First Strass-Kahn, now Ken Clarke

For those whose patience with my postings about sexual politics is wearing thin, be assured that this is about journalism. Even though it begins with rape. Really.

So Ken Clarke thinks some rapes are more serious than others. Or perhaps not, depending on which of his interviews yesterday you read. And now he is in trouble.

First, Mr Clarke is right. Some rapes are more serious than others. If a sixteen-year old has consenting sex with his fifteen-year old girlfriend, that's rape, and it's a less serious than a rape in which a woman walking home at night is dragged into bushes and attacked by a gang. It's to reflect this divergence in seriousness that guidelines equip judges with such a wide range of sentences.

For what it's worth, I think Clarke was rattled by his interviewer, Victoria Derbyshire, because his new plan to give convicted rapists 50% sentence discount on an early plea could, Derbyshire pointed out, result in some rapists serving as little as 15 months.

Clarke's appeal is that he sounds like a real person, unlike most politicians, who seem to have been produced in a factory specialising in unattractive, evasive, bland middle-aged white men. Here however he sounded like a real person who had not thought the issue through properly, or at least not read his brief. And he was flustered.

But how did the BBC react? Well, I listened to a lot of news coverage from lunchtime until the early evening, and the part of the story which excited them, on Radio 5, Radio 4 and on TV, was the bit about some rapes being more serious than others. The real meat, the admission that what is essentially a cost cutting exercise might lead to convicted rapists being on the streets after not much more than a year, featured only in re-runs of Derbyshire's initial interview.

By late afternoon, when Clarke had attempted to clarify his comments, the news headlines were leading with "Justice Secretary Kenneth Clarke has apologised for appearing to suggest that some rape cases were more serious than others". I heard this line again and again, and it is worth a bit of deconstruction.

In the first place, Clarke didn't apologise. Secondly, in none of his interviews did he withdraw from his original position. Thirdly, the BBC's use of the word "appearing" is a time-honoured formula used when the Broadcaster doesn't quite want to commit itself to a particular allegation. "Wayne Rooney appeared to strike the Tottenham defender" might be a characteristic use of the word, even though millions of TV viewers have seen the spud-faced nipper give Jamie Carragher an elbow in the face en passant. But Clarke did not just appear to say the controversial words; he did say them, and the BBC kept playing the tape of him saying them over and over again.

But lastly, "Kenneth Clarke has apologised for appearing to suggest that some rape cases were more serious than others" carries with it, however faintly, two assumptions. One is that Clarke had done something wrong and that an apology was called for; the other, more seriously, that Clarke's original statement - that some rapes were more serious than others - was wrong. This is a subtle point, but it must be right, because otherwise the Corporation would have been reporting that Clarke had apologised when he didn't have to, for having done something right; and that would have been the story instead.

Now of course, when a politician loses the plot slightly on your network, you are going to push the boat out on it, particularly on a slow news day. The BBC could hardly be blamed for that. But as this story kept growing - Ed Miliband in the Commons calling for Clarke to be sacked - I kept wondering, "When are they going to get a lawyer on to find out whether he's right or not?" And the answer was that the BBC had plenty of time for political correspondents, and for politicians of both right and left, but none whatsoever for anyone who might have been able to tell them whether the law really did treat some rapes as more serious than others.

In other words, the BBC extracted a telling admission from the Justice Secretary, ignored it, ran a story instead about another assertion he had made, took no steps to find out whether it was true, reported him as apologising when he had not, and made assumptions about his statement which an elementary check would have revealed were wrong.

Although at the time I engaged in a death-struggle to get out of the profession, I am quite proud that, before I became a not-quite award-winning composer and conductor, I was once a lawyer. If nothing else, it has equipped me with the priceless realisation that, since the media is almost invariably wrong when it pontificates in this field, it is likely to be wrong in most others as well.

Start, fellow-citizens, from the assumption that the media is populated by people who are less intelligent, less scrupulous and less well-informed than you are, and the path to enlightenment is yours.

Lady Gaga and the slut walkers

Let's assume that I've made a pie, and I stick it on the window sill to cool. Some nefarious so-and-so comes along and pinches it. Now, it's wrong to steal, and the thief shouldn't have done it, but I also am an idiot for leaving it outside.

What has this to do with the Canadian police officer who said that women should "avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimised"? This man has unsurprisingly been taking some flak for his remarks, thus reigniting an issue that has been filling column inches about once a decade for the last thirty years or so and provoking "slut-walking" demonstrations across America.

Let me explain about the pies. There are two separate issues here - one is the conduct of the pie thief, the other the conduct of the baker. Calling the baker foolish is not to diminish the maleficence of the thief; and neither is counselling bakers to cool their pies out of reach giving thieves licence to roam freely.

