2009 – The Year of Sod’s Law

Sod’s Law (Murphy’s Law for any readers more familiar with American terminology) – Anything that could go wrong, does go wrong.

I write this article a few days before Christmas very much aware that there is still over a week left of 2009 to go and maybe I shouldn’t analyse it as a whole just yet. After all a lot can change even in one day; with God all things are possible. Nevertheless as I write I can honestly say the past twelve months have perhaps been the worst of my life. I will stick my neck out, be a bit optimistic and claim that by God’s grace that none to come shall be as bad as the year that has just gone. If you’re familiar with my rundown of 2008 you might recall that I thought last year was pretty dismal too-but it was positively glowing in comparison to this one.

I thank God for the blessings of life, health, family and loved ones; no amount of good fortune could ever equate to their importance. Still, these essentials aside 2009 has been one long continuous endurance test that has brought me to my knees so often I’ve lost count. I wouldn’t mind so much if it had just been me who had been laid low but I have systematically watched family, friends and acquaintances being dealt a body blow by the crushing disappointments of this last year. I only just received an email today from someone apologising for cancelling an appointment we had due to various tragedies of late. A family friend has recently lost a landmark court case that has drained her in every conceivable way. A former childhood friend suffered a shocking family bereavement when her 19-year old brother was brutally murdered during the summer. The friendship itself came to a crashing halt when said friend spurned every effort I made to reach out to her at the time, pretending otherwise but having her course intentions exposed by mutual acquaintances. I have never found out why she decided to cut me off but hey...you win some, you lose some. My immediate family have undergone a personal trial that did not ease up this year and in fact, intensified in a way we dared not previously think possible. Many friends have seen their dreams well...not die exactly but slip into a deep coma. Indeed the best laid plans of mice and men didn't come forth; in fact they completely left the building. Many of my personal aspirations are in a similarly dormant state and I can only look to God to see if He plans to ever revive them.

So much crap has happened that I didn’t feel it appropriate to do a fun, satirical retrospective of the past twelve months like I did last year. It is, as this festive season tends to induce, a time of reflection. I’m by nature quite an introspective person anyway but 2009 has had me navel-gazing even more. As one very good friend pointed out it’s often felt this year like you were going backwards with no material progress made at all.

There have been some silver-linings. Having been out of work for nearly thirteen months I have had plenty of time and opportunity to hone my craft as a writer. My foray into freelance journalism, although unpaid has afforded me lots of treats in the form of free music, press tickets for gigs and theatrical pieces. I would not have been able to afford to go to many of these amazing productions otherwise so that has been a definite blessing. I experiment a lot more in a culinary way- I’m still not likely to be running a Michelin star restaurant anytime soon but I’m a better cook than I was. Most importantly, I know that having gone through so much I have been forced to grow up spiritually; pray more, seek God in a different way, develop patience by force. In truth I wish all my tribulations this year had developed a calmer, more peaceful Tola. Unfortunately too many times in 2009 I have found my fuse even shorter and myself more highly strung than usual – and I was never one you could describe as easy-going in the first place. Ironic , isn’t it that my favourite beatitude is ‘Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the sons of God’(The Gospel according to Matthew Chapter 5 vs 9). Perhaps I like it because it’s the most difficult of all for me to attain, but for His grace.


My faith has simultaneously been tested in new ways as it has grown in others. In some respects I struggle more than ever with the idea of God being good to everyone all the time. The vindictive and spiteful seem to enjoy more mercy than most at the expense of their victims. So much injustice prevails in the world today and as much as it is the work of the Devil and man’s folly, God can step in at any time to stop it although he so often doesn’t or not as soon as we would wish. It’s been difficult to trust during these rough times when God has often appeared so arbitrary in what He does and doesn’t allow. Yet in spite of- or because of – all the hassle I feel I have a better comprehension of God’s awesomeness. There is none that can challenge Him; satan is not even his equal let alone a viable threat to Him. Nothing takes Him by surprise and nothing happens because God was too ‘weak’ or ‘busy’ to intervene. Everything is on God’s watch, even the things that are not His perfect will. Heck, I won’t even try to proffer an explanation as to why He doesn’t step in sooner or more often but He doesn’t need me to defend Him either.

The ultimate lesson here is: Keep the faith, watch, wait and see. It’s so easy for me to judge the whole picture by the small snapshot that I see right now. That’s been the toughest part of this year-endeavouring to trust that it will all make sense in the end; that it’s all part of the learning-curve. Someone said to me during an impromptu ‘life’ discussion that however frustrating things seem to be, in time we’ll look back and understand why it was necessary. He even suggested there’s no point trying to work out why it’s happening right now, merely to focus on what we can get out of it. There was nothing particularly novel in what he said but at the time he said it and the way in which it was said struck a chord. This fellow wasn’t coming from a Christian or particularly spiritual perspective but all truth is God’s truth regardless of the source and I embraced what was advised.

2010 will be whatever God wills it. I’m adopting a ‘Que Sera Sera’ attitude towards next year, which is a big deal for a control freak such as me. Apprehensive as to what the coming twelve months hold, I can’t help but be glad to see the back of 2009. Any year in which Michael Jackson died was bound to be bizarre, anyway.

Stay tuned for my retrospective on the last decade...

'Cat On A Hot Tin Roof'@ The Novello Theatre, London - A Review

"What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof?... Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can..."

It’s safe to say that, with its all star cast, the latest West End production of ‘Cat On A Hot Tin Roof’ at the Novello, London has probably attracted a new audience to the theatre as well as the regular appreciators of the medium. There has been a great deal of publicity surrounding this production, starring the incomparable James Earl Jones, the mighty British actor Adrian Lester, veteran of 'The Cosby Show' Phylicia Rashad and underrated starlet Sanaa Lathan. With such a seasoned group of actors under the direction of the formidable Debbie Allen (‘Fame’, ‘In The House’), there was never going to be any doubt they would deliver a stunning adaptation of one of Tennessee Williams’ most celebrated pieces. Having attended the show last night I can attest that this production is a must-see.

