THIS YEAR'S THEME - GEORGE AND THE LION

George rides out one day and discovers a virgin in distress. It turns out she is the king’s daughter, presented in sacrifi ce to an evil dragon. George kills the dragon, marries the princess and later becomes a saint. His bravery is acknowledged by many countries, who adopt him as their patron, England among them. The story of George and the Dragon becomes part of English folklore and George himself an
icon of English bravery and strength.

 

But George goes way back to pre-Christian times, appearing in different guises as Perseus to the Greeks or Thor to the Nordic tribes. He then pops up as a Roman soldier, protecting Christians from persecution, and is used by the vicious Christian crusaders during the Middle Ages as a symbol of romance and chivalry. But separating man from myth, George was in fact born in third century Palestine to a noble, Christian family: An Arab who later comes to represent the core of English values. Such is the beauty of storytelling and retelling, adapting, appropriating and transforming.

 

What then of the lion? Is it the one that appears on the Norwegian coat of arms, the one that looks as though it would rather dance than do battle with George? It could be. But then again, George and the Lion is a story that has never been told. It is a story about stories. The ones we tell about our national heroes, which form our sense of national identity and ultimately inform our own personal histories. And then we make music. It emerges from all the stories we tell about our public and private selves, telling us everything and nothing about who we are. So what musical story does George and the Lion hope to tell? When Michael Finnissy makes reference to the music of Grieg in his piano piece Folklore (Mark Knoop, Thursday, 1300) a story immediately appears in the gaps between the old and the new. And in this story both Finnissy and Grieg shed light on one another, giving us insights we could never experience from their music in isolation. So too with the music of both Debussy and Handel in Après-Midi Dada (BIT20, Wednesday, 1930) and Molly-House (Saturday 1745): past and very public icons recast by Finnissy through a new and highly personal narrative.

 

In which case, George and the Lion is a story of memory too. When Geir Jenssen (Biosphere) uses sampled sounds from the North of Norway his music becomes a way of remembering the world around him, but his music tells the story of a dramatically different relationship to that world from Finnissy’s. So what can we expect from Jenssen’s new orchestral work, based on the symphonies of Shostakovich? Needless to say, if you look for the story of George and the Lion in pretty-much any event taking place at Borealis you will fi nd it. I hope it will be a useful and creative paradigm for hearing things with fresh ears and casting them in a new light. From the sexual narrative of the tango to the patriotic declaration of a military march, you will fi nd many opportunities to explore old stories and of course to create new ones of your own.

 

ALWYNNE PRITCHARD

 
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