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We have danced to music as long as we have been making music. In some African languages, the same word means both “music” and “dance”, because to have one without the other is simply unthinkable. Music and dance are natural partners. Words and music are a powerful combination, too. But what about words and dance? Some recent productions suggest that dancing to spoken word instead of music can work. But that feels, to me, like a rarity: there is a fine line between dancing a story and merely miming its action. This latter tends to use words as narration and the dancers as props, rather than storytellers.

You don’t need to speak a language to understand dance. For all that many cultures have a highly specific dance language, it arguably doesn’t matter if the dancer is French, Thai or Martian: you will be able to respond to it physically or emotionally, even if you wouldn’t be able to comprehend a word. But the moment that choreographers introduce language, all that changes. Protein Dance‘s recent show, LOL (Lots of Love), which used lonely-hearts ads as the backdrop for its dancers, fell into the trap of dancing the words rather than dancing to the words. Despite a slew of positive reviews, it left me cold: I felt that it lacked heart, despite being all about love and relationships. And much of that was to do with the use of words, which caught good dancers in weird choreographic traps – they were unable to escape the mundanity of the text, the delicacy of the movement subsumed by the saccharine narrative.

It is easy for the choreographer to become tied to the literal meanings of the words, thus losing other emotional resonances. A vocabulary of movement, gesture and response is surely different from a literal vocabulary, so mapping one straightforwardly to the other is likely to be plodding. Dancing to words can stifle creativity, in other words, and it is only in rare cases that it can help movement to blossom. Phoenix Dance‘s piece at Cambridge Arts theatre last year, which used the prologue of Tennessee Williams’s The Glass Menagerie as its backing, managed to both depict the story of Laura, Amanda, Jim and Tom and to cut to the emotional heart of the play. The lack of music here gave the piece a dreamlike quality – appropriate for this “memory play” – and was highly effective. The dancers captured the heart of the story without resorting to clumsy mime.

So, it matters what the words are, just as it matters what the music is. Poorly chosen, sentimental or trite text is likely to lead to similar dance. If the words don’t work, the dance is likely to be spoiled.

I have written in defence of Twitter before (here, if you’re interested), but the Opera North/Lee Hall fiasco today reveals something that’s bad about such an instant medium. Twitter encourages knee-jerk responses which are often misinformed and always unhelpful. These then get re-tweeted, and the outrage grows. Very few people bother to gather all the facts and read the offending article/comments/statement before weighing in with an opinion or a damning critique. Twitter has been full of criticism this morning for Opera North, a Facebook group has been set up in defence of Hall, and the vitriol being directed at Opera North is growing.

Let me make it very clear: I would never defend either censorship or homophobia, but it seems to me that neither of these things has actually been perpetrated by Opera North. Lee Hall wrote a piece in the Guardian this morning claiming that the community opera he’s working on has been cancelled over references to an adult character’s sexuality because he has reached “an impasse” with the school which is providing 300 children to perform in the opera. I would personally argue that schools have an active duty to teach children about homosexuality and thus begin to cut down on homophobia, bullying and the pejorative use of the word “gay”. Furthermore, to remove all 300 children two weeks before the performance was due to happen is unnecessarily disruptive, and must be incredibly frustrating for both Hall and Opera North, who have both invested time and, in the case of Opera North, money, in the project.

However, I fail to see how the school’s apparently small-minded decision is Opera North’s fault. Its statement says that it tried to reach a compromise which all parties were happy with, in order that the performance might go ahead. I admire Hall for sticking to his guns, and understand his anger that Opera North did not offer him unconditional support. The statement could certainly have been worded more strongly, and could have categorically stated that Opera North has no problem with the libretto and would like the school to reconsider. But, Opera North obviously has a lot invested in its relationship with the local community, and to dismiss or criticise the school’s decision outright could do it a lot of damage in the long run. This was an arse-covering decision, not a homophobic one.

If there is blame to be apportioned, surely we should be laying at the door of the school and the local authority who decided that it was “inappropriate” to mention then some men “prefer lads to lasses” in front of four-year-olds. Surely, this is the bigger issue? That a school, an educational establishment, feels that it cannot let its pupils be in an environment where an adult talks about being gay? As Thomas Hescott rather eloquently puts it, the school should view it as talking about equality, not sex. Sexuality and sex are different, and the school should have the wit to recognise this.

