We had one of the most awful car journeys in the history of car journeys today. We were trying to get to our friend Kate's house in Weybridge, and were already running late on account of our internet going down again, and my having to talk at length to someone from Talk Talk in an Indian call centre who read from a script and basically didn't have permission to help me in any way, shape or form. We went round in circles. She had a very thick accent and a grating voice which made me more and more uptight. She then passed me on to someone in the Philippines who was meant to be giving me a deal on a new plan, but she talked in riddles and seemed shady. Every time I asked her to clarify what she meant, she changed the details. Half way through the conversation she let it slip that I was only being offered the deal for a year, at which point I'd need to pay more, and then, later still, I realised I was being offered an 18 month contract. I was really angry. I'd asked her four or five times if there were any hidden costs that she wasn't mentioning, and she repeatedly said there weren't. In the end I told her I'd wait until Monday and speak to someone else. She got all shirty. True colours and all that.
We left the house and immediately got stuck in traffic on Holloway Road. There was an Arsenal match, and the streets were thronged with football fans. We literally crawled along. We stopped in Angel for Nathan to buy wool, and felt like the tides were perhaps turning because the wool was in stock, the lovely lady behind the counter gave Nathan a discount and I was able to buy a lovely (yet expensive) cup of tea from a chi-chi cafe opposite. £2.20 for a take away tea. I ask you!
We got as far as the London Museum and suddenly found ourselves in road block hell. It seems the entire City of London has been sealed off for Great Fire of London celebrations. I read somewhere that they're doing a giant domino toppling event and all sorts of other ludicrous things. Clueless volunteers in stupid rain macs were standing at each of the blockades, completely unable to offer any suggestions as to how to get out of the area. We stopped many and they just pointed their hands in the direction we'd come from. The traffic was solid on the edges of the cordon, but there was no indication of how large the actual cordon was, so we'd veer off and then get trapped in another traffic jam heading back to the cordoned area. One way streets just added to the mayhem. There were no official diversions. There were no advance warning signs. It was every man for himself and the overarching sensation was one of complete hopelessness. It was as though the City of London people had entirely neglected to think about traffic chaos in their rush to organise lovely fun things for passers by to do on this wet, hideous Saturday. If only it had rained liked this 350 years ago, London might not have burned. We circled the area for an hour. Nathan got so stressed that he started thumping the steering wheel. It was an utterly horrifying situation.
On a more positive note, I can reveal that Beyond The Fence has been nominated for the West End Wilma award for Most Underrated West End Show. It was a ghastly experience from beginning to end, so it's genuinely nice to have some form of recognition for our efforts. Through most of those terrible months we certainly felt like the most underrated writers in the West End, so the nomination feels appropriate enough. We're up against Miss Henderson Presents, so I suspect we've not a hope in hell of winning. I say this because the awards are voted for by members of the public and I'm pretty sure a great many more people will have heard of the other shows in our category! I'm a little averse to awards which are voted for by the people because they instantly become popularity contests rather than a recognition of talent or hard graft. Nevertheless, I feel obliged to play the game, if for no other reason than so we don't end up looking like the poor cousins and make Dear Wilma feel ashamed for selecting us. I therefore urge you to go to the link below and vote for Beyond The Fence. Whilst you're at it, I suggest you also vote for CJ Johnson in the rising star award. CJ is being recognised for her work in playing the lead role of Mary in our show. She deserves to win more than anything. She's a fabulous performer and a wonderful, wonderful person.
When you vote it's worth remembering that you get asked to click on an "I am not a robot" button. You will then receive a confirmation email which you also have to click on. Go on, vote! You never know, the other shows might be too cool to ask people to vote!
Here's the link!
http://westendwilma.us9.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=6d3110b53f1ba37a2e1a6e337&id=7ed99e998e
It took us 2 1/2 hours in the end to get to Weybridge, and we almost gave up on several occasions. I'm so pleased we didn't, however, as we had the most lovely night at Kate's. We haven't seen her for far too long, but it felt like days rather than years and we were instantly back into banter and laughter. We spent the night playing games (it's her birthday today). It strikes me that I'm never happier than when sitting playing parlour games with a cup of tea in one hand. We were joined for the evening by Belinda, Karen, Mark and Adam (who's a Yorkshire man, so it obviously wasn't long before everyone started talking in cod Yorkshire accents.) We had a quiz about 80s pop music. I realised about half way through that the 80s are totally my era. I felt like an Egg Head, chirping in with my dull little additional factoids! Belinda had bought buzzers with her. Proper buzzers with comedy sound effects! We shot a puerile little video of her touching various body parts as we sounded the buzzers, which seemed utterly hilarious at the time. It's on my Facebook feed if anyone cares to have a watch.
