Ryan Air stealth

My hatred of Ryan Air continues. We booked flights to Italy today for a holiday at the end of August and were appalled to discover some of the stealthy ways in which they top up their money. Booking a flight with them is a mine-field; every page involves small print. If you don’t want to pay any extras, like £75 for a 20kg bag, you have to look very hard to discover the way to say no. They offer travel insurance but tell you if you “want to take the risk” of not having it, you have to click in the drop down box. The drop down box, however, only occurs with the next question, which is about nationality, and half way down the list of countries is a little box which says “don’t need insurance” – it’s not even under D, or I. It's sandwiched between two really random countries. The absolute clincher, however, was discovering that Ryan Air have their own currency converter which takes the prices they charge from Euros into pounds. We’re told we can pay in Euros (and allow our banks to make the conversion) but that Ryan Air has a “fixed rate”, which won’t go up and down like normal currency conversion rates. “If you opt to pay in euros” they warn, sagely, “you could well end up with a worse deal.” The difference in price is staggering. We saved about £30 by not opting for Ryan Air’s “set rate” which will, of course, always be higher than the actual exchange rate, and will rise if the actual exchange rate rises. They are charlatans, but they don’t need to be. Why not just be honest? Why not just charge a little more for flights and know you’re not ripping people off who aren’t bright enough to read between the lines?

I had a massage today and I feel really light-headed as a result. I don’t have pains in my shoulders for the first time in weeks, however, which is really exciting. This has been my first day off in ages. I spent the morning catching up on admin. I had pages of emails, and all sorts of forms to send off to the Musicians’ Union. I also paid the choir for their work on the recording and watched my bank account going from very healthy, to slightly worrying! I hate online banking. I’m slightly numero dyslexic, so regularly managed to input numbers incorrectly, which caused the screen to go bright red. The internet kept going down as well in our flat, so it was a fairly grim, but necessary experience.  I did it whilst listening to myself doing York’s version of Desert Island Discs. Remind me to crack more jokes the next time someone asks me about my career. I thought I sounded horribly boring.

You can hear it here:

I talk about getting electrocuted, having a form of tourettes and finding people falling over incredibly funny. I also use the phrase; “she sounds like a China-woman” which horrified Nathan beyond words. Obviously I meant a woman from China... but I was referring to Kate Bush singing Wuthering Heights (one of my choices), and feel I must have been drawn into the parlance of the day.

Pepys had a lovely lie-in with his wife on this date 350 years ago. It was a Sunday and he spent much of the morning doing his household accounts, feeling the need to make a note of the fact that “my kitchen, besides wine, fire, candle, sope, and many other things, comes to about 30s. A week, or a little over.” What he doesn’t mention is whether he considers this to be a big amount or not.

Benisms

I woke up in Hove this morning, and ate a vegetarian breakfast outside the little cafe by the station whilst the seagulls squawked in the cornflower blue sky. Fiona has made a very good decision to move here. 

I got very excited by the prospect of cheating Network Southeast out of the ludicrous amount of money it would have cost me to travel back to London before 9.30am. A train pulled into Hove at 9.20am, so I jumped on board and spent the journey to London planning ways to wriggle out of paying an extra £20 if I was stopped by a guard. It was quite exciting.

The day's been spent at Sonica studios in Clapham recording the lovely Rachel Fryer playing piano on the requiem. It occurred to me that I've written some almost impossible piano music in the piece, which gave Rachie an astonishing work-out. Fortunately she coped admirably. We even managed a proper sit down lunch with the boys from Sonica. I had a Greek salad, and very nice it was! 

At the end of the day, after dropping in a violin solo with the deeply talented Anna de Bruin, and making my cameo appearance on the recording playing the melodica - or campaphone as I've taken to calling it - I darted across London to the Pheasantry to hear dear Carmen from the choir doing a little cabaret set. When I say little, I mean enormous. She was blasting out top Cs left, right and centre, whilst standing 3 feet away from the microphone. I was incredibly proud. 

