“Claudia Winkleman reigns supreme as the most entertaining presenter. Profoundly authentic with a dash of humor, sincerity characterises her persona. Evident is her curiosity when she poses inquiries, a clear indication of genuine engagement and comprehension. Interestingly, she seems to genuinely appreciate the “common folk” — often perceived by some media figures as simpletons scattered on a statistics graph rather than individuals possessing their distinct aspirations and ambitions.
Moreover, her unique appearance sets her apart. Supposing she decided to forgo her shiny, raven fringe, deep eyeliner and monotone wardrobe for fiery, curled locks, vivid blue eye-shadow and multi-coloured dungarees (as I am told she might actually favour), she could effortlessly blend into the common masses, going utterly unnoticed.
Observe your surroundings – be it on a bus, in the office, or at your kitchen table. How acquainted are you with the people around you? For all you know, Winkleman could be present amongst you. Security agencies globally dread the day Winkleman could potentially veer off the track, (however, it’s vital to note that in actuality, global security agencies do not cower in the face of such an eventuality; our apologies, Ms Winkleman).
‘The Piano’, a Channel 4 programme which is anchored by Winkleman, was the uplifting surprise of 2023. The concept revolved around positioning a musical instrument in railway stations across the UK. While a piano in a station may not be a practical transport approach, it certainly brings an element of charm. ‘The Piano’ is inspiring, brimming with optimism and appeals to the inherent musical and inventive talent of amateur enthusiasts.
The Full Irish Hidden Camera Show encapsulates the essence of the craic, which must be enticed, seized and respectfully brought to a halt.”
Surely owning a piano doesn’t instantly ensure happiness for everyone. Frequently, a middle-aged chap may inflict upon his family a loud, careful attempt to play tunes from the Pixies during a social gathering. It’s fascinating that a few researchers suggest this might not bring as much joy to the family as it does to the man himself. Also, be aware, there’s no guarantee he won’t endeavour such behaviour at a train terminal. One can barely imagine how he might use such an opportunity.
Fortunately, the musicians featuring on “The Piano” are meticulously chosen not just for their musical prowess but for their captivating personal narratives too. (It’s possible their families aren’t fans of their Pixies practice sessions). For the latest series, the producers sagely decided to keep the spotlight on the piano, avoiding a shift towards the “hexed” instruments like bagpipes, accordion, fretless bass and tin whistle. Though there was a momentary jest by Winkleman about renaming the show as “The Harmonica”. Echoing the sentiments of some family members I’ve consulted: “The piano is quite enough.”
Regardless, the programme contributes to raising funds to station pianos across railway stations in Britain, which is certainly commendable. The downside, however, is the prospect of unruly children violently playing the keys, adults awkwardly trying to recall their past musical training and yet more engaging in their less appreciated Pixies interpretations. On a more positive note, my preferred pianists are those brave souls in western films who persist with their lively tunes even amidst a feisty scrap. Honestly, this scene is the ideal metaphor for a typical British railway station, a locale filled with despondent travellers navigating the remnants of a formerly glorious public transport system.
In the inaugural series, concealed from the managers of melodic scales, two creative piano connoisseurs engaged in clandestine analysis and evaluation of their performances from a nearby railway station. One being the eminent classical pianist, Lang Lang, and the other a chamber-pop enthusiast and somewhat unrefined stone worker, Mika. Note, Mika holds no affiliation with the subpar construction material, mica. We extend our sincerest apologies to Mr Mika for any confusion.
In the refreshed series, everyone is informed of the hidden musical experts Winkleman has secreted away, thus depriving the show of an element of anticipation. However, the undeniable charm of the show persists. An unlikely gentle touch on the piano from a pugilist, a formerly stateless adolescent refugee resounding Nina Simone tunes, and a nine-year-old with difficulty articulating emotions drawing beautiful significance from piano keys – each narrative is immeasurably heartening.
Adding to the narrative is an advanced dementia patient named Duncan, who is able to remember and perform the exquisite piano pieces he once penned for his spouse, Fran. It is profoundly poignant. The beauty of the show lies in its testament to the human spirit’s innate ability to create splendour even in despair. This phenomenon is somewhat miraculous.
The competitive side of the programme is present as well, for as the Christian belief holds, “Amongst every congregation of more than two individuals, there is always one who excels.”
The necessity of competition in such a show is questionable. Both Mika, full of bonhomie, and the visibly mesmerised Lang Lang, could continue to offer their coaching and encouragement without having to decree that some contestants, (notably the nine-year-old), are less talented than the others.
In social culture, it appears that any exploration of the pleasure and satisfaction music brings for novices, through a television show, is also obligated to underscore that music is, in its essence, a valuable commodity susceptible to evaluation and assessment. This seems to serve as a reminder that we need to struggle and work hard until our demise. As the cartoonist Gary Larson once noted, as we ascend to heaven, we’re welcomed by harps and if our fate is the other way round, accordions await us in hell.
For those who appreciate The Piano, their admiration isn’t usually directed towards the frontman but rather towards the group’s Tony-awarded, curly-haired keyboard player, David Bryan. Nevertheless, “Thank You, Goodnight: The Bon Jovi Story” on Disney+ largely highlights Jon Bon Jovi, the group’s vocalist, which also coincidentally shares his name with the band. Gotham Chopra’s docuseries possesses the flaw shared by many contemporary celebrity chronicles; an inordinate preoccupation with the viewpoint and self-publicising inclinations of the featured protagonist. Plus, the length of the series is impressive, to the extent that it feels as though I started it before Jon’s 1962 birth, and am presently watching it.
The initial story of the band’s formation in New Jersey, with their iconic big hair, is enjoyable. Yet, it’s burdened excessively with a duller emphasis on Jon Bon Jovi’s effort to plan an upcoming sixties tour. The documentary also presents various musings and lessons from Jon’s journey, including “Don’t not be a visionary.” It’s certainly an unusual usage of a double negative in a proverb. “Don’t Not Be a Visionary” may serve as an apt title for a Bon Jovi self-help book. The statement invites questioning and debates using triple, or perhaps even quadruple, negatives. “Jon, perhaps you shouldn’t don’t not be a visionary,” one might counter.
While Jon Bon Jovi is quite a personable character, his philosophy tends to be somewhat trite and histrionic. In that respect, he might be considered a human ham and cheese sandwich, or Jambon Jovi. In contrast, David Bryan? Now here is a pianist whose melodies I would savour, even amidst the hustle and bustle of a crowded UK train station.