It begins again

January 2012.  I'm about to launch into another Cabaret Summer School.

On the Sunday night, we meet up at La Boheme once again for the introductory "meet and greet".  It's a new group of people - only James and I were in the program last year.  Everyone seems energetic and excited.

Matthew challenges us to sell tickets to the show.  Who can sell the most seats?  There will be a prize for the person with the highest sales.

Previously I've roped in my friends to attend my shows.  In the case of the previous year's Kabarett, I actually bought tickets online, and physically presented them to my friends, who paid me direct.

But I don't want to spend this week of Cabaret Summer School telemarketing.  I want to focus on learning new cabaret skills.

I decide to utilize social media to publicize the event.  I contact a few people to ask them to attend, but in the main I do it with blog posts.  Each day I write and publish a blog each day, and I also make a video blog.

By the end of the week, I'm the second-highest ticket seller - not bad, when I haven't done the usual ring-around.

Here's the link to my first video blog of the week: "The Story So Far":

View my first video blog of the week

Video of arriving at La Boheme for "meet & greet"

An extra half-octave

During 2011 I keep my promise to myself, and practise my singing most days.

The practice pays off, and I start to improve a lot.  But there's still a lot to remember, and it's not feeling natural yet.

Progress is still sporadic and unpredictable.  One night at my singing lesson, in a massive breakthrough I suddenly discover an extra half-octave of range.   That makes two and a half octaves - not bad for someone who originally thought she had only one.

The high notes are not strong or consistent - but they're there.

I'm starting to produce some good notes on stage.  These often come as a complete surprise.  I'd like not to be surprised when I sing well.

I also produce an occasional bad sound - when I lose control of my breathing or my voice sticks in my throat.  Very embarrassing, and I'd like not to be producing any of these.

At the end of the year I decided that my goal for the next year will be consistency.  I want my voice to be reliable and dependable.  I want to control the sound that comes out of my mouth.

Also during the year I've learned a bit about jazz improvization.  In addition to the "Hear It and Sing It" book, I've been to a couple of masterclasses.

The first was presented by a vocal group called The Idea of North.  They divided the audience into groups, and each group was required to arrange and perform a song, using techniques demonstrated by the professionals.  I come away from this session with a repertoire of methods for arranging songs and improvising melodies.

The other was by a jazz singer called Michelle Nicolle, and was primarily for music students at the Adelaide University Conservatorium.  But it's open to the public too, for the princely sum of $10.  Two hours later, I've learned a variety of improvisational techniques, to the point where I feel confident to try them.  I take copious notes, and marvel at how much you can learn just by sitting, watching and listening.

I practise by singing with the radio in the bathroom, improvizing harmonies and scatting along to the music.  I'm sure my children are mortified.

One morning, amongst my email, I find a survey from Cabaret Summer School.  They are planning the next event and would like some feedback and testimonials from the inaugural participants.

One of the questions inquires "Would you consider doing this program again?"

I'm glad you asked.  I hadn't considered that at all, but now that I begin to think about it, my answer is resoundingly "Yes!  If you'd be willing to have me a second time, why not?'

It comes to the crunch

The guitarist who so impressed me has gone to ground.  He is not on Facebook or LinkedIn.  I don't want to be a pest by emailing him again.  It's nearly a year since we met.

I notice that his band is playing at WOMAD, the World Music festival held in Adelaide in March.  But what chance would I have of speaking to him there?  

Then, a few months later I see his name again, in the Jazz SA newsletter.  He's playing at The Promethean, (a small theatre in the centre of town) on a Sunday afternoon.  I line up early for the show and sit at the front.  First on the program is an ensemble of students.  I find I'm sitting with the parents of one of these young people, who is one of Mike's students.  They tell me what a great teacher he is.

After the break, Mike's group comes on and plays a set of wonderful Latin music.  At the end of the show, Mike is packing up his guitar right in front of me.  I give myself a kick in the backside and go up and introduce myself, reminding him of where we met.  I ask him if he ever accompanies singers.  He asks "Anyone in particular?"  I say "Me, for example".  He delves into his pocket, brings out a card and says "Here's my mobile number.  Call me."

It's as easy as that.  I phone him during the week.  He invites me to his house, five minutes from where I live.  I arrive and he makes coffee.  Mike always starts with coffee, made at a leisurely pace.  He is as serene as I am driven.  He asks me about myself and the music I want to sing.  Then he hauls out his big guitar and says "Let's have a go, then."  I sing, vaguely uncomfortable that we are in his kitchen/dining room, with family members wandering past.  I discover that singing with guitar accompaniment feels very different from singing with piano.  The beat is less pronounced; you have to listen more carefully.  It's chords rather than the melody that a pianist might add.

