Brent Bambury greeting his public

If you’re not bouncing with energy when you enter a live broadcast of CBC Radio’s “GO!” you certainly will be by the time you leave. Brent Bambury, the host of the show, is as enthusiastic and energetic in person as he sounds on air; in fact, all the people involved with the show seem just as lively. The whole point, we were told by the young woman known to regular listeners as Contest Nana, is to create a lot of noise. A lot.

I went to a recent taping of the show, whose theme was Useless University Degrees. This was serendipitously appropriate, since I have a couple of those myself. As is usually the case on these themed shows, there were a couple of guests who exemplified the theme, who were quizzed and set tasks that related to it. In this case, the tasks were designed to help university students with “useless degrees” prepare themselves for a real job. There was live music, a small contest, plenty of laughs, and Brent Bambury driving the show forward with lots of humour.

The table where the masterpiece is created

I was as impressed as I always am at CBC tapings. Every part of the show is carefully planned – Brent told us later that there were about 120 different sound cues in this broadcast alone – but they make it sound effortless on air. It almost looks effortless too, as Jeff Goodes hovers over the show, ushering guests in and out and giving everyone – staff, performers, and audience – their cues for when to speak and when to be silent. And, of course, when to get very, very rowdy.

Everything is different from what you imagine when you listen to the radio, which is of course part of the magic of radio in the first place. The room was smaller than I pictured, but that made the experience very cozy and kept the audience involved with what was going on at the microphones.

The mysterious control room

And that was another thing: nothing is quite as spontaneous as it seems on the radio either. The show is much more scripted than it sounds, though Brent’s ad libs in response to people’s comments are real. The man is definitely as funny as he sounds on air.

The question period afterward was even more interesting and enlightening than the show, because we learned some of the process involved in making the program sound natural and easy. And that process is very hard work indeed. It takes days to work up the scripts, and many, many rewrites.

The performers really have to squeeze in

But the result is well worth it. Even this “useless degrees” show, which Brent said was harder to put together than most of them are, had us all revved up at the end. The music was great (the guests this week were the Hidden Cameras), the commentary and contests were fun, and Brent Bambury sat at the centre of it all, keeping us interested and involved and, most of all, keeping us laughing.

What made things even more special this week was that a young girl named Ellie, who had been to three or four previous live tapings of the show, had brought several of her best friends with her this time. Because this morning’s taping was the birthday party she wanted, as she turned thirteen.

Go is always a great way to start a Saturday morning. But seeing it live creates extra energy that lasts for the entire day. And it makes the absolute best birthday party!

"Gigue" - Folia Ensemble

I went for the baroque music, and found something even more enchanting.

The Toronto Music Garden, created in 1999 by famous cellist Yo-Yo Ma and landscape designer Julie Moir Messervy, is the site of the annual Summer Music in the Garden series each week at the Harbourfront Centre. It provides a beautiful setting, with the featured performers playing under the green trailing branches of a tall tree, with spectators sitting on tiers of grass forming an amphitheatre above, surrounded by a rich garden of wild flowers, tall grasses, and lush bushes and trees.

Sunday’s performers were FOLIA, a trio of musicians playing authentic baroque instruments: Linda Melsted on the violin, Kiri Tollaksen on cornetto, and Borys Medicky on the virginals (a small version of a harpsichord). We were treated to a program called “Utopian Voices,” a pleasant concert under the warm sun of a summer Sunday afternoon. Free concerts like this, for me, are one of the best things about living in Toronto.

Menuette

But as I strolled along a nearby path after the concert ended, I discovered another “best thing.” I came upon a small sign that said, “5 – Menuette,” and which described the gardens and the metal circular pavilion before which it stood, in the area above and behind the amphitheatre.  I thought to myself, “If there’s a number 5, where are numbers 1 through 4?” And I set out to discover them.

I found myself following a series of labyrinthine pathways leading from an entrance point (1 – Prelude) past other musical movements: 2 – Allemande, 3 – Courante, and so on, a series of musical concepts that made me think of something like the Stations of the Cross. The paths ducked into secret groves under the trees, led the way past benches sitting in serene shadow, or circled around groupings of boulders in the midst of enclosures bounded by fir trees or grasses.

Sarabande

One path circled around and around among tall grasses and meadow wildflowers planted to attract butterflies and birds (I saw two butterflies that looked an awful lot like Monarchs), finally coming into the open where the sculpture of a maypole loomed overhead. Another path of rough flagstones circled into what was called a “poet’s corner,” surrounded by a wall of evergreens. A large stone at its centre held a still pool of water, and in the enclosure stood a man playing a flute.

