I finished the script of Brass today, which felt like quite a milestone. I decided to take myself to Rustique cafe on the Fortess Road for old time's sake. It's where I finished one of the drafts of my last stage musical, Blast, so it felt rather appropriate. It's also a lovely cafe which always welcomes writers. I was one of about eight people sitting behind lap tops today and can guarantee not a single one of them was doing their accounts!
I'm quite enjoying my daily jaunts down to Kentish Town at the moment. I go to the gym and then do an hour's work in the cafe whilst drinking tea and feeling my heart beat returning to a normal pace!
There's not a lot more to be said about today. Nathan injured himself on the set of South Pacific after slipping on a piece of wood which hadn't been cleared of slime after all the rain they've been having in the swampy forest they call a theatre auditorium. He was sent to a physiotherapist this morning (well actually he was sent to a wrong address some seven miles away from where the physio was based) but when he was eventually seen, they diagnosed whip-lash, which is a bit random... Anyway, as a result of his appointment, he's feeling a great deal better, and had his first night tonight, during which one of the other cast members did something awful to their knee and had to be carried off stage.
I think Lynne Faulds-Wood would probably say something about a "potential death trap!"
I spent the night thinking about new ideas for TV musicals, and unearthed a load of really interesting rushes we shot on the streets of Soho a couple of years ago... At a time, it turns out, when I was slim and handsome. This is the shape I must return to before turning 40, when my body will plainly immediately fall apart!
Saturday, 31 May 2014
Thursday, 29 May 2014
Pitches
I had a lovely lunch today with Uncle Archie and John Hay from Channel 4 in a restaurant in Soho. It was an Otto Lenghi place, which meant vegetarians are properly looked after. I don't know if John specifically chose the place for this reason, but I was either touched, grateful, excited or all three. We had all sorts of experimental food, including, for me, a liquorice sorbet, which was, quite frankly, all shades of wrong, in a sort of right way! I had a "non-alcoholic" cocktail, which I swear made me drunk... That, or I'm coming down with a cold, because I felt considerably little light-headed on my way back to Highgate.
The ghastly rain hasn't helped. There was a glimmer of sunshine this morning, which made me feel rather excited, but as we exited the restaurant, it was absolutely siling it down!
I came home and worked all evening, finishing off the tenth orchestrated song for Brass, and beginning a last pass of the script, looking for a few extra line trims and potential typos before the script goes to print on Monday.
We have new neighbours downstairs and I helped them to carry an arm chair into the flat. It's always a little odd for me to go down there as it's actually the flat I worked in when I was casting feature films with Shaheen Baig. Sometimes I forget that I did that job for more than a year. Enough time to play a major part in the casting of quite a number of feature films including 28 Weeks Later, Brick Lane and Control.
Our new neighbours, Little Welsh Natalie and her partner, Rich, are actually old friends, proving that it's always worth putting a post up on Facebook when a neighbouring property comes on the rental market. It'll be lovely to have neighbours we can sit in the garden with on warm summer nights. Natalie is a gifted artist, so the house should begin to feel like a hub of creativity again.
Right. Time to get back to work. I know it's late, but I've a pitch to write, and, after chatting to Nathan on the phone, I have a rather good idea...
The ghastly rain hasn't helped. There was a glimmer of sunshine this morning, which made me feel rather excited, but as we exited the restaurant, it was absolutely siling it down!
I came home and worked all evening, finishing off the tenth orchestrated song for Brass, and beginning a last pass of the script, looking for a few extra line trims and potential typos before the script goes to print on Monday.
We have new neighbours downstairs and I helped them to carry an arm chair into the flat. It's always a little odd for me to go down there as it's actually the flat I worked in when I was casting feature films with Shaheen Baig. Sometimes I forget that I did that job for more than a year. Enough time to play a major part in the casting of quite a number of feature films including 28 Weeks Later, Brick Lane and Control.
Our new neighbours, Little Welsh Natalie and her partner, Rich, are actually old friends, proving that it's always worth putting a post up on Facebook when a neighbouring property comes on the rental market. It'll be lovely to have neighbours we can sit in the garden with on warm summer nights. Natalie is a gifted artist, so the house should begin to feel like a hub of creativity again.
Right. Time to get back to work. I know it's late, but I've a pitch to write, and, after chatting to Nathan on the phone, I have a rather good idea...
