Wardrobe malfunction!


It was one of those moments when you really hope that nobody in the audience is looking your way.  If I’m lucky, all eyes were centre stage gazing adoringly at Aladdin and Princess Jasmine.  In the final few seconds of last night’s show, you see, I had a serious wardrobe malfunction.

The Genie costume took a little bit of getting used to for me, as it exposes more flesh than I am accustomed to exposing and certainly could not be worn by a lady librarian.  The main items are some baggy trousers, a hat, two cuffs and a diamond-shaped thing that covers my shoulders and bits of my chest and back, attaching to the front and back of the trousers via two of the diamond’s points.  It was intimidating at first (and has required the use of fake tan to avoid the make-up procedure taking several days), but I have become accustomed to it and can now say that it is a great costume.  When it behaves itself, that is.

Last night, happily singing and dancing my way though the big finale song, I reached a moment when the principals are all on a raised platform while the dancers do crazy stuff below us and realised that my costume was coming adrift.  It is held together at the front by two hooks and eyes and a popper.  The popper had come undone and I hastily reaffixed it during the next bout of hectic freestyle movement, making sure that my back was to the audience.  All was well, or so I thought.

Perhaps my next few movements (we were very near the end) were more violent than usual.  Perhaps something was in the air (others had costume issues as well).  Who knows.  But in the final couple of bars, we all take a final bow.  As we did so, the hat decided to make its presence known and I struggled to keep it on.  We stood up, and I felt pleased with myself for not losing it, but worse was to come.  On the final beat of the music we all stretch an arm up high and grin madly.  I stretched, and all three fastenings came undone as my costume made a bid for freedom.  I had to grab hold as quickly as possible to prevent the diamond flying too far up and the trousers falling down (they are only figure-hugging near the ankles) and as the lights went out, the hat finally decided enough was enough – it did not want to be on my head for another second.  Blackout, front cloth in and…laughter.  Trying to hold my errant costume together, I could not help but laugh.  I had no idea if the audience had noticed (if they had, they’d have gained a very brief glimpse of a lot more Genie chest than they were accustomed to), or if the director had noticed.  At the beginning of the run, I’d have been mortified and horribly embarrassed, but nine performances in, it just struck me as hilarious.  How a week can change your point of view!

2009
01/24
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Theatre
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Panto frolics


Well, Aladdin at the Margate Winter Gardens is well under way, and the cast and crew are enjoying a day off, all hoping to recover enough energy and vocal strength to continue through the next week’s performances. It has been a lot of fun and a lot of stress, a general roller-coaster of emotions and activity. The audiences seem to be enjoying themselves, which is the aim of any pantomime (the genre should function as a theatrical ‘gateway drug’, getting kids hooked on theatre) and we have continued on, despite the inevitable technical hitches and a fainting Chinese policeman. We have thus far given five performances complete with everything from malfunctioning mangles to singing clouds, puffs of smoke to unexpected audience participation, all the ingredients of a fun panto.

I spend quite a bit of the show either sitting in my dressing room or pacing the corridors, and have discovered that the latter is inadvisable if the junior dancers are around – apparently either I or my make-up is (or am) terrifying in semi-darkness, causing them to jump, start or squeal. Some younger audience members also seem to find the Genie disturbing, though one young person did tell the Dame that his favourite bit of the panto was when I appeared – hearing about this cheered me up somewhat.

Many things about the show are a joy and it has not yet become routine for me. The cast are amazing, on stage and off, from Widow Twankey who can ad lib her/his way out of any sticky situation, to Aladdin, who has shown such openness and determination to learn new skills. Many of us have been on a steep learning curve and we are constantly on our toes. Some particular joys for me:

Dodging dancers. During some numbers, I provide off-stage backing vocals, and in one of these there is a dance break, where I must remember to clear a space for K, one of the incredibly talented senior dancers, to jog past as he exits and re-enters the scene. I have no idea whether he sees me smile and nod to him as he goes past, but I find the moment strangely reassuring, a sign that the show is going as it should.

