Farewell to the Library of Doom


So, on the day of the penultimate Hot Mikado performance, we closed the doors of the Library of Doom for the very last time.  Since then, most of our stock has gone into storage, while the merry band of librarians and library assistants have been scattered to the winds, dispersed across five different buildings on the university campus.  My team is based in a Temporary Library in an examinations hall, and we are all waiting out the summer, in anticipation of the grand opening of our big new, shiny learning centre.  Each day, as we go about our business, we can see the old library building being gutted, as teams of builders prepare it for a new life as a collection of teaching labs. 

It was hardly a perfect building. It leaked, sometimes causing large chunks of paint to fall from the ceiling.  It flooded once, which was rather exciting as an old storm drain suddenly made its presence felt in the foyer.  A shelf once came loose and made a valiant attempt at decapitating me.  The carpet tiles made endless attempts to trip people up.  The building was always either too cold or too hot.  The book return box was an eyesore.  It had slopes in inconvenient places which made it difficult to wheel the trolleys around.  Some of the light switches were behind shelves of music books.  The layout didn’t make sense, even after nearly nine years of working there.  There was never enough space for the books.  It had wheelchair access issues and a frightening lift.

I miss it, though.  I was the final member of staff to go through the closing-up routine and even as I passed the dodgy shelves, switched off the inconvenient lights, wrestled with the complicated doors on the first floor and took in each of the building’s faults, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss as each room was plunged into darkness and sealed away from marauding students.  I locked the Group Study Room and remembered the Children in Need fundraiser event, S Club Library.  I chuckled as I saw a few videos which reminded me of our Easter Egg Hunt (bags of mini eggs were hidden inside some of the video cases).  I passed the office with the hideous yellow shelves and remembered the student who came in there and asked for photographs of the Great Fire of London.  Almost eight years is a long time to work in one building, and had clearly allowed many memories to build up.  The different areas we’d sealed off with hazard tape from time to time.  The hysteria I’d shared with a colleague when the shelf tried to kill me.  The desk where I was sitting when I got the email asking me to perform in Aladdin.  The secluded part of the Open Access Area (computer lab) where I’d done some of the assignments for my librarianship qualification.  And more, of course.

All gone, now.  But the stock remains (and believe me, some of the books, DVDs and equipment have memories attached to them) and more importantly, my colleagues are still around as well.  I couldn’t hope for a better group of peers.  We share a lot of laughs and the odd tear now and then.  Whole shelves of librarians turn out to watch my shows, and we have regular trips to the local noodle bar and other eating and drinking establishments.  Frustrations are shared, ideas are passed to and fro and we seem to cope with anything, from the complete loss of our library management software (otherwise known as The Month We Do Not Speak Of) to unspeakably rude library patrons, and from yet another brood of ducklings in the garden to malfunctioning exit doors. 

So in a strange way I miss the nasty old Library of Doom, even as I look forward to the new building.  Whatever the environment’s like, I know we’ll be forging some new memories there.  I just hope it never becomes the Shiny Learning Centre of Doom…

Cooling down


It has been just over a week now since the final performance of Hot Mikado, and I am still getting people come up to me and tell me how much they enjoyed the show.  Part of this was due to the standard of the performances, apparently, but part of it was because the show has a real fee-lgood factor.  Bright colours, lively music, a happy ending and even (in our production) a shower of confetti during the finale – all ingredients which added up to a cast having great fun and audiences leaving with big smiles on their faces.

We didn’t please everyone, of course, though you never do.  But I had a fantastic time, we had a lot of laughs backstage and we heard a lot of laughs coming from the auditorium.  The highlight for me was the act one finale, which was a sequence where for all intents and purposes I stopped being my character and was simply ‘a gentleman of Japan’, merrily celebrating the impending nuptials of the romantic leads and/or reviling Katisha, the older woman.  It was a joyous explosion of music and dance, and I always looked forward to the moment when the men strutted out with their tambourines, heralding a shift in time signature and hot, hot gospel.  The various facial expressions in the audience were a joy to behold, changing from horror (there must be many people who had traumatic tambourine incidents as children) and puzzlement at first to excitement and exuberance as we worked towards the finale’s climax.  Dancing my bright orange socks off and exclaiming ‘Joy, joy, joy!  Joy reigns everywhere!’, I could not help but grin, and I’m certain our enthusiasm spilled out into the audience.

