Skip to main content

I know I'm a Dog, but Sometimes I'd Like to be a Cat!

    Cheers to @BenPatienceFIt for the subject.  His tweet about repeating the gym movements in your head reminded me of being told to conjure up what I was about to sing when I was taking a breath.  


  Via Youtube I've been an observer at vocal masterclasses. I'm getting back to serious singing in my next show - a mix of opera and stand up about some of the more bizarre situations in which I've sung over the years. I've sung in. Watch this space. 
  Always good to be reminded of the need for correct posture, breathing and support. A lot of the young singers shown didn't know how many pairs of ribs they have or where exactly they were. There was also quite a bit of leaning towards the audience. Some patronising attempts at covering up obvious mistakes by skipping sideways while flourishing an arm. And one bumptious baritone bounced onto the platform to announce, through a daft beard, that he would love to sing "Hai Gia Vinta la Causa". 
  Mate, nobody loves singing something that difficult. 
  I once admitted to being scared of some Rossini when I was singing with British Youth Opera. It was at a cast party, and my remark was overheard by one of those repulsive sopranos who go to Chetham's and later the Royal Northern, meanwhile making old people's lives a misery cutting their teeth doing the rounds of retirement homes singing "Deh, Vieni, Non Tardar". You can't tell one of those sopranos that all the elderly want to do is sit in quiet expectation of their next meal, make passively-racist remarks about the staff and accuse other residents of stealing from their lockers. 
  Anyway, this northern soprano who had heard me admit to being scared of the Rossini laughed on a top F sharp and said, 'Then why do this? I relish all my steppings out to sing, relish them. I wouldn't admit to fear.  Would you, Val? Isn't fear all wrong?' 
  She sneered at me and turned to Val: Valerie Masterson, coaching that year's singers. And bless Val for saying, 'When I sang Constanze at Glyndebourne, I would sit cowering in an armchair all day praying that I had still had all those top Ds by the time of the performance.'  
  The northern soprano, blessedly, ignored me after that. 
  
  Watching one of the Shakespeare programmes last week - please don't miscast any more stand up comedians in acting parts, thanks - I remembered seeing Cheek by Jowl in As You Like It and thinking I'd like to have a go at playing some of Shakespeare's female parts. Rosalind, perhaps, Beatrice or even Cleopatra...
  The late Rex Doyle, actor, looked sharply at me and said, 'Don't be silly.  You'd get cast as Mad Margaret, Mistress Quickly and Lady Macbeth!' 
  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Mate Jamie-Ray Hartshorne

     I've been noticing that alongside photos of Jamie-Ray being a lead in Altar Boys , creating Change My Body UK TM , working the door at Freedom - and clearly asking people passing by wherever that rockpool may be to snap a double-bicep - this sort of thing is cropping up on his social media:   We're in The Diner, Jamestown Road, Camden.  He's between tour dates of  The Bodyguard,  and meetings to discuss sportswear and creatine endorsements.  The latter, he says, being all about making his product better.   Between sips of his peanut butter milkshake (he's allowing himself dairy today in my honour - I don't quite know how to take that) he says in his soft Brum, 'I've signed up for a major Muay Thai event in Thailand next February.  I'm going up against one of the Thai fighters.  That's the only real way to gain any respect in the fighting world.  That's why you've been noticing the combat photos.  I...

Me Featuring in The Sunday Times, Nicely...

  This happened. The editor thinks it's a book of dog sitter stories waiting to happen. I am scribbling away at same...  I first house-sat by accident. I was originally at Haven House, Lembton, as a live-in safety net for Lady Olive Simmonds, a seventy-nine year-old Bostonian with a lilac afro, a Temazepam habit and leg ulcers. Haven House was by the sea. Eighteenth century, elegant, comfortable.  But there was Olive... Always in pain; either drunk, hungover or both; barely educated. She had married a man who was knighted, and believed this gave her a licence to be a twat. According to Olive, her fellow Lembtonians were all dull academics - this group having reading ages older than hers, which was thirteen - or failed schizophrenics. She had serious monophobia, with staff working (unnecessarily) every day apart from weekends. At weekends, first thing, anxious, she would ring round the Lembtonians that were still speaking to her - six in number - inviting them for coffee, ...

Remembering the Duke of Edinburgh

     All I remember about this night was the Royal Marine  confiscating my chocolate HMS Victory canon ball...   Lovely mention from  The Telegraph  about the Trafalgar 200 supper on board HMS  Victory  with Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh as guests of honour.  Lula, harp, and I performed the Duke of Edinburgh's favourite song.