Waiting for the pop. As is traditional, the Slave of the Ring and the Genie of the Lamp appear in a puff of smoke. There is a health and safety side to this, as any actor too close to the pyro which provides the smoke could easily be burned, so our mantra as we are about to enter is ‘wait for the pop’. On one occasion I got confused, or possibly over-excited, and failed to wait for the pyro to go pop, so I had no puff of smoke. Entirely my fault. Of course, I now get a significant look from the pyro-man every time I’m about to enter to remind me not to do it again.

Listening in. The show relay is a very handy thing, allowing actors in far-off dressing rooms to hear what’s going on and thus know when their scenes are approaching. During Aladdin, it has also been a source of amusement to me. Having seen the scenes so many times in rehearsal, I know how things are supposed to go, so it’s always interesting listening for deviations and wondering what’s gone wrong (or unexpectedly right) at any given moment. Hearing Widow Twankey ask one of the crew to remove a stray prop or the Chinese policewomen get confused about which one of them is which is almost as funny as seeing it unfold in front of me. More intriguing is trying to work out why someone says “oh, that was unexpected!” or similar. The thrill of live theatre is possibly never more evident than in panto when it seems absolutely anything can (and does) happen.

Freestlying. Actually, if we’re listing joys, that’s a lie. In choreographic terms, I don’t think there is any word that’s more scary than ‘freestyle’, at least to a non-dancer like myself. There are parts of the big finale that are freestyle, but I think most of us principals have settled ourselves into a routine for those moments, and do essentially the same ‘freestyle’ moves each time. Anyway, by the time we reach freestyle, I’m having so much fun that I can’t help but smile even if I have a blank and can’t think what to do.

Tired as I am, this has thus far been an amazing experience, quite unlike anything else I’ve done on stage thus far.  I have cried with laughter and cried with frustration.  I have invented a new key to sing in (though thankfully have not returned to it) and danced my socks off (if one who is barefoot can be said to dance their socks off).  I have met new people and got to know others better.  And I only have a week more of it to go.  I’ll be a little relieved when it’s over, but I know I’ll miss it.  It has been wonderful to have a licence to be utterly daft for a few weeks and the sound of the audience shouting “it’s behind you!”, even if they’re not actually shouting to me, is a sound to be treasured.

2009
01/19
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Things that panto rehearsals have taught me


Flyer for Aladdin

Flyer for Aladdin

This week, I have mostly been rehearsing for Aladdin, the pantomime to be performed very, very soon at the Winter Gardens in Margate.  On Tuesday, the cast (sans Dame, who arrived on Wednesday), met and began blocking the scenes.  We were soon into the swing of audience participation, learning the songs, figuring out how much teasing people can take and generally getting the show ready.  It’s always nice when casts get along together, and we do.  I have also discovered that we have much to teach each other.  I’m sure I have much still to learn, but for the benefit of my readers, lessons from the first week of rehearsals include:

Men should not moisturise. Ever. According to Princess Jasmine, it is unmanly.  As are many other things, including shaving your armpits (but really, why would any man want to shave their armpits?).  Baking biscuits is a good thing according to all who consumed the ones I took in on Wednesday, but it is also unmanly.  Drat!

I come as a package deal with the Emperor of China. To be fair, we are friends, but we seem to be seen as a unit, possibly a double act by some people.  If we were to become a double act, we could definitely use our middle names as the title of our act, but I shall leave that title as a mystery.

Tradition! I love panto, and I love all the traditions of the genre, but it has been very eye-opening to see just how many traditional elements and rules there are, sometimes competing with one another.  Most people are also very protective of their character and their gags, which can be quite amusing.

Padiddle. This is a wonderful game to play with a car full of people on a wintry night.  If you spot a car with one headlight out, then you shout ‘padiddle!’ and score a point.  Simple, but most amusing – well done, PC Pong, who introduced the game to us.  Apparently, according to my extensive research, it has been played with varying rules for decades, but this simple version is fine for me.

