Josef Gabriel Rheinberger

When talking about organ music, while most people would think of the great composer Bach and a colossal ghastly gothic cathedral, some might remember Saint-Saëns' large spectacle Symphony No.3 in c minor, Op.78 Organ. Yet, few would know that there is an unfamiliar Liechtensteinian composer, Josef Gabriel Rheinberger, who was appointed as the organist at the Vaduz Parish Church at the age of only seven years and whose first composition was performed the following year.

As I'm going to have a church wedding on the 23rd of June at the 600-year-old Church of the Holy Rude, where James VI of Scotland, and later James I of England, was crowned on 29 July 1567, and our organist and music director Dr John Burnett would play for me whatever I choose, I've decided this morning that I'll have the third movement Scherzoso of Rheinberger's organ sonata No. 8 in E Minor, Op. 132, to conclude the wedding ceremony.

Why? I don't really know. Perhaps I just fancy something like the black comedy The Addams Family, but not too farcical.

Anyway, Rheinberger is really a great composer. His twenty organ sonatas are praised in the Grove's Dictionary

...the most valuable addition to organ music since the time of Mendelssohn. They are characterized by a happy blending of the modern romantic spirit with masterly counterpoint and dignified organ style.

I know it may be illegal to distribute a copyrighted audio track online, but I just want you to have a wee taste. Listen to this interesting yet awesome work.

It's just a low-fidelity and incomplete sound clip, and if you really like this work, you can buy the CD.

Tallest building in the world, for the time being

Perhaps you folks are all aware that Taiepi 101, original named Taipei Financial Centre, is the tallest building in the world at the moment, yet, I suppose, few of you know that my home in Taipei is just 500 yards away from this building.

Taipei 101 has 101 stories above ground, hence the name, and five underground. The construction of the building began in January 1998, half a year later after my family moved to Taipei from Keelung, a harbour city where I was born and brought up. Its roof was completed in July 2003 and its pinnacle was fitted in October 2003, which made it surpass the Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur by 57 meters. Unfortunately, I had been in Scotalnd when the entire building was formally opened on the 31st of December 2004 amid a spectacular New Year's celebration with live performances and fireworks. I've never attend any New Year shindig around the area since the building was opened.

Nevertheless, I made it last December when I was back in Taipei. I was among the boisterous, frenzied crowd on Hogmanay watching the extravagant firework display. Have a look at this!



Wow! Absolutely fascinating, isn't it? 10,188 rounds of fireworks featuring 15 differnt themes were launched from the illuminated Taipei 101 for 188 seconds.

As another tallest-building-to-be in the world, Shanghai World Financial Centre, is under construction and will be completed by the end of 2008, you still have one more opportunity to visit Taipei 101 to witness Hogmanay fireworks at the tallest building of the world on the 31st of December 2007.

I'm still alive and kicking

I can't believe it; this weblog hasn't been updated for a year. It's almost the end of January 2007, but the last entry was posted in 2006.

My desire to keep this weblog up with the ever-changing world has long been replaced by the desire to forget the fact that I simply cannot keep it up before emancipating myself from the slough of the esoteric doctoral study. Last Christmas when I panicked over the poor quality of written English in the draft of my thesis, as well as the endless musicological analysis of those immortal 1930s and 1940s oldies, I found my 18-year obsession with keeping a diary cured. Maybe it's just an excuse to exonerate myself from this admirable yet stubborn and time-consuming habit; nevertheless, it implies how serious the situation was: I was about to fail and therefore not a single minute should be spared for the diary, but rather every second should be spent on the bloody thesis.

However, as I was requested to sing a Spanish love song at my sister-in-law's engagement reception (I suppose that a guy must be insane if he dare reject such an 'invitation' from his in-laws), I had no alternative but to knock my socks off to present a show in front of 200 guests. It did take some time, because no one would afford to hire a cabaret band to accompany my solo and therefore I had to made a karaoke soundtrack for myself. Fortunately, because the song I planned to sing, Aquellos Ojos Verdes (Those green eyes), was so familiar that I could even belt it out when sleepwalking at a snowy night, it took only two hours to produce the accompanying soundtrack.

(Listen to the home-made karaoke!)


(And browse the lysics if you read Spanish. I'm sure that Pedro would be more than happy to translate it into English!)