Nighty night!
Sunday, 4 September 2016
Friday, 2 September 2016
Nice write up!
I sat in the cafe at Jackson's Lane community centre this morning. I was writing, but I kept getting distracted by the music they were playing which included a heck of a lot of ELO. How are you meant to write string music whilst the masters of iconic string writing are playing on the sound system?
At one point we were joined by a tramp. I don't know if "tramp" is the politically correct term. Probably not. "Homeless person" doesn't quite cut it. A homeless person could be someone living on his friend's sofa. This man was definitely in another bracket. This man was so grimy his face was brown of vagrancy. It was terribly sad. He wanted a drink and probably a sit down and plainly didn't have much money on him. He kept asking the woman behind the counter how much things costed and everything was obviously too expensive. He looked at her hopefully after exhausting the idea of being able to afford a can of pop: "how much for a tea?" "£1.30." He looked sad and shuffled away. Bizarrely, my focus went to the woman behind the counter, because I could tell she was embarrassed and I didn't want her to be. It didn't occur to me until the man had left that I should have leapt up and offered to buy him a nice cup of tea so that he could have had his sit down. I'm annoyed with myself for failing to do so. Acts of kindness are so astonishingly important in this day and age and if we can't even look after the poor of our country, how on earth will we ever be able to call ourselves a great nation again?
I spent the next few hours imagining sadness wherever I went! I have this ridiculous habit of sitting in a public place, looking at everyone around me, and creating back stories to match their faces and body language. Today everyone seemed to be alone. I'm sure they were all fabulously happy, but they seemed sad to me.
I faffed today. Sending emails to people about the release of Pepys and sending CDs through the post to those who brought the album from my website. It's worth keeping on top of that sort of thing or else the task becomes utterly daunting. I should be so lucky! I think we sold ten copies today. Obviously if I could sell ten copies every day until the end of time, it would be brilliant, but the sales tend to dwindle rather rapidly over time.
Little Michelle came up to Highgate to see me in the early evening. It was so lovely to see her. For me, part of the experience of this new academic year is seeing friends more often that I don't see enough of. Michelle is high on my list, so today was an unexpected early honouring of my new (school) year's resolution.
We had a lovely write up about the Pepys project today from the journalist who interviewed me on Tuesday night. He plainly understood every aspect of the project and that felt really refreshing. He'd eked out every subtle nuance of what we were doing. So often sloppy journalism leads to massive mistakes, like the Telegraph journalist who once quoted me as saying that Greenham Common was in Cambridgeshire. It's always a privilege to read something by someone who has made it their business to understand your project. It feels polite more than anything else: like he cares about the album m, and values the idea of the rest of the world finding out about it.
If you want to see the article, follow this link... It's a good read.
https://429harrowroad.wordpress.com/2016/09/01/pepys-show-an-interview-with-benjamin-till/
And then, without wishing to sound too much like a broken record, go and buy the album. What's the worst that could happen? You could give it to your aunt for Christmas, or your mate that's into really esoteric weird shit! A physical copy of an album is a very beautiful thing. You get all the words. You get lots of lovely pictures. A little note from the composer... It's a no-brainer! Buy it!
At one point we were joined by a tramp. I don't know if "tramp" is the politically correct term. Probably not. "Homeless person" doesn't quite cut it. A homeless person could be someone living on his friend's sofa. This man was definitely in another bracket. This man was so grimy his face was brown of vagrancy. It was terribly sad. He wanted a drink and probably a sit down and plainly didn't have much money on him. He kept asking the woman behind the counter how much things costed and everything was obviously too expensive. He looked at her hopefully after exhausting the idea of being able to afford a can of pop: "how much for a tea?" "£1.30." He looked sad and shuffled away. Bizarrely, my focus went to the woman behind the counter, because I could tell she was embarrassed and I didn't want her to be. It didn't occur to me until the man had left that I should have leapt up and offered to buy him a nice cup of tea so that he could have had his sit down. I'm annoyed with myself for failing to do so. Acts of kindness are so astonishingly important in this day and age and if we can't even look after the poor of our country, how on earth will we ever be able to call ourselves a great nation again?