Black canvas trainers are de rigueur. They are spreading like a plague among the cast.  My favourite panto rehearsal picture so far is the shot at the foot of this post, looking down at the matching feet of the Genie, Aladdin and PCs Ping and Pong.  I did let the side down by wearing a different pair of trainers to today’s dance rehearsal, though.  We may be able to make them official uniform by the time we’re finished.

The funniest thing I can do is sing. The role of the Genie of the Lamp is not a comic role really (which is OK with me, truly it is), but I did manage to raise a huge laugh during the session where we went over the finale in our music rehearsal.  Everything in the show is in a somewhat unusual style for me, but something must have clicked in my head on the second sing-through and I cut loose with my vocal.  This took those who have worked with me before by surprise and made them laugh.  At first, I was alarmed, and thought that I might have done something awfully wrong, but I was reassured that the reaction was because it was ‘so right’ but ‘excessively unexpected’.  Of course, being me, I now fear that I have peaked too soon vocally.  But at least I know that I once did it well enough to make people laugh.

I really ought to charge an ‘Ask a Librarian’ fee. It amused me that when Aladdin wasn’t sure how to pronounce a particular word, he asked me.  Others have checked geographical facts with me (yes, there is a Thebes in Egypt, and yes, Egypt is in Africa) or otherwise sought explanations for the more esoteric aspects of their lines.  However, I drew the line at researching “he’s so fat he…” jokes.  A librarian’s powers are not to be squandered!  I am known to some as ‘D– the librarian’, not just ‘D–‘ or ‘thingummy who plays the Genie’.  This just goes to show that you can take the librarian out of the library, but you can’t take the library out of the librarian.

Panto is hard work, but fun. I think I already knew that, though.  And of course, if you’re in Kent, want to experience the fun, and see the Singing Librarian alongside a whole bunch of talented people including Ben Mills and Mark Arden in Aladdin, come along to Margate Winter Gardens from 16th-25th January.  Tickets can be booked by telephone on 01843 296111/292795.  I, the great djinn, the genie of the lamp, would be delighted to see you there.

The WordPress ‘spellchecker’ function does not recognise the word djinn. How strange.

Proof that the cast of Aladdin all have the same dress sense?

Proof that the cast of Aladdin all have the same dress sense?

2009
01/10
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Ian for a summer


One of my friends has me listed on her mobile phone as ‘Gerald’, as this was the role I played in Me and My Girl, opposite her as Jaquie.  The idea was that she knows a great variety of Davids (mark this date in your diary, it may be the first time I’ve mentioned my name on this blog), but Gerald will probably always be me and only me.

A reminder of this fact, combined with being dropped off at Newport Pagnell service station at Christmas by one of the other Davids of the world, caused me to recall my summer of being Ian.  It is not unusual to be temporarily called any one of a number of names, Chris and Simon being particular favourites, but this is the only time I’ve gone by a pseudonym in real life for any length of time.

This was during my student days, when a summer job was an absolute necessity and was unlikely to be overly fulfilling.  This particular summer I managed to secure employment with Welcome Break at the M1 service station at Newport Pagnell, the town where I grew up.  I was employed to clear and clean tables, operate the floor cleaning monster truck and occasionally to do the washing up, a particularly unpleasant task.  In addition to duties which were less than stimulating to the mind, I suffered a series of problems with the whole point of my presence there – being paid.  Although I was supposed to be paid weekly, it wasn’t until several weeks had elapsed that I received a payslip.  Opening it eagerly, I was deeply disappointed to find that it was for a total of zero pounds and zero pence.  A crushing blow.

I was eventually paid for my labours, but my summer had more confusion in store than simple cash-flow troubles.  When I started, I was issued with my beautiful Welcome Break polo shirt, but they did not have any name badges with my name on.  Not a problem, I was told.  Apparently I didn’t really need a name badge, and as I would only be there for a couple of months, it wasn’t really worth getting one done for me.  Unfortunately, there was one circumstance where name badges were needed: when there was a visit from Head Office.