Joy really did reign everywhere around.

We are gentlemen of Japan!


What happens if you cross the satirical wit and sparkling melody of Gilbert & Sullivan with flashy waistcoats, tap dance, close harmony and a whole bucket of Brylcreem? You get Hot Mikado, that’s what you get, and that’s what I’m doing all this week, up at the Gulbenkian Theatre in Canterbury.

I play a fellow who delights in the name of Pish-Tush, the coolest Gentleman of Japan (or at least, that’s how he sees himself). I spend much of the show either sneering at the other characters in disdain or dancing my bright orange socks off – some of the time, I’m even doing both, which is an exciting challenge. The musical style of the show is rooted in the 1940s, with blues, swing, scat and scorching hot gospel combining to give the score an uplifting ‘zing’. The ‘Three Little Maids’ sing their number beautifully, in a close harmony arrangement which sounds like an Andrews Sisters number, and Katisha, the femme fatale, displays an amazing gospel voice which utterly blows me away even as Pish-Tush mocks and sneers at her.

I’m fairly certain that this show gives me more to do than any other recent show, even though Pish really is the most minor of the principals. In addition to a male trio where I take the top line and a quartet where I take the bass line (a ridiculous range from top note to bottom note is required!), I’m involved with all of the chorus numbers which gives me a wide variety of harmonic and choreographic challenges – my heart races so fast at the end of the first act, simply due to the high energy of the dance routine, that I worry for my health. Thankfully, I sit the big tap dance out (it’s really not in my skill set), and instead provide backing vocals for the number as I kowtow to the Mikado (the only person Pish-Tush remotely respects). My head is spinning with everything I have to remember, and there are still a couple of tricky corners which I’m not 100% confident about. Seven syllables of ‘Swing a Merry Madrigal’ will probably haunt my nightmares forever – how hard can it really be to sing “Hey bob-a-ree-bob swee-dee-pow”? Harder than you’d think! Still, exhausting as it is, I’m absolutely loving it. Putting it on before an audience for the next five days will be a complete and utter joy.

CD of the moment: Act One


I have [mumblemumble]hundred theatre-related CDs in my collection, and some of them inevitably get listened to a lot more than others.  I was recently asked to write a CD review (which was not used), so I thought I’d tweak it a little and share it here, potentially with the aim of posting a review of a recording at the beginning of each month.

Act One CD Cover

Act One CD Cover

Act One: Songs from the Musicals of Alexander S. Bermange

Dress Circle 070 501-8 – RRP: £14.99
 
Alexander S. Bermange’s name may not be familiar to the majority of theatre fans, but the people who interpret his songs on this recording almost certainly are. The 26 singers include leading men such as Jon Lee, Earl Carpenter and Daniel Boys, while the distaff side is equally strong, featuring Sally Ann Triplett, Joanna Ampil, Lara Pulver and Summer Strallen among others. As Sir Tim Rice says in his brief liner notes, this surely speaks volumes about the quality of the material they are interpreting, and they all give their songs all they’ve got. Mr Bermange has mostly been successful in continental Europe, which has seen productions of his various musicals based on tales from the likes of the Brothers Grimm. Several selections from these shows are included here along with others representing a total of ten musicals and one pantomime. The numbers themselves cover power ballads, love songs and comedy moments, showing great versatility from the composer-lyricist, who plays piano on all bar one of the tracks.

Each track is rewarding listening, but some stand out immediately. The disc opens with ‘Walking On the Sun’, which is reminiscent of  ‘This is the Moment’ in some ways, though the lyrics of the verses are somewhat puzzling – perhaps they make more sense in the context of the show it comes from. Three songs from Odette, an adaptation of Swan Lake, are particularly enjoyable. Each of the main characters familiar from the ballet is represented in these selections, and all of them use fairy tale metaphors, an interesting touch which provokes questions about the rest of the show, suggesting an unusual level of awareness on the part of the characters – do they know they’re part of a story, I wonder? Best of these is ‘My Prince’, sung by Lara Pulver (now appearing as Isabella in the BBC’s Robin Hood), a comic number in which Odile reveals the many ways in which she has tried to attract a Prince Charming using every trick in the fairy tale book. The sadder side of love is explored by Janie Dee in ‘Where’s the Love?’ from Close Encounters and by Jenna Lee-James and Dean Collison in ‘Anyone But You’ from Thirteen Days. Both tracks pull at the heart strings, exploring two complex relationships, ill-advised in different ways.