AQUELLOS OJOS VERDES
DE MIRADA SERENA
DEJARON EN MI ALMA
ETERNA FE DE AMAR
ANHELOS DE CARICIAS
DE BESOS Y TERNURAS
DE TODAS LAS DULZURAS
QUE HAN PODIDO BRINDAR

AQUELLOS OJOS VERDES
SERENOS COMO UN LAGO
EN CUYAS QUIETAS AGUAS
UN DÍA ME MIRÉ
NO SABEN LA TRISTEZA
QUE EN MI ALMA HAN DEJARON
AQUELLOS OJOS VERDES
QUE NUNCA OLVIDARÉ

Although the sister-in-law and her husband-to-be told me that no one would notice if I blundered, I insisted that as a matter of 'performance', it had to be perfect. I happened to know that the godmother of the bridegroom-to-be was the wife of a military attaché of la Embajada de la República de China en la República del Paraguay, which made me really nervous. Thanks be to god; all went well at the reception. This lady who spoke perfect Spanish approached me aferwards and said that the music was great and every syllable poured out of my lips was perfect.

On the 23rd of December 2006, I had my first-ever life experience – sing a Spanish song in public, and it was successful.

Working on my thesis desperately

Dear friends who have been reading and supporting Principal Wei's Weblog,

I am now working desperately on my bloody, stupid doctoral thesis on Shanghai popular song, and hoping to meet the deadline; therefore, I won't be able to give you any new stuff on this weblog until I feel more confident, or probably more comfortable, of my work. Please bear with me for a wee moment. I shall be back as soon as possibel.

All the best and have a very happy Christmas and prosperous New Year.


PS. Poor me! Making a karaoke soundtrack while finishing my thesis. As I have promised my sister-in-law, my fiancée's youger sister, when I was still in Scotland that I would sing a Spanish love song, Aquellos Ojos Verde, for her and her bridegroom-to-be in their engagement reception, I am also now working desperately to make a karaoke soundtrack for it, because obviously they won't hire a cabaret band for me.

Taipei is bloody hot!

I always believe I'm a cold weather person and should have been born further north. Taipei is really far too warm for me; it's still baking hot in winter. The forecasted maximum temperature today is 28°C and the minimum 21°C. I can't remember how I survived so many winters, let alone summers, in Taipei in the last three decades of life.

I would never forget how most Taiwanese screech when a Siberian cold front moves south, striking the island in winter and causing temperature to plummet below 10°C. Goodness me, 10°C is actually quite mild! The average winter maximum in Lowlands Scotland is only 6°C !

Mum has been telling me every several minute since I came back: put on a jumper indoors and one more jacket when riding the scooter outside so that you don't catch a cold. I would like to be Mum's good, obedient boy, but I will be sweltering and then stifled to death if I muffle myself in these togs which I deem only appropriate in Scotland.

Just like Stirling, Taipei is surrounded by 'hills', yet Taipei city is located in the Taipei Basin and those 'hills' are actually 'mountains' ranging from 2,000 to more than 3,000 feet high. Thus, unlike Stirling which is 'mild' in winter, Taipei is indeed a steamer all year round.

Sorry, Mum, can't be asked to do what you demand. Blame the subtropical climate and bloody global warming.

Recollect Paris on the silver screen

Having not watched a film on a real silver screen in Taipei for ages, I went to Vieshow Cinemas, a chain of multiplex cinemas which, if my memory serves me, used to be Warner Village Cinemas operated by the American-based Warner Brothers but was somehow sold to another entertainment group while I was away in Scotland.

Since I had heard of good comments on Paris, Je T’aime from friends and positive reviews of it from several websites before I came back, and by chance this film was still showing, I decided to spend a night for it.

So true are what those friends and critics said. Paris, Je T’aime is indeed a tour-de-force that triumphs where some other collaged films founder. It shows us that Paris, a city whose beauty, history and culture few places in the world match, can not only inspire French virtuoso directors like Francois Truffaut but can also fill directors from different lands with passion and enkindle their imagination of love to construct their own images of the city.

The two-hour Paris, Je T’aime is composed of eighteen short films, each of which is about five minutes long, shot in different arrondissement in Paris, written and directed by a different person, and played by a different set of actors or actresses.

This film reminded me of the week I spent in Paris in 2001 just three months after I left national service. As the eighteen shorts ran one after another, beauty and filth of the city, amiability and arrogance of the people, tranquility and cacophony in the air, serendipity and frustration during my short stay, and love and hatred in this life were all released from the deep chasm in the curst of my concealed memory.