A few months later, I visit again.  Mike teaches at University, and doesn't have a lot of free time during term.  This time I feel more confident.  I decide to disregard the passing parade, and sing out strongly.  Half-way through our session, Mike slams his palm on the table and says "OK, it sounds really cool.  I'll accompany you.  Invite some friends to your house for a soiree, and we'll play for them."

But the party must wait.  My son is in his final year of high school, and he is having a torrid time.  He needs to study, and he needs my support.

Mike sends me information about events where he is playing.  On a Monday night I drive to a pub where he is playing with a visiting musician.  I'm feeling a bit flat.  I want to drink wine and listen to music so I can feel happy again. 

It's in Thebarton, a suburb that is not far away but unfamiliar to me, and I consult Google Maps to find out how to get there.  

It's a dark and drizzly night.  Driving down a narrow and poorly-lit street, I cannot work out where I am.  Then suddenly the neon sign of the venue winks at me, and I drive purposefully towards it.

Er, what's that bus doing in my window?  

Where did it come from?  The driver gazes down on me with a look of surprise.  As the bus and I jostle in a little samba, it occurs to me that I'll either be OK - or dead.  When my car stops, I wrest open the door and step out, dazed.

The bus driver says "Why you no stop?"

I reply "I was going to stop, over there", pointing at the pub, realizing that I'm now facing away from it.  I'm completely disoriented.  I see the STOP sign where the street widens into an intersection.  The STOP sign that I failed to observe.

I sit down at the side of the road to wait for the police, the fire brigade and the ambulance.  I hear the muffled sounds of music coming from the pub, but I'm going to miss the concert.  My car is mangled and looks like a write-off, but I seem to be unharmed.

Reality sets in as I realize that I've collided with a non-proverbial bus, and am lucky to escape with my life.

It is really serious - I resolve to concentrate better when I am driving.

It gives new meaning to the phrase "Driven to distraction".

The Cabaret Fringe Binge

"I'm sorry Madam, you're not flying with us today", says the ever-smiling attendant at the Virgin Airlines counter, as she hands back my driver's licence.

But what does she mean, when I am obviously flying to Sydney in half an hour?

"Perhaps you're going with Qantas?" she offers, helpfully.

Perhaps?  Aaaaargh!  I must be going with Qantas!

In order to board a flight, you must be checked in half an hour beforehand.  I run to the other end of the terminal and line up.

"I'm sorry Madam, that flight has closed", says the Qantas attendant.  "You'll need to see the Service desk."

I hand over my credit card to pay for another flight, and half an hour later I'm boarding the plane, heading to Sydney for a two-day conference.  I strike up a conversation with the blonde woman sitting alongside me.  When I ask "What do you do?" she replies "I'm a cabaret artiste".

Whaaaa?  This feels a bit surreal.

"So am I..." - I'm aware of how implausible this sounds.

The cabaret artiste is Dolly, and she is flying to Sydney for an audition.  She's writing a film script, too.  She also tells me about her Marilyn Monroe and Doris Day shows, and I listen with rapt attention.

As we begin our descent into Sydney Dolly mentions that she is collecting a car at the airport, and would I like a lift?  I'm not in the habit of accepting lifts with people I've just met, and I'm also a bit concerned that I might be taken out of my way and be late for the conference.  But Dolly assures me that she is not an axe-murderer.  She shows me on a map where she is going, and points to the train station where she can deposit me.  The train will be faster and cheaper than a taxi.

In the car there is plenty of time to chat, and there is so much to talk about.  She drops me at the station, and I arrive at my conference just in time.

Dolly's wonderful show, based on the life of Marilyn Monroe, is in the Cabaret Fringe Festival, and I attend it as part of my Fringe Binge.  Altogether, I attend (or perform in) about 20 shows.  By the end of the month I'm exhausted and have drunk far too much.  What a way to go.

After the Cabaret Fringe, I reflect on the diversity of events and the different styles of performance I have witnessed.  For example I've seen performers:

• enter through through the audience
• seek hugs from audience members
• sing while standing on a chair
• speak into a megaphone
• pull clothes on and off
• impersonate animals
• speak to imaginary friends
• receive advice from a horse
• drag people onto the stage
• use puppets
• put on wigs
• sing in darkness

It strikes me that you can do almost anything in cabaret - there is so much scope to be creative.

