Wednesday, 17 December 2014

Hamish Clark - Almost Maine

When Hamish Clark went from his home in Broughty Ferry in Dundee to
Edinburgh University to study English Literature, he never meant to
become an actor. When he joined the student theatre company,
performing, writing and putting plays together, a career on the stage
began to seem like a possibility.

It took a few years working in factories, shops and other jobs to get
by, but Clark suddenly found himself a familiar face through appearing
in a series of ads for a mobile phone company, then as a regular for
seven years in Sunday night drama series, Monarch of the Glen.

This week, however, Clark returns to the stage at the north London
based Park Theatre in the UK premiere of American writer John Cariani's
2005 Broadway hit, Almost Maine. Cariani's play is set in a small
American town in the thick of winter where over the course of one cold
and frosty evening, various couples fall in and out of love at exactly
the same moment in nine two-person vignettes.

In contrast to it's setting, Almost Maine is possessed with a warmth
that has seen it become one of the most performed plays of the last
decade, with some 2000 theatre companies having produced it in America
alone. While the play has been performed across the world, for this
production by the Go People company, Cariani has updated his script in
a way that makes its milieu even more resonant.

“It's about love,” says Clark, who plays three very different roles,
“but it's also about what that means in practice, from extreme joy to
extreme heartbreak. All the scenes are independent of each other, but
gradually come together in this magical little world. That's kind of
fun, but it's also very human. It's trying to set a path through human
experience without either being too cynical or too schmaltzy. Of
course, real life does have those moments, and I suspect part of why
the play has such a broad spectrum of appeal is that you recognise all
of it, but then there are one or two moments in it where you think,
'Oh, God, he's written about me'.”

Prior to Almost Maine, Clark spent much of 2012 and 2013 in America,
where he signed up with an agent and a manager, and spent his time
work-shopping assorted projects in various degrees of development. As
well as the move rekindling a desire to write, it also made Clark
realise why he'd become an actor in the first place.

“For some reason I remembered all these TV shows which were all filmed
there,” he says, “so I can see a through line there with what I've
ended up doing. When I was a kid in Broughty Ferry playing cowboys in
the garden, I didn't run round going bang bang. I used to sit in the
shed and imagine I was going across prairies and stuff like that. I
didn't live particularly near to other children, so I'd play on my own
in the garden, and even then I loved films like Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid.

“When I was little there was a TV programme called Alias Smith and
Jones, with Ben Murphy and Pete Duel playing these two outlaws trying
to reform, and I just used to be them for months. There was The Six
Million Dollar Man as well, and I think these TV shows chimed a bell
for a lot of people. They were the last days really of being something
to believe in. You didn't know who Ben Murphy or Pete Duel were married
to or anything like that, so they were totally believable. It was
before the days of celebrity, and you still had a sense of wonder
enough to believe it when you saw the Six Million Dollar Man ran in
slow-motion. It could access your mind and your imagination, and I
suppose that never really went away.”

While playing Duncan for seven years put Clark on the map in a way that
now allows him to explore opportunities stateside, it also distracted
him from other things he's only now starting to think about again.

“You're shooting for five months of the year for seven years,” he says,
“and inbetween each series there's not really time to do much else. I
did a lot of things around the show as well, so it becomes
all-consuming, and time seems to stand still for a bit. Your
character's not getting any older, but then you realise you are.”

Clark left the show mid-way through series six, returning along with
other series stalwarts for the very final series .

“You've got to get over a show like that,” he says. “My name's Hamish,
I'm five-foot six with sticky-up hair, and most of the time in the show
I wore a kilt, so it's quite difficult to get beyond all that when you
go up for a part that's completely different, but that's all part of
it, and I've done okay. Monarch of the Glen went around the world, so
people come up to you in such strange places, and it meant a lot to a
lot of people. It's not gritty drama, it's just wallpaper, but it's
still a very powerful thing to be part of.”

The mobile phone ad that he was associated with had already proven to
be equally powerful.

“On one level it's just an advert,” he says, “but then you go, wait a
minute, I'm just a boy from Broughty Ferry, and I'm standing in the
desert in Africa doing this thing. It used to be funny getting in a
cab, and you'd see yourself on an ad on the back of the seat, and the
cabbie would laugh. That's no credit to me, that's the power of
advertising, but I'd rather people looked at me and smiled than not.”