Know your composers
I spent a disproportionately large amount of the day trying to "unsubscribe" myself from spam emails. Periodically I get the impression that my inbox is drowning under the weight of these communications, and have found that a little diligence in the field of removal can work wonders, although sometimes it feels like an uphill struggle... And the way those bastards disguise their "opt out" buttons is somewhat legendary (if indeed a bad thing can be legendary...)
I continued with the process of orchestrating Brass, although I hit something of a wall in the late morning. The early stages of grunt-work on any song can be mind-numbing in the extreme, as note after note is inputted into the score. It's only when the process of finessing kicks in that it becomes even remotely bearable... And then in the back of the mind there's always the nagging voice which informs you there's still another ten numbers where those ten numbers came from... And I've now orchestrated all my favourite songs!
I returned from the gym and cooked myself a "meal of sides" which is what Nathan often accuses my vegetarian dishes of being. I had potatoes, corn on the cob, broccoli and sweetcorn, which I guess feels a little lacking in a foodie star turn! It looked wonderfully colourful on the plate however...
I ate in front of Britain's Got Talent and immediately became incensed by the pretty "opera" singer who, of course, was lorded by the panel as the most talented person in the country... Ever... Fact... World class... She gave it 110%... How she managed to over come those bullies and the death of her Grannie, I'll never know!
It wasn't her slightly slow vibrato, however, which incensed me... It was the fact that she didn't know who'd written the piece of music she was performing. Firstly, that's really insulting to the composer. Secondly, if a performer enjoys a certain song, it's worth seeing what else the composer's written because they might enjoy that as well. Not knowing who wrote a song comes across as either really arrogant or ludicrously ditzy, and neither are exactly good traits in performers.
It's something I tell the young people who audition for me. On and on I go about it. Respect the work of composers - particularly living composers - we could all do with a little more respect, and without us... Well there's no new music, is there? Fact. 110%.
I continued with the process of orchestrating Brass, although I hit something of a wall in the late morning. The early stages of grunt-work on any song can be mind-numbing in the extreme, as note after note is inputted into the score. It's only when the process of finessing kicks in that it becomes even remotely bearable... And then in the back of the mind there's always the nagging voice which informs you there's still another ten numbers where those ten numbers came from... And I've now orchestrated all my favourite songs!
I returned from the gym and cooked myself a "meal of sides" which is what Nathan often accuses my vegetarian dishes of being. I had potatoes, corn on the cob, broccoli and sweetcorn, which I guess feels a little lacking in a foodie star turn! It looked wonderfully colourful on the plate however...
I ate in front of Britain's Got Talent and immediately became incensed by the pretty "opera" singer who, of course, was lorded by the panel as the most talented person in the country... Ever... Fact... World class... She gave it 110%... How she managed to over come those bullies and the death of her Grannie, I'll never know!
It wasn't her slightly slow vibrato, however, which incensed me... It was the fact that she didn't know who'd written the piece of music she was performing. Firstly, that's really insulting to the composer. Secondly, if a performer enjoys a certain song, it's worth seeing what else the composer's written because they might enjoy that as well. Not knowing who wrote a song comes across as either really arrogant or ludicrously ditzy, and neither are exactly good traits in performers.
It's something I tell the young people who audition for me. On and on I go about it. Respect the work of composers - particularly living composers - we could all do with a little more respect, and without us... Well there's no new music, is there? Fact. 110%.
Wednesday, 28 May 2014
Music
On my way to Camden today I stopped off at the little cafe kiosk at the back entrance to Highgate station. The Algerian chaps who work there are ludicrously friendly, and, as a result, I often go out of my way to give them custom.
The guy who served me today, Samir, seemed a great deal less cheery than normal. I watched him as he prepared my cup of tea, engulfed by sadness, and came to the conclusion that he must be in mourning. This isn't something I usually decide about someone and it was some time before I realised the actual truth...
My perception of the what I was looking at had been entirely altered by the music playing on Samir's radio! I'm not sure what it was. It was probably from a film; something mournful and repetitive played on solo piano, but I realised in retrospect that it had started as Samir stood up from his chair to serve me, and that the entire transaction had taken place with that going on in the background!
Then it struck me how we're all hugely influenced by music in ways we don't even realise; not just in obvious cases like films, where incidental music tells us how to feel, or when we start walking in time to music playing as we pass a shop. This is, of course, why they play soothing classical music at rowdy tube stations and why, at the end of a club night, the chill-out music informs us that it's time to stop taking drugs and go home!
