Becoming Human

Another day of rest. I’m slowly drifting back down to earth and feeling almost human again. Almost. I never feel entirely human.

I’ve been sending emails all day and paying the last few invoices associated with the Requiem. The good news is that I’m not yet in the red, so must have come in pretty much on budget.

The live premier film went up online today and it all looks rather good. It’s very rare for the atmosphere of a live event to come across on film, or for the sound quality to be so high.

I went for a run to celebrate freedom; up to Muswell Hill, and back to Archway Road via Cranley Gardens where I collapsed in a heap. I want to be lithe by Christmas. I looked through a set of photos of the premier and couldn’t distinguish myself from a sack of potatoes.

I see the lovely Letitia Dean has gone back into Eastenders with an enormous blond barnet, which is the first thing to enter a shot and the last thing to leave it.

350 years ago, Elizabeth Pepys had returned to London from Huntington and found a newly extended and refurbished house which she very muched liked. Pepys was pleased to report that she was a little fatter than she'd been when she left. Comely was good in those days. Pepys immediately took her to bed where he “had her company with great content and much mutual love.”

Whilst away, Elizabeth, who was probably quite a demanding woman, had managed to fall out with her in-laws and her houseboy, Wayneman, who, by her reckoning, was going off the rails.

September 29th was Michaelmas day, which meant Pepys’ various abstemious resolutions were over, so he spent the next few days taking his wife to the theatre and drinking copiously, promising to get back on the wagon as soon as he could. They went to see A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream at the King’s Theatre, which didn’t impress Pepys in the slightest; “the most insipid, ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life.” It’s a quote which made its way into the Pepys Motet, because it struck me as so bizarre. The following day, they saw The Duchess of Malfi and Pepys discovered that he was worth 680l, which made him feel very excited.

Big Issue

We've just been to see Ghost. Our friend Mark is in the show and got us wonderful seats in the stalls for a very reasonable rate. 

It's a great show and I think it's a shame that it's closing. Who can fail, really, to be moved by a show about love and loss? It reminded me of my Auntie Gill whom I seem to recall was greatly moved by the film when it first came out, just after she'd lost her husband. 

The projections and illusions in the piece are extraordinary; people appear and disappear in clouds of white smoke. Whole cityscapes drift across the stage...

We dropped Cindy off at Heathrow this morning and returned to the house to do some serious spring cleaning. I focused on the kitchen, stuck my iPod speakers on loud and cleaned the place from top to bottom. It was deeply therapeutic. 

That's about all there is to say. I was horrified to discover that we didn't sell any more copies of the CD today. I'm not sure what else I can do. A lot of people suggested sites like Pledge Music when I was initially trying to fundraise. These are the sites where creative people offer to do private concerts for fans and give signed posters etc in return for money up front. I've always found that sort of thing deeply embarrassing. I don't really have fans. What I did, however, think, was that it would be relatively easy to push a few CDs around some of my friends... Sadly, I'm already feeling like a beggar and I hate it. I hate the fact that I feel resentful towards people who say they'll buy a CD simply to get me off their backs ...and then don't. I also hate the fact that I am striking up conversations with Facebook "friends" I've not spoken to for years, simply to try to get them to listen to the excerpts of the work on the website. I feel like a nuisance, but what else can I do without a PR person or marketing team? There's obviously a tipping point when a work starts to sell itself by word of mouth, but I don't know how to get it to that stage. The one thing which I feel justified to be irritated about is people who ask for a copy of the CD for nothing! 

Earlier on, one of my close friends tore a strip off me, telling me that her other friends who make albums never try to push them on her. It was like a dagger in the heart. I felt like a Big Issue salesman. It's astonishing that, just 24 hours after a massive success, I can end up feeling so shitty! Post show come down, I guess. 

Wiped out

I've felt pretty wiped out all day. Nathan has a cold. Fiona came to visit in the late morning and we went to Ali Pali to let go of her grandmothers' balloon. The wind was good and high, and as Fiona let go of the string, it flew at top speed into the air and disappeared into the clouds. 

We made an enormous roast dinner and sat like a row of corpses in the sitting room all afternoon.

We walked to Tufnell Park to see two of Fiona's friends, and then drifted back to Highgate where we dipped chunks of bread into olive oil whilst watching Downton Abbey. 

I'm tired and fuzzy, yet thrilled by the many messages I've been sent about last night. Many seem to think I've written something special. I do hope so. I'm certainly thrilled that so many seem to have responded to the piece in a sort of visceral way; allowing the beats and the emotion of the music to pass through their bodies. 

Triumph!

Wow! It's about 2am, I'm a bit pissed and I've just eaten a lovely beigel from my favourite cake shop on Brick Lane. 