Whether there are many laughs in Almost Maine remains to be seen, but,
like most things Clark touches, it should be full of heart.

“It's the kind of play I'd want to go and see,” he says. “It talks
quite profoundly about the human condition, but the style of writing is
very accessible, so it's deep, and it has important things to say, but
you're not going to be sat there wondering what's going on. It's not
long either. Sometimes you can achieve all you need to say in a short
story than in a seven-hundred page novel, and hopefully you walk out
afterwards a bit more hopeful.”

Almost Maine, Park Theatre, London, December 16-January 17 2015.


Hamish Clark

Hamish Clark was born in Broughty Ferry in Dundee in 1965, and studied
English Literature at Edinburgh University, where he joined Edinburgh
University Theatre Company.

Clark first came to prominence in a series of ads for a mobile phone
company, and later became even more familiar from his recurring role as
Duncan McKay in TV favourite, Monarch of the Glen.

Prior to Almost Missouri, Clark's theatre credits include Donkey’s
Years (Comedy Theatre) and The Agent (Old Red Lion).

Television credits include Arrested Development, Rab C. Nesbitt, Small
Fish and Blessed, while film work includes The Decoy Bride, Liz & Dick,
The House, After the Rain and The Only Boy for Me.

The Herald, December 16th 2014


Saturday, 13 December 2014

Smoke Fairies – Waiting For Something To Begin

One of the many stand-out songs from the Chichester-sired duo of
Katherine Blamire and Jessica Davies' eponymous fourth album begins
with some far-off plainchant that ushers in the sort of gossamer-thin
atmospherics not heard since the back-packer trip-scape of All Saints'
Pure Shores. A low-slung guitar and a drum-beat that's part martial
mediaevalism, part Spectoresque wall-of-sound, gives way to a
self-reflective tale of small wonders, everyday epiphanies and fleeting
moments of shared joy.

Like some ancient madrigal fused with Me Generation confessional and
given a discreet post-modern sheen, Waiting For Something To Begin
belies any misplaced notions of kookiness the duo's name and image may
imply. At the heart of its textured melancholy and cut-glass
introspection is a shimmering sensuality possessed with strength and

At moments Blamire and Davies' twin vocal recalls the equally spectral
work of Deirdre and Louise Rutkowski with 4AD records super-group This
Mortal Coil on their Filigree & Shadow and Blood albums, where this
very English form of folktronic gothic pastoralism wouldn't have
sounded out of place. As the centrepiece of an exquisite album, Waiting
For Something To Begin is a beguiling miniature masterpiece of yearning
and transcendence that whispers a beautiful truth.

Product magazine, December 2014, as part of Songs of 2014, co-written with Stewart Bremner, Sarah Busby and Simon Frith.


Faust – Just Us (Bureau B)

Three stars
Like a little army of trolls marching out of the shadows, this latest
opus from the Jean Herve Peron/Zappi Diermaier version of Germany's
veteran kosmische hippy Dadaists creeps up on you slowly. Peron's
looming bass and Diermaier's martial drums set a moody tone before
exploding into the extended guitar wig-out of the album's opening
assault, 'Gerubelt'.

After more than forty years in the saddle, Peron and Diermaier have
styled this new release as jUSt, a set of twelve semi-improvised
bare-bones rhythm-driven sound sculptures designed to be rebuilt by
anyone who fancies a bash at adding their own touches to it. Whether
the end result will find Krautrock copycats indulging in
fantasy-wish-fulfilment hero-worship or inspire something more
interesting remains to be seen. What's left in the meantime is a group
of miniatures far less formless than mere backing tracks.

Stripped back to basics, the same rush of primal physicality best
captured in Faust's live shows rushes through a series of tunes that
sometimes resemble mediaeval ragas pulsed by the makeshift mechanics of
a sewing machine metronome or else what sounds like the entire contents
of the duo's toolbox.

Elsewhere, 'Nur Nous' is a minimalist sketch for piano and drums, while
'Palpitations' is seven and a half minutes of exactly that.
Onomatopoeia permeates other titles, including the magnificently named
horn-led cacophony that is 'eeeeeeh...'

There are vocal tracks too, with 'Ich bin ein Pavian' as good-naturedly
declamatory as a Kurt Schwitters routine before giving way to the
surprisingly understated finale of 'Ich sitze immer noch'. This
punctuates its pretty guitar melodies with what sounds like a dog
barking and the endlessly insistent sound of rain.

