One day I'm having lunch with a friend in a city restaurant. When we've finished, she rushes back to work. I stay back to say hello to the owners, who used to run a restaurant near my office. Suddenly they ask me if perhaps I could sing at the restaurant, as they are having a series of Friday nights with entertainment, to usher in the Spring.
Immediately I agree. This is exactly what I need; a chance to practise my singing in a situation where I'm not the main attraction. A chance to provide background music - to sit in a corner and simply be "wallpaper". This is surely the sort of practice that music students get.
Straight away, I contact Mike, who played guitar for me in our June show. He agrees to accompany me and we discuss his availability.
Then I set about negotiating a price with the restaurant for our performance. The "going rate" for this sort of event is a very small fee that doesn't really cover the cost of providing the service. But because I really want to do this show, I don't push my luck. Straight away, they agree to the fee I request.
We are going to do three, 45-minute sets.
We need to more than double the number of songs we already have.
We end up having three, two-hour rehearsals in the lead-up to the show.
I also buy a microphone - I haven't needed to have my own mic until now, as I've always performed in a venue with its own sound system.
All of this is not really about the Friday night dinner show. It's rehearsal with a longer-term goal.
Late afternoon, I collect Mike from his home and we pack all the bulky equipment into my car. We stop outside the restaurant and take all the stuff inside. I leave Mike there to set up while I park the car. This can be a bit challenging (and expensive) on a Friday night in the city - would be even worse if we'd brought two cars. Fortunately I don't get stuck in a traffic jam and I manage to find a spot in my regular parking station. Then I hot-foot it back to the venue.
My husband has organised a table of friends, and their long table is right in front of us. They are the only ones who listen and applaud. Everyone else is focused on their dinner and their conversation. We are making "wallpaper music". We are simply a side-salad to their meal.
It's a beautiful evening, and the big cafe windows are open to the street. The restaurant fills up - they could not fit another person into the place. From my position atop a high stool I observe the waiters buzzing around the busy restaurant.
I'm not bothered at all that no one is listening. Our job here is to create atmosphere. We need to look as if we are having a good time, and that is easy for me because I'm loving it. Instead of being in a spotlight with everyone watching expectantly, I'm in the background and anonymous. I can try new things and take risks I normally wouldn't. I try new improvisations; go for the high notes. I even have a few sips of wine between sets - normally I have a rule of "no alcohol before singing". I loosen up and find a freedom that is quite new to me.
Then I set about negotiating a price with the restaurant for our performance. The "going rate" for this sort of event is a very small fee that doesn't really cover the cost of providing the service. But because I really want to do this show, I don't push my luck. Straight away, they agree to the fee I request.
We are going to do three, 45-minute sets.
We need to more than double the number of songs we already have.
We end up having three, two-hour rehearsals in the lead-up to the show.
I also buy a microphone - I haven't needed to have my own mic until now, as I've always performed in a venue with its own sound system.
All of this is not really about the Friday night dinner show. It's rehearsal with a longer-term goal.
Late afternoon, I collect Mike from his home and we pack all the bulky equipment into my car. We stop outside the restaurant and take all the stuff inside. I leave Mike there to set up while I park the car. This can be a bit challenging (and expensive) on a Friday night in the city - would be even worse if we'd brought two cars. Fortunately I don't get stuck in a traffic jam and I manage to find a spot in my regular parking station. Then I hot-foot it back to the venue.
My husband has organised a table of friends, and their long table is right in front of us. They are the only ones who listen and applaud. Everyone else is focused on their dinner and their conversation. We are making "wallpaper music". We are simply a side-salad to their meal.
It's a beautiful evening, and the big cafe windows are open to the street. The restaurant fills up - they could not fit another person into the place. From my position atop a high stool I observe the waiters buzzing around the busy restaurant.
I'm not bothered at all that no one is listening. Our job here is to create atmosphere. We need to look as if we are having a good time, and that is easy for me because I'm loving it. Instead of being in a spotlight with everyone watching expectantly, I'm in the background and anonymous. I can try new things and take risks I normally wouldn't. I try new improvisations; go for the high notes. I even have a few sips of wine between sets - normally I have a rule of "no alcohol before singing". I loosen up and find a freedom that is quite new to me.
Sing like no one is listening.
Love like you’ve never been hurt.
Dance like nobody’s watching,
and live like it’s heaven on earth.
* These words have been attributed to various people including Mark Twain, Satchel Paige, and William Purkey.
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