Clare Teal with the Count Pearson Proms Band & Duke Windsor Proms Band at the Battle of the Bands, BBC Proms 2014. Photo: BBC/Chris Christodoulou
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Proms 2014: a triumphant blaze of 1930s jazz with Clare Teal's Battle of the Bands

Clare Teal brought an imagined “jazz off” between the Duke Ellington and Count Basie bands to the Royal Albert Hall.

The Proms is, of course, primarily a classical music festival. Other kinds of music are regularly featured, but the rule is always that it must be the very best that it could be. Novelty for novelty’s sake is not welcome.

This directive was amply fulfilled in jazz singer Clare Teal’s “Battle of the Bands” concert. The “Late Night” slot on a Friday evening was extremely appropriate for this programme - an imagined “jazz off” between the Duke Ellington and Count Basie bands. To the best of our knowledge such a clash never actually took place between these two celebrated bands of the 1930s and 1940s, although others regularly went head-to-head in New York’s clubs, taking it in turns to try and outdo each other with their interpretations of favourite tunes. As she explained at the start, Teal constructed this battle out of her “wildest imaginings”. Seeing and hearing her vision realised was something special.

Vula Malinga, Grant Windsor & the Duke Windsor Proms Band. Photo: BBC/Chris Christodoulou

Vula Malinga, Grant Windsor & the Duke Windsor Proms Band.
Photo: BBC/Chris Christodoulou

For one night, James Pearson became “Count Pearson” and Grant Windsor “Duke Windsor”. From the piano, they each directed an identical band of musicians drawn from the UK’s top jazz ensembles. Each “round” consisted of six tunes, three from each band, with guest appearances from vocalists Gregory Porter, Vula Malinga and Teal herself (maintaining her impartiality as referee and announcer, she divided her talents equally between each band). Swing dancers from the JazzCotech ensemble joined them onstage for some numbers, their tapping and twirling adding to the generally gleeful atmosphere.

Particular highlights came in the form of Teal’s vocal on “Moon Nocturne” with the Count Pearson band, her voice blending perfectly with the mellifluous saxophone solo; Vula Melinga’s riotous “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” with the Duke Windsor lot; and all the trumpets, most of the time. The bands were set out on the stage in a sort of mirror image, and it was lovely to see the musicians eyeing their counterparts on the other side, assessing their performances. Count Pearson’s drummer especially didn’t seem to be able to help himself - whenever his opposite number was performing, he was tapping along on his knees, testing out the rhythm.

Finale with Clare Teal, James Pearson & Count Pearson Proms Band, Grant Windsor & Duke Windsor Proms Band, Gregory Porter, Vula Malinga & JazzCotech. Photo: BBC/Chris Christodoulou

Everyone was a winner.  Photo: BBC/Chris Christodoulou

Although ostensibly a competition, the climax of the evening saw both bands play together in a triumphant blaze of big band sound. People were dancing in the arena and in their boxes, unable to keep still. Both bands were eventually declared the winners, as was only right - each had played their part in what was an unforgettable night.

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

JOHN OGILBY/PRIVATE COLLECTION/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
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Why did Britain's first road atlas take you to Aberystwyth?

Alan Ereira's new The Nine Lives of John Ogilby tells the story of a remarkable book – and its remarkable creator.

John Ogilby was a talented dancer with a bright future. Performing at White Hall Palace in February 1619, the 18-year-old leapt higher than ever to impress the watching James I and his queen. But then, crashing to the floor with a torn ligament, Ogilby never danced again. It was one of many misfortunes he overcame in a remarkable life. He went on to become a theatrical impresario, the deputy master of the revels in Ireland, a poet, a translator and a publisher of ancient classics. He even organised the public celebration of Charles II’s coronation. He was also an accomplished soldier, sailor and spy, as Alan Ereira reveals in this entertaining account of his “lives” and times.

It was a remarkable collection of lives for a man born in Scotland in 1600 and raised in poverty, the illegitimate son of an aristocrat. Yet Ogilby’s greatest achievement was to put Britain on the map when he was appointed “His Majesty’s Cosmographer and Geographick Printer” in 1674. His Britannia is the first detailed road atlas ever made. It opens with a map of England and Wales showing, he wrote, “all the principal roads actually measured and delineated”. It contains a hundred or so beautifully engraved plans of roads as winding ribbons sliced into sections. Rivers, forests, villages and bridges are included as landmarks.

Embracing the new science of measurement and experiment championed by the Royal Society, Ogilby’s surveyors used a wheel with a circumference of 16ft 6in and a handle that allowed it to be pushed along, as well as a clock face that recorded journey distances. With no universally agreed length of a mile, Ogilby chose 1,760 yards. Britannia led to the accurate measurement of almost 27,000 miles of tracks, paths and roads, though only about 7,500 are depicted in the atlas at one inch to the mile.

Britannia was published in September 1675. There were few who could afford it, at £5 (roughly £750 in today’s money), and it was too heavy to carry. Instead, travellers found their way around the country by following printed itineraries, with lists of the towns to pass through on any particular journey.

Britannia is not, as Ereira explains, an atlas of commercially useful roads of the day. The first journey is an odd one, from London to Aberystwyth, then a town of fewer than 100 houses and a ruined castle. Some of the roads chosen were no longer in use, while important routes such as those to Liverpool and Sheffield were left out.

But the choice of roads in Britannia begins to make sense as being those necessary for the royal mastery of the kingdom. The London to Aberystwyth road led to mines nearby. In the days of Charles I those mines contained lead and silver that helped the king pay his soldiers during the civil war. Britannia was a handbook, Ereira explains, for a conspiracy leading to a new kingdom under a Catholic king.

Ever since the start of the Reformation, Europe had been rumbling towards a religious war. When it came on the mainland it lasted 30 years and left millions dead. The subsequent Peace of Westphalia led to a new map of Europe, one of countries and defined frontiers instead of feudal territories with unclear borders and independent cities. England was not included in the peace but shared in its vision of separate sovereignty. This led to different results in different places. In France, the king became an all-powerful despot; in England it was the ruler who lost power as parliament emerged triumphant.

In 1670 Charles I’s son Charles II decided to throw off the restraints he had accepted as the price of his restored monarchy. He wanted to be the absolute master in his land. To achieve this, he entered into a secret treaty with the French king Louis XIV. Charles needed money, an army, allies to execute his plan, and detailed knowledge of the kingdom; Louis was willing to bankroll the venture as long as Charles converted to Catholicism. Britannia was a vital part of Charles’s strategy to assert military control: he would use it to help land and deploy the 6,000 French troops that Louis had promised him to assist his forces. The pact remained a well-kept secret for nearly a century, even though it soon fell apart when the French and British got bogged down in a war with the Dutch.

No matter. Ogilby died in September 1676 and in 1681 Charles II dissolved parliament for the last time during his reign. “Britannia provided an extraordinary grasp over the business and administration of the 399 communities that it identified in England and Wales, and the crown took a grip on them all,” Ereira writes.

In this way, the atlas played a significant part in enabling the king’s revenue to grow by one-third within a few years. No longer needing financial help from Louis, Charles ruled by divine right, exercising absolute power until his death in 1685. The lesson of Britannia was that whoever controls the map controls the world.

Manjit Kumar is the author of “Quantum: Einstein, Bohr and the Great Debate about the Nature of Reality” (Icon)

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge