Friday, 2 November 2018

Sitz

We had the sitz probe for Brass tonight. The band is good but I think there was some sort of mix up which meant none of the appropriate sound equipment was delivered to the theatre, so when I arrived our poor M.D. was tearing his hair out!

Fortunately, we have a very good sound designer who managed to rig up a fairly decent sound system which was actually more similar to the usual set up of a sitz, with a line of stand mics at the front of the stage which the singers walk to when they have a line. I think the original plan had been for the cast to wear their head mics and wander about the stage, standing in the places where they would be singing in the actual show: a “bummel probe,” if you like. I actually think this approach would have taken something away from the rather lovely ceremony associated with the cast sitting on chairs and standing to sing, so I wasn’t too fussed, although it would have been good to hear the instruments properly. My careful orchestrations turned into a bit of a wash of sound. It was reverb city up in the band balcony, and the drums weren’t miked.

I left the rehearsal and traveled back on a late night Friday night tube, forgetting how awful drunk people can be. One older woman was so drunk, that, as the doors opened at Kings Cross, she sort of fell out and got her head trapped as they closed again. She literally couldn’t function. I pulled her back into the carriage and asked where she needed to go, and she told me she was going to a place called “Fuck Off”, which I don’t know. I assume it’s on the same line as “Ungrateful Cow.”

Lots of revellers we’re celebrating Hallowe’en, their faces covered in black, red and white makeup. People don’t seem to dress as witches and ghosts with sheets on their heads any more. I think this is a terrible shame. Nathan and I hollowed out pumpkins on Sunday. I thought they were rather good, until I saw a tweet from my choreographer, Simon, who had created the most astounding pieces of art with his pumpkins. He told me that he liked the way I’d used the natural contours of my pumpkin, which was code for “try a little harder next time.”

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