A little Boe peep

Alfie Boe is a very nice guy. We did A Midsummer Night’s Dream together at ENO about seven years ago when he was Lysander and I did my usual Flute. He even asked me if I could give him some advice about a section which sits in an awkward part of the passaggio, the area where the voice “turns” into the higher register. I can’t remember what I told him but he sorted it out. He acted well too, quite happily playing the buffoon.
A couple of years later we met in the green room at Television Centre. We were both on BBC Breakfast News, he to promote his first solo album and I because there had been a lot of media interest in a project I’d done, photographing everything I ate for a year and displaying the photos as a collage. It was a slow news day in the Silly Season. I was introduced as an Artist and he as a Tenor. It was quite strange because, at the time, of the two of us I guess I was the one with more of a track record in the Tenor department, though in a very different area of singing. That’s television for you. Not that I cared very much. I was just so confused and flattered at being described as an Artist. Alfie had two minders with him from the record company’s PR department. I was on my tod.

A bunch of flannel

I haven’t posted in several days, partly because my brother was in town for the Memorial Day weekend and partly because I’ve been out being a tourist. One day I tried doing this on public transport, as I’m a firm believer in the stuff, but while the MetroLink train – a fairly new light train system – was very good and shot me from west to east in no time, the buses were a bit crap. I had very long waits – I gave up once and walked the two miles I wanted to go – and the sad fact is that in this town (unlike New York for instance) bus travel seems to be exclusively for the impoverished or the slightly deranged. In my khaki shorts and pink polo shirt I looked and felt desperately out of place. Fellow travellers looked at me oddly, thinking perhaps that I must have been caught Driving Under the Influence and banned from driving; though one man tried to engage me in a conversation about some recent shootings-cum-killings and I really didn’t want to get into that on a crowded bus.

Waist expansion

I like a good diner, I do, and in the last two weeks I’ve managed to visit a few. It’s a tough gig.
Dr Jazz in Webster Grove is a terrible name for a sweet little old mom ‘n’ pop place that is more of a soda fountain than a real diner. But it has booths and stools at the counter and at the lunchtime we went they were doing a special, which was a cheeseburger with the cheese of our choice (I had pepper jack and Lucy, Swiss), fresh-cut fries and a proper milkshake, all for $6.99. The burger was juicy, the fries still had their skins on (delicious) and my shake (just vanilla ice cream wazzed with milk) was frothy and refreshing. I was very happy.
The City Diner is a twenty minute walk from our digs and has all the trappings of a 50s diner; formica tables, two-tone leatherette booths and a checkerboard floor. It’s not actually that old but it’s menu is authentic (meatloaf is its specialty) and at weekends it stays open 24 hours. We’ve been twice. The first time I tried a St Louis oddity – fried ravioli, which is as it sounds. Crispy, deep-fried ravioli are served with a marinara dipping sauce. It’s not bad. I wouldn’t order it again and I’ve yet to understand why tomato pasta sauce is called “marinara” as there’s not much that’s marine about it, but there you go. I also had a slice of rhubarb and strawberry pie “a la mode” (with a scoop of ice-cream) which was very, very good. The pastry was crisp and the filling not too sweet or gloopy.

We’re all crap at this

Earlier today a soprano friend of ours tweeted “Too many notes, too little time!” To which I responded “Better than not many notes, too much time.” She’s busy and to reinforce her excitement I reminded her that she’s far better off than many of her fellow singers in having lots of work. Lots of singers don’t. I’m not working at the moment either, but that isn’t a problem. Nor did it provoke my response. I have savings, my outgoings are low and my wife is bringing home the bacon. And I’ve been doing the singing lark for a very long time. I’m not worried.