Saturday 16 November 2013

More Than This



For the past three months, I have been trying to write a post about the experience of hearing 'More than This' by Roxy Music at my local cooperative supermarket. 

Of course, I should have gone to see Bryan Ferry sing this song live in Edinburgh this month. I last saw him in concert in Berlin about ten years ago. It was an unlikely venue, a multi purpose sports arena called Max-Schmelling Halle, named after a heavyweight champion boxer of the 1930s.  The building was about as far away from the glamourous image of Roxy Music as I could imagine. Still, as we the faithful audience looked on, bathed in an unforgiving light more suitable for a snooker match than a concert, a woman standing behind me, who had seen him sing 20 year before was so moved she was in tears.

Brian Eno, who was in Roxy music with Bryan Ferry, later concerned himself with creating music that would be suitable to a particular place. His ‘Music for Airports’ for example plays homage to the architecture of Cologne Airport and the experience of flying as an existential experience. Ambient music was then created to enhance our experience of such places.

It is a shame then, conversely, when music that we care about or feel emotionally attached to becomes a backdrop to a totally mundane or inappropriate setting.

But what if those mundane places, supermarkets and shops, rose to the occasion of the music played there? Perhaps my experience of hearing a song by Roxy Music in my local supermarket would have been a bit more like this:

***

I lift my basket onto the checkout counter of my local supermarket, Scotmid. A man 15 years or so my junior scans the beer, kitchen roll, kid’s breakfast cereal and milk. Then just as our brief but insignificant transaction is about to come to an end, the opening bars kick in of a song I recognise. But could it really be that song? So often these days I hear the opening bars of something I recognise only for it to turn into an unrecognisable cover, a sample or stolen riff. But now those seconds seem to last an eternity. Is it or isn’t it that song? The checkout guy is about to ask me to pay.

But it is Bryan Ferry’s swooning voice singing “More than this” and unfortunately it is interfering with my ability to complete this transaction.

A minute ago I was just going down the aisles filling up my basket with the necessities of sustenance but now I feel myself being transported into Bryan Ferry’s anguish. Suddenly things that felt tangible a few minutes a go, the fabric of the walls, the strip lighting across the ceiling, have lost their substance, and worryingly Ferry doesn’t seem to know where things are headed:

“It was fun for a while, there was no way of knowing, like a dream in the night, who can say where we’re going”

Like tins of tomatoes on a supermarket shelf, we seem to be balanced on a precipice, our fate no longer in our hands.

I try to concentrate on what the checkout guy is saying but other thoughts start creeping in.  Like -Who knows when our expiry date will creep us on us? Could it be today, or tomorrow? And what about our sell by dates come to think of it?

Then comes a brighter note, a philosophical shift palpable at Scotmid as Ferry continues:

“No care in the world, maybe I am learning, why the sea on the tide has no way of turning”

So, are we to believe that we are just one of many stacked on the shelves of life? People seem to bear their trolleys down the aisles with a new sense of purpose, as if they are treading a meditation maze, turning tins like prayer wheels. As they near the checkout they appear to emit a glow of inner knowledge.

Now feeling quite fragile, I fumble for my debit card and make eye contact with the now somewhat impatient checkout guy.

But Ferry is unrelenting. In less than the four minutes it has taken for the song to play out, the whole shop, customers, staff, fixture and fittings have bent to Ferry’s will. We are all borne upon a rollercoaster ride of his emotions.

“More than this -you know there’s nothing
More than this – tell me one thing”

Suddenly life feels cheap, or rather reasonably priced, depending how you look at it at Scotmid, our local Coop.

I swipe my card, and at least one of us is looking into the void.

***


Postscript

Up until a month ago there used a rostrum of about ten people who worked the tills at Scotmid, until they were replaced with 6 self-service machines. I held out on the machines for a long as I could. I had enjoyed finding out, for example, that an Italian student working there was trying to learn German. I would exchange a few words in German with him each visit. Or the rather strange checkout lady, who would lean forward and tell me things about the other staff or customers in a conspiratorial way, but I could never understand what it was that she was saying but nodded anyway. As I spend most of my morning at home working on my translations I valued these interactions. But apparently the impatient customers of Tollcross, Edinburgh, didn’t. 

Today, as I slipped into the section for self-service, the machine went on strike at my first purchase, a bottle of wine. I had to wait next to my machine like a naughty schoolgirl, and almost gave up and joined the queue for the two remaining humans. The problem is that every time you buy alcohol you have to get a member of staff to verify you are over the age limit for alcohol. As the young man who came to my assistance swiped his card over the screen I must admit I felt quite humiliated when out of the options he chose the rather insulting:

Clearly over 25

This was almost as humiliating as when I tried to pay with my debit card and it broadcast at a volume the whole shop and most of Tollcross could hear:

‘Your card has been declined’

What nobody heard, of course, was the assistant explaining that this machine was having a problem reading cards at that time.



















Saturday 9 November 2013

Home Street Homes®



I
                                                             

“Hi Catherine. Would you like a cup of coffee? Shall I order one for you?”

“Yes please. That would be lovely.”

