Irish Times writers review John Godber's latest comedy Teechers at the Draíocht Studio, Dublin, the RTE Concert Orchestra at the NCH and New York band Interpol.
Teechers
Draíocht Studio, Dublin
John Godber's comedies are nothing if not populist, seeking their material and humour from often soft sources. Teechers is set in a comprehensive school in England, but it is easily modified, in accent and characters, to strike recognisable chords in Dublin. If the content is rather formulaic, it is also quite funny.
The big gimmick here is that three actors play more than 20 characters between them, moving between sexes and school status equally. This is a tough kids' school, in which one hard lad has a dotted line tattooed around his throat with the words "cut here". Most of the pupils have little respect for their teachers, a kind of mini-
Blackboard Jungle scenario. A new man reports for duty, and must undergo several harsh initiation rites.
His final acceptance is based on his interest in drama and the involvement of his students. The principal has no use for it, and puts obstacles in his path. A female student takes a romantic interest in him, and has to be discouraged. He butts the tough guy in the face for intolerable intrusion, and awaits the vengeance of his big brother. An educational bed of roses it's not.
Without any great dramatic peaks or internal collisions, the play winds its way to a dying fall of an ending, as the motley group leave to seek their places in the world outside. The three actors - Mick O'Reilly, Bernie Coady and Brian Byrne - are always persuasive in a naturalistic way, although the number of roles each must undertake would test the skills of more seasoned thespians. Bernadette Forde's direction hews to this standard-types line, and they bring home a satisfying version of a play that could easily collapse into farce, but doesn't.
Ends Aug 30th
Gerry Colgan
_______________________________________________________
Whelan, RTÉCO/Sheil
NCH, Dublin
Zampa Overture - Hérold, Steal away, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot - trad, Habanera - Chabrier, Danse Macabre - Saint-Saëns, Summertime, My Man's Gone Now - Gershwin, Three Dances from The Bartered Bride - Smetana
Certainty of character was evident throughout this lunchtime orchestral concert with the RTÉ Concert Orchestra.
The music-making's reliability owed much to the knack shown by the conductor, Fergus Sheil, in defining rhythmic detail while preserving goal-driven progress. The RTÉCO was responsive, and that was epitomised in a shapely account of Chabrier's Habanera - in the slow sections a neat accent on the first beat and a leg-lifting delay on the second; then a swirling drive in the faster passages.
Similar strengths were evident in Hérold's Zampa Overture, where the opening ebullience of rhythm was neatly set against the subsequent dramatised contrasts of dynamics and ideas. It worked, even though the rounded attack encouraged by Sheil's securely relaxed manner was sometimes marred by blemishes in ensemble and balance.
A lively account of Three Dances from Smetana's The Bartered Bride was given an extra edge by some risky and not-always-successful holding of breath during the links between contrasted sections. There was also a neat account of Saint-Saëns's Danse Macabre and even though rhythmic drive sat down in the middle section, everything was helped along by Michael Healy's violin solos - just sinister enough for their purpose.
In the spirituals Steal away and Swing low, soprano Franzita Whelan sang too intimately to reach out to her audience. She was much more persuasive in two songs from Gershwin's Porgy and Bess - full-blooded and full of apt character. Aided by some supple orchestral accompaniment, the Gershwin made a strong contribution to an enjoyable concert.
Martin Adams
________________________________________________________
Interpol
The Village, Dublin
Interpol don't smile much, although they have good reason to. Perhaps it's a dose of post-millennial blues or a reaction to the recent nice weather, but the apocalyptic funeral-pop proffered by these four dashingly sombre New Yorkers has kicked-up a whirlwind of hype.
It is a measure of the "buzz" surrounding the group that, less than a year since their Irish début drew a curious handful, their return attracted a capacity audience, many of whom sang ecstatically along as though Interpol's lyrics were stamped on their souls. The impression that some have waited their whole lives for a band such as this - mysterious, imperious, utterly without irony - was hard to escape.
Great fuss has been made of Interpol's debt to Joy Division, the glum Mancunians who forged the blue-print for sulky post-punk. While the comparison isn't entirely valid - Interpol are rather prettier for one thing - the quartet's love of British new-wave was palpable, not least in their penchant for charity shop suits and tufty haircuts that, in any other context, would be deemed irredeemably naff.
Canny packaging isn't the whole story, however. Last year's Turn on the Bright Lights was one those rare first albums that found a group springing fully-formed from the starting blocks. At once darkly enigmatic and gorgeously accessible, it is already being hailed as one of the records of the decade.
This stark, cathartic performance reinforced the feeling that Interpol really are something special. Singer/guitarist Paul Banks could pass for a foppish altar boy but drawled like a deranged preacher, his doleful delivery simultaneously chilling and mesmerising.
Flanking him, bassist Carlos Dengler and lead guitarist Daniel Kessler cranked out shrill bursts of dissonance, imbuing tracks such as PDA, Obstacle One and sleeper hit NYC with a hauteur so frosty it had you hankering after a woolly jumper and mug of Bovril.
Sift through the artful gloom and yes, Interpol are essentially an unreconstructed goth band in smart evening-wear, but their elegant misanthropy chimes perfectly with the prevailing mood. It is doubtful there is a more fashionable or intriguing group in the world right now.
Edward Power