The haunting music followed me as I worked my way back out and along the rest of the paths. In the end, I found six signs: or rather, six movements(**), as the Music Garden was designed to interpret J.S. Bach’s First Suite for Unaccompanied Cello. The idea was first broached to the city of Boston, which never followed through, and that city’s loss has been Toronto’s gain. The Music Garden rolls gently over three hills, the paths rising and falling even as they spiral and weave.

This is truly an enchanted garden, music expressed in nature, nature embodying music. I can’t believe I didn’t even know it was there until yesterday. But you can be sure that I will be revisiting the magical, musical place as often as I can.

Courante

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(** The movements are: 1-Prelude, 2-Allemande, 3-Courante, 4-Sarabande, 5-Menuette, and 6-Gigue)

My anime preference usually tends toward the seriously dramatic, even edging into the melodramatic. Give me the desperate quest and deep losses of Fullmetal Alchemist (the first series), the tragedy of Noir, or the heart-wrenching, world-shattering action of any of the Gundam series, and I’m in my element. The more dramatic and complex the plot (as long as it makes moderate sense), the happier I am.

This is why Maria Watches Over Us (**) caught me so completely by surprise. If there’s one type of anime that doesn’t particularly move me, it’s a high school story. I generally leave those for the younger viewers, who are more content with tales about school rivalries and jealousies and how to get the attention of the new cute boy or girl in class.

But Maria Watches Over Us is, simply, a work of art. I’m still only a few episodes into the series, but by the second installment I was enthralled. The soft, rich colours befit the theme of “Roses” that underlies the story, and the design of each element of each frame is detailed and delicate. Autumn leaves float, light as snowflakes (which make their own appearance later), on an almost visible breeze, curtains billow, dresses swirl. Each face is lovely, the eyes alive, the expressions vivid, the hair flowing. And the music is equally delicate and exquisite.

The plots of the episodes are fairly simple, revolving around individual characters: the students at the Lillian Girls’ School learning grace, poise, and equanimity along with their academic subjects. The three girls who run the student council are given the titles of three Roses (Rosa Chinensis, Rosa Gigantea, and Rosa Foetida), and they are assisted by three younger girls they’ve chosen as their “petite soeurs,” or “little sisters.” These three are Roses “en bouton,” or “in bud,” meaning that they will eventually take the place and titles of the three Roses as the leaders of the school.

This “sister” tradition is a means for older girls in the school to partner with and mentor younger ones, and the relationship is created when the elder offers her rosary to the younger, and it is accepted.

The main storyline follows Yumi, who becomes the petite soeur of the elegant and aloof Lady Sachiko. She helps the older girl unbend a little and learn to enjoy her life, while Sachiko helps Yumi learn to face life with grace and calm (something she definitely has to work at). But each of the three Roses and their soeurs has special character, and we learn to care for all of them.

The lesbian subtext is strong, though never explicit. But it’s hard to miss, when the girls go on “dates,” blush at the merest glance from the object of their infatuation, and when the process of the rosary exchange itself is as solemn and meaningful as a marriage proposal. However, the purpose of this anime is not to be titilating; rather, it explores deep friendships and yes, love, and how loving relationships teach the girls strength and character.

Once in a while you find a series that has a relatively simple premise, but which is presented so beautifully that it takes on a deeper quality that lifts it out of what might be considered “sappy,” up to a level that may almost be called profound. Until now, the only anime I’d seen that had done that was Princess Tutu.

Now I can say that Maria Watches Over Us is another.

*****

(** The anime is based on a series of light novels written by Japanese author Oyuki Konno, illustrated by Reine Hibiki, published by Shueisha. The series was eventually adapted into a four-season anime by Studio Deen, and now The Right Stuff International is releasing them in North America through its production arm, Nozomi Entertainment. As far as I know, they are not being English-dubbed; the series I’m watching has English subtitles.)

Yes, I know “Death and the Uncanny” wasn’t the theme of the huge Luminato arts festival that just finished its third annual go-round in Toronto. But you must admit, there were a few shadows in certain corners. Like that reading from The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. And the evening of Gothic Fiction, with that surreal thing going on. And we can’t forget “Gothic Toronto: Writing the City Macabre.” Oh, and the “Tales of the Uncanny” film screening.

Hm…rather a lot of corners, actually.

I didn’t get to many events myself, because I can only go to free stuff. But last Saturday, heading down to the lakeshore, I wandered into what turned out to be Luminato, for me.

Cirque de Soleil created a “weekend of wonder” for the closing days of the festival, down at the Music Garden along the lakeshore. It was indeed wonderful, but more than that, it was a manifestation of the Uncanny. With strong overtones of otherworldliness and death.

Think I’m nuts? What do you think that whiteface paint is really all about? There’s a long, long history behind the whiteface and the “clown” image in general, and it has always stemmed from a link to death.  And not just death, of course, but a sort of ritual departure from “normal” life, a step outside the rational. This image threatens us from the “other side,” attracting and repelling us at the deepest levels of our being. All the adult clown figures create this tension, this potential for uneasy ecstasy.

