessary for them.  Singers and actors had books (not always consulted) and it didn’t look to me as if this was just for the dress rehearsal.  The dancers (who were excellent) gave the most fully realised performances.

I enjoyed my encounter with a slightly clunky oddity.

Some peculiar properties of glass

August 13, 2019

On Friday night a couple of weeks back and with D the following Saturday to  Carriageworks to see Sydney Chamber Opera’s production of the new chamber opera, Oscar & Lucinda, based on Peter Carey’s novel. Tthe music is by Elliott Gyger and the libretto by Pierce Wilcox.  They collaborated a few years ago on an adaptation of David Malouf’s Fly away Peter, which I didn’t see.

That makes two new Australian operas seen within a fortnight of each other.  You certainly can’t say that happens often.

In comparison to Kats-Chernin’s, a member of the Dulwich Hill gang who’d been to Whiteley earlier that week described Gyger’s style as “academically approved.”

If so, not by Associate Professor Jeanell Carrigan of the Conservatorium, who didn’t think much of the music at all.

In an opera adaption surely the most important feature is the music and how well adapted to the story it is….[I]n the opinion of this reviewer, the music did not react to or reflect the action on stage or in the story.

Had one not had the visual aspect and the text ….displayed on surtitles, hearing the music would not have given the listener the effect of what was transpiring….

Gyger writes in the program notes:

The guiding metaphor for the music is one not found in the novel …In a kaleidoscope, small fragments of coloured glass fall into arbitrary relationships which are then mirrored geometrically to create the illusion of order. Different settings of the kaleidoscope generate particular harmonic colours

If this was the guiding principle behind the composition then Gyger was successful, as the music does sound like a kaleidoscope, pieces of coloured glass falling into space. However, it seemed to this listener that the music never changed to reflect the story presented.

In the love scene, the kaleidoscope of colours did not reflect a warmth normally associated with such a scene. In the death scene, which was rather protracted, the colours were again so much of the sameness of other parts of the action. What began as colourful and very exciting became uninteresting and no longer captivating.

…..

it was doubtful whether the music portrayed enough of the story line to warrant putting this story into an operatic medium.

That’s harsh.

On first listening, I had something like Carrigan’s reaction, though not as adverse.

A particular bugbear of mine with much contemporary music is that often intricate details, which can themselves be quite rhythmic (in this case, often coming from the words), are laid out against a basically time-measuring background seemingly devoid of  metre.  Where is the ritornello rhythmic pattern that we can (metaphorically) tap our feet to?  Where are the non-duple metres?

That’s probably also a stalking horse (switching metaphors in mid-stream) for regret at the absence of the straightforwardly lyrical.  Give us a song, not mere declamation!

Actually that’s an argument which goes back beyond antagonism to contemporary music.  People made that complaint about Wagner’s vocal writing, and I felt something a bit like that in relation to the constant (and ever so admired by critics as responsive to the text) recits and ariosos in The Return of Ulysses.

There is a bit of a lyricism deficit in Oscar and Lucinda – or at least there is lots of very angular and leapy music.

When I returned on Saturday – better rested than I had been on Friday and with the advantage of already having heard the music once – I found much more variety – even metrical variety – in the music than I had noticed first time around.

As for the two scenes Carrigan picked on: as to the first, her complaint should possibly be with the libretto rather than the music. It is an “in love” scene rather than a “love scene” – the whole point is that they are happy together without having declared their love to each other.  I thought the music captured this well, though perhaps you could have wished for something warmer.

The scene which Carrigan calls the “death scene” is more than that. The libretto ingeniously manages to wrap up the Miriam-Lucinda plot at the same time.  The scene is fittingly a culmination of the glass-themed style which has featured throughout the work.  True, it is a bit static (so a bit of that time-measuring that I am not so keen on) but a glass church on a barge is sinking into the river.  It’s too late to slip into a waltz.  in truth I expect Carrigan just didn’t like the style that much and by the end was sick of it.

Perhaps she should have gone again to gain a better impression.

There is more I could say about the the staging (minimalist, imaginative) and the performances (energetic, impressive, though some of the chorus-commentary harmony could have been better tempered)  and even about the music, but I’ve run out of energy for that right now.

I enjoyed both nights and they made me think about the novel afresh.  The audience was enthusiastic.  Carriageworks is a funky venue.