And as Dolly speaks of "researching" and "writing" her cabaret, I realize that's something I can do, too.

Kabarett

In May 2011, I hear that La Boheme is offering "Kabarett" - it's an opportunity for emerging artists to perform in the Cabaret Fringe Festival.

Last year I went to several shows in the Cabaret Fringe; now I get the chance to be in it.

Kabarett is a new format which three artists can each present a 20 minute segment, together making up a one-hour show.  I want to be in Kabarett.  It's the next step, a way to bridge the gap between the 10-minute piece I performed at Cabaret Summer School, and a full, one-hour show.

They are having two shows, on two consecutive Sunday afternoons.  I'm in the second one.  The show is in the Cabaret Fringe Festival program, so it's open to the public.

Chris Martin is going to accompany me.  I arrange to visit his home studio and we run through my piece.  I feel very confident with Chris, as he has often accompanied me at Cabaret Live! and he already knows all three of my songs.

I begin to promote the show - it's up to the artists to fill the room.  I know how hard it's going to be to motivate people to log on and buy tickets.  I go onto the web site and purchase tickets, which I press into the hands of my friends, who either produce cash or promise to pay me on the day.

I attend the first Kabarett, which features two other artists whom I know.  In particular I marvel at Deb (the opera singer).  She is very funny, and I envy the dependability of her voice.  I don't want to sing opera, but I would like to have Deb's control; she knows exactly what sound is going to come out of her mouth.

During the week, a review of Kabarett #1 appears on the Internet.  It had not occurred to me that a critic might attend and review my show.  The review strikes me as fair and balanced, but I feel freaked by the idea of a critical evaluation.

I know my piece quite well.  I feel as confident as could be expected.  La Boheme fills up.  I'm sitting at the side of the room, waving to people as I catch their eye.  I don't want to get drawn into conversation; I want to save my voice for the singing.  I'm wearing a long sparkly dress covered by a coat.

The first performer is Emily - tax accountant and wedding singer.  She's studied Classical and Jazz voice at Adelaide University Conservatorium over the last couple of years. We've met at Cabaret Live! and at professional networking events.  Emily sings a selection of French songs; her performance is strong and confident.

Next is Craig - an actor trained at Flinders University.  He enters via the front door, stammering and reluctant, to the extent that some people in the audience start to openly worry about him.  He ends up performing a very funny piece in which he sings a duet with himself, hopping between two microphone stands.

My segment is "Confessions of a Wannabe Bond Girl" - same as the piece I performed for Cabaret Summer School, but the patter is more developed and some of the songs are extended .  I've got a lot of friends in the audience, and they whoop and holler as I step up on stage.  The piece goes well, and I manage to remember all my lyrics, including the previously problematic "Windmills of Your Mind".  I'm aware that a few of my higher notes lack power, but I've done my best.

Every time you perform, you'll be better next time.

It occurs to me that by the end of my 20-minute piece, I could have kept on going.  I allow myself to think about the idea of a full-length show.  No longer does it seem an impossibility; it's starting to feel like a realistic goal.

Pat Pat, "Good dog!"

Pavlov trained his dog to respond to the sound of a bell.

And now I am being trained to produce the sound of a bell.

"Dog training is teaching a response to commands, or the performance of actions not necessarily natural to the dog...Dog training is defined as the purposeful changing of a dog's behavior.

Operant conditioning is a form of learning in which an individual's behavior is modified by its consequences...Positive Reinforcement occurs when a behavior is strengthened by producing some desirable consequence; negative reinforcement occurs when a behavior is strengthened by avoiding some undesirable consequence...

Typical positive reinforcement events will satisfy some physiological or psychological need, so it can be food, a game, or a demonstration of affection. Different dogs will find different things reinforcing." (Wikipedia)

I resolve to practise my singing regularly.  Surprise!  Practice helps.

I double my lesson time, from thirty minutes to one hour each week.

My teacher, Rohan, starts talking about a "bell-like quality" that he wants me to strive for.

I start to make progress, but it's not linear.  It's a jagged, zig-zag path, in which sudden breakthroughs occur, followed by periods of consolidation.