I spent the next few hours imagining sadness wherever I went! I have this ridiculous habit of sitting in a public place, looking at everyone around me, and creating back stories to match their faces and body language. Today everyone seemed to be alone. I'm sure they were all fabulously happy, but they seemed sad to me.
I faffed today. Sending emails to people about the release of Pepys and sending CDs through the post to those who brought the album from my website. It's worth keeping on top of that sort of thing or else the task becomes utterly daunting. I should be so lucky! I think we sold ten copies today. Obviously if I could sell ten copies every day until the end of time, it would be brilliant, but the sales tend to dwindle rather rapidly over time.
Little Michelle came up to Highgate to see me in the early evening. It was so lovely to see her. For me, part of the experience of this new academic year is seeing friends more often that I don't see enough of. Michelle is high on my list, so today was an unexpected early honouring of my new (school) year's resolution.
We had a lovely write up about the Pepys project today from the journalist who interviewed me on Tuesday night. He plainly understood every aspect of the project and that felt really refreshing. He'd eked out every subtle nuance of what we were doing. So often sloppy journalism leads to massive mistakes, like the Telegraph journalist who once quoted me as saying that Greenham Common was in Cambridgeshire. It's always a privilege to read something by someone who has made it their business to understand your project. It feels polite more than anything else: like he cares about the album m, and values the idea of the rest of the world finding out about it.
If you want to see the article, follow this link... It's a good read.
https://429harrowroad.wordpress.com/2016/09/01/pepys-show-an-interview-with-benjamin-till/
And then, without wishing to sound too much like a broken record, go and buy the album. What's the worst that could happen? You could give it to your aunt for Christmas, or your mate that's into really esoteric weird shit! A physical copy of an album is a very beautiful thing. You get all the words. You get lots of lovely pictures. A little note from the composer... It's a no-brainer! Buy it!
Thursday, 1 September 2016
The first day of the year
For me, September 1st is the first day of the year. I've always felt the same way. The metaphorical school year starts, and I suddenly feel one year older, ready to take on new challenges in a way that doesn't quite happen on January 1st.
So we ran around London today, systematically failing to achieve almost everything we needed to achieve. I had a list. It was long. I failed on most counts. I had to buy some speakers. We drove to the PC World in Friern Barnet and selected some. They didn't have them in stock. We went into central London to book a hotel for our holiday next year. The travel agent didn't have a hotel anywhere near where we need to be.
Lunch was nice. We ate in a little trattoria on Berwick Street and had a set two-course meal for a tenner. I had filo pastry triangles stuffed with feta followed by a vegetarian moussaka. With the risk of sounding like Samuel Pepys, they were the best filo pastry triangles I've ever eaten.
We came home, I tidied the house and started cooking. A few members of the Rebel Chorus came over tonight to listen to the Pepys Motet album on the eve of its release. At 3am, exactly 350 years ago, the great fire of London started to rage its way through the city of London. There had been weeks and weeks of fine, dry weather and everything was tinder box dry. High winds fanned the flames across the city, and for three days London burned. It was a relatively slow moving fire, which explains why the death count was so low (around 6 deaths), but it engulfed and destroyed much of the city. People, realising their houses were at risk, would throw their belongings into carts and take them to houses across the city, which, themselves, would go up in flames. Pepys' house escaped the inferno. A last minute change in wind direction saved his part of town (which included the Tower of London.) Nevertheless Pepys had all his belongings shipped off to the village of Bethnal Green, and the things which he couldn't fit on the van were buried in the garden... Most famously his Parmesan cheese.