I was also more than a little touched to hear the compere for the evening, Jamie Anderson, singing a song from my musical, Blast. He sang it with great panache and it seemed to go down very well with the audience, which was surprising, really, as it's probably the most offensive and outrageous song I've ever written!  

Speaking of offensive, I did another Benism this evening. A Benism happens when I meet someone for the first time and instantly say something which makes everyone's toes curl with embarrassment. On this occasion, I'd just been introduced to one of Carmen's friends, a charming Scottish and  vital lad called Evan. I asked if he was a performer, and he said "kind of," before revealing that he'd performed for some time before "life got in the way." "What happened?" I said, before deciding to make a joke, "did you get cancer?" "Yes" he replied, "as a matter of fact I did." 

What are the chances?!

350 years ago Pepys held a dinner party for Sir William Penn (whom he secretly hated "with all his heart") and sundry other fancy people including Sir William's son, the founder of Pennsylvania. They ate all sorts including an umble pie (the first ever mentioned in literature), which was made from the entrails of a deer -  and lent its name to the phrase "humble pie". It was said the people who ate umble pie tended to be of low rank; hence humble.  

Worthinging

I'm in Hove, in Fiona's flat, except Fiona's in Madrid. 

I've been with producer Paul all day in Worthing, slowly working our way through the requiem recordings, choosing the best takes, and lining them all up next to one another. Sometimes we select the best bits of two takes and splice them together. It's a fun process, not without its ups and downs. Sometimes you realise what you thought was good enough really isn't, and then the process becomes about trying to work out how best to cover up the mistakes; a bit of reverb goes a long way, but at least one sequence will need to be re- recorded. You live and learn. Recording anything, no matter how experienced you are, is always a massive learning curve. 

Here's an astonishing thing... Did you know that Ryan Air now charges £75 to take a 20kg bag on a plane? Is that, or is that not, in the words of Gem, "truly outrageous, truly, truly, truly outrageous."

Mr Pepys had his first ever mathematics lesson on this date 350 years ago, and started to learn multiplication tables for the first time. It may seem almost incredible that a man of Pepys' level of intellect had been through Cambridge and never learn maths, but it was a new science in those times, one which Pepys would champion in later life. 

Worthinging

I'm in Hove, in Fiona's flat, except Fiona's in Madrid. 

I've been with producer Paul all day in Worthing, slowly working our way through the requiem recordings, choosing the best takes, and lining them all up next to one another. Sometimes we select the best bits of two takes and splice them together. It's a fun process, not without its ups and downs. Sometimes you realise what you thought was good enough really isn't, and then the process becomes about trying to work out how best to cover up the mistakes; a bit of reverb goes a long way, but at least one sequence will need to be re- recorded. You live and learn. Recording anything, no matter how experienced you are, is always a massive learning curve. 

Here's an astonishing thing... Did you know that Ryan Air now charges £75 to take a 20kg bag on a plane? Is that, or is that not, in the words of Gem, "truly outrageous, truly, truly, truly outrageous."

Mr Pepys had his first ever mathematics lesson on this date 350 years ago, and started to learn multiplication tables for the first time. It may seem almost incredible that a man of Pepys' level of intellect had been through Cambridge and never learn maths, but it was a new science in those times, one which Pepys would champion in later life. 

Thank you, Yasi

Today has been one of the most exhausting, exhilarating, stress-filled, caffeine-fuelled, chocolate-sponsored days of my life. My brain is a mush. I am utterly wiped-out. I am too confused to be anything other than in a permanent state of being close to tears! I think I'm thrilled. I could well even be elated. 

We've been in the studio all day, finishing off the vocals on The London Requiem. The day started at 10am with a very special encounter. I finally got to meet the relatives of Yasi, the woman whose grave inspired the requiem. Such a simple inscription; "and we laughed and laughed and laughed." I remember the moment we found it. I was with Nathan and Marinella. We'd just had a picnic under a giant oak tree in Brookwood cemetery. It was a gloriously hot day.