My jaw has always been very tight.  When I reach for a difficult note, I tend to clench my jaw, and it also juts forward, as if I am driving with it.  Holding on tight is possibly a survival instinct, but it does not help with the sound.  It is better (but difficult) to relax into the note and open up.  This has always been a puzzle to me, but one day my jaw simply drops open.  Instead of behaving like a solid mechanical hinge, the connector suddenly feels gelatinous.  I can let my lower jaw fall, instead of pulling it open.

I begin to isolate and control the small muscles in my mouth and throat.  I experience the sensation of vocal cords coming together; feel what it's like to lift the palate.  It's not the lips that make the vowels; they are shaped within the cavities inside the mouth.  I feel what it's like to breathe low and create the support I need to sustain the higher notes.  I start to connect this low breathing with placement of sound in the forehead.

I also acquire additional resources, which give me things to do between lessons.  I purchase an online vocal training program (which works surprisingly well), and a book called "Hear It and Sing It" by Judy Niemack.  This book provides me with a recorded warm-up routine in which I can "sing along with Judy".  The rest of the book is devoted to improvisational exercises based on a selection of jazz scales.  These are great for developing a "jazz ear" and vocal flexibility.

It dawns on me that during my lessons, Rohan does not simply listen to me - he also watches what I am doing.  In the lounge room where I practise there is a big mirror.  I being to watch myself as I sing.  I can immediately see if my neck is tightening and how wide my mouth is open.

Finally, I realize that I'm just like a dog having obedience training.  Whenever Rohan hears me produce a sound that is remotely like a "bell" he will stop me and deliver praise.  It's like patting a dog when it fetches a stick.  I start to recognize the sound he's looking for, reflect on how I made it, and try to replicate it.

The songwriters

I've forgotten to mention the unexpected phone call that led to a new experience in 2010.

The call is from Joy, whom I know from the Weekend Warriors.  She's a bass player who also plays percussion.

Now Joy calls me to say that she's been writing some songs with a friend, and they would like someone to sing these songs so they can record them.  We arrange to meet at Joy's house on a Saturday.

Joy's house is crowded with musical instruments and paraphernalia - piano, bass guitars, microphones on stands, recording equipment, drum kit and an extended family of bongo drums.

Joy and Tracy (a guitarist) run through a couple of the songs.  I'm quite impressed with the melodies and also with the quality of the lyrics.  They ask me if I'd like to join them in song-writing, in addition to singing the songs.  I decline, as I don't feel I have any skills to offer in this department, and I have little time to devote to the process.  I'm happy just to do the singing.  They record some backing tracks so I can learn the songs.

Over the next few months we rehearse,  From time to time Joy's teenage son joins us on drums.
As the songs develop, the songwriters ask for my input.  I surprise myself with what I can contribute.  When you immerse yourself in music, you develop an understanding of how a song is put together, an ear for lyrical cadence and a sense of how emotion is conveyed through music. I suggest a few refinements, and also start to play around with variations within the songs.

Joy and Tracy want to enter a songwriting contest, in the "Demo-Recording" section.  We arrange a three-hour session, the cost of which we all share equally.  When we arrive, no one is there.  The sound technician eventually arrives, and he takes a very casual approach.  I'm used to punctuality, and find the late start and slow progress frustrating.  Still, we manage to record three songs.  It feels very weird to sing along with my recorded voice, as we "patch" the songs and I add harmonies.

Some mixing and post-production has to be done, and a week later I collect the finished CD's from the studio.  The product sounds quite good, and we enter the recordings in the contest.

We attend the presentation night, held at a very dingy venue which has a terrible PA system and an even worse MC, who has no idea of how to introduce the artists who are playing in the "Live performance" section.  The evening drags, apart from a moment of excitement when I visit the bathroom, the lights go out and I have to feel around the walls of the pitch-black room to find the door.  Back in the auditorium, I find most of the songs and performances unimpressive.  Maybe I'm just getting old, but I reckon the songs Joy and Tracy have written are way better than most of the ones I'm hearing.  Our songs don't win, but one of them, "Growing Old Disgracefully", receives a "Commendation", and the three of us go on stage to collect the Merit certificate.

We also perform the songs for Joy's Zonta Club, at their Christmas meeting.  I suggest to Joy and Tracy that they should send one of their songs to a well-known country music singer.  It sounds like her style - maybe she would record it.  I would not be at all surprised if in the future they hit the "big time" with their songwriting talents.

Birdland

As my collection of Bossa Nova grows, it becomes harder to find the CD's I want in Adelaide.  I start to visit record shops in other cities.

In Melbourne I discover Thomas Music, Polyester Records and Discurio.