Llio, Abbie, Jana and Little Welsh Nathalie came to listen to the album and it was a really rather lovely occasion. I felt a mixture of pride and relief. Another project ticked off successfully. This time next year I wonder what else I'll have completed... It was nice to hear the track - an evocation of the streets of 17th Century London - with the sounds of the A1 roaring away in the background. The Pepys album is meant to be a blend of old and new, hence why the singers come from every conceivable modern singing tradition including gospel.
So, if you find time to have a watch of our lovely video about the Great Fire tomorrow, please do so, and remember what was gong on in London all those years ago.
Here it is: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EKk8bnVO2u8
And then, if you feel moved to do so, buy the album. Please buy the album! It's four years' work, and a true labour of love. It's very weird. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's innovative if nothing else!
If you fancy it, it will be available for download from all the usual places from tomorrow, or you can still buy it - and the London Requiem - from the shop on my website:
http://www.benjamintill.com/shop/
Go buy! Please.
So we ran around London today, systematically failing to achieve almost everything we needed to achieve. I had a list. It was long. I failed on most counts. I had to buy some speakers. We drove to the PC World in Friern Barnet and selected some. They didn't have them in stock. We went into central London to book a hotel for our holiday next year. The travel agent didn't have a hotel anywhere near where we need to be.
Lunch was nice. We ate in a little trattoria on Berwick Street and had a set two-course meal for a tenner. I had filo pastry triangles stuffed with feta followed by a vegetarian moussaka. With the risk of sounding like Samuel Pepys, they were the best filo pastry triangles I've ever eaten.
We came home, I tidied the house and started cooking. A few members of the Rebel Chorus came over tonight to listen to the Pepys Motet album on the eve of its release. At 3am, exactly 350 years ago, the great fire of London started to rage its way through the city of London. There had been weeks and weeks of fine, dry weather and everything was tinder box dry. High winds fanned the flames across the city, and for three days London burned. It was a relatively slow moving fire, which explains why the death count was so low (around 6 deaths), but it engulfed and destroyed much of the city. People, realising their houses were at risk, would throw their belongings into carts and take them to houses across the city, which, themselves, would go up in flames. Pepys' house escaped the inferno. A last minute change in wind direction saved his part of town (which included the Tower of London.) Nevertheless Pepys had all his belongings shipped off to the village of Bethnal Green, and the things which he couldn't fit on the van were buried in the garden... Most famously his Parmesan cheese.
Llio, Abbie, Jana and Little Welsh Nathalie came to listen to the album and it was a really rather lovely occasion. I felt a mixture of pride and relief. Another project ticked off successfully. This time next year I wonder what else I'll have completed... It was nice to hear the track - an evocation of the streets of 17th Century London - with the sounds of the A1 roaring away in the background. The Pepys album is meant to be a blend of old and new, hence why the singers come from every conceivable modern singing tradition including gospel.
So, if you find time to have a watch of our lovely video about the Great Fire tomorrow, please do so, and remember what was gong on in London all those years ago.
Here it is: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EKk8bnVO2u8
And then, if you feel moved to do so, buy the album. Please buy the album! It's four years' work, and a true labour of love. It's very weird. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's innovative if nothing else!
If you fancy it, it will be available for download from all the usual places from tomorrow, or you can still buy it - and the London Requiem - from the shop on my website:
http://www.benjamintill.com/shop/
Go buy! Please.
Wednesday, 31 August 2016
A bit embarrassed, really
I worked up in Costa Coffee in Highgate this morning. I had hoped to go to the cafe at Jackson's Lane Theatre, but the place is running limited hours. The entertainment industry rather disappears in August. All the actors and theatre people go to Edinburgh and the TV execs head for their villas in the hills of Tuscany!
I was working underneath a giant mirror in the cafe and was horrified when one young girl, who looked a little like Princess Beatrice, decided to stand right above me, staring into the mirror whilst trying to squeeze a spot inside her nose. In the end she failed, and went back to her Mum saying, "I couldn't get to it, it's too deep." I'm not exactly brimming over with decorum, but that was too much even for me.
