Antidote to Berio

For reasons that need not detain us here, I have recently had to endure more than my fair share of Luciano Berio and other blighters of that ilk, and I wanted to consider how the glorious Western classical music tradition of structure, harmony and melodic invention could have descended into plinkety plonk rubbish and the kind of sounds foxes make when copulating. As Thomas Beecham once memorably remarked, he never knowingly listened to Schoenberg, but he thought he might once have trod in some by mistake. 

But it’s the Easter weekend as I write, the sun is shining for the third successive day here in verdant, primrose-blessed west Dorset, and the idea of refreshing my indignation by listening to Berio’s intolerable Sinfonia is too ghastly to contemplate. So I’m going to tell you about the gig I went to on Saturday night instead.

If I were forced at gunpoint to choose my favourite place in the whole world, it would be Lyme Regis. I first went there as a child, and every time I return, which is frequently, I get the same tingle of pleasure. The Cobb, the esplanade, the steep curving main street, and the mysterious jungle-like wonders of the undercliff are attractions that never stale. I’ve visited Lyme at every time of day, in every season and in every weather, and I have always left the place feeling better than when I arrived — even when it is overrun with tourists.

One of the many things I love about Lyme is the Marine Theatre, just a stone’s throw from the sea and occupying a building that resembles a glorified scout hut. But inside there’s a decent stage and auditorium, and a cosy upstairs bar with an outside balcony commanding sea views.