‘...Tin Roof’ takes place on the birthday of Big Daddy (Earl-Jones), an incredibly wealthy Southern landowner and patriarch. Big Momma (Rashad) his wife presides over the domestic side of her husband’s estate. Usually a strong, outspoken woman she is routinely brought to her knees by Big Daddy’s dismissive response to her unyielding love and loyalty. The apple of Big Daddy’s eye, his son Brick (Lester), is sliding into the depths of alcoholism after a failed football career and the death of his beloved best friend, Skipper. His marriage to beautiful Maggie ‘The Cat’ (Lathan) is fraught with the tension of a relationship where the love is coming from one side only. The first scene of the play opens with more or less a monologue from Maggie as she complains about the disrespect shown by her in-laws and their children due to hers and Brick’s childlessness, whilst her husband, dejected and injured after a drunken escapade, listens inattentively. He doesn’t appear to have ever loved Maggie but seems determined to punish her by trapping her in a miserable, sexless marriage. The source of Brick’s bitterness towards his wife and the betrayal that precipitates it soon become apparent. Meanwhile his older brother, Gooper (Peter De Jersey) seethes with resentment at the love that Big Daddy shows towards Brick whom he regards as feckless. He feigns obsequiousness to stay in his father’s good books, to little avail. Since he cannot secure his father’s love, Gooper and his smug wife, Mae (Nina Sosanya) are determined to get their hands on all of Big Daddy’s estate after his death, which is more imminent than the old man realises.




Morgan Large’s splendid set design is the perfect bedfellow for Debbie Allen’s wonderful depiction of the chaotic state of Big Daddy’s household as they prepare for his birthday. Lathan struts around suggestively before slinking her way across the strategically-placed King size bed in a vain attempt to seduce a disinterested Brick. The non-chemistry between the couple and the suffocation of their marital stalemate is captured expertly by the two leads. Although the play gets off to a slow start with Maggie’s inane rambling masking her deep-seated frustrations, Lathan gets into her stride as the complexity of her character becomes clearer. Her admirable devotion to her husband is also accompanied by a conniving, manipulative streak that reveals she is not the innocent victim of Brick’s drinking problem that we first thought. I was intrigued to see how Lathan would do on stage; for a long time I have felt she has been unfairly ignored by mainstream Hollywood whilst contemporaries of average ability (e.g. Halle Berry) get the attention. She all but carried what was otherwise a dire film ‘Love and Basketball’ and deserves more recognition for that alone. Perhaps if she had the same agent as Kerry Washington (a fine actress in her own right) she could get more of the film roles she deserves. Lathan’s turn as the Cat is the most sexually provocative role I have seen her play to date and is a good reflection of her versatility.


Adrian Lester handles with aplomb his southern accent (more convincing than Yankee co-star Lathan) and Brick’s binary emotional state of indifference and rage. Lester is something of a British institution by now and it won’t be long before his name is on the royal honours list for his contributions to stage and screen.
Although Earl-James only appears for the first time in the second scene his presence dominates the auditorium for the rest of the show. He is at once hilarious and intimidating as the querulous Big Daddy. His inexplicable harshness towards his wife is then tempered by his tenderness towards Brick and Earl-Jones handles the switch like the gifted pro that he is. Rashad perhaps for me was the biggest revelation of the night. Most of us are used to her in the glamorous albeit somewhat one-dimensional role of Claire Huxtable in ‘The Cosby Show’; the matriarch of a bunch of wholesome kids, dispensing life lessons to them each week on the family sofa. Big Momma’s lot couldn’t be further away from such a comfortable domestic existence. Rashad is phenomenal in her portrayal of a mighty woman brought low by a callous husband. You watch her change from being a firm hand with her children and in-laws to a quivering mess after a flippant remark made by Big Daddy and can scarcely believe it’s the same woman. Yet in Rashad’s hands this dichotomy of character, so common to humanity, is completely believable and very moving.

‘Cat On A Hot Tin Roof’ is ultimately a tale of sincerity or the lack thereof; what it costs to build one’s life on lies and the value of the truth. It’s about the world’s cynicism and its ability to tarnish something as rare in its purity as Skipper and Brick’s friendship – often with destructive results. Despite its grave nature Williams’ piece does not lose its sense of humour. I laughed hysterically at Big Daddy’s comic timing and the silly antics of Gooper and co as much as I was stunned into pensive silence by the tragedy of a family that is being fractured by betrayal, partiality and deceit. Allen and her fantastic cast have done an excellent job in recreating this. I only hope that it gives all theatre novices cutting their teeth on this production a taste of how the stage can replicate the complexity of life like no other visual art form.

Seize The Day by Kwame Kwei-Armah - A Review

Co-stars Kobna Holdbrook-Smith and Sharon Duncan-Brewster

‘Seize The Day’ is the brand new play written and directed by renowned actor and playwright Kwame Kwei-Armah, now showing at the Tricycle Theatre as part of their ‘Not Black And White’ season – three pieces reflecting on the state of contemporary Britain.