For me, though, it is two of the upbeat tracks which prove to be the cream of the already very good crop on the CD, both of them written for a pantomime version of Aladdin at the Pleasance Theatre. While they may not be deep or complex (not concepts you usually associate with panto), ‘I Want to Reach the Stars’ (sung by Jon Lee) and ‘Higher Than a Shooting Star’ (Mark Evans and Susan McFadden) are highly engaging, great examples of the ‘I want’ and ‘I love you’ genres, essential inclusions in any theatre score, and leave the listener with a huge smile. This CD proves that Stiles and Drewe are not the only hope for the future of British musical theatre, and makes you long to hear more from Mr Bermange – here’s hoping for an Act Two!

It’s about time…


I have a bit of an issue with time.  If I have a deadline, or an estimated time of arrival, I absolutely have to make it or I will teeter on the brink of an anxiety attack.  I dislike arriving late so much that I will always aim to be early, sometimes excessively so (just in case something happens en route which delays me), and often end up walking around the block a few times, or pacing up and down, since arriving early can be terribly inconvenient for the people you are meeting as well (as the lovely carpet fitters who came 45 minutes earlier than expected proved, catching us still frantically painting ceilings and moving furniture).

I don’t apply the same standard to everyone else, at least not to the same extent, but it does make me annoyed when people drift in to rehearsals over a 15 minute period, seemingly unaware of the alleged start time.  I think part of that is connected with the concept of purpose.  The purpose of the time spent at rehearsals is to rehearse, so I get very impatient if I’m at the rehearsal venue, but not actually doing anything connected with the show.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t quite so worried about timekeeping – it would be nice to have one less potential cause of stress and anxiety, since I am so very good at winding myself up.  I have wondered whether it’s one of the traits that marks me out as being very British, but since I don’t drink either tea or beer, am not overly fond of cricket and don’t always mind a bit of rain, I’m not entirely sure that I fit the stereotypical mould at all.

It’s also about time I started posting here on a regular schedule again, and preferably with something more about either singing or being a librarian, since those are the title topics of the blog.  I shall try.

Belatedly, Susan Boyle


It has taken me a while to catch up with the Susan Boyle phenomenon.  I’m not a fan of ‘reality’ talent competitions as a rule, so I didn’t see the episode of Britain’s Got Talent where this woman wowed the judges and audience with her rendition of ‘I Dreamed a Dream’ from Les Miserables.  Just in case you are one of the few people who, like me, had not seen this, the video is up on Youtube.  Have a look and listen, then pop back here.

Right.  I had read about the performance in various blog posts and newspaper articles, but it wasn’t until a colleague asked my opinion that I finally investigated it.  I have to confess I was cynical.  Was this performance really going to wow me?  Was this just the first of the inevitable tabloid stories that such television series inevitably generate?  Still, I was intrigued.  It’s not often that the nation starts discussing someone singing a showtune, even from such a popular show as Les Mis.  So I tried to approach Ms Boyle with an open mind, but I wasn’t expecting anything special.  My first observation was that the singer was nowhere near as ugly as I had been expecting, in fact, ugly is definitely far too harsh a word.  The various reactions in the press had made me expect someone truly hideous, but this was not the case – plain, perhaps, and not having had the dubious ‘benefit’ of a makeover of any kind, but there’s nothing wrong with that.  The reaction of the judges and audience, though, was fascinating – here was someone who is not beautiful, who wanted to be a professional singer, they thought, clearly this is going to be a disaster.

And then she sang.  The crowd went wild, and expressions of shock abounded.  It was immediately obvious that here was a woman with a great singing voice.  Unrefined, yes, and sometimes there was a feeling that she wasn’t really connecting with the lyrics, but in this case Britain has talent.  I have heard better renditions of the song.  Quite a lot of them, in fact, given how very many people have recorded it, and I have heard much worse versions as well.  There were no moments when she went horribly off-key, as there so often are on these shows, and no flights of histrionic nonsense.  She certainly connected with the live audience, and the way they responded gave me chills.  They adored her, and surely that’s all that counts?

