It's five years since I first walked into La Boheme and discovered cabaret.
It seems longer - so much has happened since that first tentative performance.
Now, having finished my show, I enjoy going to see some of my friends' productions.
And I look around for new ways to keep developing my skills. The Fringe Festival includes some events that invite participation.
I attend a singing masterclass by a local teacher who has trained and performed internationally. The class is held in the back room of an old hotel. The event is sold out, and we are all squashed in to the small space. When the teacher calls for a volunteer, I wait to see if anyone will step up, because I've been workshopped by this guy once before, and I don't want to look greedy. No one is coming forward, and this is not so surprising, because he is brandishing a length of rubber tubing. He muses aloud - will he nominate someone? I get to my feet, keen for the coaching. Pointing at the tubing, I say "This looks like fun."
This segment is about "singing into the mask" - placing your voice into the bony parts of your face around and above the eyes. He asks me to grip the tubing and sing while stretching it up and out. Then I'm asked to let my voice float up into the space above my eyes. The sound is thin but good, he says. Finally he makes his way to the back of the room and pretends to pull my voice from a distance. The sound "rings" - hooray!
Just for fun, I go to a belly dance class. I need to satisfy my curiosity about this. Plus, anything that gets you moving has got to be good for performing.
The class is in a hall decorated with exotic Egyptian paraphernalia. The teacher, dressed in a flowing purple skirt-and-bra set with gold sparkles, greets me warmly. I explain that I have forgotten to bring the exercise clothes I packed into a bag this morning, and she assures me I'll be fine in the skirt and top I'm wearing. She pours me a glass of champagne and life starts to look a little better. She calls the group to attention, and asks us to put on the orange hip scarves that she offers us from a little basket. They are adorned with silver discs that jingle when we move.
The music starts. It's a mesmerising drum beat. We start with a simple hip shimmy, then gradually progress to more artistic steps with arm movements and some basic turns. On this Friday night it feels good to move. It's also good rhythm training - something that had not occurred to me before. During the break I try on one of the sparkly hip scarves available for sale. It is utterly gorgeous. Then I recall that I already own a black one that I never wear.
After the break we perform a short routine utilising the movements we have learned. Then the teacher invites us to eat the traditional supper she has prepared for us, and to drink some more champagne. We take a seat and relax while she performs some dances, including one in which she balances a sword on her head. I could totally get into this art form, I've had such a good time. I want to collect the costumes - I'm smitten by her sparkles.
On the last night of the festival, I go to a Latin dance event. It starts with a dramatisation of slaves being brought from Africa, then examines music from Cuba, the Caribbean and South America. I clap along happily, feeling the rhythms. The show concludes with a Carnaval scene with girls in sequins and feathers. The audience is invited to join a conga line. I'm there on my own and decide to stay seated, until someone persuades me to get up. It's the best conga line ever. Then the dancers encourage us to try some new steps, and the scene on stage is crazy with lights, costumes and movement.
Now, where can I buy a set of feathered Carnaval wings?
It seems longer - so much has happened since that first tentative performance.
Now, having finished my show, I enjoy going to see some of my friends' productions.
And I look around for new ways to keep developing my skills. The Fringe Festival includes some events that invite participation.
I attend a singing masterclass by a local teacher who has trained and performed internationally. The class is held in the back room of an old hotel. The event is sold out, and we are all squashed in to the small space. When the teacher calls for a volunteer, I wait to see if anyone will step up, because I've been workshopped by this guy once before, and I don't want to look greedy. No one is coming forward, and this is not so surprising, because he is brandishing a length of rubber tubing. He muses aloud - will he nominate someone? I get to my feet, keen for the coaching. Pointing at the tubing, I say "This looks like fun."
This segment is about "singing into the mask" - placing your voice into the bony parts of your face around and above the eyes. He asks me to grip the tubing and sing while stretching it up and out. Then I'm asked to let my voice float up into the space above my eyes. The sound is thin but good, he says. Finally he makes his way to the back of the room and pretends to pull my voice from a distance. The sound "rings" - hooray!
Just for fun, I go to a belly dance class. I need to satisfy my curiosity about this. Plus, anything that gets you moving has got to be good for performing.
The class is in a hall decorated with exotic Egyptian paraphernalia. The teacher, dressed in a flowing purple skirt-and-bra set with gold sparkles, greets me warmly. I explain that I have forgotten to bring the exercise clothes I packed into a bag this morning, and she assures me I'll be fine in the skirt and top I'm wearing. She pours me a glass of champagne and life starts to look a little better. She calls the group to attention, and asks us to put on the orange hip scarves that she offers us from a little basket. They are adorned with silver discs that jingle when we move.
The music starts. It's a mesmerising drum beat. We start with a simple hip shimmy, then gradually progress to more artistic steps with arm movements and some basic turns. On this Friday night it feels good to move. It's also good rhythm training - something that had not occurred to me before. During the break I try on one of the sparkly hip scarves available for sale. It is utterly gorgeous. Then I recall that I already own a black one that I never wear.
After the break we perform a short routine utilising the movements we have learned. Then the teacher invites us to eat the traditional supper she has prepared for us, and to drink some more champagne. We take a seat and relax while she performs some dances, including one in which she balances a sword on her head. I could totally get into this art form, I've had such a good time. I want to collect the costumes - I'm smitten by her sparkles.
On the last night of the festival, I go to a Latin dance event. It starts with a dramatisation of slaves being brought from Africa, then examines music from Cuba, the Caribbean and South America. I clap along happily, feeling the rhythms. The show concludes with a Carnaval scene with girls in sequins and feathers. The audience is invited to join a conga line. I'm there on my own and decide to stay seated, until someone persuades me to get up. It's the best conga line ever. Then the dancers encourage us to try some new steps, and the scene on stage is crazy with lights, costumes and movement.
Now, where can I buy a set of feathered Carnaval wings?
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