Applying that logic to the slut-walkers, women should of course be able to wear whatever they like in public without being molested or attacked; men who attack them are doing something wrong. On the other hand women are inevitably more likely to be attacked if they dress provocatively, and you might think it was uncontroversial for the police officer to suggest they could minimise that risk.

The organiser of a "slut-walk" in Boston, Mass., 20 year old Siobhan Connors explained to the Associated Press, "The event is in protest of a culture that we think is too permissive when it comes to rape and sexual assault. It's to bring awareness to the shame and degradation women still face for expressing their sexuality... essentially for behaving in a healthy and sexual way".

Ms Connors doesn't get it, and aged 20 could perhaps could hardly be expected to. Sex is mens' achilles heel - it flicks a switch that bypasses our brains and diverts our energies, well, elsewhere. We see the signs that nature or nurture have implanted in us, and from then on we really are thinking about only one thing. Thinking may not actually be the right word. For millenia this weakness has acted as a cruel double-edged sword. While women have youth and beauty, the world is theirs to command. Women who exploit it draw men towards them, and some of that attention will be unwelcome. When those attractions have gone, society pushes women to the margins. Most women, the unlucky majority, do not make it beyond the margins in the first place.

That is the cruel law of sexual attraction, and most women who have lived a little longer than Ms Connors understand it only too well. Rather than criticising the policeman, Ms Connors should be saying, "Fine, let's be aware that showing a bit of leg could get us into trouble, but now let's make sure that our streets are properly policed and that sexual assaults - which happen to people modestly dressed too - are properly investigated and prosecuted."

Last night I watched with my daughters bits of Radio 1's big weekend (in Carlisle - someone at the BBC has a sense of humour). The headline act was Lady Gaga. The New York chanteuse did three or four anonymous Euro-disco numbers in rubber leggings; an incongruous trumpet solo followed while she changed costume, emerging in a rubber mini-dress and fishnets to sing an incongruous jazzy torch song (surprisingly well); she went to the piano (an instrument with which she showed prior acquaintance, even while standing on it in her spike heels) and sang something slow and passionate; she went off stage and emerged in a rubber crop top and hot pants with a crucifix on the front. More disco. We yawned, switched off and went to bed.

There was less sexual content to the material than I'd thought there would be. The fetish stylings were an add on. Ms Gaga came across as a Madonna for the new century, only more talented and more vulnerable (she threw herself into it with an uncontrolled passion which is unfakeable). But Gaga knows that sex sells, and of course I wondered what my daughters made of it and whether they should be watching at all. But the reality is that this stuff is out there on the internet, and short of shutting them in the house without computers and TV, there is nothing you can do to stop them watching it, or stop them coming to the conclusion that this is how women should be.

I think of myself as a feminist (my wife laughs a bitter laugh when I say it), but I sometimes think that all sexual liberation has done for women is to free them to be more like the way men would like them to be.

The slut-walkers of America, parading along in their bra and knickers, are marching to a man's tune that apparently they can't hear.

Setting Scotland free

So in the next five years there will be a referendum on Scottish independence. Leaving aside the many other interesting aspects of this event (what form should the referendum take? what sort of majority should be required? should other British people have a say? what currency willScotland use? what will happen to the union flag?), I have been musing over some figures.

Estimates of the post independence loss to Scotland in terms of revenue vary between about £10 - 20 billion per annum. Let's take the low estimate of £10 billion, and apply that to the 2.5 million Scottish taxpayers. If Scotland had to make up its revenue loss by increasing taxes, the average taxpayer would be £4000 worse off every year. Of course this doesn't take into account corporate taxes, but you get the picture. Given that imposition of that kind of increase is politically impossible, and would in any event send the economy into a nosedive, it looks as if Scotland would have to impose draconian spending cuts that would make George Osborne's current efforts look feeble (and would in any event take demand out of the economy and strangle economic growth). Of course Alex Salmond would have an answer to this. I'm not sure what it would be, but Salmond is an impressive politician who rivals Ed Balls in his ability to make the best of a dubious case.

I suspect that independence would in the long run make Scotland a lot poorer economically, and that, far from the socialist paradise some Scots imagine would ensue if only they could get rid ofWestminster's shackles, Scotland would actually become a more right wing country than it is now. Scottish taxpayers would realise that the public services on which so much of the country depends were only affordable at very much higher levels of taxation. They would start to ask where the money was going (it being only too apparent to them from where it was coming). Conversely, Englandwould I think become less right-wing for the obvious converse reasons.

If enough Scots want independence, of course they should have it. There is a strong streak of sentimentality about nationalism everywhere, in which myths are burnished at the expense of inconvenient facts. Not many Scots know that more of their countrymen fought with the Hanoverians than with the Jacobites at Culloden, or that Bonnie Prince Charlie's mother was a Polish countess, or that his first language was Italian and that he spoke neither Gaelic nor English. I wonder whether this sentimentality is blinding Scots to economic realities too. Freedom from the tax generating engine which is the South East of England (and which keeps us Mancunians going too) may well be a chilly kind of freedom.

