By The Landlord
“Some enchanted evening,
You may see a stranger
Across a crowded room.” – Oscar Hammerstein
“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky …” – TS Eliot
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” – Dylan Thomas
“You don't know what kind of day you will have, until evening.” – Sophocles
"Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!” – William Blake
“Now came still evening on; and twilight grey
Had in her sober livery all things clad:
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to they grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.” – John Milton
Good evening. This is a phrase that, as shadows lengthen and the sun lowers over the yardarm, puts other, more casual greetings, in the shade. And there’s something special about the evening, with associations of slipping into something special, whether that is the wear of glamour, or as dusk descends, the retirement of the day's tasks easing into its slippers and dressing gown, pouring a glass of wine, and sitting comfortably back as the needle of the record player gently drops and caresses the vinyl.
The sound of it is, even, relaxing, with a suggestion that the ups and downs, emotion and events of all the previous hours are, in mind and body – evening out. And then as the evening wears on, as this part of the day is changing into the clothes of a different perspective.
So this week, as In the western hemisphere it gradually hastens in September, we are all about the evening, that period between afternoon and night, most probably beginning around 6pm, after work, or at least dusk until bedtime. The emphasis is in that time period, and songs that in any way indicate it and are about it, the fading of outside light, the drawing of curtains, settling in, or indeed getting ready to go out, the lacing up of dancing shoes, the first drink, the setting yourself up, any social activities of the evening from parties to prayers, classes to dinners to dancing and all the feelings that accompany them. Metaphors might come into play in a secondary way, 'evening of a relationship' or similar would come over more contrived and, and be somewhat, for this topic, out of time.
My evenings have changed considerably since the spring, primarily because of the terrible absence of live music. I would voraciously attend as much as possible, keen to support, enjoy and be involved in this artform in many ways. And I am also a big fan of cinema, but having tried that once, only last night in fact, since restrictions were lifted, feel that it's not so much fun watching a movie in a mask, wondering what kind of breaths are in your vicinity. So apart from the occasional outdoor pub meetup , staying in is my new going out, at least for now. But with that the evening has brought new, sometimes more tranquil and also rewarding activities.
Nights on the town are slightly down …
As the American novelist Ann Beattie puts it: “Nothing is so lovely as a quietly snoring dog and some evening Brahms, as you sit in a comfortably overstuffed chair with your feet on the footstool.”
Evening radio is also often far superior to daytime broadcasts. It's usually more considered, not pumped up with the culture of rushing to work or school, punctuated by the constant loops of repeated news stories or soundbites, or the the shallow style of lighthearted lunchtime or afternoon broadcasting. I’m not sure why that has to be, especially with the way modern routines are changing. But somehow later on, our brains and bodies may be more tired, but they are eased into shape by the evening, have more focus, finally escaped from the days' tasks, and seem ready for something more cultural, intelligent, calming, or stimulating, a time to catch up with yourself.
Talking of which, the title of this introduction leads me to that great book by Kazuo Ishiguro, and the rather wonderful 1993 film starring Anthony Hopkins as Mr Stevens, the uptight, efficient butler, and Emma Thompson as Miss Kenton, the housekeeper who arrives to join the staff at 1930s Darlington Hall. It's a story of suppressed love and subservience in the most English possible way, the tight-lipped Stevens never able to express his love for her, always obsessed with being a dutiful servant to his dubious employers, but the day's many onerous tasks only made bearable by their eventual relaxing evening chats by the fireside, a gentle ember of an imagined better life, gently fond and platonic, but always marked by the formality of calling each other by their professional prefix, before politely bidding each other a passionless goodnight.
“The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it."
In this scene, years later after she has left the house, and has now changed to Mrs Benn, though is in unhappy marriage, they meet up for a seaside stroll, but he is still unable to express his love. "They do say that for a great many people the evening is the best part of the day," she says casually, as the pier lights twinkle on, just as the natural light fades. In that second of transition, one of many magical moments, it almost triggers him to express his true feelings, but still, shown by the subtlest eye and mouth movement, somehow he cannot.
So then, many other distinguished guests are now entering the Bar for a gentle evening chat and wanting to add their own evening contribution. Charles Bukowski is sat with a bottle. He’s not quite in fighting mode, but has had a few, and is no mood to be contradicted on how precious are his evenings: “Each person is only given so many evenings and each wasted evening is a gross violation against the natural course of your only life.” But perhaps because he’s wasted quite a few himself.
And as well as Bukowski, Dylan Thomas, John Milton, William Blake, TS Eliot et al, there are many other poets and authors hanging out and ordering drinks, attracted towards this topic.
“The evening is the time to praise the day,” says Vladimir Nabokov with a copy of Pale Fire in hand. “Yes,” says Jean de La Fontaine, finding the company accommodating. "Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life."
“Outside, the air filled with cricket noise, as the sun reddened in its descent,” says R.J. Lawrence plugging his book The Fortunate Only.
Many visitors tonight are drawn towards how light changes. “The evening of life brings with it its lamps,” says Joseph Joubert.
And with the evening’s arrival comes the gradual reveal of the firmament. “The night hides a world, but reveals a universe,” says Terry Gotham. “The moon blows kisses to the evening primrose,” adds Richard L. Ratliff. “I see an evening sky strewn with diamonds and glass,” adds E.J. Hill, from Ashes of Glass. And more stars are coming out:
“Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth.” – Joseph Addison
“The evening star
Is the most
beautiful
of all stars”. – Sappho
“Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column and the cups
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.” – William Cowper
“I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on,
The windows and the stars illumined, one by one,
The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily,
And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see
The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass;
And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass,
I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight,
And build me stately palaces by candlelight.” – Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal
A couple of writers portray the evening with something of an exhausted person. ““The evening, lacking intelligent relations, crumbles down into the haze of the horizon,” says Federico García Lorca, in The Dialogue of Two Snails.
"Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon,” says Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, putting his own feet up by our fireplace.
But some writers are thinking more about what the evening will become. "Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray,” pronouces Lord Byron, putting this cane down with a flourish.
“The evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming,” reckons Al Stewart.
But the final word comes from Giovannie de Sadeleer, who looks forward the next day: “The last thought in the evening is often the first one in the morning.”
The dying of the light.
So then, what will this evening, and subsequent ones bring in terms of songs on this subject? Taking, with great skill, these evening classes, and being your host for the next few days and evenings, I’m delighted to welcome back the highly perceptive philipphilip99 behind the pumps! Please place your evening songs in comments below by last orders 11pm UK evening time on Monday, for playlists published on Wednesday. And a very fine and lovely evening to you all.
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