Yasi's best friend, her father, her brother and her brother's partner came to the studio to tell me all about the woman I spent so long imagining. It was a life-stopping moment. Highly emotional. She genuinely sounds like an extraordinary person and I feel privileged to have met her gang, and had them give their blessing to the work. 

Barbara Windsor was next up, singing like only Barbara Windsor can. She was nervous to start with; "you get to my age" she said, "and you don't expect to be invited to do something you've never done before."  A few takes later, and suddenly it was there: the voice from the Carry Ons, the voice which sang "Sparrows Can't Fly." Singing my music! My heart exploded with pride. 

The afternoon into the evening was long and exacting. We had to aim for a level of perfection which has previously eluded me, and I think on more than one occasion we hit pure gold. I was so intensely proud of my people; the Rebel Chorus, Sam, PK... everyone giving it everything. Believing in the project. 

Matt Lucas arrived at 7pm to sing his solos, and took them to a place I was not expecting; a very fragile, emotional, intimate space, which was so utterly and profoundly right for the piece, it took my breath away. 

We over-ran. Of course we did: by 45 minutes. I hope no one minded too much. Actually, had we not started a little late, we'd have kept pretty much to time. 

I'm less confused now than I was when I started writing this blog entry, and have decided the two emotions I'm actually feeling are relief and pride. I feel lucky. I feel blessed. I feel 100 meters tall. Can every day be like today, please? Forever? 

Ebor Jorvik Yerk Yorke Yark York York!

I can’t tell if the water dripping off my head, and running down my trouser leg is sweat or rain. I am in the majestic train station at York waiting for the 9.16pm to London King’s Cross. There’s something rather romantic about making the journey from York to London. I guess it goes back to the old coaching days. Pepys often talked about Yorke’s Wagons; in fact, it was the arrival of a Yorke’s stagecoach in London at the tail-end of the plague which indicated to him that life was getting back to normal again.

I’m buzzing. We’ve just done the dress rehearsal for Ebor Vox. About 400 people must have walked through the streets of York starting at York Minster and ending at Clifford’s Tower, singing my music as they wound through the streets. There are very few words to express how emotional that can be for a composer.

I reached York at 3pm, and immediately went into a series of interviews. For some reason the charming bloke from Derry who spoke to me first brought out a sort of wicked sixth former in me. I think he reminded me of my mate Pete from university, and subsequently everything he said made me want to talk in a Northern Irish accent! I misbehaved terribly. He laughed, so I assume he wasn’t offended and I hope I said enough sensible stuff for him to cut something useful together.  

I then called in on my old friend, John La Carillon, 150 steps up one of the towers of York Minster. What a cool place to meet someone for a natter! I could have sat there all day. John is a convivial and most fascinating man, whose claim to fame is having played at the funeral of one of the Krays. He also played the carillon (a set of tuned church bells) on A Symphony for Yorkshire, and the piano a year later when we resurrected the third movement of the work at an awards ceremony. No composition about York would be complete without the Minster Carillon, or, in fact, John playing the Minster carillon; and that’s why I’m thrilled that Ebor Vox is starting this way.

There is a section in my composition called the “breakout,” when 8 or so choirs get to sing little show- off sections, which all interweave. When we attempted the sequence last Monday it came to a crashing halt, and I began to wonder if I’d written something unattainable in the time we had, and the peculiar acoustic at the York Eye. I could tell a lot of hard work had gone into learning the music, but it just seemed one step too far.

An extra half hour rehearsal was therefore called today in the Catholic church round from the Minster so that we could decide if it was a section we’d be able to do.

I don’t know if it was because everyone was present for the first time, or because people had all gone away and done a bit of private practice, but it was like everyone simultaneously found the key to the door, unlocked it,  and then decided to batter it down for the hell of it! We raised the roof – and some. I think many of the singers were genuinely exhilarated by the experience and lots of them came up to me afterwards to say how they’d suddenly understood everything and were thrilled to be taking part in the section.# blushing #more pride #take that Sally Brown.