Edward Elgar and the significance of talent

The first two qualities a great composer needs are talent and technique; the first you either have or you don't, the second you can learn. But these two aren't enough - otherwise Saint-Saens and Glazunov would have been great composers, along with a host of other journeymen you've never heard of (and any musical biography like Michael Kennedy's Portrait of Elgar, which I've just finished, will mention in passing a host of half-forgotten names).

The third quality in this non-exhaustive list is the ability to write memorable and distinctive material - it's the quality of the invention, stupid. But there is a fourth quality which is equally a sine qua non, and it's a hard one to articulate. You have to have the right kind of personality; because ultimately its the kind of person you are that limits what you can achieve. Beethoven, for example, exhibits himself as someone with a vast emotional and intellectual range, passionate about humanity, nature and God, with a variety and range of output to match. This is also true of Mozart and Brahms. For other composers the situation is more complex. Mahler's range is much narrower, in my view, perhaps pithily summed up by the sentence, "I'm dying". This is also true of Shostakovitch ("Stalin was horrid to me") and a host of smaller figures. It seems to me that the true measure of the classical greats is not that they had so much talent, but that they had so much to say. When in the 30s Sibelius felt he had nothing more, he stopped writing. Nielsen died, but I suspect had a lot more to give. Berlioz could have gone on forever.

What about Elgar? The Worcester genius has, like Vaughan Williams, been criticised for nostalgia, but I think this is unfair. The Lark Ascending isn't about a dead bird after all, and Elgar wasn't mourning the disappearance of the pre-1914 world - much of his best work dates from before the war, Enigma from 1899, for example. But undoubtedly Elgar was a bit of a professional whinger. He whinged about his low social status, about the indifference of the British public, about the meanness of his publishers, the poor standard of performance he had to endure and about his health. He complained about America (when he was engaged on sell-out tours there to conduct his own music). He complained when a lesser-known composer's work was given equal rehearsal time to his own. He walked out of a dinner because the organisers forgot about his Order of Merit and put him on the wrong table. He was constantly threatening to give up music because of its indifferent reception (and this was a man given a knighthood and befriended by the King). Elgar's first symphony was given over one hundred performances in the year after its premiere; but that still didn't stem the litany of complaint.

These characteristics should, and do, tell us quite a lot about Elgar the composer. He is very very good at complaining, musically, and if one had to generalise about the tone of his work it would probably be fair to say that it laments that things are not as they should be. To be fair, this lament is often couched in music of the utmost beauty, subtlety and radiance; but there is quite a high proportion of lamenting going on. When you sit down to listen to a piece by Elgar it is rare to be surprised by the tone. This explains both the appeal of his music and the limitations of that appeal, and that's why my favourite Elgar pieces are the Introduction and Allegro (simple, artless, energetic, poignant, and as Kennedy says, amongst the best half-dozen string pieces ever written), and the Cello Concerto. The Concerto in particular, a late work given a poor first performance and slow to make its way into the repertoire, is a masterpiece, sui generis, unique in form, economical in proportions, terse, and balanced perfectly between haunted emotionalism and rumbustious high spirits. If there is a work which better demonstrates how to orchestrate a concertante piece I don't know of it - there is only one tutti (the last few bars), yet there is plenty for the orchestra to do; the instrumental writing is full of colour and variety, yet the soloist can always be heard. There is no wallowing in the emotion, and the music is for once with Elgar entirely devoid of sentimentality (for any artist a quality as seductively fatal as heroin).

If these pieces are the best of Elgar, it is partly because they contrast with the less-good, of which the worst is perhaps The Music Makers, a setting of Arthur O'Shaughnessy's Ode by turns self-pitying and self-indulgent. I once played the fiddle in a performance of The Music Makers at the Barbican. Ted Heath was in the audience; I hope he enjoyed it more than I did. As Kennedy and others have pointed out, it's not Elgar's fault that the poem is so bad. It is however Elgar's fault that he chose to set it, and it is entirely in keeping with what we know about Elgar's personality that he thought the poem good.

For Elgar had another quality beyond the ones I've mentioned above. He thought (correctly) that he was a much better composer than most of his contemporaries; he was unrepentant about this, and unashamed about expressing it publicly; his musical personality was to a significant extent based around the failure, real and imaginary, of Britain and the rest of the musical world to give his talent its due. In fact the overwhelming majority of people sufficiently driven to call themselves composers would have given their right arm to have had a career like Elgar's, and his failure to realise this marks a failure to understand the world as it really is. And it is an artist's capacity for understanding of the world which is the ultimate test. A sense of personal entitlement can be a spur to effort, but carried too far into a composer's work it is limiting, and I personally think it limited Elgar.