With plans afoot to repeat the album's exercise in de/reconstruction in
the live arena by collaborating with local musicians wherever they tour
– a move not unlike former Can vocalist Damo Suzuki's never-ending solo
sojourns using local 'sound carriers' at each date – Faust's strategy
is both economically viable and potentially gloriously unpredictable.

The List, December 2014


Victoria Morton

The Modern Institute, Aird's Lane, Glasgow
Until January 17th 2015
Four stars

'OPTIMUM LIVING MADE EASY', the quasi-ironic legend just about declaims
from the second of five large-scale paintings that make up a new cycle
of work by Victoria Morton. Or at least that's what it appears to say,
as the poster-size message that resembles a stencilled-in slogan is all
but obscured by swirls of red camouflage as well as the image of a
female figure who appears to be squirting paint into her palm.

Such wilful discretion is the most tellingly talismanic image on show,
even as it acts as a bridge between the explosions of colour elsewhere.
At times improvised but never slap-dash, these burst forth with a
self-referential life-force which flits between a blood-rush of fevered
activity offset by pools of calm that trickle out beyond the oranges
and lemons.

As a very personal story-board, it highlights a vivid life and death
swirl that points to little moments captured from everyday narratives.
These aren't so much made flesh as have their psychological innards put
under the microscope in a way that goes beyond words in a shadow-line
that borders the woozy limbo-land between process and product.

The List, December 2014

Alasdair Gray – Spheres of Influence I and II

GOMA until May 25th 2015/Glasgow School of Art until January 25th 2015
Five stars

It's only too fitting that programme image for the first of these two
shows that form part of the Glasgow-wide Alasdair Gray season, lovingly
and meticulously put together by Sorcha Dallas to mark Glasgow's
original renaissance man's eightieth year, is a compass. For both the
GOMA show it heralds and its accompanying GSA show join the dots
between those who influenced this poppiest of classicists and those who
followed in his wake, with Gray both wide-eyed bridge and beacon
between the two.

So at GOMA we move from Durer's crucifixions, Blake's judgements and
Aubrey Beardsley's erotic politesse to Japanese figurative art, line
drawings by David Hockney, the vintage poetics of Adrian Wiszniewski
and Chad McCail's poster-size take on wisdom and experience. The
umbilical links between these and Gray's own works are made plain, yet
remain tantalisingly fresh even as the join is gloriously exposed.

Over at Gray's alma mater things are brought even closer to home, as
volumes poached from Gray's own home library including a Radio Times
annual appear alongside book covers for his own work and contemporaries
such as Agnes Owens. There's a mix of the meta-physical and the
grizzled in pieces by Eric Gill, drawings by Peter Howson and the
rad-fem desires of Dorothy Iannone, while Stuart Murray's dole culture
cartoons bring things bang up to date.

The frontispieces of each of the four books that make up Gray's 1981
novel, Lanark, which reimagined Glasgow as a fantastical
magical-realist kingdom, appear in both shows as pivotal works. Adorned
with super-heroic bodies set against infinitely accessible but densely
detailed landscapes, seen together they are comic-book multi-verses
writ large.

Finally, Hanna Tuulikki's two pen and ink images, Ascension and Fall,
encapsulate the spiritual, the erotic and the heroic, the holy trinity
of Gray's world, which grows more magical by the day.

The List, December 2014


The Devil Masters

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh
Three stars
It's Christmas Eve in Edinburgh New Town, and in the ornate interior of
legal power couple Cameron and Lara's Georgian des-res, the fire is
roaring, the wine is uncorked and their beloved dog Max is frolicking
in the garden. Set to a classical music soundtrack, the scene is almost
too perfect in Orla O'Loughlin's production of Iain Finlay Macleod's
new play, as if lifted from the pages of some high society magazine.

Enter John, an intruder from the opposite end of the social spectrum,
whose rude intrusion and kidnap of Max sees the veneer of
respectability rapidly unravel as Lara at least shows her true colours.
The name of the game for what follows is survival, as John first
becomes trapped, only to use his animal mentality to turn the tables on
his captors. As played by John Bett and Barbara Rafferty as Cameron and
Lara, and Keith Fleming as John, the heightened grotesquerie in the
cartoon class war that follows resembles the sort of treatment Mike
Leigh might give his subjects. John in particular is cut from the same
cloth as underclass anti-hero Johnny in Leigh's film, Naked.

