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.

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.

Zing zing zing went my heartstrings

This is my idea of a good trip. The biggest factor in that is that I’m not here to work; Lucy is. It isn’t that often that I’m free for the duration of one of her jobs, or vice versa, and more often than not we’ll spend weeks thousands of miles apart. I could have stayed in England, watering the garden, being a Saddo and pottering about at home, but it seemed infinitely more sensible to come to St Louis and have, you know, a married life.
Lucy is singing three cameo roles in John Adam’s “The Death of Klinghoffer” for the Opera Theatre so it’s not as if she should be rehearsing a great deal, nor does she have the pressure of a major role to worry about. Unlike most companies the Opera Theatre doesn’t work downtown but out on a university campus to the west of the city. They perform four operas, all in English, over about a month and that’s it for the season.

Time Waster

Despite having done this singing malarky for over thirty years now, whenever I go to the theatre I still find myself being taken in by the magic of the proscenium. By which I mean, when I see singers or actors (not that the two are mutually exclusive) leave a scene, rather than visualising them going into the wings and back to their dressing rooms I still get taken in. I do actually imagine them going into the street and climbing into a carriage, or strolling in the streets of Montmartre, or in the case of this Billy Budd, being somewhere else in the school.