Out of these eighteen short episodes, my favourite is Wes Craven’s Père-Lachaise, where a British couple bickered over their relationship while visiting Oscar Wilde's grave at a cemetery but finally their impending marriage was saved by the phantom of Oscar Wilde. Indeed, how dull would love be should your so-called earth partner, soul companion only do whatever pleases you and never quarrel over any single petty or significant matter with you!

I haven't got any opportunity to visit Paris again in the last five and half years though I did go to the Continent on several occasions. I miss the grandiose Arc de Triomphe as much as a romantic glimpse of any nameless street corner café. I don't know if I would love Paris as much as I love some cities in the British Ilses; nevertheless, I like the ambience.

What a night! fourteen months later, I came back to Taipei from Scotland to recollect a long forgotten vista in the course of my life.

Fire alarm in Heathrow

It's been over fourteen months since I left behind teeming streets and boisterous crowds in Taipei last September, and after unsleeping 50 hours crossing the Boarders, the Channel, the Continent, Near East, Middle East and Far East, with all the best wishes from friends, colleagues and people of the local community, as well as my incomplete bloody thesis, I'm back in my motherland.

When I'm in good health, I slumber when night draws on and arise when morning breaks. I suppose I'm sharp and in fine fettle at the moment as I have already regained my desire for food and can sleep well again, thanks to the amazing antidepressant. However, I didn't get a wink of sleep during the 8-hour journey on the overnight coach from Edinburgh to London, nor could I have even a catnap over the 16-hour flight from London to Taipei.

The insomniac way home is probably the most enervating travel I've ever had in recent years, yet I would say it is an unforgettable episode in the airport that made the whole journey extraordinary.

As I couldn't check-in until three hours before the departure and I just couldn't be asked to be confined within the crowded departure hall in Terminal 3 of Heathrow, I decided to hop around the four terminals. Taking the free shuttle train to slide to Terminal 4, I started my tour around London Heathrow.

After grabbing myself a cup of tea, I picked a seat on the '-1' level of the terminal building and started enjoying some peaceful time. Several sips later came the most unusual yet hilarious incident that has ever happened to me. The fire alarm started; it seemed that, according to the babbling announcement, the boiler or something caught fire. Jings, crivvens an' help ma boab (Don't know this Scottish phrase? Haven't read my previous post? Click here to get a clue)! I though Heathrow was under terrorist attack!

Although my first though is 'run', no one gave the ear-splitting fire alarm a damn. About one minute later, people started budging their bottoms reluctantly from chairs at restaurants, cafés and so on, and moving tardily towards the emergency exit. I followed them with two suitcases at my hands to the ground floor, where the check-in counters were, only to find that everything ran as usual as if the shrill and beating of the alarm hadn't ever existed. Those who were just 'evacuated' resumed their chatting happily and drinking or eating whatever they had.

Did I overreact?

Slightly confused while entertained (what a start of my journey back home!), I shifted to Terminal 2 and had a pint. I deserved it after this farcical evacuation.

Am I with anterograde amnesia?

I think I may have problems with short term memory – anterograde amnesia, a form of memory loss, an inability to recall events which occurred only moments earlier (If by any chance you have watched the film Memento, you should understand what I am talking about). I don't know why I can recollect the style and colour of the clothes a friend wore on a particular occasion donkey's years ago, but just can't remember what happened to me or what I planned to do last night, or even 10 minutes ago.

I think I've got a sniff of trouble.

For example, I always forget to take my mug with me when I decide to go to the kitchen and top up some more hot water. What is even worse is that sometimes I leave behind the mug in the kitchen after filling it up with hot water.

I always tell people the same story over and over again, particularly the infamous Broccoli Quadrilogy, even though they have been told thousands of times and can recite the whole story verbatim.

Here comes another example which I blush to mention: I always plan to bring a jar of my home-made blackberry jam to Maggie, a colleague in the Stirling Media Research Institute but never remember to put it into my bag before I go to the university.

According to researches, loss of short-term memory can be

1. the result of damage to the hippocampus, fornix or mammillary bodies (all of these are certain parts in the brain);
   
2. the consequence of a sudden trauma or a seizure;
   
3. induced by medications of hypnotic drugs prescribed for insomnia and other sleep disorders, such as temazepam, lorazepam, zolpidem and alpidem;
   
4. caused by large intake of alcohol.