As increasingly absurd as things become in the play's comically cutting
dissection of snobbery, prejudice and just how divided a city
Scotland's capital can be sometimes, to fully hit home it could be even
more manic and even more savage in its delivery. Despite this, the
local references from Irvine Welsh to Jack Vettriano which are peppered
throughout Macleod's script provoked instant recognition from the
first-night audience in this enlightened tale of two cities occupying
the same urban jungle.

The Herald, December 12th 2014

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

Desire Lines – The Future Is Unwritten


Thirty-five years ago tonight, on December 8th 1979, I went along to an
under-eighteens matinee gig in a shabby basement club in a run-down
street in Liverpool city centre.

I was fifteen, the band I went to see was called Joy Division and the
club was called Eric's.

To say the experience was life-changing is an understatement.

Eric's was situated at one end of Mathew Street, and was already
legendary for birthing a colourful post-punk underground made up of
bands with ridiculous names such as Echo and the Bunnymen and the
Teardrop Explodes.

Both these bands were signed to Zoo records, run by two young men from
an office at the other end of the street, over the road from Probe
Records, a social hub where all the Eric's crowd hung out.

A couple of years before on the same street in an old warehouse
transformed into an arts lab and cafe called the Liverpool School of
Language, Music, Dream and Pun, maverick theatre director Ken Campbell
premiered a twelve-hour stage version of a sprawling science-fiction
conspiracy novel called Illuminatus.

The production of Illuminatus too had become the stuff of legend, and
featured the likes of Jim Broadbent and Bill Nighy in the company, with
set design by a young carpenter called Bill Drummond, who went on to
play at Eric's in a band called Big in Japan before co-founding the
aforementioned Zoo Records.

Illuminatus transferred to the just opened National Theatre in London,
and was the first show to play at the centre's Cottesloe space.

Even earlier, Mathew Street had been made famous by another basement
club situated across the road from Eric's, and called The Cavern.

The Cavern of course gifted the world The Beatles, and suddenly that
one shabby street became the centre of the universe.

These days, such activity would have prompted Mathew Street to be
dubbed something called a 'Cultural Quarter', that dead-eyed piece of
twenty-first century Newspeak designed to make property developers

As it is, Liverpool's city fathers decided to fill in the space where
the Cavern had been and build a car park on top, while Eric's closed
four months after the Joy Division show following a police raid.

Only later did anyone realise they could make money on the back of the
street's heritage, so now Mathew Street has a fake rebuilt Cavern, a
fake rebuilt Eric's and a lot of glossy Beatles theme bars where stag and
hen parties congregate.

At one point there was a wine bar called the John Lennon Society which
you had to wear a tie to get in.


The reason I'm rewinding across mine and my home town's back pages
isn't just out of middle-aged nostalgia.

It's an attempt to illustrate where a city's culture comes from, and
how urban regeneration can sometimes be the death of it.

This is highlighted in an exhibition currently running at the
Fruitmarket Gallery in Edinburgh by Canadian artist Stan Douglas, whose
play, Helen Lawrence, was seen at this year's Edinburgh International

Both looked in part at the world of Hogan's Alley, a run-down district
in post World War Two Vancouver,  where a blind eye was turned to a
back-street black economy, while also attracting musicians such as Duke
Ellington and Miles Davis to play.

Once the war was over, however, Hogan's Alley was cleaned up and
ultimately demolished in the name of gentrification.

This sort of thing is still happening all over the world.

It's happening  in Liverpool again, where the site of the world's first
super-club, Cream, is about to be bulldozed away so flats can be built.

It happened too in a once bankrupt New York, where CBGBs, the club that
gave the world The Ramones, Talking Heads and Blondie, was forced to
close because the people who ran it could no longer afford to pay the
high rents that came with regeneration of the once mean streets around
the club.

But this has been happening far closer to home for years.


When Jim Haynes, inspired by the energy of the Edinburgh Festiuval Fringe – which was
started, let's not forget, as a grassroots event when a group of
students turned up in the city during the International Festival and
started putting on their own events – opened up the UK's first ever
paperback bookshop close to the University, it set in motion a chain of
events that led to the creation of the Traverse Theatre, now rightly
regarded as one of the world's most important institutions for new work.