Elsewhere, a woman seemed to be having some kind of religious crisis. She was white but wearing a headscarf which made me think she was a Muslim convert, but the girl sitting opposite her was talking almost obsessively about Judaism and Jerusalem. The woman in the headscarf was being very unpleasant to the girl and telling her off almost as though she were a five-year-old. At one point she made the girl sit in front of her muffin for ten minutes without eating it because "you've just had a sandwich. You need to let that go down first." It was all very weird. Then they sat in silence for half an hour whilst the woman in the headscarf played with her phone and the girl sitting opposite sat and fiddled with her boobs.
Back at home I carried on writing all the way until Nathan came back from work. It turned out that it's The Great British Bake Off tonight and I got it into my head that we needed to make some biscuits to eat whilst watching the show. We ran to the shops to buy the right ingredients and were most amused by the guy behind the counter randomly, and at high speed, tapping made-up numbers into the till. He looked like a child pretending to type. He ended up over-charging us by the best part of £4, so we made him add everything up again. Slowly. Gloriously toe-curling.
I tried to make twelve uniform biscuits, like they do on the show, but I only had one baking tray so the rest went into a Yorkshire pudding tin. To make matters worse, it turns out that our oven has broken, so now, if you try to cook something, it grills it instead. So basically I grilled my biscuits until the ones on the top shelf in the Yorkshire pudding tin burned, and then Nathan set fire to the chocolate that we were going to melt onto the top. Great clouds of acrid smoke came out of the microwave. I burned my finger and then singed all the hairs on the back of my hand. All in all it was a fairly huge disaster, although one or two of the biscuits were almost edible, which I think is one of the most important things about baking. The ones which hadn't burned had a very weird taste about them, however. They tasted a bit floury and a bit salty. Maybe I should have washed the baking tray before putting the biscuits on it?
That's all there is to say about the day. I'm a bit embarrassed, really...
I was working underneath a giant mirror in the cafe and was horrified when one young girl, who looked a little like Princess Beatrice, decided to stand right above me, staring into the mirror whilst trying to squeeze a spot inside her nose. In the end she failed, and went back to her Mum saying, "I couldn't get to it, it's too deep." I'm not exactly brimming over with decorum, but that was too much even for me.
Elsewhere, a woman seemed to be having some kind of religious crisis. She was white but wearing a headscarf which made me think she was a Muslim convert, but the girl sitting opposite her was talking almost obsessively about Judaism and Jerusalem. The woman in the headscarf was being very unpleasant to the girl and telling her off almost as though she were a five-year-old. At one point she made the girl sit in front of her muffin for ten minutes without eating it because "you've just had a sandwich. You need to let that go down first." It was all very weird. Then they sat in silence for half an hour whilst the woman in the headscarf played with her phone and the girl sitting opposite sat and fiddled with her boobs.
Back at home I carried on writing all the way until Nathan came back from work. It turned out that it's The Great British Bake Off tonight and I got it into my head that we needed to make some biscuits to eat whilst watching the show. We ran to the shops to buy the right ingredients and were most amused by the guy behind the counter randomly, and at high speed, tapping made-up numbers into the till. He looked like a child pretending to type. He ended up over-charging us by the best part of £4, so we made him add everything up again. Slowly. Gloriously toe-curling.
I tried to make twelve uniform biscuits, like they do on the show, but I only had one baking tray so the rest went into a Yorkshire pudding tin. To make matters worse, it turns out that our oven has broken, so now, if you try to cook something, it grills it instead. So basically I grilled my biscuits until the ones on the top shelf in the Yorkshire pudding tin burned, and then Nathan set fire to the chocolate that we were going to melt onto the top. Great clouds of acrid smoke came out of the microwave. I burned my finger and then singed all the hairs on the back of my hand. All in all it was a fairly huge disaster, although one or two of the biscuits were almost edible, which I think is one of the most important things about baking. The ones which hadn't burned had a very weird taste about them, however. They tasted a bit floury and a bit salty. Maybe I should have washed the baking tray before putting the biscuits on it?
That's all there is to say about the day. I'm a bit embarrassed, really...
Audience reviews
I came back down to earth with a bang today and spent the day working. I have been arranging my new song, Warwickshire for the National Youth Music Theatre's new writing cabaret, which, for the record, is happening at St James' Theatre on Sunday 2nd October. Please come. I think there might be two of my songs in the show. Both are from my new musical, Em.