However, with my cynical head back on, I couldn’t help but wonder what will happen the next time she sings for us – the surprise is gone, we know she can sing now, and all the media attention will lead us to expect great thinks from her.  If a large part of the appeal is the difference between the expectations her looks and her nervous personal demeanour evoke and the voice that appears when she sings, then what more has she to offer? It seems obligatory to talk about her story, not just her talent, and I fear that this story may well outshadow her abilities.  If she ever appears in a designer dress, or has a new hairdo, will the British public turn on her?  I hope not.  She has truly great potential.  And my goodness, she’s so much better than the terribly overrated Paul Potts.

Speak up!


I have recently been asked, in two completely different contexts, about how to project the voice.  One query was from someone who has a very, very quiet speaking voice and would quite like to be heard, and the other was from a group of young people about to do a performance.  It struck me that although, in theory, I’m a good person to ask about this, given how often I have to project my voice, it was a very difficult question to answer.  How, exactly, do I project my voice?

I know I was never specifically taught projection techniques of any kind – it was a skill I somehow picked up naturally.  This is a strange thing, because in ‘real’ life, I am often difficult to hear.  I can mumble quite unintentionally and very often have to be asked to repeat what I’ve said.  Yet, put me on a stage and suddenly I can be heard.  Projection also comes in handy when getting users of the Library of Doom to be quiet – sometimes it’s necessary to get a whole roomful of people to turn the volume down.

When I thought about it, I realised that projection has something to do with breathing, something to do with confidence, something to do with psychology and something to do with posture.  The sound has to come from further down, starting deep down inside you rather than in your throat.  There has to be enough air in your lungs to support it.  You have to imagine that you’re speaking or singing directly to someone who is quite far away.  And you absolutely do not have to shout – persistent shouting instead of projecting hurts and would probably ruin the voice if it was tried for too long.

Explaining a process that I don’t entirely understand proved to be a difficult task.  It’s hard to explain how to breathe or how to think yourself into projection.  It made me realise once more how much a mystery performing is to many people.  As well as all the joy of creating a character, and the great conundrum of ‘how do you learn the lines?’, there are a great many technical bits and pieces that evidently aren’t as normal and natural as years of doing them might make them feel.  There’s an art to speaking up and speaking out – now I just need to learn how to apply that art, in a minor way, to conversation.  Speak up, Singing Librarian!

The Very Model?


I like to keep myself on my toes when performing, preferring not to do the same sort of thing twice if I can avoid it.  Thus, having played several ‘young, silly and in love’ roles in musicals over the last few years, I’ve just spent a week as Major General Stanley in The Pirates of Penzance.  To be fair, the Major General is more than a little silly, but he is definitely not young and the only thing he’s in love with is the idea of staying alive.  I’m always happiest playing character parts, and he is most definitely a character and a half, alternating between stroppy and snivelly for much of his stage time.  The part also shares something in common with many of my roles, in that it has maximum impact for minimum stage time – thanks largely to that wonderful patter song.  I can’t imagine there are many people who’ve never heard ‘I am the very model of a modern major general’ before.

As I was one of the youngest members of the cast, yet played the father or potential father-in-law of more than a dozen people, this involved both a long time sorting out hair and make-up and a lot of concentration.  The grey hair, bushy sideburns and wrinkles did a lot of the work in creating the illusion of being old, but I still had to remember at every moment that I should not be able to move quickly and easily as I can.  In the first act, I had a walking stick to lean on, which helped keep my back bent, but I had no such aid in the second act (only a handkerchief, which saw more use than most props tend to) and often caught myself being more upright than I should have been.  A slow sag was necessary to regain the proper posture without drawing attention to it.

As with many shows, I spent some time singing in the wings, both as an honorary pirate and an honorary policeman, adding to the chorus vocals.  In rehearsals, I also sang along with the numbers for the Major General’s daughters, but refrained from doing so in performance.  Wing-singing gives me something to do when I’m off-stage and in this case meant that I didn’t miss out on some of the best parts of the show, most notably ‘With Cat-Like Tread’, which is a fantastic sing.