Rather than have a preservation order slapped on it, the street where
Jim's bookshop sat was flattened and turned into a car-park before the
University's Informatics Centre was eventually built.

A generation on, and the old bus station on New Street which housed the
original Bongo Club was demolished and the land taken over by property
developers who left it as a gap site for over a decade before the
Caltongate project as was was eventually given the green light.

The Cowgate Fire was a disaster which nobody could have foreseen, but
which destroyed venues such as La Belle Angele, The Gilded Balloon and
The Bridge Jazz Bar, as well as artist's studios and the work contained
in them.

Twelve years on, at long last we have La Belle Angele back, and I've
been inside and it's beautiful.

But above La Belle Angele, we also have brand new branches of Hotel
Ibis, Cafe Costa and Sainsbury's Express, three prime examples of the
creeping homogenisation by faceless multi-nationals of a city that's in
danger of having its unique heart ripped out.

The spectacular mismanagement of Edinburgh University Settlement led to
the demise of both the Roxy Art House and the Bristo Halls home of the
Forest, both thriving grassroots ventures which grew up in the spirit
of the Bongo, but which were sold to owners who only seem to use them
with any real visibility during August.

Right now, the Picture House on Lothian Road is about to be given
planning permission to convert this former cinema and concert venue
into a superpub by Wetherspoon's, a brewery based in Watford.

This, despite some 13000 signatories of a petition protesting the move.

Meanwhile, the property developers who own the old Odeon cinema on
South Clerk Street appear to be letting the building go to wrack and
ruin until they get their own way and are allowed to turn this listed
building into flats.

And, last weekend, yet another Edinburgh bar cancelled its live music
nights because a solitary complainer didn't like it, while the archaic
notion of a zero audibility clause deems such a move acceptable.

If such a clause had been enforced in the recent past, both the Fringe
and the 1960s folk revival would have been dead in the water before
they'd even begun.

And imagine what might have happened the night when the late Kurt Cobain played
an impromptu gig in the Southern Bar if a couple of Council officers
had turned up and told him to keep the racket down.


And yet, great things still come out of Edinburgh, despite what seems
sometimes like the best efforts to restrict, police or just prevent
artistic activity beyond the city's great institutions.

This is the city that sired Grid Iron theatre company, the
site-specific auteurs who started off performing shows in Mary King's
Close, and who have since performed in Edinburgh Airport and Ratho
climbing centre, and are rightly regarded as one of the world's great
contemporary theatre companies.

Now in its third space, the artist-run Embassy gallery off Broughton St
has just celebrated its tenth anniversary, while down the road on
Arthur St, the Rhubaba artspace is similarly thriving in a Leith
brought to glorious life during the two-day LeithLate extravaganza.

Initiatives such as the Village Pub Theatre, which operates out of a pub
function room, and Discover 21, a thirty-five-seat theatre space in an
old office block, are also thriving.

Then there is Young Fathers, the Edinburgh band who won this year's
Mercury Music Prize, and who met at an under eighteens hip-hop night in
the Bongo Club.

Since winning the Mercury, Young Fathers have been vocal about the
noise laws in the city, which everyone knows has been a problem for

A grassroots spoken-word scene led by nights such as Neu Reekie and 
Rally & Broad is making waves across the country.

So it's great that Edinburgh Book Festival is already recognising that
scene in the city through their Unbound season of Sunday night
speak-easy events in the Spiegeltent featuring programmes by Neu
Reekie, Rally & Broad and others.

But those nights have their roots in the sort of events which Neu!
Reekie! co-founder Kevin Williamson used to put on with his seminal
magazine Rebel Inc in the back rooms of pubs and community centres and
the old Unemployed Workers Centre on Broughton Street, which was
forcibly closed following a police raid.

Similarly, it's vital that a novelist such as Julian Cope can be
embraced by the Book Festival.

But if he and his band the Teardrop Explodes hadn't found a platform to
perform in a shabby basement club in Liverpool called Eric's
thirty-five years ago, he might have ended up becoming a teacher, which
was the original plan.


So while Edinburgh's festivals and institutions need to be cared for
and resourced and constantly refreshed, art doesn't work from top-down

Art works from the ground up, in back-rooms of pubs and creative spaces
with cheap rents where artists can make a scene.