I'm more often in Sydney, and one day I find a shop called Birdland Records, in Pitt Street near the Monorail station.  Over the years Birdland feels the pinch from Sydney rents, and it migrates around the city - to the Gowings Building in Market Street and then to the fourth floor of the Dymocks Building in George Street.  It now opens only four days per week.

Birdland is a mysterious place.  There is no signage at street level.  Even when you get out of the lift at the fourth floor, there is no clue that a specialist jazz music store can be found here.  It is only when you go around the corner and down the corridor that the shop reveals itself through an unsigned door.

You just have to know it's there.

Birdland has Brasil 66, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Astrid Gilberto, Stan Getz and more.  The staff do not seem to think that collecting these is a strange hobby.

The lobby has lovely, old fashioned lifts and a clock with an inscription above it: "Time Conquers All"

This place provides inspiration for my show, "Adventures with a Brazilian".

Check out Birdland Records here

A resolution

February 2011.  A week after the end of Cabaret Summer School, we're back at La Boheme for the first Cabaret Live of the year.

I'm introduced as a Summer Schooler and get an enthusiastic reception from the audience.  People are getting to know me as a "regular".

After my song, some of the performers comment that my singing has improved a lot.  I'm not offended.  I know it's true; I was very raw when I first sang there, one year earlier.

But why has there been such marked improvement?  At the Summer School there was not much emphasis on vocal technique; there was so much else to learn.  Maybe I've gained a bit more confidence on stage?

But probably, it has to do with singing more.  For a whole week I immersed myself in music.  I practised in the lead-up, we all sang a lot during the week, and I performed three songs on stage.

By way of analogy, I'm reminded of the day my daughter opened the envelope containing her final school exam results.  When she drew out the certificate and read her score (which was quite good), her first words were "Wow, Mum, what if I'd really worked hard?"

In a similar vein, I now ask myself "What if I practised more often?"

Until now, other things have got in the way and taken priority.  But my children are older now.  I could probably carve out some time for myself.

I make a decision.  I'm going to start practising regularly.  I will make every effort to sing at least something on most days.  Even ten minutes would be better than nothing.  And often, when you decide to spend ten minutes on a task, you end up doing it for twenty or thirty minutes.

Could a little bit of practice make a big difference?

Adventures with a Brazilian

Not Rio yet, but a step along the road towards it.

May 2013.  A bit over two years after attending the first Cabaret Summer School, I've got my own solo show coming up in June, in the Adelaide Cabaret Fringe Festival.  I am in possession of an "Artist Agreement" - the first one I've ever had.  My show is at La Boheme.

It's the Brazilian-themed show that I originally wanted - called "Adventures with a Brazilian".  It's the story of my obsession with Bossa Nova and the sticky situations it has landed me in.  The "Brazilian" of course is the composer Tom Jobim.

All the songs in this show are by Jobim.  I had a hard time selecting them - there are so many I'd like to have included.  Emma Knights, one of the pianists in our group at this year's Cabaret Summer School, is going to accompany me.

Suddenly, all the advice from Cabaret Summer School about publicity has become crucial.

There is so much to attend to.  I've had 1000 flyers printed and most of them have already gone out into the world.  On Sunday night at Cabaret Live! it felt very strange to see my big full-colour poster on the wall next to the bar.  I've seen so many flyers on tables at La Boheme - and this time it was my turn to have flyers on the tables, and to spruik my show from the stage.

Chatting that night with Annie Morris, Director of the Cabaret Fringe Festival, we marvel at the number and calibre of artists and shows that have been spawned by the La Boheme "mother ship".

It's one thing to send out your publicity; it's quite another to get "bums on seats" - people need to be motivated to go online and buy tickets.  I'm realizing that it's going to take quite a lot of effort to make sure I fill the venue.  A festival does encourage people to go out and see some shows, but there is a lot of competition.  I'm one of thirty acts in the Cabaret Fringe Festival.  Running concurrently will be the Adelaide Cabaret Festival, which includes performances by Broadway stars.  My shows are on a Sunday afternoon and a Thursday evening - hopefully there won't be a timing clash.  Then there is all the other competition - the other things in peoples' lives.  Family functions, work commitments, holidays away, feeling too tired to go out, cold winter nights when people prefer to stay in.  You have to reach a lot of people in order to draw an audience.  I've seen plenty of good shows in half-empty venues.

And if it takes all this work to promote a show in Adelaide, where a lot of people know me, how am I going to drum up an audience in Rio?