Jeremy Charles played by Kobna Holdbrook-Smith, is upwardly-mobile young London personified. With his respectable, English wife and plush house, he’s enjoying newfound success as a Reality TV star, off the back of a ‘The Apprentice’-style show. He is in demand for everything from autographs to presenting work. One day, whilst filming a report he intervenes in a scuffle involving some young Afro-Caribbean men. When one of them, Lavelle (Aml Ameen), threatens to stab Jeremy he knocks him unconscious. The whole incident is caught on camera and thanks to YouTube Jeremy’s popularity gets a further boost. In steps opportunistic power-broker Karl Collins’ Howard Jones (no, not the 80s synth-pop star), would-be kingmaker with his own axe to grind. He thinks Jeremy has the star-quality and ‘cross-over appeal’ to run as the first Afro-Caribbean mayor of London. Jeremy is reluctant at first; he’s spent his whole life trying not be defined solely by his race and the tokenism of Jones’ proposal doesn’t sit well with him. However, he’s a man of ideals, seeing politics as a vehicle for change across the community (although Jones has other ideas). Jeremy is eventually convinced by Howard and his team– as well as his mistress – to run for mayor and the wheels are set in motion for his campaign. Meanwhile Jeremy’s life and that of Lavelle, the young man who almost stabbed him, become inextricably linked after the attack. Lavelle has to visit Jeremy as a condition of his probation and the latter sees himself as Professor Henry Higgins to the former’s Eliza Doolittle. Lavelle is bright and articulate when he wants to be. Jeremy is not oblivious to his potential and wants to make him his pet project for reform. As far as Lavelle is concerned, Mr Charles is just another ‘sell-out black man’ fortunate enough to get a break through the democratisation of celebrity by Reality TV.

As with his previous plays, the beauty of ‘Seize The Day’ is its topicality and relevance to modern Britain. Like all good theatre it holds a mirror up to society and forces us to confront important issues that are not always palatable. Race relations are familiar territory for Kwei-Armah (as evident in his highly impressive political drama ‘A Statement of Regret’ which played at the National Theatre in 2008) but the angle differs from piece to piece. In ‘Seize The Day’ the main point up for discussion – and all too pertinent in my view- seems to be the notion of a single racial identity and all the problems that come with, such as the perpetuation and commercialisation of negative stereotypes. Can and should ‘blackness’ be proscribed? The play also takes a look at the poisoned chalice that is celebrity; especially that of the instant variety that, with the exponential increase of Reality TV personalities, has become the bane of this decade. In addition, Kwei-Armah shines a light on the evermore cynical nature of politics in the 21st century. Jeremy at times comes across as the wide-eyed ingénue as he speaks of wanting to make a difference with his policies whilst Howard and his team are more concerned with turning their marionette into just another career politician who says exactly the right things to get in power. As Jeremy soon finds out the competing interests of those around him, and the immense expectation lead to compromises that leave little room for integrity. As always, Kwei-Armah’s research is spot-on. He really gets under the skin of Westminster Village life yet he still manages to take the audience with him, staying clear of arcane political references and jargon. The fairly intimate feel of the Tricycle suits the sparse nature of ‘Seize The Day’s’ set – simple images displayed on a large flat screen television serve as the backdrop for each scene. The effect is subtle and unobtrusive so that the focus stays firmly on the characters and issues.



Kwame Kwei-Armah

‘Seize The Day’ certainly gives you plenty of food for thought. In the aftermath of Barack Obama’s election and first year of office, as the murmurs of discontent get louder each day, I found the play’s point about the dangers of single issue politics all the more salient; namely that it’s unfair to racialise every political decision just because a candidate happens to be brown.

However whilst Kwei-Armah’s previous political outing ‘A Statement Of Regret’ had a firm grip on the myriad social issues it raised without getting muddled (as was unfairly levied at it by some critics at the time) ‘Seize The Day’ appears to be tripping over its own contradictions. Jeremy spends most of the play trying to rile against people’s limiting perceptions of him. Yet, at the same time he’s overly concerned with satisfying Lavelle’s narrow-minded concept of what a bona-fide, down-with-the-kids, ‘black’ role model should be. This inevitably leads to the end of the play having a bit too much of what our friends across the Atlantic call schmaltz. The unlikely friendship storyline of the refined, uptight Middle Class gentleman and the scallywag teaching each other important life lessons in a short period of time, has been done too many times before(there's a self-referential moment when the characters acknowledge this, making mention of the film 'Trading Places'). The play would do perfectly well without this concession to Hollywood cliché – Dead Poets Society/Carpe Diem anyone? – but alas, by its conclusion these sugary sentiments have had their wicked way. Jeremy has some admirable qualities but he’s no angel. He lands on his feet too often for comfort, ducking and diving the consequences of some of his most selfish actions. Whilst with his past work Kwei-Armah seems happy to raise issues and get people thinking without having to come up with straightforward answers - perhaps because there aren’t any – ‘Seize The Day’is determined to wrap things up too tidily. As a result the play’s resolution lacks the delicious ambiguity that has served some of Kwei-Armah’s pieces so well before.

Nevertheless, in other aspects the script shines with the excellence and nuanced characterisation we’ve come to expect from Kwei-Armah. The play keeps its sense of humour despite the serious subjects up for discussion. A strong cast is headed up by Holdbrook-Smith who embodies Jeremy as if the role was written for him in mind. Aml Ameen likewise gives an equally natural performance as Lavelle. Amelia Lowdell is convincingly beleaguered as Alice, Jeremy’s increasingly estranged wife. Veteran of UK TV drama Jaye Griffiths’ turn as Jennifer, Howard Jones’ formidable colleague, is handled with all the restraint that the role demands, the character’s brilliant political mind constantly bubbling under the surface. If we conveniently ignore the extraneous subplot of sexual tension between her and Jeremy, Jennifer’s is the most rewarding female character in the play– holding her own well in a man’s world and not merely the wronged spouse or sexual distraction.

In all, Kwei-Armah remains in good form with ‘Seize The Day’...albeit with a more saccharine aftertaste.


Seize the Day plays at the Tricycle Theatre, London until 17 December 2009. Please follow the link for more details.