So, on one fine day, I arrived at the service station, only to be told that there was a visit from Head Office expected today and I should be wearing my name badge.  I politely mentioned that I had no name badge because there were no Davidic ones available, and thus caused a minor panic.  The shift supervisor soon hit upon a cunning plan – give me a random name badge for the day and hope that it went unnoticed.  A quick trip over to the uniform repository and I was ready for work with a name badge proudly stating that I was Ian.  The day passed, for me at least, without any further incident of note.

An elegant solution, one might think, to a very temporary problem.  Unfortunately, this was not to be.  For reasons that were unknown to minions such as myself, the visit from Head Office was extended for quite some time.  And so, because I had been Ian on the first day they were there, I was (at least in the realm of name badges) to be Ian until they went away or I went back to university, whichever came sooner.  You can probably guess which one came sooner…  For several weeks, therefore, my uniform proclaimed me as an Ian, whereas my inmost being knew me to be a David.  My fellow minions were confused at first, but most of them soon learned to trust what they knew to be the truth and continue calling me David.  I refused to introduce myself as Ian, but my Davidic nature went undiscovered for the remainder of the summer, or perhaps it was deigned to be unimportant compared to the real cause of the extended managerial visit.  I suppose I shall never know, but I shall always remember being Ian for a summer.  It didn’t really suit me, but at least I know I have the choice.  David I am, but Ian I could be if necessary.  I was, after all, accustomed to looking round when I heard the name, and could soon get back in to the habit.  But would a David by any other name still be the Singing Librarian?

2009
01/07
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2008 becomes 2009


Looking back over this year in the world of the Singing Librarian, I found that I couldn’t really put things into words fit for blogging, and yet I know that a year-end post is rather expected.  So what is there that I can say?  Strangely for me, not much. This has been a very eventful year with a few downs but many ups with things that I never expected to happen coming to pass.  I have been changed for the better by certain people and events, I have learned lessons and I have had unforgettable experiences.

I am a very lucky man, in so very many ways.  In relationships, in health and in the opportunities I am handed to do things I love, this has been a good twelve months.  The library has perhaps been more frustrating than usual this year, but I do have the consolation of knowing that I am now a qualified librarian and may, eventually, be able to progress up some sort of career ladder.  All in all, I look back and see that this is a year I am very grateful for, and I enter 2009 with a lot of hope, optimism and expectations.  See you there in a few hours!

2008
12/31
CATEGORY
Ramblings
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‘Tis the season…


…to shout at fat men in dresses, to sing along with a bumbling fool, to be raucous in public and even to be encouraged to show disdain.  It is, in short, panto season.  Pantomime is a bizarre tradition, both terribly British and terribly not.  Fiends from other nations tend to be confused at best, and disturbed at worst, by a trip to the pantomime.  Familiar stories have strange elements added to them, random characters are played by people of the wrong gender who don’t even try to persuade you otherwise, there are calls and responses which it seems everyone knows and there is, in general, rowdy behaviour in public.  Those in charge even chastise you if you’re not raucous enough!  Compare this to the stereotypical dweller on this beautiful collection of islands – quiet, reserved with a stiff upper lip and a frown never far from the lips.  Once a year, around Christmas time, all that pent up emotion comes flooding out, and a pantomime audience is born.

I’m fairly sure that in my younger days, pantomimes began on Boxing Day and continued into January, but they have been going on all month, and perhaps even before that.  During December this year I have (so far, let’s not rule out another visit) seen three pantos, all very different, but all enjoyable.  The key, I find, is just to let go and join in with as much joyful abandon as you can muster.  The more you participate in the “it’s behind you”s and the “oh no it’s not”s, the more fun you have.

First was a production of Aladdin in a village hall in Birchington.  I caught this one as one of my fellow library people was playing Aladdin, and did a jolly good job too.  The ladies were, as a rule, much better than the men involved, with a particularly memorable pair of Chinese policemen and a magnificently haughty Empress of China providing much amusement, while the Princess Noodle provided some beautiful musical moments.  There was, occasionally, additional comedy to be found in the little details that had been overlooked.  I particularly enjoyed the all-important laundry scene, where a stage full of people all watched the washing machine drum rotate at different speeds and, at one point, in different directions.