I don't think I had any head injury, nor did I recently suffered any deeply distressing experience, nor did I take or abuse any soporifics or tranquilisers. However, I do slug lots of cider after a typical long, unproductive day. Well, as we don't have cider in Taiwan, or perhaps it's so unfashionable that I've never given it two hoots, I shall drink less when I go back this coming Sunday.

Let me keep my fingers crossed: I'll remember my mug, stop telling people the bloody broccoli story, bring the jam to Maggie, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

Go digital!

Thanks to Hong-Lin, a reader in the School of Law, I've got a Ferguson FDT500, a set top box with which I can watch digital terrestrial television through the Freeview service.

I wonder if everything was connected properly when she made her telly go digital, as although she said the box, original given by her brother-in-law, might have ceased to function, it is now working in good order in my room. There was no hassle when I set up the system: I am living within the Freeview coverage area, my landlady's rooftop aerial works perfectly, and, above all, the digital box has a harmonious relationship with the 20-inch analogue TV Pedro gave me this February when he went back to Portugal.

I came to know about digital TV two years ago when I did seminar teaching on the undergraduate course 'Media Impacts and Influences' in my department. The digital technology allows more TV channels and different interactive and information services to be transmitted in the same amount of space as that used by analogue transmissions. Consequently, switching to digital broadcasting system frees up airwaves for other uses such as mobile TV or high definition TV, and certainly brings more commercial oppotunities.

The UK government have set up a timetable for Digital Switchover, the switch-off of all analogue terrestrial TV broadcasts, and announced that TV services in the UK will go completely digital by 2013.

I don't care about how many channels I receive at the moment as I don't have much time to appreciate all the programmes, but I simply can't ignore the almost ninefold boost in the number of channels after installing the set top box – from only 5 to 44 TV channels, plus 24 radio channels. It reminds me of the days when I was in Taiwan, where about 85% of households subscribe to cable TV service, which usually provides about 100 channels on a fixed fee basis. Most of the time, unless when really into a specific programme, people would first flick through all the channels forward and backward, and then start channel-hopping.

As I'll be back in Taiwan for five weeks and thus be able to practise hopping over different channels with a remote control, I'll be ready to have a good hop after I return to Scotland with Hong-Lin's digital box and Pedro's analogue TV, although there are only 44 channels from Freeview, far less than the number in Taiwan.

The Broons and Oor Wullie

This afternoon I went to WHSmith to get a copy of The Scots Magazine, a must-read monthly for me to learn more about the land and the people, but ended up paying for a copy of The Broons and Oor Wullie, a collection of Scottish comic strips. Then I went for a pint of Best in Port Customs Bar, my favourite pub in Stirling where barmen or barmaids always remember my name and a pint is ready for me before I actually order.

Oor Wullie ('Our Willie' in the Scots language) and The Broons ('The Browns' in Scots) are both comic strips set in Scotland within The Sunday Post newspaper, which is published in Dundee by D C Thomson & Co Ltd and sets a model for written Scots and its spelling.

Although some linguists argue that Scots is an ancient dialect of English or the Anglic varieties spoken in parts of Scotland, Scottish people regard Scots as an autochthonous language (or in plain words, 'indigenous language') of Lowland Scotland, as opposed to Scottish Gaelic spoken by some in the Highlands and Islands.

In the pub, some regulars whom I am quite acquainted with came to me and asked if I understood what I was reading. Come on! I've been in Scotland for almost five years and spent some time learning the language of this country; of course I know some Scots. A lad picked up a line in the book:

Gran'maw's comin' tae stay wi' us, so ye must be a very guid laddie an' dae a'thing she tells ye!

Of course I ken ('know' in Scots)

Grandmother is coming to stay with us, so you must be a very good boy and do all the things she tells you!

Another old block still doubted if I really knew Scots and asked what it meant by

Whit a braw bricht moonlicht nicht the nicht.

(Listen to my demonstration!)

Ha ha ha, I happen to know it. It means

What a beautiful bright moonlit night tonight.

I'm going back to Taiwan a week Sunday for a five-week break. I would like to bring some copies of The Broons and Oor Wullie as Christmas gifts for my friends; however, it really worries me if they would ever understand Scots.