This evening was a proper triumph and I had an extraordinary time. I don't really know where to start. We were blessed by the weather. Truly blessed. The one day of unbroken sunshine we've had all week and a full moon which shone like an enormous spotlight in the sky. 

Everyone did their bit. Rob did the lighting, John did sound, Penny's John built scaffolding rigs. We had a satellite truck, 4 cameramen, a mini bar...

My task today, apart from delivering a speech at the start of proceedings, was to vision mix the cameras. I'd never done it before and the rehearsal was a disaster with no sound and at one point all the cameras working from the wrong shot lists. Thank God for our mentor, Jonathan Haswell, who kept geeing me up and telling me everything would work out.

When it came to the show itself, I was able to really immerse myself in the task and was pretty proud of myself for managing to vision mix an entire classical music concert with no training whatsoever! Sure, I made a few mistakes along the way, but not so many that you'd think the vision mixing was being done by someone who was about to be awarded a Jim'll Fix it badge! 

The choir were remarkable. They looked stunning and performed with great emotion. Conductor Sam was awesome; "visual gold," said Jonathan, "if in doubt cut to Sam." Apparently someone watched the broadcast in New Zealand. Someone else in Texas. People in Scotland and Yorkshire...

The audience was filled with friends and family members. Brother Tim and John came down from Manchester as a surprise. I was so so touched. Cousins Matt, Boo and Bridgit were there. My parents. My outlaws. Brother Edward and Sascha. A very pregnant Philippa. Fiona. Cindy. Nicky and Jo. Members of the Fleet Singers. Singers from Oranges and Lemons. PK. Janie and Nathan's lot. Mez. Lisa and Mark, whose son the work is dedicated to. I felt so lucky. 

I think I may remember the event as a series of perfect vignettes. Nigel's face singing his solo in the Gradual. The sunset as the audience arrived. Cindy's vintage dress in the front row of the audience. Jonathan throwing his arms around me at the end of the broadcast and saying "seriously well done." The perfection of the Agnus Dei. The church in the middle of the cemetery lit up against an electric blue sky.  Ian singing the Pie Jesu. The sight of Tina being swamped by people trying to buy CDs afterwards. Yasi's family arriving. The avenue of balloons with luggage labels attached in memory of the friends and family of audience members. Watching a girl releasing her balloon at the end of the night and shining a torch on it as it disappeared into the night sky. "Who was the luggage label dedicated to?" I asked her. "My first husband," she said. "He died in a plane crash." 

The choir gave me the most wonderful present; a plaque, like a tiny gravestone, engraved to say,"The London Requiem 29.09.12." I felt proud, loved and radiantly happy. 

The most special moment of all came as I walked with Nathan's sister, Sam to the main gate at Abney Park cemetery. As we walked through the avenue of helium balloons, I stopped and unhooked one at random from its mooring. Nathan had done the same when he arrived at the gate a few minutes later. He read the luggage label on his ,"Bob Birchnall." He released the balloon, repeating Bob's name. We both wondered who Bob was. 

I looked down at the luggage label on my balloon for the first time, and my heart skipped a beat; "for Betty Brice and Frances Bland - you are gone yet you are often still here x x" Fiona's grandmothers. Big Nana and Little Nana. I'd known them both and spent many a happy hour in their company in my teenage years. And here they were, on a luggage label, on a balloon I'd selected at random from a row of hundreds of balloons. It's these kinds of stories which have made the London Requiem a remarkable experience, and I can think of no better end to the journey. 

I've just retired to the bedroom to have a little cry. Tears of nostalgia. Tears of happiness. Tears of great relief. We did it. We really did it. 

The edge of the precipice

I’ve not really been able to get a handle on today. I'm aware that this big event is looming on the horizon and that there's probably all sorts of things I should be doing, but everything feels like it’s going in slow motion whilst the time ticks away at an alarming speed.

I spent the morning with a BBC London crew in Hoop Lane cemetery being interviewed about the Requiem. The adorable Wendy, who asked the questions, seemed genuinely excited and moved by the project. In fact, there’s a real sense of something rather unique happening and I sincerely hope that this manifests itself in sales. My target is to sell 2000 copies, which will safely pay all investors back. I've sold about 30 so far, which is lovely and everything, but ABBA had over a million pre-sales when they released The Album!

This afternoon I sat on the sofa packaging up a whole load of CDs to send to the people who’ve pre-ordered copies of the work. I sent one CD as far as the USA. The rest, unsurprisingly, have gone to Londoners and people in the parts of the UK where I have a small following; Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, Newcastle, Manchester.

It's been another rainy day today; slightly concerning because the BBC were predicting "light cloud" until this morning. Still, there’s been no let-up in the BBC’s belief that the sun will shine throughout tomorrow. Let’s hope it dries the ground and means I don’t get 30,000 phone calls from people tomorrow asking if the event is “still on...”