Next was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury.  Last year, I wrote about how much I’d enjoyed Stephen Mulhern’s performance in Aladdin, and he was back, playing the comic relief Muddles (though most of the cast could have been classified as comic relief).  The production was not quite as much fun as last year’s but was still highly enjoyable from the moment the Wicked Queen appeared to the unbelievably cheesy finale.  Every element was well done, from set and lighting to choreography, with plenty of well-timed silliness to keep everyone laughing (including, from time to time, members of the cast).

Finally, Peter Pan in Hastings, which I caught as a good friend of mine is the musical director.  The production starred Jon Lee (formerly of S Club 7 and also an excellent, seriously excellent, Marius in Les Miserables), who was a joy as the boy who never grew up, particularly in his songs ‘My Shadow and Me’ and ‘Do You Believe in Fairies?’.  The children were, as children often are, a mixed bunch and there were some interesting moments with the set, but once again I had a great time.  I particularly enjoyed the audience singalong, which was a tongue twister, but was a little easier for me as I’ve been rehearsing ‘I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General’ for the last few months.  I wasn’t too disturbed by the crocodile, but I suspect that had I been in the stalls rather than the circle, I would have been grabbing the nearest person for protection.

As an audience member, my panto season is now over.  However, that doesn’t mean that I am leaving audience participation behind me for another year, as I will be taking part on the other side of the footlights in January.  I shall be appearing in a puff of smoke as the Genie in Aladdin at the Winter Gardens in Margate.  The production stars Ben Mills (X-Factor finalist) as Aladdin and comedian/actor Mark Arden as the evil Abanazar and should be quite excellent!  The members of the cast that I know are people who can be trusted to give great performances, as well.  I will essentially live this production for three weeks, and will be the most intensive work I’ve ever done on a show.  It won’t be the first time I’ve worked with professionals, but it will be the first time I’ve done so in a principal role, rather than in the ensemble.  I’m busily learning my lines and music, and look forward to learning the blocking and, more scarily, the choreography in the New Year.

If you haven’t yet made it to a pantomime this year, I encourage you to do so.  And if you’re within striking distance of Margate between the 16th and 25th January, why not catch the Singing Librarian in action at the Winter Gardens?

2008
12/23
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Theatre
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In which the Singing Librarian is positive about libraries


It has been suggested recently that a reader of this blog might possibly come to believe that I love singing and hate librarianing.  It is undeniable that there is more content here related to theatre and music than there is to libraries, and I have ranted about library patrons more than a few times.  It is also true that performing is my passion, one of my greatest joys.  And yet, I do like working in a library – it’s not as bad as I may have unintentionally suggested.  So what’s good about it?

Helping. I like being in a job where you know that you are helping people.  Perhaps not quite as obviously as a nurse or a fire fighter, but my primary purpose at work is to help people.  I may be helping them borrow some books, or I may be helping them find the information they require on an on-line database.  Perhaps they need to get hold of an esoteric text about witchcraft in Wales, or perhaps they just want to know how to spell ‘tautological’.  Whatever it is, my job is to help them access the information, whether by telling them a simple fact, directing them to a specific text, or teaching them the skills they need to search for the information themselves.  I may retrieve items from a store, order a book from Edinburgh University’s library or explain the use of the library catalogue.  Sometimes people thank me, sometimes they don’t, but it is good to know that I have helped them in some way.

Eclecticism. You really never know quite what you’ll encounter in a day at the library.  Sometimes you spend the whole day doing those things which the world at large associates with librarians – stamping books, shelving and asking people to be quiet.  Sometimes you attend meetings.  Sometimes you’ll deal with a succession of intriguing queries, from people looking for audition songs, the history of the university, the mating habits of snails and details of referencing schemes.  This can be particularly rewarding when queries that match your own interests come up.  It’s not often that students are looking for information on musical theatre or the eighteenth-century novel, but it does happen – it can be hard to stop helping with those queries!  The staff are also eclectic, with special interests ranging from the Earl of Rochester to theatrical design, and possessing a wide variety of degrees at all levels.  Some are easier to work with than others, but as a body, they ensure that there’s never a dull day.