In these open-access festivals the artist is completely at risk and responsible for everything.  You're a sort of entrepreneur.  You pay for everything - venue, publicity, musicians, rehearsals, costumes - and you get whatever is left over.  There's no guarantee you will receive anything - it might even cost you money.  So you need to manage your budget carefully and make sure you do fill those seats.  It makes me curious about the economics of large-scale musicals, with numerous performers, elaborate set, props, special effects and costumes.  I suppose there are economies of scale in a 2000-seat venue, with a season of several weeks, but  you have to wonder about the profitability.

Less than a month to go, and the show is coming together.  The rehearsal dates are set and there's lots of fine-tuning to do.  I'm so excited to have my own show at last.

What seemed impossibly audacious two years ago now feels like the logical next step.  When you keep putting one foot in front of the other, it can be a surprise when you look back and see how far you've travelled.

If you're in Adelaide and would like to come to the show (PLEASE COME TO MY SHOW!) , it's at La Boheme on Sunday 2 June at 2.30 and Thursday 13 June at 6 pm.  Here's the link for bookings:

http://www.cabaretfringefestival.com/adventures-with-a-brazilian-tickets/

A wobble and a bow

Sunday at Cabaret Summer School, 2011.

Early on Sunday evening I arrive at The Promethean Theatre.  It's a small, old, beautifully renovated theatre near the centre of town, just down the road from La Boheme.  It has about twice the capacity of La Boheme.  This doesn't mean it's big, but it feels quite a lot bigger than what I'm used to.  It seats about 120, cabaret style, including the upstairs balcony.  We have to remember to sometimes look up at the people seated there.

The event is close to sold out, with family and friends coming to see what we've been cooking up all week.  Also some "show business" people have been invited to come and see the local talent.

It's time for the sound check, and we will all get an opportunity to stand on stage and sing, to get the feel of our surroundings.  I settle in to await my turn.  Deb arrives, greets everyone, and puts her belongings down.  She is about to go and get changed, and, looking about distractedly, asks "Where is my dress?"  The dress cannot be found and she has to drive home to get it.  

Chiewy has baked cupcakes and gives one to each of us.  Lauren has brought hand-made cards to thank everyone for their companionship during the week.

When it's my turn for the sound check and I step on stage, reality hits.  It feels like a very large space, and it soon it will be filled with spectators.  My voice quivers; I'm breathing shallowly.  It's not the best omen for my forthcoming performance.  

Outfits are unveiled and we compliment each other gushily.  Deb returns just in time for her sound check.  She seems unfazed by the hiccup - she's probably the most experienced performer amongst  us.  

Soon there's a line-up outside the door; the audience is arriving.  We take our places at the front near the stage.  I'm on in the second half, after the interval.  This is good - I need some time to settle down and watch the others.  It helps to know when I'm going to be called; at Cabaret Live! you must be ready to rise from your seat at any time.  Each time an act finishes my heart races and I grab a sip of water in case I'm next.  But for now I can relax.

Several of my friends have come to the show.  I try not to talk too much during the interval, to save my voice for the performance.  I hope they don't think I'm being a diva.

Matthew announces me and my segment "Confessions of a Wannabe Bond Girl".  I step up onto the stage in my long sparkly dress.  I sing, unaccompanied:

"When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother: what will I be?  Will I be pretty, will I be rich?  And here's what she said to me..."  

Cue piano - loud, pounding James Bond theme music, as I wield my invisible pistol to imitate the opening credits of a Bond film.  I spy Frank Ford in the front row.

I'm going well.  I sprawl over the grand piano as I've been taught to do.  The audience is laughing in the right places.  I get to the point where I knock myself out in the swimming pool, and I'm into "Windmills of Your Mind".  The windmills create a minor disturbance and I need Matthew to prompt me at one point.  I roll my eyes and act a bit dizzy - it's a concussion scene, after all.   I get through it (and a couple of months later I sing the song again at Cabaret Live, all three verses, without a hitch).

We're nearly done.  I conclude: "I can be a Bond girl if I want to be.  After all, you only live... twice." And I'm into the final song, "You Only Live Twice".  Some of the higher notes are not what I would like them to be, but now it's over, and I'm soaking up the applause.  

I'm made the transition from a single song to a miniature cabaret set and feel irrevocably altered by the whole experience.  What a week it's been.

On stage at The Promethean

With accompanist Matthew Carey

Afterwards with husband Bill (and a relaxing glass of wine)