Gigging around Oxford
I may not have mentioned it on the blog so far, so I’ll do it now: back in September, I was lucky enough to find a place playing keyboards in one of Oxford University’s three main student-run jazz bands, the Donut Kings. Despite the somewhat silly name, I’m very happy to be one of the “Donuts” – the band meets on Tuesday evenings at Christ Church, and the gigs we play, which have mostly consisted of Oxford University student drinking parties and formal events so far, make me feel like I’m taking part in the social life of Oxford University.
We don’t do many public gigs, unfortunately, so Ori hasn’t had a chance to hear us play yet. Last night, we played a very private gig,
in fact – the Christ Church & Farley Hill Beagles’ Hunt Ball, which was held at the Oxford Town Hall. My understanding of the whole thing is still quite sketchy, but as far as I can tell, the CCFHB consists mostly of Oxford students from old, aristocratic English families. When I remarked to a fellow bandmember that the whole “hunt” thing didn’t mean much to me, the reply was that “it probably means something to the people who own half of England.” So there you go.
You could certainly tell – the attendees, all no older than I, were all dressed in white tie, or mess dress (the military equivalent), or full Scottish regalia, and, for the girls, ball gowns and the like. The event consisted of a three-course sit-down meal, followed by entertainment by the Donut Kings and other diversions (a hunting horn-blowing competition and reel dancing). When the reels started, it looked from the stage like everybody was just galloping around in circles, but when they all stamped their feet and clapped at the same time, I realized that they all actually knew the steps. I guess this is what you learn when you grow up as an aristocrat.
It was all a bit much. It would appear as if these kids had, for the most part, lived lives of extreme privilege since day one, and an air of superiority certainly came across in some of their interactions with the more “ordinary” people in the room. From the entries in the program (e.g., “Hounds will meet as follows”, “Carriages 12.00″, and “we’re the Christ Church Beaglers and we’re above the law!”) to various boastful claims I overheard throughout the evening (“I’m going to be a politician someday, so I should really get over my fear of public speaking”), it all began to grate on my nerves. Even the whole reason for the group’s existence, beagling (see also here), seems cruel, elitist and wasteful. Strangely enough, I can’t find any references anywhere to beagling actually involving the killing of hares or other animals, and Wikipedia says that hunting with dogs is now illegal in England. So maybe it’s an entirely social organization nowadays.
At any rate, it’s symptomatic of the larger classist society we find ourselves a part of here in the UK. Whether or not one is a member of the aristocracy, one is certainly conscious of one’s standing in society’s hierarchy. We’ve even had our house’s kitchen described as “middle class” (what on earth does that even mean?). Of course, not everybody who attends Oxford University is of aristocratic descent, but I’m sure those who are feel right at home in the closed collegiate system that keeps the riffraff outside where they don’t ever have to be seen or dealt with.
I won’t miss it. We come from a country where anybody can – theoretically, at least – achieve any office or position within society. As in Venice, where no amount of wealth will buy you a position in a Venetian noble family, there are many parts of English society that are entirely closed to outsiders, no matter what. We’ve gotten a heavy dose of it here in Oxford, and that will be enough to last us for, oh, I don’t know, forever.
We don’t do many public gigs, unfortunately, so Ori hasn’t had a chance to hear us play yet. Last night, we played a very private gig,
in fact – the Christ Church & Farley Hill Beagles’ Hunt Ball, which was held at the Oxford Town Hall. My understanding of the whole thing is still quite sketchy, but as far as I can tell, the CCFHB consists mostly of Oxford students from old, aristocratic English families. When I remarked to a fellow bandmember that the whole “hunt” thing didn’t mean much to me, the reply was that “it probably means something to the people who own half of England.” So there you go.You could certainly tell – the attendees, all no older than I, were all dressed in white tie, or mess dress (the military equivalent), or full Scottish regalia, and, for the girls, ball gowns and the like. The event consisted of a three-course sit-down meal, followed by entertainment by the Donut Kings and other diversions (a hunting horn-blowing competition and reel dancing). When the reels started, it looked from the stage like everybody was just galloping around in circles, but when they all stamped their feet and clapped at the same time, I realized that they all actually knew the steps. I guess this is what you learn when you grow up as an aristocrat.
It was all a bit much. It would appear as if these kids had, for the most part, lived lives of extreme privilege since day one, and an air of superiority certainly came across in some of their interactions with the more “ordinary” people in the room. From the entries in the program (e.g., “Hounds will meet as follows”, “Carriages 12.00″, and “we’re the Christ Church Beaglers and we’re above the law!”) to various boastful claims I overheard throughout the evening (“I’m going to be a politician someday, so I should really get over my fear of public speaking”), it all began to grate on my nerves. Even the whole reason for the group’s existence, beagling (see also here), seems cruel, elitist and wasteful. Strangely enough, I can’t find any references anywhere to beagling actually involving the killing of hares or other animals, and Wikipedia says that hunting with dogs is now illegal in England. So maybe it’s an entirely social organization nowadays.
At any rate, it’s symptomatic of the larger classist society we find ourselves a part of here in the UK. Whether or not one is a member of the aristocracy, one is certainly conscious of one’s standing in society’s hierarchy. We’ve even had our house’s kitchen described as “middle class” (what on earth does that even mean?). Of course, not everybody who attends Oxford University is of aristocratic descent, but I’m sure those who are feel right at home in the closed collegiate system that keeps the riffraff outside where they don’t ever have to be seen or dealt with.
I won’t miss it. We come from a country where anybody can – theoretically, at least – achieve any office or position within society. As in Venice, where no amount of wealth will buy you a position in a Venetian noble family, there are many parts of English society that are entirely closed to outsiders, no matter what. We’ve gotten a heavy dose of it here in Oxford, and that will be enough to last us for, oh, I don’t know, forever.
