On the weekend before my show "Bossa Supa-Nova", I attend a Cabaret Fringe performance by a young woman who says she used to be in a circus. She gives an impressive demonstration of spinning plates on tall sticks, several at once.
A week later, I will feel exactly like that.
I've already dealt with most of the business issues. I've purchased a public liability insurance policy as required by the theatre, and paid for a licence to perform the music. Tickets are selling very slowly, despite all my efforts and the expense of distributing posters and flyers. We are not going to perform in an empty theatre. I renew my publicity drive, contacting people personally and prevailing on them to come along to the show. But after a few days I simply stop looking at the ticket sales; I don't need this extra stress.
I consider how to present my show. It's cabaret season; there needs to be a story. I decide to talk about my visit to Brazil last year and the shows that Enéias and I performed there. I could have a slide show. I trawl through my photos and assemble a series of pictures, one for each song. For the emotional high-point of the show, I automate a slideshow to accompany the Luis Bonfa song "Non-Stop To Brazil." It takes hours to work out a suitable sequence and to get the timing right. This is the first time I've combined music and pictures in this way; let's hope it works.
I've rehearsed separately with the pianist and the guitarist. We've already worked out the best keys for voice and instruments, and we have some ideas for arranging the songs. I've sent the musicians the song list and chord charts.
On the Monday we have our big group rehearsal. I collect the pianist from his home. While he puts his keyboard into my car, I confide that I'm feeling nervous. He reassures me, and I start to feel better.
We arrive at the rehearsal venue and set up. For the next three hours we work solidly without taking a break. There are eleven songs. It takes every minute, but by the end of the allocated time we've done it. These are top professional musicians. Simply to be in this rehearsal feels like a privilege. It's very interesting to see how they prepare for the show. We decide on intros and outros, how many repeats there will be and which solos will feature in each song. They adjust their chords to accommodate particular notes that I plan to sing.
We arrange to meet at the theatre on Saturday, ready for a sound-check and a short rehearsal. I type up my notes of our discussions, and distribute these to the musicians by email. I create a set-list in large print for each band member, and some "Reserved" signs so a group of friends can sit together.
The week gains momentum. I work, exercise, and have a singing lesson. I contact the sound and lighting technician, and he confirms our arrangements. I work out my "patter" to connect the songs.
On Thursday night we perform a few songs at La Boheme for the audience there. I arrive home with a big smile on my face, declaring to my husband "Now I'm excited".
What to wear? I haven't bought a new dress for this show. I bought insurance instead. But now I recall that I have a summery long dress that I haven't worn yet - bought for $50 in the sales. That one will have to do.
Saturday passes quickly. I go to my Portuguese class, and to the hairdresser. Suddenly it's time to pack and go to the theatre. The musicians arrive early and set up on stage. Now the fun starts. The sound and lighting technician needs me to brief him. The door-lady wants to know the ticket prices. The theatre manager asks for the list of ticket-holders. Yes, I have brought a laptop computer with me (don't all singers travel with one?) I try several things but we don't succeed in printing the list. In the end he sorts it out with the people at the festival. Meanwhile, my band is on stage rehearsing without me. They change some of the song arrangements, adding a repeat here, a solo there.
So now I'm not sure what is going to happen; I might as well throw away my carefully prepared notes. This is the first time I've worked with a jazz group, so it's going to be an adventure.
We wait backstage, all in a heightened state. A message comes through - the doors have closed and the show can start. The band goes on stage and strikes up "One Note Samba". During the introduction I stride onstage and take my place at the microphone. I'm determined to start strongly.
As the show progresses, I watch and listen, focusing intently. I don't dare to lose concentration. Solos are passed around the group by subtle gestures like raised eyebrows. I observe the scene like a tennis spectator, except that sometimes it's my turn to hit the ball. Somehow, all the songs come together. Pictures appear on the screen and I manage to remember what to say about them. Halfway through the show, I start to feel at one with the rhythm, carried along with it and inside it. But by the last song my voice is tired and doesn't sound good. The tension has finally got to me.
Next morning I feel exhausted, but I have to do it all again. I worry that tonight I will have no voice at all. I spend a quiet day; reading the newspapers; some gentle exercise at the gym.
Too soon, it's time to head for the theatre. But in contrast to yesterday, all the arrangements are in place. Everyone knows what to do. I decide that I might as well enjoy myself. I've put so much effort and investment into this event, and soon it will be over. I'll be singing my favourite songs, with wonderful musicians. It would be a shame to let it be ruined by stress.
As I wait off-stage for my cue to enter, I don't feel nervous. I feel wonderful.
We have an almost-full house. I relax and breathe, and my voice works. The Brazilian community is out in force. They cheer and sing along. When I sing in Portuguese, they applaud appreciatively. The singing now feels so easy, it takes me by surprise.
Afterwards, the foyer is filled with people wanting to chat and take photos.
A weekend of spinning plates? Totally worth it.