In this way, the whole city is a cultural quarter, whether you're
watching a band in a bar on Leith Walk, walking up Martin Creed's steps
or wandering through the Richard Demarco archive in this magnificent

We don't need to look to Austin, Manchester or Glasgow for advice on
how to do things.

All those cities do wonderful things in their own special way, and out
of a particular set of social, economic and political circumstances,
but so does Edinburgh, and we have all the expertise we need in this
room right now.

This isn't about money, because everyone here knows there isn't any.

This is about developing a will to do great things and, rather than
being seen to put obstacles in artists paths, to enable them.

And through that will, the City needs to learn to say no to property
developers and breweries, and to protect its existing cultural assets
by annexing the arts centres, bars and grassroots spaces and asset-lock
them so they can't be turned into one more Sainsbury's Express.


Over at the Traverse tonight, photographer Alan McCredie is launching
his book, One Hundred Weeks of Scotland, a collection of images taken
across the country over the two years leading up to this year's
referendum on independence.

In a pub in Leith, Paul Vickers – the singer with the band, Paul
Vickers and The Leg as well as a comedian and stalwart of the Free
Fringe - is running a pub quiz in a way which I suspect will more
resemble surrealist performance art.

On BBC 6Music, a band called The Sexual Objects, led by a man called
Davy Henderson, whose musical roots go back to Edinburgh's
world-changing post punk scene with his band Fire Engines, who formed
after seeing The Clash's White Riot tour at Edinburgh Playhouse, and
are now cited by the likes of Franz Ferdinand as a major influence, are
playing a live radio session.

None of these artists needed official approval for what they're doing.

Nor were they part of any managerialist box-ticking strategy.

And yet, 100 Weeks of Scotland has already caught the national
imagination; Paul Vickers is planning to take his new show to the
Prague Fringe next May; while The Sexual Objects are about to release a
new album that might just prove to be the record of the year.

All of these artists just did this stuff because they wanted to, they
needed to, and, in the context of tonight, they desired to.

And that's exactly how it should be.

As The Clash's Joe Strummer said long after he played Edinburgh
Playhouse, the future is unwritten.

It's up to everyone here to make sure that future is written the way we
want it to be.


A shorter version of the above was originally presented as part of
Desire Lines – What makes Edinburgh a culturally successful city?,
which took place in the Dissection Room at Summerhall, Edinburgh on
December 8th 2014.

Desire Lines was an initiative set up by a steering group of fourteen
representatives of some of Edinburgh's major arts institutions to
promote discussion on arts and culture in Edinburgh in a way that looks
forward to City of Edinburgh Council's forthcoming cultural strategy in
March 2015.

Desire Lines was chaired by Joyce McMillan, and consisted of four
parts; 1. Divided City? The audience for the arts in Edinburgh; 2. The
arts and the city economy; 3. Spaces for the arts in Edinburgh; 4. The
different artforms and the challenges they face.

Each part of Desire Lines featured an introductory three-five minute
'provocation' by invited speakers, which were followed by
contributions from the floor.

Divided City? The audience for the arts in Edinburgh featured Linda
Irvine (Strategic Programme Manager, NHS Lothian).

The arts and the city economy featured James Anderson (Trust Manager,
Scottish Mortgage Investment Trust PLC).

Spaces for the arts in Edinburgh featured Malcolm Fraser (Director,
Malcolm Fraser Architects) and myself.

The different artforms and the challenges they face featured Olaf
Furniss (Director, Born to be Wide), Caitlin Skinner (Artistic
Director, The Village Pub Theatre), Morvern Cunningham (Festival
Producer, LeithLate).

The Desire Lines steering group consisted of Jan-Bert van den Berg
(Artlink), Deborah Keogh (Culture Enterprise Office), Adam Knight
(Edinburgh Playhouse), Cerin Richardson (Festival City Theatres Trust),
Janine Matheson (Creative Edinburgh), Jenny Langlands (Dance Base), Ken
Hay (Centre for the Moving Image), Karl Chapman (Usher Hall), Duncan
Hendry (Festival City Theatres Trust), Faith Liddell (Festivals
Edinburgh), Nick Barley (Edinburgh International Book Festival), Frank
Little (Edinburgh Museums and Galleries), Donald Smith (Traditional
Arts and Culture Scotland), Fiona Bradley (Fruitmarket Gallery).