Of course, it's an oft-debated concept; very much a chicken and egg sort of thing. Do we associate minor chords with sadness because early writers used minor chords to denote tragedy? Or is there something inherently sad about the interval of a minor third?
It's fascinating to me that music can be used - in isolation - to represent almost every emotion; danger, loneliness, comedy, intrigue...
I'm aware this philosophy is central to GCSE music and that I'm ridiculously late to the party in discussing it here; but I suppose I've never been quite so subconsciously drawn in by the eerie wiles of music!
I was heading to Camden to have our wedding photographs printed yet again. I feel if I'm going to throw my money at Snappy Snaps, they can at least print the pictures properly. I sat writing in a cafe waiting for them to be developed whilst drinking more tea. I've had tea coming out of my ears today and am feeling somewhat jittery as a result.
By the end of the week I shall be half way through the process of orchestrating Brass. I have to say, it's fairly heavy going. My heart sinks when I'm faced with a blank manuscript at the start of a new song. By the time the underscoring goes in, I'll have orchestrated up to two hours of music, which is by far my longest ever composition. It's exhausting. Genuinely.
I collected the pictures in the midst of a rain storm. They hadn't been done brilliantly, but there was a noticeable improvement from the last lot. I find this weather more than a little distressing. It is, of course, the fault of the Chelsea Flower Show, which I've noticed always brings with it buckets of rain. But this is cold rain. The sort of damp rain which gets into your bones. Hideous.
The guy who served me today, Samir, seemed a great deal less cheery than normal. I watched him as he prepared my cup of tea, engulfed by sadness, and came to the conclusion that he must be in mourning. This isn't something I usually decide about someone and it was some time before I realised the actual truth...
My perception of the what I was looking at had been entirely altered by the music playing on Samir's radio! I'm not sure what it was. It was probably from a film; something mournful and repetitive played on solo piano, but I realised in retrospect that it had started as Samir stood up from his chair to serve me, and that the entire transaction had taken place with that going on in the background!
Then it struck me how we're all hugely influenced by music in ways we don't even realise; not just in obvious cases like films, where incidental music tells us how to feel, or when we start walking in time to music playing as we pass a shop. This is, of course, why they play soothing classical music at rowdy tube stations and why, at the end of a club night, the chill-out music informs us that it's time to stop taking drugs and go home!
Of course, it's an oft-debated concept; very much a chicken and egg sort of thing. Do we associate minor chords with sadness because early writers used minor chords to denote tragedy? Or is there something inherently sad about the interval of a minor third?
It's fascinating to me that music can be used - in isolation - to represent almost every emotion; danger, loneliness, comedy, intrigue...
I'm aware this philosophy is central to GCSE music and that I'm ridiculously late to the party in discussing it here; but I suppose I've never been quite so subconsciously drawn in by the eerie wiles of music!
I was heading to Camden to have our wedding photographs printed yet again. I feel if I'm going to throw my money at Snappy Snaps, they can at least print the pictures properly. I sat writing in a cafe waiting for them to be developed whilst drinking more tea. I've had tea coming out of my ears today and am feeling somewhat jittery as a result.
By the end of the week I shall be half way through the process of orchestrating Brass. I have to say, it's fairly heavy going. My heart sinks when I'm faced with a blank manuscript at the start of a new song. By the time the underscoring goes in, I'll have orchestrated up to two hours of music, which is by far my longest ever composition. It's exhausting. Genuinely.
I collected the pictures in the midst of a rain storm. They hadn't been done brilliantly, but there was a noticeable improvement from the last lot. I find this weather more than a little distressing. It is, of course, the fault of the Chelsea Flower Show, which I've noticed always brings with it buckets of rain. But this is cold rain. The sort of damp rain which gets into your bones. Hideous.
Tuesday, 27 May 2014
Two blogs in one
Sunday 25th May, 2014 and Bank Holiday Monday...
It seems, for the first time in my life, I forgot to write a blog yesterday, so today's entry will need to be a two-partner.
Nathan returned very late on Saturday night, on mini-break mid-way through his gruelling 9-day technical rehearsal in a swampy forest in Leicestershire.
He'd had drama on his journey involving an exploding tyre, which had literally blown-up in his face. He was more shocked than injured, but it wouldn't take a fool to realise he was lucky to escape that one with just ringing ears from the loud bang and a face splattered in mud and tiny fragments of rubber!