I’ve had my hair cut and bought a shirt, and now I need to eat something and write a speech before I go to bed. One day left...

Never judge a book by its cover version

I've sat in a darkened corner of a dining hall in Rich Mix all day today. We've been rehearsing the live version of The London Requiem all afternoon. It was a wonderful day. The choir know the work really well, and, more crucially, have started to blend really well as a group, which means we can work in proper detail. I genuinely think we're like a big family these days. All sorts of curious friendships seem to have developed within the group. When someone's struggling with a sequence, someone else assists. All the singers excel in different ways. What unites them, however, is their commitment to the emotion and the drama of the music, and this is really special in a choir. They're electrifying to watch. I feel so proud to have brought them all together. 

Our conductor, Sam Becker, did a particularly fine job today, not just when it came to the music side of things (although the man's plainly a genius), but also by taking the reins, rather manfully, when I went into melt-down whilst discussing the technical side of Saturday's gig. 

Sometimes I feel as though people assume everything I do will  work out because I have a history of being at the helm of relatively successful projects. It's a lovely position to be in, but what people sometimes forget is that, in order to maintain the reputation, I spend every hour of every day working, which can mean that even more work ends up being dumped on my shoulders because people realise I'll find a way of coping. That's my perception anyway. We can't ask the person who's being paid ridiculous sums of money already to do something above and beyond for fear that they'll charge overtime, so let's see if Benjamin will make another compromise! 

It sounds like I'm whinging. I'm not. I was hugely proud today and sometimes can't believe my luck that, on a daily basis, I get to do what I do. 

Probably the most exciting aspect of this evening was when two East End ghetto boys came up to me as I was taking a break outside and said, "who's da choir?" I put my fasty face on and puffed myself up like a peacock thinking they were gonna tell me we were making too much noise, or take the p*** out of our sound. 

"Man!" he said, "we was passing and we heard the singing. We produce music. Dance tracks, but vibey, you know. We wanna work with you!"

I invited them to sit in on the rest of the run and they sat through every number, applauding wildly. They then bought CDs afterwards. 

Two things struck me about the encounter. Firstly, that you should never judge a book by its cover, and secondly, that good music is good music regardless of its genre. I've spent ages, unsuccessfully so far, trying to get our piece into someone's hands at Classic FM, when perhaps I should be targeting a whole different market. 

Radio Three

Another day where I’ve barely had time to think, draw breath or even wee! I stayed up until 5am this morning doing my shot list, and then got up at 9 to continue where I left off. I was still transferring shots from one "show bible" to another on the tube on my way to the BBC at 4pm, and somewhere near Oxford Street, I simply slung one of the bastards into a jiffy bag and sent it recorded delivery to the lady in Bournemouth who will be calling the live event. I hope it's not too messy for her. I can genuinely say I did my best in the time I had, but it's no work of art!

I ran from the post office to Broadcasting House to discover that I’d got the time of my interview with Radio Three wrong by an hour, so finally got a little sit down with a cup of tea. I spent the time proudly texting people to say that my music was about to be played on Radio 3. A friend texted back about ten minutes later to say that she'd  obviously missed the broadcast of my song but contacted In Tune to say how much she'd enjoyed it so that they'd play it again... (a full hour before it was actually broadcast!)

The interview went well. They kicked things off by playing one of Barbara Windsor’s solos in the Kyrie and asking listeners if anyone recognised the voice. We had a chat in the studio about the piece. The combination of no sleep and too much tea had given me a funny turn just before we went in, and I explained to the presenter that I had arrived with no personality. Still, he rinsed a few choice remarks out of me, and friends who tuned in said I came across as being quite relaxed, so I guess that’s good.

It was wonderful to hear the Kyrie being played out in full on the huge studio speakers, knowing that people in homes and cars across the UK were listening in. I even had a few sales of the CD on my website!

From the BBC I literally ran – aided by a short bus journey – to the King’s Road where Julie was doing her cabaret. She sang a song I wrote with Arnold Wesker about 15 years ago, which I’d foolishly agreed to sing backing vocals for. Frankly, I have no idea what I was singing. All I know is that it was horribly wrong. I was exhausted, totally unprepared and basically just stood on the stage shuffling like an imbecile whilst Nathan and the lovely Llio Millward covered for me by singing beautifully. Julie didn't help matters by saying as we shuffled onto the stage that she had her very own gospel choir joining her. I looked down at a sea of black people in the audience, and immediately felt like a ghastly albino!

Julie did a flawless set of tunes, however, and the room was full of friendly faces including 5 members of my choir and my brother and Sascha. I had a lovely time and a delicious pizza. Glad to be back home, though!