The ticket price of $35 was very accessible.  It was even more accessible to me because on the Friday, expecting to be too tired, I made a special trip to Carriageworks to book a ticket for the Saturday so as to be sure of one for the last night. Naively I also thought I might avoid the hated booking fee that way.  That was not to be, but there was a consolation: as I was concluding the bargain, a man returned a ticket to be given away for free.  “I’ll take it!” I cried, leaving no chance before any more tentative bystanders could put in a claim. If I flagged, I could always leave at half time secure in the knowledge I still had a ticket for the next night.  In fact, though impaired by a long day and a couple of post-work drinks I never felt the slightest bit tempted to leave.  It was totally engrossing.

Bonus!

PS: the title to this post is set by Gyger to a melodic fragment not entirely unreminiscent of “Peter Grimes I here advise.”

 

PTSD Snowflake

August 8, 2019

The NSW Legislative Assembly has been debating the Reproductive Health Care Reform Bill – a private members’ bill which seeks to remove abortion from the Crimes Act and to bring NSW law roughly in line with the law in Queensland and Victoria. Within Australia, only NSW still deals with abortion as a specific offence under the Crimes Act.

In so many respects this is a replay of the agonizing process of “homosexual law” reform and specifically the marriage equality debates leading up to 2017.  On the anti-reform side all the usual road-blocks are thrown up.  There must be consultation.  The change is rushed.  The change and the path to change should be offset by obstacles and even set backs (not in the town-planning sense).

There is misrepresentation of the current state of the law and of the effect of the bill if passed.

Amendments proposed by attorney-general  Mark Speakman will make the position worse for persons seeking abortions (and those performing them) than they are under the judge-made (and for that reason inherently uncertain and liable to reconsideration) work-arounds under which abortions are presently performed. Unsatisfactory as the mutable status of such judge-made law is, it would be better there were no new Act than the Act as so amended. That’s a wedge of sorts.

The NSW Legislative Assembly now webcasts its debates and I have been watching some of them.  It is a depressing spectacle.

And if the bill passes the Legislative Assembly unscathed or amended, we still have the Legislative Council to go.

Oh, joy.

Postscript: the bill passed.  Speakman’s worst amendment didn’t get in but there are still some pretty unsatisfactory provisions.  Not that the proponents of any of these amendments including Speakman ended up voting for the bill as so amended anyway.  The pr flak painting him and Stokes as “peacemakers” was nonsense.

There was some weak wavering by temporizers in the middle watching their back against organized religion in their branches.  That’s democracy at work.  Women and the general community support for availability of abortion are less tightly organised than the “pro-life” groups.  The RC Church still has political muscle to flex.

It’s reported that supporters of the bill in the public gallery cheered.  My own response would have been a more modified rapture.

Law skool memories

July 31, 2019

Every one knows about the snail in the ginger beer bottle (though it was never actually proved to have been there) and probably a few people who dropped out of law courses can remember the Carbolic Smoke Ball case, but there are plenty of other cases that stick in one’s memory.

One came to mind today with a news story from the ABC.  A former deputy mayor is facing charges that he murdered his brother in Victoria and his mother in NSW.

In the body of the story was the following:

Cross-border crime presents ‘complex legal issues’

Mr Brand was a police prosecutor for 12 years in NSW and said he had not dealt with a serious cross-border criminal case like this before.

Excuse me!  That’s not a cross-border crime!  That’s two crimes, one on each side of a border.

To be fair, Mr Brand didn’t say it was – only the author of the sub-headline.

A cross border crime is one posed by the question, asked rhetorically of us in Criminal Law:

A man  fires a shot across the Murray River  and kills someone.  In which state has the homicide occurred?  Victoria or NSW?

The answer is: where the person was hit by the bullet.  (There are some other technicalities such as the year-and-a-day rule.  I don’t think it matters where the victim actually died.)

The more amazing thing is that there was  actually a High Court case about this.  That case is Ward v R [1980] HCA 11; (1980) 142 CLR 308.

Edward Donald Ward shot and killed Alexander Joseph Reed beside the Murray River near Echuca. He fired from the top of the steep bank of the river down at Reed, who was fishing by the river’s edge, some thirty feet below.

Ward fired from the Southern bank. He was tried and found guilty of murder in the Victorian Supreme Court. The High Court upheld his appeal because the river bed was in NSW. The border had been fixed in 1855 as being at the southern side of the “whole of the watercourse.”  The whole of the watercourse did not just mean where the water was at a particular time or even where water normally flowed, but the watercourse as defined by the banks.  Reed was killed in NSW.