We spent the day running errands, printing photographs and the like. I had my second attempt at printing the wedding photographs at (another branch of) Snappy Snaps, and yet again they were done incredibly badly, all milky and pale and with no contrast and in many cases with the tops of heads cropped off the photographs. I don't actually know what to do to get these special pictures printed properly. As Nathan points out, we've really gone backwards in the field of photographic printing. The quality of the work of places like Snappy Snaps is so terribly low; one assumes a reflection of how few people actually require photographic prints. Most these days are happy to look at things online and when they do have photographs printed are content to look at poor quality in the same way that YouTube or camera phone footage to many young people is every bit as good as film. I have now wasted £150 in my quest. Baring in mind that I'm a pretty decent photographer with a finely-tuned visual eye, can any one recommend somewhere that actually cares about quality?
We spent the evening at the cinema. We'd not been for years, and of course Sod's law dictated that there was nothing on apart from ghastly action films and a few silly rom-coms (or as my spell check seems to want me to write, rom-comas!)
We opted for something about Drew Barrymore going on holiday to Africa. With Americans it's always "Africa"... That's about as specific as they can get. No doubt if they opted to go on holiday to "South Africa" one of their viewers would explode or learn too much about other cultures.
Today we went to Julie's house to eat quiche and watch Britain's Got Talent. We played my favourite game; let's see how long it takes the contestants or judges to utter one of that lengthy lists of pointless platitudes or cliches that are reserved solely for this genre of telly...
"I want this more than anything in the world."
"You gave it 110%"
"I didn't like it... I loved it"
"That was a world-class performance"
The list is endless, but I was particularly impressed to hear a girl in the line-dancing troop listing off six in a row. That's pretty astonishing even for BGT!
I did my weekly shop en route and treated myself to a watermelon and lime jelly from Sainsbury's. It's only a little snack tub. But here's a thing. The jelly apparently includes 33% of my recommended daily intake of sugar... And, wait for this... 8% of my recommended daily intake of SALT! Surely this is insane?
It seems, for the first time in my life, I forgot to write a blog yesterday, so today's entry will need to be a two-partner.
Nathan returned very late on Saturday night, on mini-break mid-way through his gruelling 9-day technical rehearsal in a swampy forest in Leicestershire.
He'd had drama on his journey involving an exploding tyre, which had literally blown-up in his face. He was more shocked than injured, but it wouldn't take a fool to realise he was lucky to escape that one with just ringing ears from the loud bang and a face splattered in mud and tiny fragments of rubber!
We spent the day running errands, printing photographs and the like. I had my second attempt at printing the wedding photographs at (another branch of) Snappy Snaps, and yet again they were done incredibly badly, all milky and pale and with no contrast and in many cases with the tops of heads cropped off the photographs. I don't actually know what to do to get these special pictures printed properly. As Nathan points out, we've really gone backwards in the field of photographic printing. The quality of the work of places like Snappy Snaps is so terribly low; one assumes a reflection of how few people actually require photographic prints. Most these days are happy to look at things online and when they do have photographs printed are content to look at poor quality in the same way that YouTube or camera phone footage to many young people is every bit as good as film. I have now wasted £150 in my quest. Baring in mind that I'm a pretty decent photographer with a finely-tuned visual eye, can any one recommend somewhere that actually cares about quality?
We spent the evening at the cinema. We'd not been for years, and of course Sod's law dictated that there was nothing on apart from ghastly action films and a few silly rom-coms (or as my spell check seems to want me to write, rom-comas!)
We opted for something about Drew Barrymore going on holiday to Africa. With Americans it's always "Africa"... That's about as specific as they can get. No doubt if they opted to go on holiday to "South Africa" one of their viewers would explode or learn too much about other cultures.
Today we went to Julie's house to eat quiche and watch Britain's Got Talent. We played my favourite game; let's see how long it takes the contestants or judges to utter one of that lengthy lists of pointless platitudes or cliches that are reserved solely for this genre of telly...
"I want this more than anything in the world."
"You gave it 110%"
"I didn't like it... I loved it"
"That was a world-class performance"
The list is endless, but I was particularly impressed to hear a girl in the line-dancing troop listing off six in a row. That's pretty astonishing even for BGT!
I did my weekly shop en route and treated myself to a watermelon and lime jelly from Sainsbury's. It's only a little snack tub. But here's a thing. The jelly apparently includes 33% of my recommended daily intake of sugar... And, wait for this... 8% of my recommended daily intake of SALT! Surely this is insane?
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Proud to be a Londoner
My parents were down in London today to watch Angela Lansbury in Blithe Spirit. I'm slightly jealous, of course, but met them for tea with Brother Edward, Sascha and Daniel, who I recall being with me when I wrote my first blog four years ago.