Knowledge. I am fond of telling people that librarians, contrary to popular wisdom, do not know everything, but rather know how to find everything out.  Nonetheless, it is useful to know things, and the longer I work in librarianship, the more I learn, not just about information science, but about every discipline you can imagine.  I will never become an expert in the subjects that are not already ‘mine’, but it is a joy to discover things, whether it is the meanings of book titles from the sciences or health care, or some of the findings of the research students.  There is always more to learn and always will be – supporting the work of a higher education institution is an education in itself.

Order. There is something innately pleasing about classification schemes for me, and particularly the lovely Dewey Decimal system, which is the one I use.  It is perhaps foolish to try to categorise and classify all of human knowledge, and all such schemes have their flaws, but the ways in which the creators of such schemes attempt this task are fascinating – sometimes elegant, sometimes awkward, but with an odd beauty.  I do wish that Dewey wasn’t so Western- and particularly Christian-centric, but I do love it dearly.

Shelving. Related to the joy of classification schemes is the joy of shelving.  It takes a particular sort of person to enjoy shelving, but it is an immensely satisfying task.  You start with a trolley full of books and a number of shelves which look like a swarm of locusts has attacked them, and you end with books in neat ordered rows, spines facing front in beautiful straight lines, pulled to the front of the shelves and looking like… well, like a library.  A terrible day can seem much better after a session of shelving. Not only is it a good physical workout, but it is good for the soul to transform chaos into order.

So, you see, it’s not all ignorance and rudeness.  There are certainly good things about working in a library.  You learn something new every day, you can appreciate a sense of order, you can help people and you may even get a ‘thank you’ or two.  It’s not a bad job, it’s just that the frustrations probably make more amusing blog posts than the joys.

2008
12/14
CATEGORY
Library
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Vending machine oddness


Many odd things happen to me in my life, but this week something odd happened which was not in any way connected to the theatre and was only vaguely related to being a librarian, in that it happened on the university campus where I work.

Picture, if you will, a vending machine filled to the very gunnels with tasty Fairtrade snacks – chocolate, flapjack, biscuits, fruit juices and something that tastes vaguely like cola.  Sometimes (I will leave my readers to decide how often), a fellow needs some chocolate to sustain him through a day in the Library of Doom, and on this particular day, nothing suited my deprived taste buds more than tasty Divine chocolate, specifically the Orange Milk Chocolate flavour.  I duly fed the machine several shiny silver coins, pressed the buttons and watched the orangey milky bar of goodness tumble down towards the area you can reach through the flap.

As I watched, I was surprised to see that it didn’t stop when it hit the bottom, but instead took a flying leap back upwards, presumably trying to regain its former perch at the top of the machine.  Instead, its desperate gambit landed it in the vending slot for orange juice, where it stopped still, wedged between a carton and the metallic spiral keeping it in place.  My chocolate (which I needed, not wanted), was so close, yet utterly out of reach.

Since I have been trying, very unsuccessfully, to boot a cold out of my system, I decided that the machine was clearly trying to influence my Vitamin C intake, so purchased the orange juice, allowing both juice and chocolate to tumble out.  I spent a few minutes pondering how strange it was, and trying to recall whether I’d ever seen anything bounce in a vending machine before (I concluded that I had not), but soon got on with the much more important task of eating the chocolate, which tasted just as good as usual after its adventure.

Has anyone else witnessed anything similar?  And does anyone think it’s likely that I’ll return to more normal topics soon?

2008
11/30
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Excess fire alarms


In the past week, I have been involved in evacuating two large buildings after fire alarms went off.  Oddly enough, those buildings were a theatre and a library, given that it often seems as though I barely spend any time anywhere else.