In short, Opera North has not “banned” Hall’s opera. It has been put in an impossible position as mediator between two sides who have reached an “impasse” and the school no longer wishes to discuss it. I don’t see how Opera North is supposed to magic a new cast of 300 schoolchildren out of thin air, especially as the previous cast had been rehearsing for months. It’s an unpleasant and tricky situation, but slinging muck at Opera North only muddies the waters and draws attention away from the real issue: why shouldn’t children “as young as four” learn that some boys like boys, some girls like girls, and some people like both? This is what we should be outraged about.

I gave a talk to Warwick students last night, as part of the careers service’s ‘Working in publishing and online publishing’ event. I talked a bit about my personal experience of working at ArtsProfessional, and gave the best advice I had to give. While I don’t pretend to be an expert (I was slightly perturbed by 150 earnest students taking notes as I talked!), I have spent a lot of time thinking about publishing, the blurring boundaries between paper and digital, and the place that I and other young people can hold in a rapidly-changing world. I didn’t make predictions about where publishing is going, because people smarter than me have done so – and the short answer is that no-one really has a clue anyway. Anyway, I thought more people than were in a lecture theatre in Coventry last night might find some of what I had to say useful, so here it is. Bear in mind that they are just notes, and that I was much more eloquent and hilarious in the flesh.

MAKING IT IN PUBLISHNG AND ONLINE PUBLISHNG.

Build up a portfolio: You’re more likely to get a work placement once you have a portfolio to show people. Do you blog/review/write anywhere? A blog is your online portfolio, so think about design, check spelling/grammar and remember anyone could be reading it. Remember that NOTHING ON THE INTERNET EVER GOES AWAY. EVER. Would you be comfortable with a potential employer seeing your posts? You need to balance posting regularly (once a week, minimum) with not waffling – post when you have something to say. The more you write the easier it gets – try having opinions on news stories, commenting/reviewing whatever you’re readings, expanding on a side-note from your most recent essay…

Start job-hunting early: This is the best advice I can give you. You’ll be revising for your exams, then taking your finals and wanting a break, but by the start of the summer most things will have gone. If you wait until after your exams, it’s only going to get more competitive. It’s frustrating and can be depressing – many places don’t acknowledge applications – but applying early shows that you’re keen, that you can balance tasks and that you’re thinking ahead. Think about your CV – what can you put on it that’s relevant to the job in question and shows you off to your best advantage? This may sounds obvious, but I’ve seen some pretty terrible CVs since I started working at AP – spellcheck it, proof read it, get a friend you trust to proof read it. Make sure that you tweak your CV with each applicatio, so that it’s as relevant as possible. A good way to go about it is to take each point in the person specification and address it in your CV or cover letter: e.g. If the person spec asks for someone highly-organised, specifically say that you are extremely organised, and give one concise, concrete example of something the proves you are. Ditto motivated, a self-starter etc. Think about what each point actually means – they tend to be heavy on buzz words – and address it accordingly. For example, highly-organised might mean able to keep several balls in the air (particularly in an administrative role, which a lot of entry-level jobs are) or it might mean an ability to unfailingly hit deadlines (in an editorial assistant role, for example).

Learn from others: Formal training isn’t essential, but it can be useful and can show that you are serious. There’s always more to learn, and a course or two to sharpen your skills and technique is always a good thing. Look for personal recommendations before choosing because there are thousands.

Think about whether you want to go into publishing or online publishing, because they are very different: Traditional publishing is a shrinking field, and jobs are scarce and getting scarcer. Online publishing, on the other hand, is growing rapidly. However, there is still a prestige to working in trad publishing that is lacking in the online world, and a lot of online stuff lacks the quality control of paper-publishing: no space constraints can mean editing is sloppy and the writing is poor. Not always, obviously, there are lots of great websites, online magazines, online news services etc, but most reputable publishers try to do both – they will have a digital side to whatever else they do. Publishing needs skills such as a good eye for prose, editing/proofing skills, the ability to hit deadlines, etc, whereas online publishing often requires HTML coding, familiarity with social media etc as well.

N.B. Some of this draws on thoughts from being on a Guardian Careers panel on arts journalism. The full transcript is here and a summary can be found here. If anyone wishes to talk about any of this further, or has any questions, I can be reached on: contact@eleanorturney.co.uk or Tweet me @eleanorturney If you agree with anything I’ve said, or wish to develop the debate, please comment below.

So, after yesterday’s Spending Review, the general feeling seems to be wary sighs of relief – a universal “Well, it could have been worse”. However, as the wonderful Johann Hari points out, it really is quite bad. And this is certainly true for the arts.

