My lawyer in Brazil

Two months after my heart surgery, I fly to Boston for the annual conference of the International Bar Association.

It proves to be the easiest IBA conference I've ever been to.  My hotel is connected to the conference centre by a covered walkway.  I can get there from my room in ten minutes.  Lunches are at another hotel, adjacent to the conference centre.  I could stay under cover all week, if I wanted to.

The IBA conference is massive.  It has a dozen concurrent sessions morning and afternoon for a week.  This year there are 6000 delegates.

On the Tuesday morning I attend a panel discussion for which I've agreed to write a report for the Committee newsletter.  During this session I notice a beautiful pair of high heeled shoes alongside me.  They are attached by ankle straps to the long, slender legs of a woman of about my own age, with blonde curls.  She is from Sao Paolo in Brazil.  During question time she asks "What is the point of a meaningless exchange of business cards?  I want to have proper conversations with the people I meet here."  Everyone agrees that a meaningless exchange of business cards is...meaningless.  But I know what she means.  Lots of people at this conference deal out their cards as if in a casino.  Her question is honest and direct.  It promotes discussion in the room.

At the end of the session I see Alessandra in discussion with a small group.  Ironically, they are all exchanging business cards.  I march up and say "Can I be part of this meaningless exchange of cards?" They all laugh.  And now I've got her card.

From there I go to the Latin American Forum lunch.  By the time I arrive, the only free table is the one at the back near the door, and I grab a seat there.  One of our panel members sits two places to my left. Alessandra arrives and takes up the last empty seat next to him.   We all have a pleasant conversation.

As the lunch ends, I angle for a chat with Alessandra.  To break the ice, I say "I have a secret first name that is very similar to yours - it's Allissande".  Then I say "Shall we have a meaningful discussion?"  We sit down and I tell her of my plans to have a concert in Rio.  We chat about this for a while.

I've been wondering how I'm going to set up a show in Rio.  I'll need to hire a theatre.  How do I make a booking and enter into a contract with them?  How will I engage musicians?  How will I deal with the language barrier?  Now I ask Alessandra "Could I hire you to help me?"

She suggests that one option would be to hold a free open-air concert, and that if it was promoted properly, lots of people would probably come to hear the crazy Australian with a passion for Brazilian music.  She says "I have a friend in the entertainment business.  We will make it happen."

That evening, I attend a cocktail party at the Massachusetts State House.  It is a large and grand building with a gold dome, on Beacon Hill.  It is just as grand inside.  I introduce myself to people and hand out lots of business cards.

Then I hear the music.  I trace it to another room, to a guy with an acoustic guitar, seated near the buffet table.  I stand nearby and listen for a while.  Finally, I approach him and ask "Do you know any Brazilian songs?"  I'm halfway through singing "The Girl From Ipanema" when Alessandra appears and says "Ah, you are already practising!"

There are 6000 people at this conference, and numerous concurrent events, yet I've seen her three times today.

It is meant to be.  We will make it happen.

Cabaret Live! 2.0

I haven't missed very much while I've been off sick.

I wasn't able to attend the August Cabaret Live! because I was in hospital awaiting my heart-valve operation.  But that night it was announced that the event would be "taking a break".  Amongst my cabaret friends on Facebook, I have sensed a great deal of of angst and anguish - we've been used to seeing each other every month and building our performance skills on a regular basis.  Now there is no Cabaret Live! - what will we do?  Where will we perform?  How will we improve?  Will we see each other again?  Has the dream ended?

I haven't missed any other opportunities to perform.

Since my heart surgery, I've been to a conference in Boston and one in Sydney, where I also attended my sister's 50th birthday party.  And while I'm in Sydney, I see a Facebook message about the new incarnation of Cabaret Live! - a new format, with different challenges.

The event has remained in its original format for four years - an "open-mic" night where anyone can turn up and sing on stage.  It's impromptu; no rehearsal.  I have sometimes actually felt like a cheat for arranging a practice session with the pianist in the lead-up to the event.

Now, the rules have changed.  It's no longer open-mic; it's by application and invitation.  There will be "headline acts" - for those with a 10-minute piece ready for a commercial audience, and "spotlight acts" - for those with a song that has been prepared to a "high performance standard".   It's not for newbies; instead, for them, there will be educational workshops.

We are no longer guaranteed a place in the program - instead, there will be a competitive process.

I completely understand why the organizers have moved in this direction - it will make the event more professional and lift its profile.

But my first reaction is "Am I good enough?"

And I quickly slap my own hand and tell myself to get over it.  You can't worry about this.  If you want to sing, you must put yourself forward and submit yourself to critical appraisal.  All you can do is your best.

At the same time, I'm really glad that I took the opportunity to perform there almost every month, for three and a half years.  It's been an "in the deep end", adrenaline-pumping, steep learning curve that has pushed me to a point I never imagined I'd reach - presenting my own full-length solo show.

I click on "Apply" and fill out the online form.

I'm determined to be good enough.

Cabaret Live: A New Direction