This wasn’t merely academic, because if the homicide occurred in NSW Ward had available to him a defence of “diminished responsibility” which if accepted would reduce the offence from murder to manslaughter.  This defence did not exist if the case was to be tried as a crime which took place in Victoria.

So, to the ABC news site I say: come back to me when you have a real cross-border (alleged) crime to report!

I’ve found it surprisingly difficult to track down Ward’s ultimate legal fate.  The best outcome for him would have been that a plea of guilty to manslaughter was accepted.

Diminished responsibility  was abolished in NSW in 1998 and replaced with substantial impairment

Whiteley

July 28, 2019

On Wednesday to Opera Australia’s Whiteley.

This was a new opera about the Australian artist, with music by Elena Kats-Chernin and libretto by Justin Fleming.

I’m not really a big fan of Elena Kats-Chernin’s cross-overish style, but obviously it has a following.  The music was effective and there was some striking orchestration. There were a few rather awful bits (cf the fight music in Lohengrin – plenty of composers can write banal music for a dramatic purpose) and quite a lot of what Harriett Alexander has called K-C’s chugging basslines where the basses render an orchestral translation of the bass guitar.  The opening of Act II channelled John Adams for a while.

When you have an opera about an artist, the visuals have to be a big thing.  Here they were mostly deployed on the new video screens.  The most exuberant bits involved Whiteley’s youthful trip to Europe (I loved the train) and his ecstatic encounters with canonical works of Western art – especially Giotto’s St Francis Feeding the Birds.  The depiction of Christie’s murder victims (not on the video screens) via Whiteleys works on this topic was haunting. Whiteley’s more “mature” art (did he ever “mature”?) in the second half was dealt with in a relatively more restrained way. Perhaps it was not to be tampered with.

The problem with a biographical opera is how to arrange the material into a dramatically satisfactory form.  Probably it cannot really be done without a greater sacrifice of truth than Justin Fleming managed in this case. He just had too many facts from Ashleigh Wilson’s authorized (by Wendy) biography to pack in.

Apart from the art, for which Fleming managed a fair conspectus, the other two themes jostled for attention.  These were, on the one hand, Whiteley’s various drug addictions, and on the other hand (the opera downplayed the intersection), Wendy, his love and muse.

Summarised like this, neither is really so extraordinary.  Artists have addictions and they have muses and often both.

Though it might be thought of as commonplace, I personally would have rather had more of the addiction thing and less of Wendy.  That probably wasn’t possible given Wendy’s role as the surviving custodian of brand Whiteley.  As it was, there was lots of Wendy but still she didn’t have all that much to do other than to be beeyoutiful (as Whiteley, Leigh Melrose, who was terrific,  made particular sport of the Australian oooo vowel) and endure BW’s waywardness.  Wendy’s own heroin phase passed with little mention.

By the end I was rather sick of the Whiteley family.

Whiteley’s post-Wendy partner (merely billed as “Janice”) got very short shrift. That’s what happens when you lose a court case and are now dead.

If the opera were to be revived/revised I would cut down the Fiji sequence.  Yes, I know it was meant to be a set-up to the Whiteleys’ (rather underwhelmingly realised) expulsion, but it just went on and it felt a bit too saccharine.

Apparently, K-C already did a major rewrite of the score because as it first came out it was too much like a musical.  The musical language she found was eclectic and hit a credible easy-listenish operatic spot.  It is not music that would drive the public that Lyndon Terracini craves away. The problem for me is that I am out of kilter with that public, which apparently (as Lyndon T will readily tell you) isn’t even interested in Benjamin Britten, let alone the post-expressionism of Brett Dean, whose Bliss was OA’s last mainstage new work.  K-C’s music may not frighten the horses as that did but I can’t really say it draws me in either.

The bums on seats thing is the curse of modern classical music and modern opera.

The uncomfortable truth is that, from an economical point of view, opera is probably a dead form.  That’s not to say it isn’t still alive in terms of performance and interpretation, but when it comes to writing new works, the numbers are all wrong.  My own view is that its death probably goes right back to WWI, which is as good a point as any to pinpoint the shakeup between the economic position of the audience and the performers.  New and popular operas continued to be written and mounted into the 20s (eg, Jonny spielt auf, and Puccini’s later works) but they were living on borrowed time.  Meanwhile, spectacle and music could by the 30s be found at the movies (mass produced) or in blockbuster musical theatre (more popular music and more cost-effective to mount, especially once amplification entered the picture).