Maxwell@ the Hammersmith Apollo – BlackSummersNight Tour: It’s For the Lover in You

When I first saw the crowd that had come to watch Maxwell at the Hammersmith Apollo last Saturday, I should have known I’ll be in for a night to remember. It was one of the most beautifully diverse gathering of people I’ve ever seen at a gig; all ethnicities and ages represented here from your middle-aged bank manager types to your youngsters who looked like they’d be more comfortable bopping along to pop-R&B in the club than at a soul concert. This bears testament to the far reaching appeal of Maxwell’s timeless tunes. People came from far and wide all dressed up and pretty, the air pungent with hair pomade suggesting some ladies had deemed the concert worthy of a visit to the salon. Best of all it was the kind of audience where you could walk up to random people and just spark a conversation without an ounce of self-consciousness-well at least if you’re the loquacious sort like me. The venue was full to overflowing, every seat taken plus fans occupying the stairs and all the standing room available. It was so reassuring to know Maxwell has such a loyal fanbase over here. Having admired his artistry since I was 15 when he emerged in 1996 with his very successful debut ‘Urban Hang Suite’, I had taken it for granted that most people with a passing knowledge of R&B were familiar with Maxwell- they were at least in my circles. He made appearances on BBC1 and MTV UK early on his career and both Kiss and Choice FM (in their former incarnations) had him on heavy rotation; the exposure was definitely there. However as time moved on, having experienced blank expressions when referring to his music and hearing similar tales from other Maxwell appreciators, I had come to the conclusion the man whose Afro once framed his perfectly sculpted jaw-line was regarded as niche (or so I was told). He had always danced to the beat of his own rare groove drum and hadn't espoused the Hip-Hop that had made his contemporaries such as Erykah Badu and D'Angelo a household name.
Maxwell is also the kind of singer whose material you either have a decent grip on or you don’t at all. A true artist in that sense, each musical project is an event and you can’t just have a dalliance with a song or two-he draws you in completely. Was it that not enough British listeners had made the commitment? I was beginning to think aficionados of his music were an increasingly rarefied breed. Thankfully this show proved me wrong and brought us all under one roof for one night, at least.

There was no support act to warm the crowd so by the time the man himself mounted the stage looking dapper in his crooner’s suit* of which he is fond these days, the Apollo had reached fever pitch. The Maxwell faithful roared with appreciation as he launched into spirited renditions of ‘Somethin’ Somethin’ ‘Lifetime’ and ‘Get To Know You’. The Brooklyn native proved himself quite the energetic show man as he demonstrated James Brown-style splits and spins during the opening bars of ‘Bad Habits’. ‘Will you forgive me’ he spoke-sang during an instrumental section of the song – ‘for taking, so long, 11 years [since he last toured the UK]?’ Yes, Maxie baby, we forgive you. With a voice and smile like that we’ll forgive just about anything.


*Incidentally, Maxwell has been compared to and hailed by some as this generation’s answer to Marvin Gaye. The transition to legendary soul singer transcends just his voice and now extends to his get-up and slinky dance moves.


With this his comeback UK tour, Maxwell arrived intending to thrill; full band and the works including the excellent horns section which has come to define the ‘Maxwell sound' in some respects. He teased the fellows in the crowd who might have been there as reluctant consorts to their wives or girlfriends. He joked that he was ‘setting them up for later’ when they were finally alone with special lady. Truth is the lads should have been more worried about actually holding onto their girl after experiencing Maxwell and his singing of sweet seductive nothings into our ears, recognising the many facets of our womanhood – mother, sister, lover and friend.



None was more surprised at his warm reception from this lively London crowd than Maxwell himself. He showed genuine gratitude and surprise that we hadn’t forgotten him after his 8-year hiatus when, he admitted, so many popular artists go away, come back and fail to ignite the excitement of their former fans, seemingly forgotten. Absolutely not the case with Max as evident when the audience practically went apoplectic with excitement at the sound of the first strains of the R.Kelly-penned hit ‘Fortunate’. And when he sang the pitch perfect falsetto ad-lib at the start of ‘A Woman’s Work’- it was all over; the whole place erupted with the delight of people whose eager anticipation to hear the song had finally been satisfied. In fact, having spoken to several Maxwell adherents before and after the show the Kate Bush cover made famous by the soul singer’s 1997 MTV Unplugged recording, was the one tune they had to hear that night.

As far as song selections go, Maxwell got the chemistry right blending in the crowd-pleasers with the less familiar new material from the first instalment of the BlackSummersNight trilogy. It is a notoriously difficult balance to strike and it was deftly handled by the soul maestro. Based on their ecstatic reaction, ‘Pretty Wings’ is the audience’s most beloved of his current material. I actually have a new-found appreciation for that song, now. There was, however one glaring omission from the repertoire and that was anything of note from sophomore album ‘Embrya’. Oh well, you can’t have it all.

From the instant, he released ‘Urban Hang Suite’ it has been clear Maxwell is a vocalist first and foremost. Having listened to countless live recordings of his shows, it is still breathtaking to hear first-hand the sheer beauty and skill of his voice. His technique is flawless but not clinical, finding plenty of room in his delivery for raw emotion. He’s rightly esteemed for his impeccable control, his voice going wherever he wills without straying off pitch. Case in point- ‘A Woman’s Work’. As if we needed any reminding that song confirms that, with the exception perhaps of Brian McKnight and leftfield soul artist Tonéx, Maxwell has the best head-voice/falsetto amongst the fellows in the business. It’s a little raspier since the days of his MTV Unplugged performance but delicious nonetheless. When he serenaded us with ‘Til The Cops Come Knocking...’ I recalled my delight on first watching the promo clip to discover that he looked as beautiful as he sounded on the radio.



Maxwell saved the best for last; ‘Ascension (Don’t Ever Wonder)’. He got the crowd going with ‘It happened the moment...’ and there was no stopping us. We went through the whole first verse and chorus acapella before the famous bassline kicked and the song was in full swing. To be honest, the audience were so energised with elation by that point, our singing almost drowned out that of the main man and his BGVs. Chanting along to, arguably, his most celebrated anthem with several thousand other euphoric Maxwell fans has to be one of the single best live music experiences of my life so far. He didn’t even try to follow it up with an encore, which was a shame...but who could blame him?