We went to Bill's in Covent Garden, which is a lovely place to eat, although someone should have told that to the Hen party on the next door table, who were all decked out in Claire's Accessory pink, but were eating in absolute silence, which was a most curious sight! Sometimes I think the majority of things associated with weddings are merely done because ever-evolving, yet brutally-prescriptive tradition dictates it should be done that way. Why feel the need to go out on the town and have a riotous time if it's only going to make you miserable? Why have an event which excludes friends of the opposite sex, if you have friends who are both male and female? Why separate yourself from your spouse and all of their friends with you could all have a jolly time together?
Speaking of weddings, I did a little search yesterday to see what the bottom-half of the internet were saying about our wedding, and was thrilled that I needed to look rather hard to find anything hugely negative. What I DID find came mostly from the gay community, touting that tired old line about how getting married in a musical was a camp stereotype which has pushed gay rights back by years. Obviously I opted not to respond with quotes from the hundreds of messages we received from people whose lives were changed for the better by seeing the show, but one of the most vociferous demonstrators was a particularly tragic case. When I looked at his twitter picture the irony of him accusing us of setting the cause back by years became deeply apparent. There he was dressed in electric blue, latex rubber fetish gear. I THINK he was rocking a sort of masculine look - in the same way that the Village People dressed as policemen - but surely if anything is stereotypical, it's members of my community who shun their theatrical and camp brothers for these ridiculous displays of "masculinity" which end up seeming even more camp than the truth they're too scared to embrace! I don't think anyone should feel the need to be anything other than honest with themselves. If you want to dress like a giant Smurf, do it. Enjoy it. If you want to sashay down Old Compton Street with your elbow surgically attached to your ribs, then good luck to you. What we must never do is criticise others for doing things their way.
Speaking of Soho, after depositing the family at the theatre, I walked back to the tube through Soho Square, and it all looked rather glorious bathed in evening sunshine. It was a true hive of activity, filled with all sorts of people having great fun. In one corner, two young people were teaching an elderly Chinese couple to dance salsa. In another, the council, or whoever owns the space, have set up outdoor ping-pong tables which people were happily using. I felt a sudden rush of pride to be a Londoner, which doesn't happen hugely often. I maintain, however, that, when London gets it right - The Southbank, Hampstead Heath, Soho - it is the best city in the world.
As if to prove this point, as I exited at Highgate Station, I was reminded of the hugely charming thing which happens up in this neck of the city. There's a wooden door which tends to slam shut at the top of the single-person escalator which takes people from the ticket hall up onto the Archway Road. The tradition is to hold this door open for the person behind you... It's a tradition which can go to great extremes. Some people will hold the door open for someone who emerges from the escalator ten or so seconds behind them. Basically, if there's anyone in sight, universally people will hold the door open for them. Isn't that lovely? And so un-London!
We went to Bill's in Covent Garden, which is a lovely place to eat, although someone should have told that to the Hen party on the next door table, who were all decked out in Claire's Accessory pink, but were eating in absolute silence, which was a most curious sight! Sometimes I think the majority of things associated with weddings are merely done because ever-evolving, yet brutally-prescriptive tradition dictates it should be done that way. Why feel the need to go out on the town and have a riotous time if it's only going to make you miserable? Why have an event which excludes friends of the opposite sex, if you have friends who are both male and female? Why separate yourself from your spouse and all of their friends with you could all have a jolly time together?
Speaking of weddings, I did a little search yesterday to see what the bottom-half of the internet were saying about our wedding, and was thrilled that I needed to look rather hard to find anything hugely negative. What I DID find came mostly from the gay community, touting that tired old line about how getting married in a musical was a camp stereotype which has pushed gay rights back by years. Obviously I opted not to respond with quotes from the hundreds of messages we received from people whose lives were changed for the better by seeing the show, but one of the most vociferous demonstrators was a particularly tragic case. When I looked at his twitter picture the irony of him accusing us of setting the cause back by years became deeply apparent. There he was dressed in electric blue, latex rubber fetish gear. I THINK he was rocking a sort of masculine look - in the same way that the Village People dressed as policemen - but surely if anything is stereotypical, it's members of my community who shun their theatrical and camp brothers for these ridiculous displays of "masculinity" which end up seeming even more camp than the truth they're too scared to embrace! I don't think anyone should feel the need to be anything other than honest with themselves. If you want to dress like a giant Smurf, do it. Enjoy it. If you want to sashay down Old Compton Street with your elbow surgically attached to your ribs, then good luck to you. What we must never do is criticise others for doing things their way.