To quote from Jeremy Hunt’s letter to ACE:
“I am writing to inform you about the outcome of the 2010 Spending Review for my Department. DCMS’ overall budget will reduce by 25% by 2014-15… This letter sets out the funding settlement for Arts Council England covering the financial years 2011-12 to 2014-15.

The resource grant in aid budget for your organisation will be cut by 29.6% in real terms by 2014-15. The new grant in aid budget for your organisation will be £1448m over four years. Within this settlement-
• I would ask that the Arts Council tries to ensure that the budget for the regular funding of arts organisations is not cut by more than 15% in real terms over the next four years. There will of course be variances to individual RFOs and I recognise this may mean total withdrawal of funding in some cases. I understand you will soon be going through a process to decide levels of regular funding for the next four years. I would expect all organisations in receipt of regular funding to receive information about indicative levels of funding for the Spending Review period by the end of March 2011.
• I expect spending on administration to be cut by 50% in real terms. We expect that bodies will meet the costs of restructuring.”

Now, this looks to me a lot like meddling – which contradicts the enshrined arm’s length principle that ACE currently enjoys. Mealy-mouthed phrases such as “I would ask” and “I would expect” basically mean “I order you to” when they are spoken by someone with the power to remove your funding. I cannot see how these edicts do not contravene the arm’s length principle. ACE is a quasi-autonomous non-governmental organisation (quango), and the quasi-autonomous bit is important – it’s why ACE exists rather than everything being funded directly from DCMS. To erode this function is to erode ACE’s power. However much it has been criticised recently, the arts would miss it if it went altogether.

Furthermore, although ACE’s restructure did not save as much or streamline as much as it claimed, it has recently been cut. To request further admin cuts of 50% raises serious questions about how the organisation can actually continue to function. I am all for reducing unnecessary bureaucracy, but there have to be enough staff to manage and process applications etc, or everything will grind to a halt. The mood at AP Towers is that to cut the admin costs, the regional offices are the most likely target, hitting rural and regional arts hard. Hunt seems to subscribe to the view that admin = bad, and it ain’t necessarily so.

Hunt also says “The Foreign Secretary and I are keen to ensure that the UK reinforces its international reputation for artistic excellence, and hope the Arts Council will support international cultural exchange through its funded organisations and other activities.” Now, Hunt apparently “hope[s] there will be opportunities to unlock additional funding from the private sector to support those activities”, but as well all know, private investment is not a substitute for public investment, and this is basically extending ACE’s remit further, while cutting it back. That doesn’t make a whole of sense, economic or otherwise.

What do you make of the cuts?

Just read this on the Guardian theatre blog, and am angry… here are my thoughts:

ANLO was a poorly-thought-through scheme which never had the budget to do anything useful. The DCMS had this money which ACE could not turn down, and ACE was therefore forced into launching a project far too quickly. It was never enough money to make a real difference, it was rushed into being, the marketing budget was spent with nine months of the scheme left to run, the targets were quietly revised when take-up was lower than hoped… It has been mostly disappointing.

If you don’t live in London, and especially if you have a job, then available performances are few and far between – many theatres used the scheme to get rid of tickets they wouldn’t have sold otherwise, often at matinees, which are obviously no use if you work a 9-5 job. Add in a train fare to London, or taking a day’s holiday, and suddenly the “free” ticket becomes a bit pointless.

“A socially inclusive model for accessing theatre did not exist for young people until now.” This is just a ridiculous thing to say: theatres across the country offer cheap tickets (the RSC’s tickets start at £3.50 for students, the Royal Court has a ‘pay what you can night’, for example) and have excellent schemes designed to widen engagement, develop audiences and get young people into theatres. The ANLO money could have been far more productively used to promote existing campaigns on a national level.

The scheme claimed to be in place to encourage non-attenders, such as the author, to go to the theatre, as the ACE press office told me forcefully when I said that as a committed theatre-goer I’d never found a way of participating. My response then and now is this: if it’s designed for non-theatre-goers, then why advertise in theatres? That’s simply encouraging those people (such as me) who would have bought a ticket, to get a freebie instead.

I don’t in any way support cuts to the arts budget, and dread the damage that will be done if the Spending Review hits as hard as the arts sector currently fears. I urge you all to join www.ivaluethearts.org.uk, to sign the petition. But, I can’t mourn the end of ANLO, even if it only clawed back £100K. Stopping funding for projects that patently don’t work is a sensible way to start saving money, whatever your politics.

The author sounds as thought she is doing the PR for this “ambitious two-year pilot”. It wasn’t ambitious, the targets were lowered. Further, these targets were not met in the first year of the project. We await the full evaluation with interest. In the meantime, I strongly believe that the article devalues the important work that theatres are constantly engaged in trying to widen access off their own backs, and without a pittance from ANLO.