First, the theatre.  The cast had bravely battled through our second performance – a Thursday matinee – and had breathed that strange sigh of mixed joy, relief, grief and emptiness which came at the end of Titanic.  Then, a mere second or two after the curtain hit the floor, we could hear a muffled announcement being made in the auditorium.  Puzzled glances were exchanged among the cast before a member of the crew told us to get out by the nearest exit, which was (for added drama) one that none of us had ever used before.  So, in our many and varied costumes, we trooped out into the car park.  The surviving female characters were mostly wearing their husbands’ coats, uniforms were half on/half off, one lady was barefoot, and we were accompanied by a gaggle of children and a very large dog.  As we gathered to have our names checked off, the men of the cast who were still in jackets gradually gave them over to the ladies, since it was rather cold outside and their dresses were not the warmest items of clothing known to man.  The audience washed past us, out into the darkness, calling congratulations and good wishes, thanking us for an excellent show.  The roll call seemed to last for hours as the large cast, orchestra and crew were all accounted for one by one.  Then, huddling together, trying to keep out of the way of the fire engine, we began to sing.  Mr Guggenheim (or rather the actor playing him) started us off on ‘Godspeed Titanic’ and we gradually all joined in, fairly quietly, but in harmony, conducted by our musical director who stood on the other side of the road.  The sopranos and tenors chickened out of our final screechy C above the staff, but it was nevertheless a rather lovely moment of togetherness among the company.  A few minutes later, we were allowed back in, and not a moment too soon.  It was beginning to rain, and the microphones we were still wearing would not have been very pleased.

Back at work the next week, trying to catch up with the backlog of queries that clearly nobody except me could answer, I was sitting offering “User Services Support at the Issue Desk” when I heard a familiar sound.  “That’s odd”, I thought, “they normally test the fire alarms much earlier than this…”  The ringing persisted, and a few seconds later, we leaped into action.  Announcing in a loud voice that those in the foyer should leave, I made my way over to the help desk, where I was issued with one of the evacuation routes and set about dislodging the students.  As I headed through the periodicals, I discovered that most of the students were still sitting at their desks, happily ignoring the rather loud alarm bells.  Thankfully, it is much harder to ignore a librarian with theatrical experience bellowing “Can you please leave!” at top volume, which is, believe me, very loud indeed.  After a few minutes of pointing people in the direction of their nearest fire exit (because the big green signs obviously aren’t clear enough), my designated areas of the Library of Doom were cleared, and I was able to leave by my allotted exit and make my way to the car park with my colleagues.  Sadly there was a distinct lack of singing this time and also a distinct lack of people telling us how good a job we were doing (even though the library has an excellent fire evacuation plan).  The all clear was soon given and we filed back inside, somewhat irritated to see that the students had been allowed back in before the library staff.

Neither of these evacuations was a planned drill as far as I could ascertain (I don’t think fire fighters normally turn up to drills), and I am still in the dark about their cause.  I have a taste for them now, though.  I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I am evacuated from, or help to evacuate, another building next week.  They do say that things come in threes, don’t they?

2008
11/19
CATEGORY
Library
Ramblings
Theatre
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Titanic Memories


The Singing Librarian as Harold Bride, Wireless Operator...

The Singing Librarian as Harold Bride, Wireless Operator...

So another show has come to an end, and it must be time for another blog post about many months of rehearsals and a few days of performances. This was a very special show for a number of reasons, and certainly one that cast, crew and audiences will remember for quite some time. Herne Bay Operatic Society should be justly proud of this production, even if audience numbers were not quite as high as had been hoped for – feedback from those who attended was amazing. In no particular order, here are some of the memories I shall take away with me:

Happy Birthday. It was my 30th birthday on the day of our dress rehearsal. Having had a lovely day in company with lovely people, I arrived at the theatre ready to get on with the business of hair, make-up, microphone, costume, photo shoot and all the rest of it. This was interrupted by the appearance of a delicious chocolate cake, and later by a rendition of the obligatory song by cast and crew, accompanied by our fantastic 19-piece orchestra which was lovely, but blew away any hope I foolishly had of keeping quiet about it! I was later presented with a card signed by the company and a lovely warm ‘Titanic the Musical’ sweatshirt.

