Tuesday, 19 April 2016

A polar bear

I landed a commission today, which is rather lovely. It's only for a four-minute choral piece, but it'll keep me busy for a week or so, and the project is a fascinating one. The piece is going to be sung by a sub-chorus of the London Gay Men's Choir and will be one of twelve compositions by different composers which deal with the experience of coming out from members of the chorus' perspective. Apparently, the submissions so far have been on the lugubrious and classical spectrum, so I've been asked to write something a bit more anthemic and upbeat.

On the creativity front, I can also announce that tickets have now gone on sale for Brass at the Hackney Empire this summer. I urge you all to see it. In fact, I shall only forgive those who are utterly skint, out of the country or not into musicals for not seeing it. The production is going to be sensational, and I reckon it's about time people cottoned on to the majesty and fabulousness of the show! It's genuinely the thing I'm most proud of in my life.

You can buy your tickets here:

How else would you be able to watch a musical performed by a cast of thirty four with a twenty piece orchestra in one of London's finest theatres for just £15?

I wrote up in the village this morning and then came home and spent the afternoon doing admin. Plans are forming to take the cast of Brass down to Serre in France so that they can soak up the atmosphere of the hallowed spot where the Leeds Pals went over the top. I hate organising trips. It's a nightmare. There's so much to think about: rules, regulations, practicalities. But I continue because I know what a unique and amazing experience it's going to be for the cast.

I got complimented on my moustache by the man in the kebab shop today. Facial hair and tattoos are the two things that straight men compliment each other on. I still wonder whether it makes me look like a giant white beach ball or a polar bear, but I'll keep with it for a while and see if I can get the ends of the moustache to twizzle like a ringmaster from the 1920s. It's a look.

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