Alternately, you could say rather than a “dead form” that opera is a “mature market.”  New entrants have to compete against an enormous back catalogue.  We tend to forget that the operas in the established repertoire which we see to day are but a tiny proportion of the many operas which emerged – especially say in the period 1820 to 1920 – and have since disappeared without much of a trace.

It’s a big ask to predict that any new work will ever join the “pantheon” of established works, or even to hope it will be staged more than once or twice.

Richard Anderson, as Whiteley’s friend, Joel Elenberg, was totally unrecognizable without his beard. I suppose it was covered with the chin equivalent of a bald wig. The alternative possibility, that all his beards have been fake, is just too mind-blowing to contemplate.

 

 

 

 

Don’t fence me in!

July 21, 2019

IMG_20190516_142033

This was the railing  on the bridge over the Cooks River at Canterbury, apparently known as Prout’s Bridge.

That link describes it as follows:

The railing is of steel pipe with plastic coated wire mesh infill, and two lamp standards have been retrofitted to the bridge.

That has been overtaken by events.

Another patch of the railing on the other side of the road featured in an earlier post when a motorist managed to drive through it into the river. Apparently he emerged unscathed, which is more than can be said for the fence and the car.

IMG_20180914_173018

car off canterbury bridge

The car was eventually fished out about 4 months later.

Another five months or so after that, the railing was fixed.

But no, it couldn’t be just fixed. Instead the railings on both sides had to be replaced by an acceptable standard of bridge-jumper-resistant barrier. (The water is about a meter deep plus or minus the tide; the bridge perhaps 3 meters above the water.)

This is what we got.

IMG_20190516_141900

The picture doesn’t really capture it other than by reference to the other pictures, but the upper rail on the new fence is at about (my) head height.

Gone is the cheerful view over the river, albeit one principally featuring plastic bags and drink containers drifting up and down with the tide. Gone is any proportionate link with the 1940s concrete balustrade at the end.

Roger Covell

June 4, 2019

The Australia Ensemble and UNSW announced today that Roger Covell has died.

It doesn’t seem more than a year ago that I ran into him and Patricia Brown, his wife,  on a city underground train and we had a short but pleasant conversation about the opera du jour and the future of the Australia Ensemble.

Covell  made a great contribution to music in Australia and in Sydney, as music critic for the SMH and at UNSW – the Australia Ensemble is probably his monument so far as I am concerned, though that is not to belittle his other contributions, some of which, such as the UNSW Opera, have receded into the mists of time.

A relatively little-known fact is that as a young man Covell was one of four applicants for the role of founding editor of Quadrant.  James McAuley got the job.  Covell subsequently contributed to that journal from time to time. I forgive him for that [!], but I think he dodged a bullet and we can be grateful that his career took a more strictly musical turn.

Homeless in Mangerton

May 30, 2019

Just now there is an orgy of opinion-writing about homelessness.

The issue is topical because of the death of Courtney Herron, of no fixed address, whose savagely beaten body was recently found in Royal Park in Melbourne.

On top of the usual stuff about toxic masculinity, Catherine Lumby and a journalist weighed in with a piece sporting the headline: “Next time you have a meeting dominated by men, consider how it is affecting homelessness.”

The basic thesis seemed to be encapsulated in this passage:

Domestic violence is experienced by one in six Australian females – with an incident occurring every two minutes in this country. Domestic violence is also the dominant pathway to homelessness for women.

Ask most people why people are homeless and they are likely to say it’s because of drug and alcohol addiction or mental health issues. In fact, research initiated by the bipartisan Council of Australian Governments found that domestic and family violence is the leading cause.

It seems unbelievable, but one in three Australian women have experienced physical violence from the age of 15. It’s a tough statistic to get our heads around. And even tougher when you realise that most of that violence occurs at the hands of men they trust – those they are in an intimate relationship with or related to.

The most common reason women give for seeking support from government funded homelessness services is domestic or family violence.

….

There are women living on the street with their children. Living in their cars. Afraid to go to homeless shelters because they don’t want to deal with more violence and they want to protect their children.

….

Why are women still relegated to the lower ranks of organisations despite their educational and professional achievements? Why is feminised labour like childcare, primary school teaching and nursing still undervalued? Why do we accept indirect discrimination in hiring practices?

And why do we think it’s OK for women and children to be treated as property? This is at the heart of domestic and family violence. It’s a hard truth.

Which is why we should all take a turn participating in or supporting the Vinnies Sleepout and spending some time thinking about that truth. And thinking about how we might more urgently address female disadvantage in the workplace as a way to tackle the root causes of domestic violence and homelessness.

