From my garden, I can hear the singers at the nearby music festival. As ever (and more clearly because the words – distracting words – are quite inaudible as distinct terms) the undertone, the over-current of the lyrics is a keening appeal for pity, on the exhibited ground of manifest suffering.

And in spite of the fact that young men seem to dominate and crowd that field, it is the female voice that characterises this genre. For the male voice is compelled to remould itself as feminine in order to qualify and compete.

Little else can be heard. Birdsong aside.