My fears that Maxwell was under-valued by us Brits were quickly dispelled during the show. Clearly, he remains in people’s consciousness as the purveyor of intelligent, classy music that he is-and still one of the best male vocalists our generation has seen.

I bumped into an acquaintance after the show, pleasantly surprised to find out she has love for Maxie-baby too. 'You know' she said, with a wry smile 'I just don't feel I can have a conversation with people who say they don't know Maxwell'. Having attended Saturday's superb show, I reckon in this case, such elitism is wholly justified.

Maxwell plays the Brixton Academy on 13 November 09. Follow link for more details.

For my review of 'BlackSummersNight Vol 1' click here.

But It's The Principle...

…Brace yourself kids, it's a long one....


For the past month I have been rehearsing for a live show that was to take place on 26 October at one of London’s premiere Art and Music venues. That performance was never to go ahead, or should I say my part in the final show was never to be.

The concert was meant to mark the 75th celebration of a well-known British institution. The headlining act is an esteemed classically-trained pianist turned dance music producer that we’ll call MH. He wrote some socially conscious songs that are to be interpreted live, show-tune style, by a big band and his gifted and personable muse who we’ll refer to as EM. Ms EM is backed by a London University-based vocal ensemble of eager, aspiring young musicians most of whom are very talented individuals in their own right. Last year a mutual acquaintance of mine and my sister’s invited her to be part of the Ensemble in an embryonic version of the show, which turned out to be a great success. Through a comedy of errors I missed out on being part of the 2008 performance. It’s one of my biggest regrets of recent memory. The Ensemble in 2008 was replete with British talent I’d come to admire from afar and it would have been a treat to work alongside them. What is more, my sister found the experience incredibly enjoyable and a lovely rapport was built up between members of the Ensemble. So much so that even after the concert was over and the last encore was sung, they continued singing jubilantly backstage, all the way through the corridors of the venue.

With all these legendary tales of musical delight I leapt at the opportunity to be part of the ‘vision’ again as MH, EM and said British Institution planned to revive the show this year. I was hoping to run into some familiar faces some with whom I’d become acquainted, having joined the Ensemble briefly last Christmas. Although not exactly a novice, I am aware I do not yet have the kind of musical prowess that a lot of Ensemble members possess so the experience was to be an education for me as well as a way to stave off the hours whiled away being unemployed. Little did I know the run-up to the show was a bigger learning curve than I could have anticipated.

I was keen to attend every rehearsal since I didn’t perform in last year’s show and would not be all that familiar with the songs. It soon became apparent that this year was to be very different from the previous. Of course there were a lot more new faces; fresh blood had joined the University plus there were those who saw last year’s show (much like me) and wished to be a part of it. What I found a bit more disconcerting was that so many of the old faces had decided not to return, even those who had said they would. Perhaps this should have been an indicator things weren’t to be as rosy as I’d hoped.

The Ensemble had two conductors for the big gig, one I will call Mr B and the other Miss A. Miss A is a natural-born teacher, a very effective communicator with a strong sense of musicality. Mr B is her antithesis. When I sang with him last Christmas he seemed like a gentle giant in whose mouth the most audacious stick of butter would not melt. D**n it, I can be such a bad judge of character. Mr B conducted us as if a gun was held to his head. He is clearly not someone who enjoys addressing large groups of people so it confounded me why he would put himself through it, only to take it out on us. He would often be short tempered, blame the vocalists for mistakes made when he failed to give adequate instructions and generally wasn’t very competent in his role. I found myself paying more attention to Miss A if I really wanted to know what I was supposed to do vocally. Unfortunately, the sopranos were stuck with him alongside the tenors, whilst the blessed altos and basses got Miss A. It shocked me to learn Mr B and Miss A had stepped forward for the position. I can only guess this year that they had some financial incentives and were just two more in the list of participants who were being reimbursed for their time (apart from the choir itself, mind you). Then again, Mr B, also happened to be a big player in MH’s record company.

I wish I could tell you my attitude towards Mr B was full of Christian charity but I’d have to add lying to my list of sins. I was constantly torn between feeling so sorry for this desperately insecure individual and wanting to hit him. It came to my attention Mr B was somewhat wary of me, often making very tentative attempts to catch my eye during breaks. However by this time he’d made such a bad impression I avoided him like a leper.

If dealing with Mr B’s mood swings wasn’t enough, behind the scenes, the maxim ‘too many cooks spoil the broth’ took on a brand new significance. An uptight, self-important Scottish diva, (let’s call him ‘Stuart’) was in charge of choreography alongside his far more palatable but almost equally pretentious assistant. My sister and some of last year’s participants who did return, assure me ‘Stuart’ wasn’t as infuriating last time around. Hmmmm. To give you an idea of what we had to put up with imagine a camped up version of Dr Cox from ‘Scrubs’ without the gold-tinged heart buried under infinite layers of grumpiness. When he wasn’t barking/swearing at us and addressing us with contempt ‘Stuart’ was dispensing copious amounts of gnomic advice on how to ‘feel’ the song and interpret them into our moves. Frankly most of these nuggets were about as useful as a broken torch in a power cut. ‘Stuart’ enjoyed the sound of his voice so much he failed to notice when one piece of his ridiculous musings cancelled out the other. The only advantage he had over Mr B, if it can be called one, is that his charisma had some entertainment value- and that he wasn't always around, thank God.

There were several other characters floating around, some more helpful than others, the rest- not very much. All these things at least for me, hindered rather than helped the rehearsals.




MH came in a couple of times to climb his soapbox of righteous indignation and in his own I-hate-public-speaking way, tried to convince us of why we should care as much about the meaning behind the songs as he did. Being the uneasy-socialist of the champagne variety that I am (living in the West and all) I could happily get behind most of these causes. However I soon realised that MH was not the great revolutionary that he would have us believe. You see for some people it’s far easier to show concern for the vulnerable and disadvantaged of society when they are somewhere else and they don’t have to really get their hands dirty. Just purchase some fair trade chocolate, read the New Internationalist and buy some environmentally friendly light bulbs and it’s enough to ease their conscience.