As the rehearsals roll past, I see more and more characters in the choirs whom I find myself drawn towards. Some people simply love singing, and it’s the most infectious thing in the world to witness. I also love watching the leaders of each of the choirs, and the rapport they have with their singers, one of whom conducted me in my first term at university in a Gilbert and Sullivan show. I took her on a picnic to Whitby in December 1992, and insisted that everything in the basket was orange. It rained all day and so we sat in a car park eating orange jelly, red Leicester cheese and wotsits before driving back to York again. It’s been brilliant to see her again after all this time.

When 20 or so amateur and semi-pro singers get together in one City alone, one is reminded just how many choirs there are out there in the world. It is thrilling to realise that, every night of the week, behind a myriad doors in thousands of towns, cities and villages, people are singing; and experiencing the joy that singing brings. I maintain that the feeling of singing in three or four part harmony is about as good as it gets. Heaven on earth in fact.

We ran the anthem I’ve written for the project last of all – as the rain started to fall. I have never needed to conduct so big in my life. It’s less a baton that I need and more a blinkin’ light sabre! The musicians and singers are spread out over about 100 meters, and they have to watch like hawks to keep together.

The anthem sounded wonderful however; magical – and there’s some charming dancing and sequences of movement going on in front of the singers... so charming, in fact, that all I wanted to do was join in with them... and I did from time to time.

And what of Pepys? He was up "with the 4am chimes" and spent the day paying the hundreds of Navy men who'd helped to bring Catherine de Breganza from Portugal to London.

The Rebel Chorus

It's very rare for me to forget to write this blog. I suppose my only excuse is that yesterday went by at lightning speed and didn't offer up a single opportunity to take stock. I was like a machine from start to finish!

We spent the day at The Pool studios in Bermondsey, a fabulous rabbit warren of a place, filled with intriguing musical instruments. It was the turn of the Rebel Chorus to lay down half of their tracks on the Requiem recording.  The day, however, started with my mother, whom I've asked to sing a little cameo vocal in the Gradual, which is the third movement of the piece. The requiem features gravestone inscriptions from Londoners of every conceivable religious and cultural background. Some of the messages are deeply heartfelt, and hugely personal and it's important for me that they're represented by a large variety of singing voices. I asked my mother to sing some of the words written on the grave of a first world war solider. The words are obviously written from the perspective of the lad's mother and so my own mother felt like the perfect choice to perform them.

I was incredibly proud of her. She sang beautifully. It struck me that she sounds a little bit like a cross between Lana Del Ray and Marlene Dietrich, which is pretty cool all things considered. 

The choir arrived at noon, many of them bringing cakes and things to share. We've become a little family. We hit the ground running, but took an obscenely long time to record the first movement, The Introit. I suspect there were many reasons for this. It's one of the longest movements, and the choir know it well, but we've always rehearsed the 7/8 sections at a slightly faster tempo. The choir were also getting used to the hugely alien environment of a recording studio; trying to lock in with each others' sounds, whilst wearing headphones and hearing click tracks in their ears. 

From then on it became relatively plain-sailing and the mysteries and joys of five of the movements were slowly unlocked. Sometimes, particularly when listening to the Gradual, I found myself overcome with emotion. We finished the day with everyone listening to that particular movement, which ends with the dignified and deeply affecting vocal of Sir Arnold Wesker. Nathan tells me there were tears from the choir. I tried to be brave! 

The immediate aftermath of the  rehearsal became phone-gate, with first Nathan losing his and then Abbie leaving her's in our car on the way home. Julie eventually found Nathan's in her bag. It was close to midnight before we got home. 

Pepys spent the day 350 years (and one day) ago paying off the sailors from the ships of the flotilla who'd brought Queen Catherine de Breganza from Portugal to the UK. There was some dispute as to the class of vessel each of the ships belonged to, which apparently had a bearing on how much money various officers could expect to be paid. A compromise was reached until Lord Sandwich could get the answers they needed from the king.   Pepys met up with an old friend from his sea voyage to Holland in early 1660. The two men discussed mathematics, which Pepys knew very little about. In true Pepysian style, he immediately booked himself a series of lessons with the man to start the following week.