There has also been quite a lot of recent publicity of studies showing increases of homelessness amongst older women.  An instance here.

There are a lot of different kinds and causes of homelessness.

The homelessness of Courtney and her alleged assailant seem pretty clearly to have been an caused by a mixture of “drug and alcohol addiction or mental health issues” of the sort to which Lumby and her co-author refer.

Another quite common type of homelessness is that recounted by Wendy Squires in The Age, of which she writes:

I don’t want to dwell on how and why I ended up homeless. It was an escalation of parental circumstance from which I felt I had no choice but to flee.

That was when she was still at school. That strikes me as a kind of liminal phase not so remote from just “leaving home” and likely to be relatively surmountable – provided all other things are equal or a bit better than equal. You are young; you don’t have much ballast or stuff.

The growing homelessness of older women is mostly part of the general category of homelessness arising from poverty.  Whilst female disadvantage obviously contributes to this for women, homeless men still outnumber homeless women in all age groups, according to ABS 2016 figures.

Every private-rental low-income tenant is just a no-grounds termination or a tipping-point financially adverse event away from homelessness – and that’s a lot of people.  It is futile for most such people to even contemplate seeking public housing – the queues for that are as meaninglessly long as the “queues” for offshore refugees.

The statement that “domestic or family violence” is the “most common reason” women give for seeking support from government funded homelessness services has to be read in that light: the general homeless mostly do not even bother seeking such assistance. The figures must be skewed by women with children who do because they actually have a chance of receiving it.

In my own little sallies into the criminal law, I have seen more than enough of the vulnerability of the druggy and mentally disturbed homeless.  The lower reaches of the criminal law are awash with it.  Police know about it though they become hardened to it in their role as society’s garbage collectors and boundary enforcers.  The criminalisation of drug law has a large part to play.

A particularly grim example, though hardly in the lower reaches of the criminal law, is described in unusual detail in [2018] NSWSC 978 – in which, after a 7-week judge-alone trial, Justice Hamill dealt in agonising detail (as he was required to) with the last days of Mark Dower and the responsibility of Mark Jenkin for Dower’s death.

Dower had spent some years teaching English as a foreign language in Finland. You’d have to be a reasonably personable and educated person to do that, and also, one would think, quite adventurous. He had married; he had a daughter.  His wife died.  His life fell apart.  He became an alcoholic and also had mental health problems.  He returned to live in the Wollongong area where (I infer) he had grown up.

Dower became homeless and fell into a terrible milieu of drug users and ex-cons in a public housing estate at Mangerton,  an inner western suburb of Wollongong.

There was no need for Dower to be homeless on economic grounds.  Courtesy of his time in Finland, he was a man with two pensions.  This seems to have become well-known in Mangerton.

Dower was ripe for exploitation and he was exploited.  To his new protectors, and particularly to Mark Jenkin, he became a cash cow escorted to the ATM at milking time or forced to hand his keycard over for Jenkin’s use.

In 2015, aged just 53, Dower died in Jenkin’s flat where he had been for a bit under a week.

Jenkin claimed that he had been caring for Dower and that Dower didn’t want to be taken to hospital because he was afraid of being subjected to electric-shock therapy (which he had been in the past).  Hamill J did not accept this because Dower had  presented himself at hospital on numerous occasions, including on one occasion where he said he had been assaulted by a “martial arts expert” to whom he had lent money to to feed the assailant’s drug addiction.  (The hospital presentations had abated during a period when Jenkin had been in custody.)

Dower had told an old school friend that Jenkin was standing over him for his money but that he was scared to go to the police because he feared Jenkin would kill him if he did so.  He also told a shop-keeper about it one time when he was unable to repay credit he had been extended.

Dower’s fear that Jenkin would kill him had he gone to the police was not so fanciful as you might think.

RS, described by Jenkin in intercepted calls as “a fuckin’ street-working fuckin’ junkie fuckin’ deadset moll” had turned up at Jenkin’s flat just after Dower’s death.  Not long after this, Jenkin lost his key to the flat when he himself was assaulted in retaliation for a burglary he had committed of an ex-girlfriend’s place.  As a result Dower’s body, by this stage almost a week in Jenkin’s bath, needed to be taken out of the flat through the window. RS helped Jenkin do this.  The body was left in a laundry block at the flats which Jenkin had taken over as his own by placing a padlock on it.

Presumably Jenkin was planning to dispose of the body further, but before he got around to it he was arrested for the burglary.  A bit over a week later,  RS anonymously tipped the police off that there was a dead body in Jenkin’s laundry.

