Everyone's songs have lodged themselves in my head. I awake with someone's tune buzzing in my brain, but at least I have finally managed to get a reasonable sleep. When I look at the clock I see I've even had a bit of a sleep-in.
Tonight I will perform my new cabaret miniature, "Sex with the City: a love affair with Rio" at Star Theatres.
I get up and go for a walk. While I walk, I work through my patter, but only once, as Catherine wants me to be spontaneous and not over-rehearsed. On her advice, I identify the main points I want to make, and where they will occur.
Still walking, I turn my attention to the song "Two Kites". This is the only song in the set that I've never performed before. To practise the lyrics I sing out loud (well, not too loud). I am slightly bothered by the fact that I don't have a backing track to practise with, but to compensate, I run through the words about twenty times, until I find myself back home again. It'll be fine.
I don't set any other goals for the day; I want to focus on tonight's performance. I review some of the videos from during the week. I go and get my hair done so I can feel confident about my appearance.
Arriving at the theatre, I get dressed straight away; if I've forgotten anything, I want to know now, not later. Johanna takes us through a warm-up. It's both vocal and physical. We sit on the stage (I'm wearing a sparkly evening dress) and do some stretching exercises.
Friends and family are arriving. The theatre and the stage look great.
We find out the running order. I'm second on the program.
The singers sit right in front of the stage; we're ready to step up.
Matthew introduces the show, and Meg is first up. She kicks off the show with a song called "The Girl Next Door".
After her set, I'm on. I start with "Song of the Jet", with the patter between verses.
It's going well. The audience is laughing in the right places. I'm into my "dream sequence" in which I knock myself out, and in my concussed state I meet the Brazilian composer Tom Jobim and he sings to me. I'm in 1960's Brazil. I find myself drawing on the "poem" we generated in the clowning workshop. Yesterday in rehearsal, pianist Emma had reminded me of it. I paint a word-picture - "I'm wearing a bikini in tropical colours - plus I have the sort of body that looks good in a bikini. Sparkly sandals on my feet".
Now for "Two Kites". I sing the first few lines confidently. I'm loving this song.
Then it all starts to unravel. I cannot remember what comes next. I manage to spit out one more line but then my brain draws a blank. I try to grasp hold of a word or two, but they are slippery and the song is faster than when I practised it. My hand clamps itself to my brow, and at the same time my brain tells me "DON'T do that!".
My mouth is doing a goldfish impersonation.
We're into the second verse. Well, Matthew is, anyway. I'm rapidly melting down. The primitive part of my brain is telling me to run away. Then, from the depths of my consciousness comes a concept that I've learned in presentation skills training. It's called "planned spontaneity" and it's the idea of having a funny line prepared and ready in case something goes wrong. Or perhaps it was the "improv" workshop I went to last year. Whatever the reason, next time my mouth opens, out come the words "I'm speechless!" I roll my eyes a bit - hooray for concussion scenes!
Somehow, the act of vocalizing some words has kicked my brain back into gear. I recognize a new bit of the tune and I come back in. I'm determined to finish the song strongly, and now I'm going well. I get to deliver the best (and weirdest) line in the song, "I get a flash of your thigh, like a spy in the sky" (told you it was weird). And after that there is only one more line. I've survived.
Then there is just one more song, "This Happy Madness". I launch into it and in a few minutes I'm done. I soak up the applause and resume my seat. Now I can relax and enjoy watching my talented co-performers.
Even a year ago I would have felt completely mortified by what just happened to me on stage. Tonight, I feel all right. The singers tell me "What a brilliant save! Well done!" When I mention it to a couple of audience members, they profess not to have noticed. I'm not sure I believe them, but okay. A minute feels like an eternity when you are in the spotlight on your own, but it's only a moment in the context of the whole show. I know I can bed down the lyrics of that song in the next few weeks. I feel happy that I'd learned and performed lots of songs during the year, and so it was only the one new song that I was performing tonight.
My focus on "What can I learn?" rather than "How do I look?" has served me well. I start to think about other ways in which I could compensate if a similar thing happened again. Maybe I could make it even funnier.
Everyone is sad that it's over. But next month we'll perform our segments again, at suburban theatres as part of the "Out of the Square" program. We'll see each other again there and also during the Festival Fringe that is coming up soon. We'll attend each other's shows and follow each other's progress; some of these people could find major success.We've all shared the unique experience that is Cabaret Summer School.
