Slow Death
It's time for the annual award for the worst gig of the year! This may be a bit presumptuous as I still have one gig tomorrow and one in Poland before the New Year, but surely it can't get any worse than... Cabaret in RADA! Congratulations you guys! And here's why:
At the insistence of the overzealous organisers I arrive at 7pm, an hour in advance of my slot. I'm greeted by various states of sound check disarray and a request to extend my ten minutes requested to twenty. I have to leave by 8.30 to make a dinner at 9, but ok, I say, I'll do it. Looks of horror spread across faces as I mention I may do some things they've seen before... or in other words, my act. They appear to believe I have miracles up my sleeve and tell me not to worry, I'll think of something. An hour later and sound is still being checked, I realise my dinner is not going to happen. Rubbish. So poor I can't even afford a packet of crisps, I go hungry and suffer for my art. Forty minutes pass and they start, opening with a song, but oh? what's this? Yep, after all the sound checking and rechecking the guitar doesn't work. Hmm, never mind. Here comes the compere to liven things up and make it all better- wait, what's she talking about? Yeh, so she gets up and decides the best way to open the show would be a brief rundown of all the death, rape, aids, tsunami's and earthquakes that have made this such an enjoyable year. Never mind, she chirps, we're here to bring a little sunshine... But not yet! because it's straight over to the charity spokesman who's obviously stuck behind a desk all day and relishes his 15 minutes of lame in which he bleats on at the poor people who've shelled out ten golden nuggets for this privilege. He follows his wonderful oration with a video of yet more death/aids/rape/etc just to get us in the mood for the first act of the evening! A girl who knocks out a couple of so-so numbers before announcing the closing of her trilogy with a song and dance! Start the cd! she cries. What cd? sound-guy replies. A brief 10 minute interval while cd is located in dressing room. They start the cd. One girl is dancing too near the cd player and the track skips. They restart the track. She jogs the cd. They restart. Over and over they do this, before finally, pitifully, woefully this song comes to an end fifteen minutes later. Off guard, I'm drowning my sorrows in sparkling mineral water at the bar by this point when I hear the compere announce: and now for the magician! What better build up could you want? Well it's funny you should ask, because as I walk to the front, so swayed by the stage is she that she decides to adlib... 'now last time John was here, he made the audience disappear! So don't do that again John!' I pause in disbelief, only to watch her ditch the only available mic off stage leaving me to wrestle with a stand.
I'd like to say I made a stunning recovery... but let's not kid ourselves. I survived. And the best thing of all? Yep, didn't even get paid.
At the insistence of the overzealous organisers I arrive at 7pm, an hour in advance of my slot. I'm greeted by various states of sound check disarray and a request to extend my ten minutes requested to twenty. I have to leave by 8.30 to make a dinner at 9, but ok, I say, I'll do it. Looks of horror spread across faces as I mention I may do some things they've seen before... or in other words, my act. They appear to believe I have miracles up my sleeve and tell me not to worry, I'll think of something. An hour later and sound is still being checked, I realise my dinner is not going to happen. Rubbish. So poor I can't even afford a packet of crisps, I go hungry and suffer for my art. Forty minutes pass and they start, opening with a song, but oh? what's this? Yep, after all the sound checking and rechecking the guitar doesn't work. Hmm, never mind. Here comes the compere to liven things up and make it all better- wait, what's she talking about? Yeh, so she gets up and decides the best way to open the show would be a brief rundown of all the death, rape, aids, tsunami's and earthquakes that have made this such an enjoyable year. Never mind, she chirps, we're here to bring a little sunshine... But not yet! because it's straight over to the charity spokesman who's obviously stuck behind a desk all day and relishes his 15 minutes of lame in which he bleats on at the poor people who've shelled out ten golden nuggets for this privilege. He follows his wonderful oration with a video of yet more death/aids/rape/etc just to get us in the mood for the first act of the evening! A girl who knocks out a couple of so-so numbers before announcing the closing of her trilogy with a song and dance! Start the cd! she cries. What cd? sound-guy replies. A brief 10 minute interval while cd is located in dressing room. They start the cd. One girl is dancing too near the cd player and the track skips. They restart the track. She jogs the cd. They restart. Over and over they do this, before finally, pitifully, woefully this song comes to an end fifteen minutes later. Off guard, I'm drowning my sorrows in sparkling mineral water at the bar by this point when I hear the compere announce: and now for the magician! What better build up could you want? Well it's funny you should ask, because as I walk to the front, so swayed by the stage is she that she decides to adlib... 'now last time John was here, he made the audience disappear! So don't do that again John!' I pause in disbelief, only to watch her ditch the only available mic off stage leaving me to wrestle with a stand.
I'd like to say I made a stunning recovery... but let's not kid ourselves. I survived. And the best thing of all? Yep, didn't even get paid.
posted by John @ 12:07 AM 
heyJohn@vanderPut.com
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