Rumours reached Jenkin in gaol that RS was “going crown.”  She was (unless others and Jenkin have remained stumm) the only person who had actually seen Dower dead in Jenkin’s flat.  Phone calls by Jenkin from gaol were intercepted in which Jenkin urged his step-brother to shut  RS up for good by giving her a “hot shot.”  The step-brother tried to source some heroin but the supplier told the court she wouldn’t sell it to him as she hadn’t sold to him before and wasn’t going to start then.

That seems a surprising twist of heroin-dealing ethics and you have to seriously wonder about it, though it could just have been prudence.  The dealer understood that ice rather than heroin was the step-brother’s drug of choice though she denied selling the step-brother anything.

Hamill J’s judgment includes an almost comical roll-call of the numerous witnesses who were potentially unreliable because they were drug users, alcoholics, suffered from mental problems or had drug-addled memories, who may have been concerned to minimise their own involvement in the circumstances surrounding Dower’s death or any conspiracy to murder RS or whose evidence for the prosecution might have been given in return for leniency about their own involvement or in relation to other matters.

There is a lot more forensic detail in the judgment about the indignities (and worse) to which Mr Dower was subjected whilst he was in the flat.  Videos probably taken by Jenkin were recovered from a phone which was in his possession at his arrest.  It must have been heart-breaking for his daughter, whose identity has been suppressed.

Justice Hamill suspected that Jenkin in fact struck a blow which killed Dower (in which case he would have been guilty of murder), but because it was a circumstantial case and other potential mortal assailants could not be excluded, Hammil J found Jenkin  guilty of manslaughter on the basis that Jenkin had assaulted Dower when he was in the flat and failed to obtain medical assistance for him, as a result of which Dower died.  It’s the same basis on which, for example, parents who fail to take their children to a doctor can be found guilty of manslaughter.

Jenkin was also found guilty of conspiracy to murder RS.

He received a total sentence of 19 years with a 14-year non-parole period.

Fiddling while Rome burns

May 20, 2019

On Saturday to the SOH to hear the SSO with soloist Yulianna Avdeeva, conducted by Andrey Boreyko.

The program was:

Krysztof Meyer, Hommage a Johannes Brahms
Chopin, Piano Concerto No 1 (which is actually No 2) and
Brahms arr Schoenberg Piano Quartet in G minor (op 25).

The Meyer is definitely a rarity: Boreyko may be its champion.  Written in Poland in or for 1983 (Brahms was born in 1833) it started off very much like Brahms’ first symphony, but by the second half of the piece could just as well have been a tribute to Bernstein.  There were some interesting orchestral textures. I especially liked a kind of rancid squeezebox woodwind effect which cropped up from time to time.

In the background, votes were being counted.  As the piano was being wheeled onto the stage, mobile phones were checked.  News of Tony Abbott’s electoral demise trickled in. But that was hardly the main game.

The Chopin is a funny piece.  Its long orchestral introduction is notoriously stodgy and for me even after the piano came in the real Chopin didn’t seem to emerge until the E-major theme – before then it was just early 19th century noodling.  After that things got much better though I didn’t feel the orchestra really rose to Avdeeva’s rhythmic liveliness.  As an encore she played Bourree I and II from Bach’s English Suite in A (or “a” if you are adopting the major-minor nomenclature).

By interval, there was a distinct lack of encouraging news for ALP supporters. It was clear that the swing was not “on.” Considering we’d all heard such rousing music, the atmosphere in the foyers was subdued.  I suppose some were cheerful about the tidings but they were probably in the minority in this particular crowd.

I think I’ve dismissed the “Brahms” before as a bit of a vulgarity.  In search of necessary consolation I made a special  effort to appreciate it on its own terms.  Funnily enough this worked and I enjoyed it more than the last time the SSO played it.  The second movement remains my favourite.

D had gone to an election night party.  There had been some talk of my joining him there post-concert if the night proved a long one.  When I rang him on my way out he told me he was already home.

 

Kangaroo!

April 25, 2019

ConnorParissisBartonprofile

Election posters are going up.  As I walked home from the station last night I spotted this young man’s picture fastened to the railings on the bridge over the Cooks River.

He is Connor Parissis, Greens candidate for Barton.

I’ve got a lot of respect for Linda Burney, the ALP incumbent, but before I vote for her I doubt if I will be able to resist expressing a prior preference.

Explanation of the title of this post is here.