That Beethoven, to give only one example, was a greater man may be seen not only from his refusal to bow down before the onset of deafness (an infinitely greater trial than anything Elgar had to put up with), but also the refusal to allow his affliction to dominate his work. Rather than greater raw talent or technique, it's the personality which this ability to rise above one's circumstances exemplifies that makes Beethoven a greater composer.

2nd past the post redux

Amidst all the excitement of the last few days - elections, United beating Chelsea, a terrible fire in one of my favourite places in Scotland - one rather surprising thing stands out. It is that of the four hundred odd voting areas in the UK only ten voted for AV.

I hoped AV would be rejected, and thought it probably would be, but this is a staggering statistic. Just as interesting is the location of these ten places. There is a rather beautiful map with the information on the Graun's website here - http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/datablog/interactive/2011/may/06/av-referendum-results-map. And yes, those places are exactly where you would have thought they would be. Hackney, Camden, Lambeth, Islington, Haringey, Southwark, Glasgow Kelvin, Edinburgh Central, Oxford and Cambridge; in other words the places occupied by the highest density of Britain's great and good.

There are a number of ways of looking at this. One is that the great and the good are the best educated and most intelligent, which means that the lumpen majority (including me) is likely to have been wrong about AV.

Another is that the great and good are prone to wanting to change something for change's sake, and that, before signing up for it, the rest of us prefer to be convinced that a change will make things better.

Martyrdom - but not yet

I couldn't help thinking, on this sunny post-Osama bin Laden morning, that while ol' towel-head was a great enthusiast for martyrdom, this enthusiasm did not extend to getting in harm's way himself.

To be exact, for ten years after 9/11 he did his utmost to avoid confrontation with the Americans, conveniently keeping his own skin intact and thereby exhibiting an endearingly human, if somewhat hypocritical, desire to remain alive whilst urging others to get to heaven a.s.a.p. via the bomb-vest method.

Perhaps having four wives (and with power to add), Osama felt that he was already getting his fair share of virgins here on earth. Why the hurry to go upstairs?

Royal Wedding fever

Continuing its tradition of fearlessly tackling any subject, no matter how weighty, this blog now turns its attention to the Royal Wedding.

On 29th July 1981, the day Charles and Diana married, I was on holiday in Scotland. In the morning I went into Lochinver to send a postcard to a girl I was seeing. Sadly, I can still remember the card: two caricature Scotsmen looking up at a wall-mounted stag's head - "Did you get him in the Trossachs?", says one; "Nooo", the other replies, "right between the eyes".

It may well be that the uncanny ability to remember trivial information of this type was the kind of characteristic which led to her dumping me immediately on my return.

(My successor in the post was one of our lecturers in the Law department of Nottingham University; no doubt I'd have had to report him to the authorities for kiddy-fiddling in our more responsible times, but then I merely satisfied myself with running him out in the next staff-student cricket match. If you're reading, Louise, no hard feelings.)

Marriage was far from my mind then, and while my friends spent the day in the Culag Hotel watching Charles and Diana's big day, I went fishing. I felt a certain sniffy contempt for the Royal family.

Times change. I have now been married for nearly twenty years, and I quite like the monarchy. No doubt this is partly attributable to the rightward-sweeping tide that pulls most middle-aged people with it. My calculation is that Charles is an intelligent and cultured man, that his probable successor looks as if he is shaping up reasonably well, that the monarchy probably brings in at least the cost of the Civil List by way of tourist revenue, and that if we had an elected President instead we would be more likely to get a Ken Livingstone or Boris Johnson applying than a Vaclav Havel or Nelson Mandela. If it's not obviously broken, don't try and fix it.

As for weddings, they are symbolic occasions in which, against all the evidence, two people embark on a journey (oh Lord, how I hoped I would never use that expression), a gamble if you prefer, one with emotional, financial and existential stakes, without any idea of the outcome. Weddings have about them the same atmosphere that must linger at the dockside when someone sets out to sail around the world, or at the airport departure lounge when mountaineers go off to try their hand at Everest: excitement mingled with trepidation.

I find weddings poignant events now. Thoughtful protagonists know that they cannot possibly know what the journey will be like; we observers, battle-scarred veterans of the institution, know that there is a further layer of almost Rumsfeldian ignorance beyond the grasp of the bride and groom. These people are innocents, signing up for something, good and bad, of whose reality they can have almost no conception. A Royal wedding carries the additional charge that the couple will form part of the distant cultural and political backdrop of British lives for decades to come; it pains me to adopt such an egregious cliche, but now I see why journalists write about "history being made".

So good luck to William and Kate. They will need it. My daughters will be glued to the TV tomorrow. I might go fishing.