“Just as you like it then, not too much milk.  Don’t forget, there’s your red pill to take, and a wee glass of water to go with it.”

“What would I do without you?”


II

“Hi, Catherine. Oh, I see that you are reading? Is that a book club book?

“No, it isn’t. Or it might be. I don’t know, actually.”

“Because if it were a bookclub book then we could have a really good discussion about it, you know.”

“But it’s not.”

“For example, we’ve been reading the Classic non-fiction book, Autobiography by Morrissey. A pop musician of your generation I believe. We asked ourselves: Why did he devote such a huge chunk of the book on writing about a band rather than delve further into the legal wrangles and acrimonious relationships he was involved in which are far more interesting? Obviously a huge oversight.”

“Ahh... but he went into more detail in the two books that followed, and I’ve heard he’s writing a fourth about the latest court case, the first brought by him. I think it is for slander this time, against a fan who said he enjoyed his performance, to which he replied that everything he does is real and never performed, and promptly sued.”

“You see, you should really join our virtual book club. You’d get so much out of it.”


III

“Hi Catherine. Beautiful day outside isn’t it.”

“Yes, it certainly looks bright outside.”

“You know, it’s time you got in touch with a friend, Catherine. It has been a while, don’t you think? Actually it has been 11 days. That’s not healthy you know.”

“Talk. To a friend? With who?”

“Let’s have a scroll down shall we? There we are. Look there’s Barry, Caroline – oh no she’s just gone offline – Esther, Gillian. Oh, dear. No, not Gillian. Let’s try Barry shall we?”

“Yes, let’s put Barry on the telly.”

“OK, Catherine. You’re doing just grand. You just have to press the green button here by your armchair.”

“Who’s Barry? Remind me?”

“Oh, Catherine. You met him on Senior Search last week. You had such a good match too. Nearly 9.8. I was proud of that Pairup™.”

“I thought your name was Barry. Isn’t it?”

“I think Barry has gone offline now. Have to be a bit quicker next time, eh?

“Whatever you say Barry.”


IV

“Good morning, Catherine. Shall we go through your schedule?”

“What day of the month is it?”

“Don’t let that worry you, Cath. I can call you Cath, can’t I? Let’s just say today is number 1 and we go up until 7, OK?”

“What happens on 2?”

“Well that is free choice day.”

“Can I go to Giovanni’s and get an ice cream, then?”

“As I said the choice is all yours. You can video-conference a friend or join the Bake or Fakeit class on level 2.”

“I don’t mind really. Your call, Barry.”


V

“Hi Catherine. Why, you look great today!”

“Thanks, Barry. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Today is CTS day. Remember?”

“What is that again? Cognitive thingamijimmy.”

“Cognitive Transfer Selection, which is just a fancy way of saying we jog the old grey matter.”

“Oh, I hate that.”

“But I think you will enjoy it today. Really. We have accessed a social networking site circa 2013, that’s back in the day, eh?”

“OMG. Facebook. Where the hell did you drag up that from?”

“It was made available to us exclusively when you signed up through the Mnemonic Tonic™ plan over ten years ago. Its uploadable now direct to your cortex as passive memory.”

“Whatever that means.”


VI

“Howdy Catherine. Rise and shine. It’s day 6.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“A visit from your brother, Alan.”

“You mean Adam.”

“Yes, Alan.”

“When is he coming?”

“He should be here anytime between 1pm and 6pm.”

“You mean he’s coming here?

“Well, yes, he can enter the Comfort Zone™. Unless, unless. Well, I don’t want to disappoint you, but it may be a video conference after all. Your plan doesn’t cover physical transfers as such. But maybe if you want to sign this document? It is only 99,999 Scottos payable to Home Street Homes®, a bargain really. If you just pay now by pressing the orange button here…”

“I know, and I get 2 weeks to think about it and change my mind, that is if I remember doing it in the first place. Haha.”


VII

“Hi Catherine. Why. You look great today!”

“Barry? Where’s Barry got to?”

“You mean Bobbie? Bobbie has gone on a little holiday.”

“You mean like the Barry did before him. So he is not coming back then either?”

“You know, Catherine. I have just monitored your negativity. It’s reached nearly 7.5. You have 6 good years ahead of you according to our records. We want to make the most of that Lazarus Life plan, don’t we? You know a negative thought takes 1,5 seconds off your life, and that’s not taking sarcasm into account. That’s a whole 2 seconds down. I am on your side, you know.

“Oh, I wish Barry was here. He would understand.”

“Luckily we have a SoulUP™ class today with the de Botton Method. Should get your positivity levels normalised. Just put this headset on, and you be taken on a virtual tour of the most spiritually uplifting works of art in the world starting with this 21st Century portrait of Elton John.”

“But I cleared all that with Barry. I’ll up the dose of the red positivity pill with my morning coffee. Just don’t make me take the tour again. Please?”



Virtual assistants at homes for the elderly: a distant dream? Well, they are already in the making and undergoing testing at an institute for cognitive technology near you. They are expected to encourage you to make conversation, help you make appointments, remind you to take your pills, and remind you to contact friends and acquantainces through video conferencing in care homes for the elderly in the future.