Of course I cannot compare the inconvenience of putting up with some inconsiderate individuals to the hardships suffered by so many across the world. My point is that MH could have made small but meaningful gestures closer to home – i.e. looking out for the members of the Ensemble from the outset and not just his own artistic and financial satisfaction.

It never occurred to MH or EM, who for all intents and purposes seemed like a woman of the people, to make it part of their contracts with the aforementioned British Institution, that all the singers, although volunteers, should have their travel costs covered, set meals for the performance and discount tickets for friends and family from the get-go? Of course not. After all, the Ensemble should have just been happy to be supporting the amazing genius of MH(!) It seemed once MH and EM signed on the dotted line they did not give a second thought to the people who would give up so much of their own time to support MH’s ‘vision’. We were told to behave like professionals but were not handled or spoken to as such. MH went as far as to call us amateur in an interview with a British broadsheet. EM claims that they fought our corner to get catering on the day of the concert (something that did not happen the year before) and insists that none of the performers got any complimentary tickets for friends and family. Well, EM, MH and the big band were certainly not donating their time for free to the final show so they could do without the other perks. After yours truly asked about catering we were told that some would be provided-which is something I suppose. The said British Institution begrudgingly released some discount tickets (only one per ensemble member) two days before the show when most of the family and friends coming to support the Ensemble had already paid full price for theirs. Whilst EM and MH got their own private space backstage, the Ensemble were all to be shoved into one dressing room (which on the day turned out to be quite cramped) and we never did get those travel expenses. As I said this is hardly true privation neither do I wish to suggest my motives are strictly mercenary. I have always been happy to share my talent for free. As I write this I have never received payment for any singing engagement and it is not something on which I’d insist unless there were exceptional reasons. What grieved me was the generally discourteous way the Ensemble was treated by Mr B, 'Stuart' et al. I don’t think anyone’s services, whether rendered free or not should be taken for granted or regarded with contempt. With all MH’s talk of exploitative record companies and their execs, his own ethics in this area leave a lot to be desired. He was happy for us to do physically demanding choreography (holding up A2 sheets of paper, arms outstretched for nearly the whole duration of a song for example) to make a point on major issues when he and his team scarcely appeared to have a grip on the smaller ones.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came when during the final rehearsal, two days before the actual gig, Mr B and co presented us with an agreement (drafted by his and MH’s record company) in which we were told we will be filmed, our image used as and when the Institution and the record company wished and that we were never to be remunerated for any commercial use of the recording or otherwise. I doubt very much that sales of the DVD of the show will bother the charts any time soon but that’s not the point. This was to me a proverbial final slap in the face. It was indicative of the attitude of all those in charge that the Ensemble were faceless commodities to be used and disposed of as they pleased. As a solicitor I could not simply put my name to any dubious looking agreement. When I confronted Mr B with my concerns, I was not surprised to find him disingenuous and evasive. He never did address why they presented us with the agreement so lastminute.com. Probably because if they'd given it to us any earlier many would have had the time to reflect on it and whether they would really wish to go ahead with the show. Sadly, however, EM and Miss A also showed some of their true and rather unattractive colours. In short the insinuation was that I was some kind of agitator. EM told me the agreement was ‘standard’ and that there were worse out there (yeah right, so two wrongs now make a right?) and that they would never put anything to us that would disadvantage us in anyway. Again, so why did they not show the agreement to us earlier? EM suggested I get another solicitor to look at it although being a Saturday night and the show being on the Monday it was highly unlikely. When other members of the Ensemble got wind of my reservations they too expressed their doubts. However being so late in the day many just signed the agreement anyway. Alas I’ve always been one to take the road less travelled. Mr B, told me that if I did not sign the agreement I could not perform. I wrestled with the dilemma for the rest of the weekend. After several weeks of hard work (and the odd moment of levity) it could be that I did not get to actually do the show. I had guests planning to come and watch. Besides, the sopranos were already thin on the ground and one less wouldn’t help. Some would say, 'No big deal, put up and shut up'. But it's all about the principle. All right, so it’s not the biggest of battles but I felt if I did not make a stand now, it would be easy for me to compromise on more important issues in the future. Anyway, I couldn’t respect myself if I became one of those people who made a fuss but flaked when it came to crunch time.

So I showed up for the gig on Monday knowing that it wasn't likely I would get to perform. I tried to negotiate a way of standing on stage so that I could be obscured to the cameras. I was rumbled and politely told to leave if I would not sign the agreement. I asked if an amendment could be made to make the terms more explicit and less open to abuse (as it should have been from the outset) but I was rebuffed. I’d already braced myself for the inevitable. I contacted my friend who was due to come and told him not worry buying a ticket and my mum, fully supportive of my stand, said she'd refund me the price of the ticket I bought for her as a treat (she had already seen my sister perform in the 2008 version of the show). I waited to say farewell to my fellow sopranos (much to the chagrin of Mr B) and headed home. I didn’t leave without giving Mr B a piece of my mind though. Unhappily, I admit that the experience did not bring out the best in me and I didn’t always make the right choice to rise above it. Suffice to say I've purposefully burned my bridges with the Ensemble but I'm not as bothered now by that as I might once have been. Nevertheless the weeks of practice were not a complete waste. They kept me busy when I had little else to do and I got some very handy tips on vocal technique for free, which will not go to waste. Maybe most important of all I learned one more lesson, in case I needed it, about having the courage of your convictions. I know my expectations of myself and others are sometimes too high and I need to make allowances for human frailty. Yet if someone holds themselves out as some paragon of ethical living as is the case with MH and to some extent, EM they can't complain if the accountability stakes are higher. Too many people talk a good one without the follow through. By the grace of God I don’t want to become one of them.

The Good Fight & Staying In The Game...