A survey by Reader’s Digest has revealed so-called shocking statistics about the British public’s lack of knowledge of classical music. Now, noone is disputing that the figures look bad (75% did not know that Elgar wrote ‘Pomp and Circumstance’, and 27% did not know he was a composer), but are they actually surprising? Classical music still finds it hard to shake off the image that it is difficult and elitist, but a lot of music education doesn’t do much to help dispel this. Further, does not knowing Elgar’s name prevent an appreciation of Pomp and Circumstance? Of course not. Sixty-one per cent of respondents said they liked classical music, so not knowing names is clearly not putting people off. Not knowing who Lady Gaga is wouldn’t stop someone from dancing along, and this feels uncomfortably like a chance for those who are classical music aficionados to feel smug – which is really not going to help its image. It’s all very well to climb aboard one’s high horse and look down at those who think that Bocconcini is a composer (when, obviously, Boccooncini is an Italian cheese ball), but I didn’t know that, and I both listen to classical music and have Music A-level. A question like that is just setting people up to look foolish. That aside, the fact that one third of respondents to the survey never listened to classical music is the more pertinent figure – after all, it’s hardly gobsmacking that people have little specialist knowledge of a something they never listen to.

We’ve been having an interesting debate on the @ArtsPro Twitter account today, after the lovely Katie asked a question about whether it’s OK to Tweet at the theatre. Personally, I’m all for sharing experiences and opinions, but not during the show. No offence to anyone, but your opinion is not so important that it can’t wait until the interval/end of the show. By all means tweet about plays, and by all means tweet from inside theatre buildings, but during the actual play, phones off. And that includes iPhones, iPads, blackberries etc, too.

It’s not the noise I object to (although very few phones are silent), it’s the light. Back-lit screens are incredibly distracting when you’re sitting in the dark. So, by all means tell your followers if Jamie parker was fabulous as Prince Hal at the Globe (he was) or if Alan Bennett’s ‘The Habit of Art’ left you cold (it did). But wait until a suitable break. Please.

But, lots of people disagree, including this article, which I commented on when it first appeared (I’m @EllieFace, and I’m a curmudgeon). I reckon designated ‘tweet seats’ would be OK, so long as they were at the back of the stalls, where the audience can’t see. I don’t know how distracting it would be for the actors. What do you think?

The lovely people at Colman Getty have just confirmed my seat in the press room at this year’s Olivier Awards. Darling! First thought: must scrub up. There’s going to be lots of the great and the good and the incredibly beautiful swanning about, so methinks it’s time to dust off a nice frock. Must play it cool though, as I imagine most people in the press room will be, well, press, and we are a fairly jaded bunch on the whole. I don’t want to be the one in a ballgown if everyone else is in jeans. Fortunately, I have a briefing document to keep me on the straight and narrow (and far from the red carpet) that suggests somewhere in between will be about right: sounds like time for a trusty LBD.

But enough on matters sartorial. I’m excited because of the awards themselves. The Oliviers are the theatrical Oscars. As a theatre enthusiast, it’ll be nice to hear who wins live, and to have the chance to talk to the winners afterwards. Nominees include: Mackenzie Crook (Jerusalem) Rowan Atkinson (Oliver!), James Earl Jones (Cat on a Hot Tin Roof), Keira Knightley (The Misanthrope), Jude Law (Hamlet), James McAvoy (Three Days of Rain), Mark Rylance (Jerusalem), Rachel Weisz (A Streetcar Named Desire) and Samuel West (Enron). Presenters for the night include: Kim Catrall, Rosamund Pike (who is currently touring Hedda Gabler in a production high-up my Want to See list); Tamsin Greig (who is awesome in every way, and is currently in The Little Dog Laughed’ at the Garrick); Rupert Friend, Elaine Paige and James Earl Jones. We also get “divas” from ‘Priscilla, Queen of the Desert’, singing nuns, and most of the cast of Les Mis.

If Mark Rylance doesn’t win Best Actor, I shall eat my ballgown, and the smart money is probably on Rachel Weisz for Best Actress. I can’t comment on the Best Supporting Actress award as I haven’t seen any of the productions, but for Best Supporting Actor my hope is Macenzie Crook and my expectation is Eddie Redmayne.

The award ceremony is on Sunday night, so we shall see…

Some thoughts on cycling, every day, in all weathers.