Band Call. Our orchestra, as mentioned above, was large and absolutely fantastic.  The sound they made from the very beginning of the band call, the first time they ever rehearsed together, absolutely blew us away.  Titanic‘s score is not at all easy (more on that in future posts) and they navigated it with ease, creating both beautiful and exhilarating moments.  Our musical director, brought in at the last minute due to various issues we’d been having, was amazing as well, pulling out all the stops to create a beautiful, rich sound.  We had been quite worried about the whole show coming together, but the band call was an immense encouragement as the wonderful orchestrations, played by an equally wonderful orchestra, washed over us.

Kit Bag. I fashioned my own luggage for the show, as the props team were struggling to find enough kit bags to go around the number of characters who needed them.  Six hours in company with a cheap bed sheet, much thread, a couple of needles and three needle-threaders produced a work of something vaguely resembling art, which made it on to stage for all of three or four minutes, mostly hidden by being slung over my shoulder (as shown in the photo above).  I was pleasantly surprised that it made it through the week intact, though it did sometimes have an argument with the black tabs in the wings, making progress on to stage a tad more difficult than it should have been.

A solo-type duet. My key scene took place in the radio room, where I (or rather, wireless operator Harold Bride), sent a telegram for one of the stokers.  This telegram was dramatised in the form of a song, where he sang his proposal to his sweetheart, and Bride then sang about his own feelings, the way in which the telegraph enables him to connect to the world around him in a quite amazing way.  As the two of them join together in song, weaving their tunes around one another, neither one pays any attention to the other, utterly lost in their own worlds.  It is the most beautiful duet I have ever sung, and will surely be the only one I ever sing where each of us act as though we’re singing a solo, given the lack of interaction.  This number, ‘The Proposal/The Night Is Alive’ is also possibly the best bit of Titanic‘s score.  It’s always nice to nab one of the best songs!  It was even nicer to be paired with a fellow singer of such great talent (and a nice guy to boot!), which made singing it an even greater pleasure.

Crewing. As part of a campaign to keep myself busy, I volunteered to help with scene changes where possible.  This seemed sensible because I was often off stage, I was wearing a very dark costume and I have done backstage work at the theatre before.  Sorting out the first class dining saloon, the third-class quarters, the radio room and the grand salon was good fun (even if I did apparently nearly get hit on the head by part of the ship during one performance), livened up by minor panics caused by missing champagne glasses, recalcitrant lifebelts and a light that simply refused to fade.  I also helped with a quick change for one of the other performances and sang lustily into the offstage mic. to boost the chorus numbers I was not involved with, which eventually led to me conducting the first class passengers in the wings for one number, as they could not see either the conductor or the monitor.

Swinging. As has become traditional (again, perhaps more on this in a later post), I filled in for sundry missing people in rehearsals, covering first and second class passengers and various members of the crew from the bellboy to the lookout and the quartermaster to the captain.  The rehearsal where I drifted through the final scene of act one playing two characters in addition to  my own was a particularly memorable one for me.

New people. With a cast of sixty plus crew and orchestra, there were inevitably quite a number of people involved who I had never met before.  It took a long time to get to know everyone, but by the end a great sense of family developed among the company and I met some great new people including several that I really very much hope to work with again in the very near future.

Moments. The whole production, from the roller-coaster ride of the rehearsals to the excitement and emotion of the performances, will stay with me for some time, but some moments will live on longer than other.  Second Officer Lightoller taking “the liberty of arousing the passengers” in one rehearsal; Benjamin Guggenheim asking the chief steward “why have the injuns stopped?”; Mr Astor’s beautifully well-behaved dog patiently waiting in the wings during the scene where the ladies boarded the lifeboats; getting my wireless equipment tangled up with my uniform; battling with my collar’s constant bids for freedom; colliding noisily with a parcan lantern in the wings; the night that the survivors played an accidental game of hot potato with a model of the sunken ship; Caroline Neville’s scream of anguish as she was parted from her husband-to-be; the unpredictable path of an out-of-control tea trolley…

So many moments shared with around 100 people intimately involved, plus however many sat, watched and applauded.  A special show and a special production.

2008
11/17
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