There are other dates for your diary as well. On Saturday 8th October, another new composition is being performed at the Irish Centre in Camden by the Shame Chorus, who are affiliated to the London Gay Men's Chorus. The song I've written is called What Are You Doing? It's a verbatim setting of an account of someone in the chorus' experience of coming out. I don't know the name of the person. I only know that he's Scottish. Perhaps he'll come and introduce himself, or he may decide to remain anonymous. When I work with personal material written by the Fleet Singers, I feel very strongly that they should have the right to remain anonymous. Anyway, my song for the Shame Chorus is funny and up beat... The very antithesis of Brass!!
I did a lot of admin today which included posting some Pepys CDs off to those who have pre-ordered copies. I then did a Skype interview with a really charming and well-prepared blogger called Mat Smith, who is writing about the album. It is always a pleasure to talk to someone who has such a good grasp on what you've been trying to achieve. In the middle of the interview he suggested (in a most friendly manner) that I had an obsessive mind. It was always something which people said about me when I was a kid. I'd immerse myself in a project so thoroughly that I'd almost disappear inside it. I suspect the same is true these days. I do get very obsessed about the projects I'm working on. Mat couldn't believe that we'd genuinely risked our lives recording 200 individual church bells for the Oranges and Lemons project or that each singer in the Pepys Motet had been recorded in an individual booth in the recording studio. Paul Kendall, who produced the album, has posted some images of the pro tools sessions for the project, which look like a giant, colourful mathematical puzzles. The fact that we took every singer in turn and polished their vocals until they shone like glass also seemed to add credence to his belief! Guilty as charged.
We had the "audience club" reviews back from Brass today. People in the audience club get cheap tickets to see shows and, as payment, are encouraged to give little reviews and rate the show they've seen out of five. These are really important reviewers because they're members of the public without any preconceptions of the show. They don't know any of the cast or any of the creative team. Some of the comments were so lovely they made me cry. We were reviewed by 19 people and scored one 3/5, five 4/5s and a staggering thirteen 5/5s. This gives us an average rating of 4.6/5. Pleasing statistics!
My favourite review was somewhat verbose and a little pretentious, but rather beautiful:
"ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC .... What a difference a day can make. The evening previous I had seen the US musical Children of Eden and there can be no question but that it was entirely dimmed in its own generic cleansing in the edifying face of the thrilling heart of this BRASS - both in terms of the music - which is vividly varied and as far from generic as Cadbury's is from Hershey's - and as clear in its dramatic narrative as another war time musical treatise, Les Miserables is not. Humane treasures enrich the very heart of NYMT's BRASS.
The army of young people - both on stage and blissfully in the magnificent pit - are OUR children and they sing of our forefathers who dreamed and fought for their own Eden. I'm not always in favour of the ubiquitous standing ovations so prevalent in American climbs, but when this very British audience rose - to a man - to their feet in celebration of our own last night, I stood alongside and clapped, cheered and stomped with the best of them.
Brass - and this extraordinary assemblage - not only DESERVE our respect, they - through their artistry - DEMAND our pride. There is no greater gift. Theirs is an Olympian achievement: Make no mistake. Bravi!"
There are other dates for your diary as well. On Saturday 8th October, another new composition is being performed at the Irish Centre in Camden by the Shame Chorus, who are affiliated to the London Gay Men's Chorus. The song I've written is called What Are You Doing? It's a verbatim setting of an account of someone in the chorus' experience of coming out. I don't know the name of the person. I only know that he's Scottish. Perhaps he'll come and introduce himself, or he may decide to remain anonymous. When I work with personal material written by the Fleet Singers, I feel very strongly that they should have the right to remain anonymous. Anyway, my song for the Shame Chorus is funny and up beat... The very antithesis of Brass!!
I did a lot of admin today which included posting some Pepys CDs off to those who have pre-ordered copies. I then did a Skype interview with a really charming and well-prepared blogger called Mat Smith, who is writing about the album. It is always a pleasure to talk to someone who has such a good grasp on what you've been trying to achieve. In the middle of the interview he suggested (in a most friendly manner) that I had an obsessive mind. It was always something which people said about me when I was a kid. I'd immerse myself in a project so thoroughly that I'd almost disappear inside it. I suspect the same is true these days. I do get very obsessed about the projects I'm working on. Mat couldn't believe that we'd genuinely risked our lives recording 200 individual church bells for the Oranges and Lemons project or that each singer in the Pepys Motet had been recorded in an individual booth in the recording studio. Paul Kendall, who produced the album, has posted some images of the pro tools sessions for the project, which look like a giant, colourful mathematical puzzles. The fact that we took every singer in turn and polished their vocals until they shone like glass also seemed to add credence to his belief! Guilty as charged.