A few things have happened over the past week and a half which serve, if nothing else, as grave reminders as to why I should not take anything for granted in my faith walk.

First of all it came to my attention that an artist of the Gospel music persuasion has given a series of interviews where he speaks of actively seeking an alternative lifestyle; one which stands in stark contrast to the message he spent so many years sharing through his music. He shall remain nameless simply because I don’t wish to give the controversy any more weight and I only mention it to illustrate my point. Needless to say I admired him greatly. Not only is he phenomenally talented but he had consecrated it onto God. Instead of abandoning the Gospel altogether for the bright lights of the mainstream he was the one that didn't get away. This artist was so candid and sincere when speaking about his life experiences and it set him apart. Instead of talking around issues and in abstracts like most other acts with a Christian message, he addressed them directly, showing God's love and power as ever relevant to the day to day. He also had this bold innovation that less open-minded Christians found disconcerting. It wasn't always to my taste and he came close to the boundary many times but his heart was in the right place. He never overstepped the line as he has now. At the moment this artist seems more preoccupied with self-justification. He conveniently ignores the word of God and rather disturbingly seems to have morphed into the same have-your-cake-and-eat-it hypocrite he spoke out against so many times in past songs.


Case study 2: I have recently returned, following a lengthy hiatus, to the local Christian Drugs and Alcohol Rehab centre where I have been a volunteer for nearly two years. I have had to reconcile myself a long time ago with the often disheartening nature of this work. For every success story there are ten or so who don’t make it- at least not at that point in life. Many times residents will seem to be getting better as they embrace the Love of God and principles of His word, only to be waylaid by a deep-seated problem they have refused to acknowledge or simply walking away because they could never fully engage with what was going on. Yet it’s always heartbreaking to learn that a resident has quit the programme or made an ill-judged decision with consequences that will follow them for a long time to come. Too many of these demoralising stories greeted me on my return and they are still pouring in. What is more, the MD of the centre collapsed at the airport on his way to a long overdue holiday. Praise God he’s convalescing as I write but on hearing this, plus the other bad news that had greeted me at the centre that day, I eventually burst into tears of frustration that I’d resisted all the way back home.


A few days later, on the drive home from church Sunday gone, whilst giving one of the Pastor’s wives a lift she mentioned attending the wedding of a former friend who I had actually introduced to the fellowship. The Pastor’s wife was puzzled I’d not been told or invited (hence it becoming clear to me that this friendship was now more or less a thing of the past). My mum and I looked at each other knowingly. This newlywed bride would have probably not wanted me to be there because I’d always warned her against rushing into an ill-advised union. Not to say her hubbie isn’t a lovely individual but that doesn’t mean he is meant for her or that, even if he is, the timing is right. I knew enough about her from what she had told me and what I'd picked up, to discern she had a hard time being single. I observed her hurry into one bad relationship after the other in a short space of time. I tried not to always share my concerns with her because she would become very defensive. There was a part of her that clearly wished to follow Christ but she couldn’t or wouldn’t reconcile it with the need to lay certain things at His feet. She would focus on other, admittedly, difficult issues without first taking baby steps towards dealing with the more immediate problems or getting established in God, allowing her self-worth to be built on the foundation of His love rather than a quick-fix relationship. I must admit that I was sad she decided to go ahead with the wedding. A part of me expected things to sort themselves out and that she’d eventually see the self-destructive pattern for herself. My mum reminded me that it was her decision to make and all I could do was wish her the best.

In no way do I wish to be unsympathetic or underestimate anyone else’s genuine plight when they struggle with issues that if they were to succumb to them would lead somewhere contrary to His will. Everyone, including yours truly, has their issues. I do nevertheless become concerned when a person gives up the fight, no matter how bloody and brutal it might get. I don’t speak from a cushioned lifestyle. I, like many have had and still do have my ‘God, WTH?’ moments when the Almighty appears to be playing a cruel game at mine or my family’s expense. I have struggled with trusting God implicitly and so any current tribulations are most likely to get me to that place, but it still hurts like hell.

Neither am I suggesting that none of the mistakes made by the individuals I have mentioned are irredeemable, after all God specialises in clearing up our mess. But you know, consequence is a vindictive b*t*h and regardless of how much God forgives us or how well we learn our lesson most times she is just impossible to avoid. As sure as gravity, we cannot go through life expecting to avoid the results of our decisions. It’s less to do with God being vengeful or keeping scores than a by-product of that gift (or curse depending on where you stand) called free-will.

The common thread to all these examples is self-deception and this is where I have had to sit up and pay attention. On lamenting the news of the aforementioned musician’s U-Turn, my sister Yinka asked ‘Who is safe? Who can run this Christian race successfully if the likes of him are falling by the wayside?’ We wrestled with this question all week. At one stage, after sharing the news of the shotgun wedding of my acquaintance with sis, she told me in polite terms to cut the crap. At the end of the day, sometimes self-preservation should be my main concern. This echoed the sentiments of some of the residents at the Rehab centre on learning yet another one of their housemates had absconded. It sounded selfish at first but there's merit to it. As much as it is good to care for the spiritual well-being of others, we cannot allow ourselves to get distracted from fighting our own battles. During the course of a lengthy telephone conversation with a British Gospel artist, he re-iterated this point. It’s the human propensity for pride that catches us out more often than not. It takes humility to admit we have a problem and seek a solution, swallowing the truth no matter how bitter the pill. We need to stamp out anything that separates us from humility, even if it means having to change our lexicon and in turn the mindset behind it.



Yinka added, that I should focus on all those who, at least, seem to be fighting the good fight of faith well; even if it’s just one instance. Truth be told I can think of a few amongst my close friends and acquaintances. I pondered this some more. Let’s take the well-worn analogy of an Olympic-style competitive race. If one runner spent most of their time watching how all the other competitors were doing, growing discouraged as some tripped over or pulled out of the proceedings, they would become so distracted as to stumble or simply quit altogether deeming the contest too hard to complete successfully.