Because I am who I am, I was acutely aware of every mistake I made, large or small, particularly in the patter number.  I had a strange problem in rehearsals, getting my animals and vegetables mixed up in the phrase “In short in matters vegetable, animal and mineral, I am the very model of a modern major general”, and this certainly happened in performance as well, though not quite so spectacularly.  “Babylonic cuneiform” also defied pronunciation one night and I managed not to sing one phrase at all on one occasion, a I was so busy acting (a feat which the Pirate King then echoed during our dialogue scene later).  It is very difficult not to let mistakes prey on your mind for the rest of the performance, even if they’re so small that even your fellow performers fail to notice them.

Did I enjoy it?  Yes, I did, particularly the last performance, where I felt I could just let go and stop worrying about it.  I enjoyed the opportunity to add another string to my performing bow – the patter song.  I enjoyed working with a talented, supportive cast (in very cosy conditions backstage!).  I enjoyed everyone’s reactions to seeing the hair and make-up job for the first time.  And I enjoyed my first fully-staged Gilbert and Sullivan production.  Many audience members said they were surprised how much they enjoyed it and how much they laughed.  It just goes to show that the two men’s work is not anywhere near as dated as people often think.  There are rich veins of beauty and humour to be mined, and I look forward to mining them many times more in the future.

Quite a compliment


Recently, someone who was on the audition committee for a show said that I caused great difficulty during the casting process.  Naturally, I apologised (I’m good at apologising, particularly if the apology is needless), but was soon reassured that this was not a bad thing.  Apparently, they could have slotted me in anywhere, which made the decision about what to do with me harder than it otherwise might have been.  A strange thought, but on reflection, it’s possibly one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received.  What better praise can there be for a performer than to have their flexibility or adaptability noted?  It’s nice to know that I’m a versatile singing librarian.

Snow joke


I love my country, and am proud to be British, but sometimes I despair.

Weather is a fairly common occurrence here on this lovely group of islands. In fact, it is such an important part of our lives that I would have thought it was our most common topic of conversation, even if we tend to grumble about it in all its variations. Come rain or shine, come gale or snow, sleet or hail, drizzle or heatwave, the British can be counted on to complain. It will be too hot, too cold, too damp, too dry, too windy or too calm. And in extreme circumstances, such as the appearance of frozen water from the sky, we simply retreat into our shells and hide until it’s over.

Today, it seems that snow brought the country to a standstill. Or at least it brought London to a standstill and this had a knock-on effect across much of the nation, partly because it seems all the trains had been sleeping in London overnight and were therefore not available to transport anyone to their chosen destinations. In my part of Kent, the snow made a vague attempt at doing its job, but mostly looked pretty and melted. It would be very generous indeed to suggest that we had an inch of it. Further west, roads were harder to travel on due to the lack of gritters. Quite why gritting had not happened, I don’t know. Snow on Sunday and Monday was forecast before the weekend, so there was plenty of warning. To be fair, the major roads around here seemed to be fine, but reports from colleagues and friends suggest that this was not true everywhere.

The Library of Doom held out longer than many places. Plenty of High Street shops remained closed today, and most of the rest of Kent’s institutions of higher education either never opened or shut up shop at lunchtime. We sent home those people who were having public transport difficulties, then continued providing our usual librarianic services until 6 o’clock, when we put the books to bed and turned out the lights.

Reports suggest that other areas were hit harder by snowstorms, but it is clear that the levels of snow were and are nothing compared to snowfall in places such as Russia, Canada and Scandinavia, where life seems to continue happily during even the bleakest winter. Here, however, our winters are less harsh than they once were, but they seem to affect us in ways they never did before. Suddenly, many places of work and education are closed, public transport throws in the towel and the radio is warning us of impending doom. Is it the wrong sort of snow, or is the country just a bit pathetic? I suspect more of the latter, but tinged with a lack of preparation, an amazing ability to be taken by surprise by something we all knew was coming. One suspects that the rest of the world (and probably other parts of the United Kingdom as well) is sniggering at us behind their hands. If so, I really don’t blame them.