We had the "audience club" reviews back from Brass today. People in the audience club get cheap tickets to see shows and, as payment, are encouraged to give little reviews and rate the show they've seen out of five. These are really important reviewers because they're members of the public without any preconceptions of the show. They don't know any of the cast or any of the creative team. Some of the comments were so lovely they made me cry. We were reviewed by 19 people and scored one 3/5, five 4/5s and a staggering thirteen 5/5s. This gives us an average rating of 4.6/5. Pleasing statistics!
My favourite review was somewhat verbose and a little pretentious, but rather beautiful:
"ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC .... What a difference a day can make. The evening previous I had seen the US musical Children of Eden and there can be no question but that it was entirely dimmed in its own generic cleansing in the edifying face of the thrilling heart of this BRASS - both in terms of the music - which is vividly varied and as far from generic as Cadbury's is from Hershey's - and as clear in its dramatic narrative as another war time musical treatise, Les Miserables is not. Humane treasures enrich the very heart of NYMT's BRASS.
The army of young people - both on stage and blissfully in the magnificent pit - are OUR children and they sing of our forefathers who dreamed and fought for their own Eden. I'm not always in favour of the ubiquitous standing ovations so prevalent in American climbs, but when this very British audience rose - to a man - to their feet in celebration of our own last night, I stood alongside and clapped, cheered and stomped with the best of them.
Brass - and this extraordinary assemblage - not only DESERVE our respect, they - through their artistry - DEMAND our pride. There is no greater gift. Theirs is an Olympian achievement: Make no mistake. Bravi!"
Monday, 29 August 2016
Happy anniversary
It's our 14th anniversary today. This time 14 years ago, Nathan and I were working on Taboo. I was rehearsing him into the show, having just returned from a five-day trip to the south of France, the only holiday I was able to take in the entire period I worked on the musical. I was still sporting war wounds. My back was red raw and burned from a terrible incident involving Immac and my forehead had a massive gash on it where I'd hit my head on a wooden beam in the middle of the night when our building was struck by lightning.
It was my first day off in what feels like an age today, so we did very little. Highlight of the day was a trip to the Holloway Odeon to watch Finding Dory. The film was okay. It ticked all the boxes and did what it needed to do without setting the world on fire. I had a lovely little sleep in the early part. The Holloway Odeon is a grotty cinema. The loos smell terrible and all the chairs are threadbare. It's such a glorious building, however, with the most amazing grand staircase in the vestibule, so I hope they're not running it into the ground before closing it down.
We had pasta for tea in front of a mountain of reality TV. Watching Bake Off was particularly thrilling. It's always strange when the X Factor starts up and you realise that, by the time it finishes, the year will almost be over.
The cast of Brass are all on a terrible come down at the moment. They're all posting sad messages about what a wonderful time they've had and how desperately they're going to miss their new friends. I remember those days so well. Such joy-filled, heady, endless, emotionally-intense times. When an era ends, it genuinely feels like the end of the world. I thought my heart was going to break at the end of some of the tours and Edinburgh festivals I performed at in the 1990s. When you're that age, you meet kindred spirits for the first time and have the capacity to make life-long, incredibly meaningful friends. I'm still in touch with all the people I did student drama with.
It was my first day off in what feels like an age today, so we did very little. Highlight of the day was a trip to the Holloway Odeon to watch Finding Dory. The film was okay. It ticked all the boxes and did what it needed to do without setting the world on fire. I had a lovely little sleep in the early part. The Holloway Odeon is a grotty cinema. The loos smell terrible and all the chairs are threadbare. It's such a glorious building, however, with the most amazing grand staircase in the vestibule, so I hope they're not running it into the ground before closing it down.
