Music To My Ears

Earlier this week, I tuned onto Radio 2. It’s something I almost never do. I’m aware of Radio 2 as something in the background, even if it is not something that’s literally on, in the background. When I was younger, it was Radio 1, and I’m not entirely sure why, since I’ve always found it almost nail-plucking annoying. There was a time when I used to wake up to Radio 2, when it felt like being nudged to wakefulness by somebody with a freshly brewed cup of coffee (maybe it still does; I haven’t listened to it in the morning for years), but most recently, my radio has been dialled to Radio 4.

There’s something very liberating and almost empowering to discover that you don’t give enough of a damn to worry about the fact that you’re old enough to listen to Radio 4. I’m not sure exactly when the change kicked in; I’ve been listening to 4 for quite some years now – but I’m pretty sure that at some point I must have considered 4 to be outside my realm of interest, with its wall to wall talk, chatter, debate and opinion. But the fact of the matter is that I’ve never been much of a muso, and so it’s unsurprising that I never really found much of a grove going on with a radio station that just played the most popular track of the charts. And then again, fifty minutes later. Then twice more before the 6 O’clock drivetime news.

The reason I pulled up to Radio 2 this week (it was on iplayer; I wasn’t able to listen as the programme went out) was because an old friend, Louise Cookman, was featuring as a guest on http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b006wr7s The Big Band Special. Now, I should acknowledge that my use of the term ‘friend’ is somewhat elastic: I didn’t really have the balls to talk to her whilst at college, which is where I first met her, spending more of my time instead with a woman who was a lot more spritely brightly Laura Ashley. This is intriguing, as the 39 year old me would always choose to spend time with someone more obviously arch and playfully cynical than the person I actually did spend my college time with. In fact, I’ve only seen Louise once since – all thanks to facebook – after what must have been pretty much a twenty year gap (and since when did any of us have lives long enough to squeeze a twenty year gap of anything into them?). It what felt like a scene straight out of a rigidly scripted Richard Curtis movie, I found her singing with a live band on a stage on the South Bank of the River Thames. She was an absolute pleasure to watch perform; and to speak with; somewhat disquietingly, I think we spoke more in the twenty minutes between sets than we did during our entire time at college. I’d like to think it’s because I’ve become less shy as I’ve gotten older, but we all know that’s not the case.

Hearing her on the Big Band programme was a glorious moment. I can’t sing at all (and have no patience for those who declare, with no patience, that ‘everyone can sing’), and am always slightly in awe of those who are particularly skilled at delivering a song. Obviously, many people can do the basics of carrying a tune (I can’t, my carrying of a tune sounds more like I’m dragging the corpse of a tune over a war-ravaged roadside as blood gluts out of its throat), but there are certain singers whose voice occasionally defy your understanding: you’re unable to work out quite how their voice can lock into place that way, that can jump, seemingly effortlessly from one sound to the next, can sound so perfect. It is, I guess, why there’s been such a rise in voice-correction software in music over the past few years. It’s an effort to create the seamless – and –makes-it-sound-so-easiness – voice that a few singers have in abundance. Hearing certain voices is to witness – and I don’t use the word lightly – a thing of beauty.

That’s pretty much how I reacted listening to the programme on Tuesday, and I’m fairly sure I would have reacted in the same way had I not had some tenuous connection to the singer. There was something very pleasing in hearing someone I know personally appear on national Radio and sing a few big band classics, even though I was mildly disappointed that she didn’t go for the obvious gag during her rendition of a song from Calamity Jane.

This sort of thing actually happens a reasonable amount, because a lot of my experience and training is in the performing arts, but because I myself haven’t had much discernible professional success. It’s always slightly startling to see someone you’ve spent time with begin to turn up on panel shows, for instance. I remember one morning waking to my alarm clock radio (which at this point was tuned to 4), and being startlingly presented with the voice of a woman I hadn’t spoken to for about ten years, talking about the major adaptation she’d just written for the London stage. Since my writing credits at that point largely consisted of a shopping list – and even that was incomplete – it was an alarm clock in more ways than one. Another friend of mine has started doing a lot of extra work, and although I’ve not yet seen him on screen, it’s very pleasing to know that at least one person I’ve acted with is actually getting paid for being on a film set.

Later tonight, we’ll be having the next rehearsal for Three Kinds Of Me, which opens this Friday. It’ll be nice to get a good crowd there, so do make sure you book your tickets as soon as you like. At the very least, it would be good to have an audience that outnumbers the cast, and as it’s a one-woman show, that shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. We’re pretty much through the worst of the technical stuff by now (although the crew may well have something to say about that statement), and it’s a show that I’m very proud of. Not necessarily because of any negible contribution I might have brought to it as director, but simply for the chance to have worked with such a talented writer and performer. Yes, I know it’s pretty much a contractual obligation to say such things about the people you work with, but I have worked with people who have made me want to drag a cheese grater over my own eyeballs. Or, even better, theirs. Those people who make working on a show a joy are to be celebrated. This could very easily have been a difficult show – Sarah is performing her own script, and I have had the audacity to tell her what her own script means – more than twice contradicting what the text itself actually says – and even if she’s felt that my instincts are entirely insane, she’s been gracious enough to indulge me, and treat me as someone who knows what the hell they’re talking about.

Also this week, I’ve been beginning to leave out flyers for the series of improvisation workshops I’ve got coming up. It’s called Iron Clad Improv (cause it’s on at the Iron Duke, d’you see?), and the first drop in is on Sunday 28th October, which suddenly doesn’t seem all that far away. From then on, it’s every Sunday, 7 – 9, and I’m genuinely looking forward to it. Of course, it doesn’t work unless actually get some punters in through the door, so do please spread the word, even if you can’t get through the door yourself. I’m obviously fretting that I’m going to be doing a lot of these improv drop-ins to which absolutely nobody turns up, so I’m having to get over my own instinctive shyness (which even though I’m even older than was when I last referred to my shyness at the start of this blog), and shout about the improv class from the rooftops. Or, at the very least, leave out brightly coloured flyers in every coffee shop the Brighton and Hove area.

Lastly, before rehearsal tonight I’m going along to the Old Market in Hove to see Caitlin Moran talk about her new book. I saw a great many people last year reading her previous book, How To Be A Woman, although – curiouser ad curiouser – none of them were women. Presumably none of them felt that they needed instructions on how to be a woman, or possibly they were all reading Fifty Shades on their kindles. It’s the second time this week I’ve been to The Old Market (I saw a show of Comic Strip at the weekend, headlined by the blistering Terry Alderton, who I’d never encountered before), which is bad, since it’s a great venue, and practically on my doorstep. There are a few times when I get exhausted and poor, but all it takes is a reminder of exactly where it is I live, and its enough to consider myself reasonably lucky