I am a misanthrope from the moment I put bum to saddle, until I dismount.
I used to only hate taxis. This soon extended to include all drivers. Now I hate other cyclists and pedestrians, too. Here are some of Eleanor’s tips for happy cycling. If everyone could follow these, I might start liking people again.

1. Drivers: If you’d like to suggest that I move forward/get out of your way, the usual verbal abuse, gesticulation and honking is sufficient. You really don’t need to drive into the back of my bike repeatedly to bump me forwards.

If you do hit me, have the decency to stop and make sure I can still stand. An apology is always welcome, too.

If you cut me up and I then catch up with you at the next set of traffic lights, I will then cycle at snail’s pace directly in front of you for as long as I safely can. Just so you know.

Driving up behind me and honking to make me jump isn’t funny. Especially up hill. I’m going as fast as I can.

Y’know that red or green stripe down the lefthand side of the road? The one with little white bikes painted on it? Can you guess what that’s for? Not cars. Ditto that nice box with bikes painted on it that sits in front of you at traffic lights. Incidentally, those yellow criss-cross boxes are not places to sit and wait for a traffic light to change colour, either.

You have mirrors. Use them. You also have eyes. Use them, too.

You have indicators. Use them, don’t just turn across me.

Speed limits are there for a reason. Those really annoying “if you hit me at 30 there’s an 80% chance I’ll live” ads are true for cyclists as well as children. Although, see above, I’d really rather you didn’t hit me at all.

2. Cyclists: Signal. Using your arm. Make it obvious where you’re going. Not only are you less likely to get squished, but people won’t hate you. Anyone who is not a confident/good enough cyclist not to be able to signal without swerving all over the road SHOULD NOT BE ON THE ROAD.

Having said that, don’t cycle on the pavement. Everyone hates you. And it’s illegal.

Wear a helmet, because not wearing one is screamingly moronic. Ditto cycling after dark without lights. That’s just asking to be killed.

If I overtake you and you then catch up with me at the next set of traffic lights, don’t muscle your way in front of me. That just means I have to overtake you again in 2 mins.

3. Pedestrians: Remember that bikes are silent. You have eyes. Use them.

Make a clear distinction between road and pavement. On one you definitely have right of way. On the other, get out the way.

That’s all for now. No more cycling until Monday. I can feel my blood pressure dropping already.

Stephen Hough’s blog for the Telegraph the other day quoted Grant Hiroshima as being “so disturbed” at people laughing at Phèdre and Helen Mirren’s tragically doomed character that he almost walked out. Hiroshima “wonder[s] if this represents the inabililty of these audiences to register tragedy. Have we come to that point at which tragedy has lost the battle with irony and cynicism?” Well, I for one certainly have the ability to register tragedy – when something is tragic. “Has modern entertainment so dulled the consciousness that an entire audience can just miss the point altogether?” asks Hiroshima, which seems rather snobbish to me. It seems to imply that his reaction to the play is more ‘right’, more ‘worthy’, than those who laughed. I am on the side of the audience here. I saw the play two weeks ago, and I laughed. I didn’t laugh because I missed the point – I knew the play was a tragedy and that there was going to be a high body count at the end. Not a good start for those expecting laughs. But the play is so far removed from anything realistic or naturalistic that the overblown language and distraught gestures did become laughable. Hiroshima seems to be missing the point that people will laugh if they find something funny – and the fact that he didn’t find it funny is no fault of anyone else’s.

I admit that the giggles can stem from the fact that it too uncomfortable to watch someone else in pain (a tribute to Mirren as an actress) and the natural way to relieve the tension is to giggle. But there are moments when the sheer ridiculousness of the play is funny. The melodramatic, sweeping scale of the drama and tragedy piling up to totally screw up everyone and everything has its funny moments. We, as audiences, are not used to Greek tragedy, and as a genre it often seems false and removed from real human reaction, which lessons the impact of the tragedy.

To suggest that we are desensitised and no longer able to feel tragedy is absurd – I have cried like a baby at Romeo & Juliet and countless other plays. In most plays where someone dies/something tragic happens, the audience is saddened – but it has to be done well and believably. The fault likes with this production rather than with the audience or with society as a whole. It didn’t have enough conviction in its own tragedy to carry it off. The last scene (where the body of Hippolytus is dragged across the stage leaving a bloody trail) was genuinely sombre, but the rest was just too hysterical for it to be possible to empathise with any of the characters, and this remove makes it much easier to see the funny side of the dramatic irony.

I also object to the point about “these audiences”, which seems to differentiate theatre audiences from cinema audiences, and as such is elitist and foolish.