We had pasta for tea in front of a mountain of reality TV. Watching Bake Off was particularly thrilling. It's always strange when the X Factor starts up and you realise that, by the time it finishes, the year will almost be over.
The cast of Brass are all on a terrible come down at the moment. They're all posting sad messages about what a wonderful time they've had and how desperately they're going to miss their new friends. I remember those days so well. Such joy-filled, heady, endless, emotionally-intense times. When an era ends, it genuinely feels like the end of the world. I thought my heart was going to break at the end of some of the tours and Edinburgh festivals I performed at in the 1990s. When you're that age, you meet kindred spirits for the first time and have the capacity to make life-long, incredibly meaningful friends. I'm still in touch with all the people I did student drama with.
Five star review
I woke up this morning to discover that Brass had been given a five star review by Musical Theatre Review. Reviewer Craig Glenday describes the show as one of the theatrical highlights of the year: "The show’s lead creative, Benjamin Till, is responsible for the holy trinity of book, lyrics and music, and his writing is monumental – an audacious combination of Oh What A Lovely War and Les Miserables. Every song hits the mark and is perfectly placed, the ebb and flow of the numbers ensuring a rollercoaster of a ride. From the triumphant and celebratory to the heart-wrenching and devastating, each number is absolutely compelling, and Till deserves to be seated at musical theatre’s top table for his efforts.
Brass is a truly epic musical event – I can’t think of a better British score from recent years – and it has just added itself to my list of top five shows of 2016."
So that was a rather nice start to a day which could have been a tad deflating.
As it happened, there was work to be done as well which kept me occupied over lunch. I went to Julian's house with Abbie and Nathan to record a few demos for a pitch I'm about to deliver. Both tracks turned out rather well, as it happens. Abbie, in particular, sang beautifully, particularly when it came to a rendition of a little folk melody I'd written. I can't actually imagine anyone singing it any better than she did.
After finishing in the studio, we jumped in the car and drove down to Brighton, well, Hove, actually, stopping en route at a Little Chef. Old School. The food was dreadful. I had a vegetarian cottage pie which was actually solid. I've never eaten cottage pie with a knife and fork before.
The purpose of our trip to Brighton, well, Hove Actually, was to attend Janie Ranger's housewarming party in her new flat on Palmira Square, which is one of the most beautiful homes I've ever seen: Tall ceilings, huge rooms, stunning cornices, amazing original features. I instantly fell in love with it.
The party was a lot of fun and we played a mega game of Meryl which took us through to about 1 in the morning. Meryl, for the record, is often called the Name Game. Everyone writes five names on little pieces of paper and takes it in turn to pull them out of the hat, describing each one. The same names go back into the hat for round two, and people have to describe the names with just one word, and then, for round three, just by miming. It's hysterical. I laughed a lot.
Brass is a truly epic musical event – I can’t think of a better British score from recent years – and it has just added itself to my list of top five shows of 2016."
So that was a rather nice start to a day which could have been a tad deflating.
As it happened, there was work to be done as well which kept me occupied over lunch. I went to Julian's house with Abbie and Nathan to record a few demos for a pitch I'm about to deliver. Both tracks turned out rather well, as it happens. Abbie, in particular, sang beautifully, particularly when it came to a rendition of a little folk melody I'd written. I can't actually imagine anyone singing it any better than she did.
After finishing in the studio, we jumped in the car and drove down to Brighton, well, Hove, actually, stopping en route at a Little Chef. Old School. The food was dreadful. I had a vegetarian cottage pie which was actually solid. I've never eaten cottage pie with a knife and fork before.
The purpose of our trip to Brighton, well, Hove Actually, was to attend Janie Ranger's housewarming party in her new flat on Palmira Square, which is one of the most beautiful homes I've ever seen: Tall ceilings, huge rooms, stunning cornices, amazing original features. I instantly fell in love with it.
The party was a lot of fun and we played a mega game of Meryl which took us through to about 1 in the morning. Meryl, for the record, is often called the Name Game. Everyone writes five names on little pieces of paper and takes it in turn to pull them out of the hat, describing each one. The same names go back into the hat for round two, and people have to describe the names with just one word, and then, for round three, just by miming. It's hysterical. I laughed a lot.
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