Showcase performance Part 1
Showcase performance Part 2
Showcase performance Part 3
Tonight I will perform my new cabaret miniature, "Sex with the City: a love affair with Rio" at Star Theatres.
I get up and go for a walk. While I walk, I work through my patter, but only once, as Catherine wants me to be spontaneous and not over-rehearsed. On her advice, I identify the main points I want to make, and where they will occur.
Still walking, I turn my attention to the song "Two Kites". This is the only song in the set that I've never performed before. To practise the lyrics I sing out loud (well, not too loud). I am slightly bothered by the fact that I don't have a backing track to practise with, but to compensate, I run through the words about twenty times, until I find myself back home again. It'll be fine.
I don't set any other goals for the day; I want to focus on tonight's performance. I review some of the videos from during the week. I go and get my hair done so I can feel confident about my appearance.
Arriving at the theatre, I get dressed straight away; if I've forgotten anything, I want to know now, not later. Johanna takes us through a warm-up. It's both vocal and physical. We sit on the stage (I'm wearing a sparkly evening dress) and do some stretching exercises.
Friends and family are arriving. The theatre and the stage look great.
We find out the running order. I'm second on the program.
The singers sit right in front of the stage; we're ready to step up.
Matthew introduces the show, and Meg is first up. She kicks off the show with a song called "The Girl Next Door".
After her set, I'm on. I start with "Song of the Jet", with the patter between verses.
It's going well. The audience is laughing in the right places. I'm into my "dream sequence" in which I knock myself out, and in my concussed state I meet the Brazilian composer Tom Jobim and he sings to me. I'm in 1960's Brazil. I find myself drawing on the "poem" we generated in the clowning workshop. Yesterday in rehearsal, pianist Emma had reminded me of it. I paint a word-picture - "I'm wearing a bikini in tropical colours - plus I have the sort of body that looks good in a bikini. Sparkly sandals on my feet".
Now for "Two Kites". I sing the first few lines confidently. I'm loving this song.
Then it all starts to unravel. I cannot remember what comes next. I manage to spit out one more line but then my brain draws a blank. I try to grasp hold of a word or two, but they are slippery and the song is faster than when I practised it. My hand clamps itself to my brow, and at the same time my brain tells me "DON'T do that!".
My mouth is doing a goldfish impersonation.
We're into the second verse. Well, Matthew is, anyway. I'm rapidly melting down. The primitive part of my brain is telling me to run away. Then, from the depths of my consciousness comes a concept that I've learned in presentation skills training. It's called "planned spontaneity" and it's the idea of having a funny line prepared and ready in case something goes wrong. Or perhaps it was the "improv" workshop I went to last year. Whatever the reason, next time my mouth opens, out come the words "I'm speechless!" I roll my eyes a bit - hooray for concussion scenes!
Somehow, the act of vocalizing some words has kicked my brain back into gear. I recognize a new bit of the tune and I come back in. I'm determined to finish the song strongly, and now I'm going well. I get to deliver the best (and weirdest) line in the song, "I get a flash of your thigh, like a spy in the sky" (told you it was weird). And after that there is only one more line. I've survived.
Then there is just one more song, "This Happy Madness". I launch into it and in a few minutes I'm done. I soak up the applause and resume my seat. Now I can relax and enjoy watching my talented co-performers.
Even a year ago I would have felt completely mortified by what just happened to me on stage. Tonight, I feel all right. The singers tell me "What a brilliant save! Well done!" When I mention it to a couple of audience members, they profess not to have noticed. I'm not sure I believe them, but okay. A minute feels like an eternity when you are in the spotlight on your own, but it's only a moment in the context of the whole show. I know I can bed down the lyrics of that song in the next few weeks. I feel happy that I'd learned and performed lots of songs during the year, and so it was only the one new song that I was performing tonight.
My focus on "What can I learn?" rather than "How do I look?" has served me well. I start to think about other ways in which I could compensate if a similar thing happened again. Maybe I could make it even funnier.
Everyone is sad that it's over. But next month we'll perform our segments again, at suburban theatres as part of the "Out of the Square" program. We'll see each other again there and also during the Festival Fringe that is coming up soon. We'll attend each other's shows and follow each other's progress; some of these people could find major success.We've all shared the unique experience that is Cabaret Summer School.
Showcase performance Part 1
Showcase performance Part 2
Showcase performance Part 3
Drinks after the show
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