Henrik Ibsen

I have written some pieces for Mr. Thompson inside himself in which I found myself trying to avoid turning them into imitation classical or filmic soundtracks by making the themes implied but unplayed. This took a very long time and much fiddling, but I am now satisfied with both pieces and am sure that after hearing I can remember the bits that weren’t there as if they were, so to speak.

Anyway, for some new work I wanted to have a look at de-contructive rather than implicit themes as I was thinking about the sort of late victorian drama that starts off with everything in the garden lovely and then as stones are unturned reveals everything going to pot, something like Hedda Gabler or Ghosts as I remember them. So Ibsen was to be my muse. I have the piece mostly finished and was still casting about for a name when, at a book sale, I saw the very thing. A book entitled “Ibsen’s dramatic method”. I didn’t buy the book, and have no intention of buying or reading it, but I have pinched the name.

Taken in abstract, it is humorous enough but it reminds me of a truck I used to often see by the side of the road on my commute to London. It was a pantechnicon, and on the side was beautifully painted “G.H Lucking Theatrical Removals”. It always brought to mind a group of rather camp blokes in boiler suits sweeping their arms across their brows and woe-is-me-ing whilst shifting wardrobes and such. I am trying not to imagine Ibsen making a rousing and deeply felt expository speech to his morning egg before trepanning it.


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