Speaking of Soho, after depositing the family at the theatre, I walked back to the tube through Soho Square, and it all looked rather glorious bathed in evening sunshine. It was a true hive of activity, filled with all sorts of people having great fun. In one corner, two young people were teaching an elderly Chinese couple to dance salsa. In another, the council, or whoever owns the space, have set up outdoor ping-pong tables which people were happily using. I felt a sudden rush of pride to be a Londoner, which doesn't happen hugely often. I maintain, however, that, when London gets it right - The Southbank, Hampstead Heath, Soho - it is the best city in the world.
As if to prove this point, as I exited at Highgate Station, I was reminded of the hugely charming thing which happens up in this neck of the city. There's a wooden door which tends to slam shut at the top of the single-person escalator which takes people from the ticket hall up onto the Archway Road. The tradition is to hold this door open for the person behind you... It's a tradition which can go to great extremes. Some people will hold the door open for someone who emerges from the escalator ten or so seconds behind them. Basically, if there's anyone in sight, universally people will hold the door open for them. Isn't that lovely? And so un-London!
Saturday, 24 May 2014
Hoolia
Crumbs, I'm out of condition! This afternoon, I nearly killed myself walking up the steep hill from Tufnell Park to Highgate. In fairness, it's a two-mile walk, on an unrelenting gradient, I was carrying two enormous bags and talking to Fiona all the way, which, with my sudden bout of hayfever meant I wasn't exactly regulating my breath. I'd also just been to the gym, and it was incredibly hot this evening, but as I arrived in Highgate village, I almost caved in, which can't be good!
I spent the day orchestrating Brass. I also had a meeting at the BBC with the lovely Emily Mckenzie's sister, who, comically, is called Julia Mckenzie. That's right... Just like the actress who plays Miss Marple! Fortunately she works in the comedy department of the Beeb, so is obviously aware of the humerous potential of her name. I went to school with a bloke called Michael Jackson... I wonder what happened to him?
The actress Julia Mckenzie is known to certain theatre people as Hoolia Macanazie. I'm not sure why. I think it's a camp humour thing. I don't even really know why it's funny. It sort of just is. The same people call Judy Dench, Hoody Donch. Again, no idea...
This morning, over breakfast, I fetched my CDs down from the roof and did that old-school thing of playing them on a proper 20-year old CD player, made in the day that electronic was built to last. I listened to Olivia Newton John and the War of The Worlds soundtrack, which made me dance. I played the latter very loudly on the assumption that my neighbours would appreciate a blast of retro joy! No one ever minds hearing a bit of Jeff Wayne... "The chances of anything coming from Mars is a million to one... Yet still they come..." [epic string break]
On that note, what on earth happened to Julie Covington who sings on the recording? Does she still perform? She used to be quite a well-respected actress at the National and Royal Court. I think she did a fair amount of Carol Churchill plays back in the day. I'd love to know if she still sings because that woman had a terrific set of pipes.
I spent the day orchestrating Brass. I also had a meeting at the BBC with the lovely Emily Mckenzie's sister, who, comically, is called Julia Mckenzie. That's right... Just like the actress who plays Miss Marple! Fortunately she works in the comedy department of the Beeb, so is obviously aware of the humerous potential of her name. I went to school with a bloke called Michael Jackson... I wonder what happened to him?
The actress Julia Mckenzie is known to certain theatre people as Hoolia Macanazie. I'm not sure why. I think it's a camp humour thing. I don't even really know why it's funny. It sort of just is. The same people call Judy Dench, Hoody Donch. Again, no idea...
This morning, over breakfast, I fetched my CDs down from the roof and did that old-school thing of playing them on a proper 20-year old CD player, made in the day that electronic was built to last. I listened to Olivia Newton John and the War of The Worlds soundtrack, which made me dance. I played the latter very loudly on the assumption that my neighbours would appreciate a blast of retro joy! No one ever minds hearing a bit of Jeff Wayne... "The chances of anything coming from Mars is a million to one... Yet still they come..." [epic string break]
On that note, what on earth happened to Julie Covington who sings on the recording? Does she still perform? She used to be quite a well-respected actress at the National and Royal Court. I think she did a fair amount of Carol Churchill plays back in the day. I'd love to know if she still sings because that woman had a terrific set of pipes.
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