The very enclosures designed for these performances — spherical shapes of metal crossbars bolted together — served to set us apart from the world. Inside those spheres, open though they were, the normal rules were suspended as three whitefaced figures read books while suspended upside down on tipped-over chairs, or marched around with suitcases. One of them took a large metal hoop and began to spin it, eventually stepping into it and becoming part of the spinning.

Watch a gymnast do that at the Olympics, and you marvel at their skill. Put the same gymnast in whiteface, doing a similar routine with Cirque de Soleil, and that frisson of delicious unease goes through your vitals like a ghostly knife.

Music was another element of the otherworldliness, and of course, Cirque de Soleil is famous for this. Even between performances, the music floated around and through those spheres so you never quite came back to the real world while waiting for the next performers. And the long-coated clown with the crumpled top hat whirled nearby on the grass, cello swinging around and around with him, as he played his own eerie song.

At the edges of the space, a mechanical bird with brilliantly costumed rider strolled sedately by. It was really someone on stilts, using hidden controls to make the bird’s head and neck move. But it was almost impossible not to feel like the darn thing was real, as all the while, the distant, impassive white face of the rider seemed less of this world than the metal bird.

Which was how Sigmund Freud described the Uncanny, at least in part: discovering an inanimate object suddenly imbued with life. It’s not part of the natural. It is Other.

This, in my opinion, is the key to Cirque de Soleil’s success. People sit at the edges of the Other world, enthralled with the beauty of the Uncanny, attracted and repelled by the intoxicating danger of it all. And they survive.

And this was why I wandered into the Other world at the close of Luminato – and did not want to leave.

Up on stilts

If there’s one thing that stands out about employees at the Toronto Transit Commission’s heavy repair facility at the Greenwood Shop, it’s that they all love their jobs. I don’t mean “job satisfaction” or contentment or anything like that. We’re talking love, here.

This weekend is the tenth anniversary of Doors Open Toronto, in which significant buildings all over the city open doors to the public that are usually shut. And all the tours are free. I go every year, and usually I favour old, historic buildings, rather than something newer.

But when it comes to the TTC, I make an avid exception. Last year I missed the tour of the Lower Bay Street subway station that’s been closed for decades, so the Greenwood Shop was at the top of my list today.

It seems to be at the top of the list of the people who work there, too. It didn’t matter which shop you walked through — Vehicle Overhaul/Body Repair, Electrical and Electronic Repair, Truck/Axle/Gearbox/Rewheeling — everyone standing by to explain their section to onlookers was enthusiastic and interesting, knew their stuff — and loved being there. That was a universal theme with anyone I talked to, whether the Axle/Rewheeling guy who had been on the job for almost 29 years, or the young man in Pneumatic Repair who had been there only three.

Shiny!

They do a darn good job, and are justly proud. The Pneumatic guy explained the mechanism by which the air pumps work, to power the doors in streetcars or release the brakes in subway cars. Farther along the line, another man showed off his bright, shiny new paint job on a 15-year old car.

In another section, the Axle/Rewheeling guy spoke at considerable length about how they balance the wheels on those huge things. Did you know that there are something like 26 motors on a 6-car train, all of them controlling the wheels? And that, while those are great for pulling a train up a steep grade, there’s little you can do to reduce all that power when the train is flat and you really don’t need them all going at once? We learned what the millwrights do, and how there’s a “flat wheel monitor” that watches each train passing between Eglinton and Lawrence stations, producing graphs that let supervisors know if any of the cars need to get their wheels worked on.

We saw gearboxes and trucks and snow throwers and air pumps and couplers and breakers and nuts and bolts — it almost made you dizzy, this proliferation of mechanical and electronic gear! And right in the middle of it all, several men ran a gorgeous train set that featured miniature models of TTC streetcars from several eras. It was charming, and I coveted it mightily.

Touchy equipment!

Rows of yellow “Caution” tape guided us from shop to shop, while keeping us at a safe distance from all the equipment. But there were pieces of that equipment all along the other side of the tape, clearly labelled, with people to answer any questions we had. All the staff were friendly and helpful, and seemed just as pleased as punch to tell us about all the cool things they did. And all of us spectators were just as pleased to be there; I didn’t see one person who appeared bored.

Really, you just couldn’t be, in the midst of that dazzling display of craftsmanship and skill.

Considering that this was the first time the Greenwood Shop had done a Doors Open tour, it was a well-planned, very detailed, frankly spectacular success. If these people are even half as thorough and competent when they work on subway trains and streetcars, Torontonians have the safest system on the planet.

(For more photos, visit my Doors Open Toronto 2009 set at Flickr.)