I cry out to God to help me stay in check all the more earnestly now. I must have become complacent without realising it, to think anyone is above temptation. I need to pray for these individuals who might have temporarily lost their way but not take my eyes off my own journey.

Sometimes a scripture can be quoted so often as for it to lose its power, only for life to remind me of how potent it is. In 1 Timothy 6 vs. 12(a), Paul the Apostle implores his young protégée to ‘Fight the Good Fight of Faith’. Staying in the game is impossible if we do not regularly throw ourselves before God’s throne of grace and seek His strength through prayer, reading the bible and fellowship, to succeed. The enemy of mankind, satan and his cronies are not about to let us run an unhindered race. We need all the more strength to get up after a heavy defeat and this is where too many stay out for the count(Please forgive the boxing imagery, but you see where I am going here). One essential thing 2009 has taught me is that as long as you’re alive; you’re still in the game. And the game isn’t over until we win.

Shalom x

Thank You For The Fantasy Part 2

In keeping, unintentionally, with last month’s theme of alternative perspectives on Love and Romance, I just came back from watching ‘500 Days of Summer’ at the pictures.

My sister sent me a trailer for this film months ago via Youtube and according to the frame of mind I’m currently in, I was very much interested in this cheerfully perverse take on the Boy Meets Girl story. The film opens with a couple sitting on a park bench looking fondly into each other’s eyes; lady (Summer, played by Zoey Deschanel) bejewelled with a wedding ring and gentleman (Tom, played by Joseph Gordon Levitt). They obviously have a lot of history together. We are told this is the 488th day since they first met. They seem happy; so how did they get to this point?



Adorable, moderately handsome Tom is a frustrated would-be architect unfulfilled in his job as a writer of greeting cards. He is also an incorrigible romantic at heart who has listened to too many love songs and believes the key to long lasting happiness is finding the right woman or ‘The One’. He meets kooky and pretty Summer – a new recruit at work – who shares the same taste in music and has a certain Je ne sais quoi about her that tends to floor the fellows. Both Tom and Summer are children of divorcees and have very different expectations from relationships. ‘500 days...’ is all about how different those approaches are.

As with 'Adam' which I saw over a month ago now, I really enjoyed '500 days...' not least for challenging the comfortable but deceptive notions put forward by standard romcoms. Also like 'Adam', '500 days...' is accompanied by a really good folk/melodic rock soundtrack (this time older tunes by the likes of Feist, Carla Bruni, The Smiths and Simon and Garfunkel - was particularly glad to hear those two).

I believe that the film makers, in adding to the movie's non-conformist intentions swapped the stereotypical roles of the characters. Instead of a hapless female pining over a commitment-phobic man, Tom is the naive hopeful whilst Summer ‘Uhmms and Ahhhs’ over their status as a couple. I, of course, recognised myself in Tom a good deal. His assumption that shared interests with someone is some kind of assurance of lasting compatibility, his melodrama, his capacity to self-delude and see things as he’d like them and not as they are... Let’s make no mistake here; Summer can be capricious and although not unfaithful or spiteful, her gameplaying is very inconsiderate. She is, nonetheless, honest about it from the start. At one stage Tom becomes disillusioned with the idea of finding the ‘one’, as I often have. The movie doesn’t quite let him get away with being so cynical, however.



Tom is a firm believer in destiny, soul mates etc...as am I. The film doesn’t so much undermine these ideals...but it does remind those of us who subscribe to them that not every chance encounter has a greater significance than say friendship or warm acquaintance. Even more importantly the film also attempts to shoot down the idea that someone else could or should be responsible for your personal happiness. A message that cannot be re-iterated enough, in my book.

I won’t give away too much but let’s just say ‘500 days...’ satisfied my new-found appreciation for refreshingly ambiguous conclusions. I’m very pleased to see this new trend in movies. So all right, these last couple of examples are independent flicks and won’t necessarily have the far reaching cultural impact as some more mainstream efforts but it’s still a good sign. As I said last month Hollywood et al have fed many a gullible sap (such as yours truly) with unhelpful perceptions of relationships so if they try to make amends now, even in small ways, it’s not a moment too soon.

Suffice to say the film left me feeling all warm and strangely liberated. If there’s something I’ve learned recently is that God can speak to me and my situation through anyone or anything. I am currently infatuation-free and enjoying it very much and for that I should be very grateful. ‘500 days...’ reminded me I was in a good and emotionally healthy place.

After the film I took a stroll through Greenwich Park, my favourite of the many fine green spaces dotted across London. If I didn’t insist on wearing skirts all the time and I could actually do cartwheels I would have had a go at a few there and then. I felt light and hopeful enough after the film and glad for my own company...even more glad that I didn’t mind my own company.




There’s nothing like late Summer/Early Autumn watching the Skyline of the capital from the Meridian. For the past few years I have tried to start a new tradition of coming to the Park in September just before the season changes in earnest. It’s my way of bidding summer adieu. It’s a gorgeous park; the ground is already speckled with auburn coloured leaves, tres picturesque. This year I have spent a lot more time in G.Park than usual reading and savouring my favourite season before it departs. It has a lot to do with my current unemployed status plus getting some free kicks from nature and the like. As the sun goes down earlier it’s possible to catch a lovely sunset these days without having to be out too late-probably the few perks of the season change. Thank God the weather has been mercifully dry recently so it’s a lot easier to enjoy my surroundings.

As I put my book away, ambled through Blackheath and watched the peachy sun say goodnight I felt, as I have done on a few of my recent rambles, genuinely happy to still be on the planet. Yeah, I know it’s nothing groundbreaking but I endorse taking a walk as often as the weather would allow. With the year I have had so far, it’s so good to discover something simple but effective in helping me gain some perspective.

Autumn/Winter...bring it on; I’m ready for you.

(c) 2009 Tola Ositelu