Obviously I have returned home and immediately re-opened the blogmaker to continue on with the last post...ho ho. No, as I predicted, my attention span of approximately 3 seconds has meant that there were too many other things to distract me at home so once again I'm playing catch-up in this particular arena. Which is a shame as I had lots of things to report about the rest of June, but have since forgotten every single one of them. Except the one about the Elizabethan sauna in France.
Briefly then, there's a mock Globe theatre in a place called Chateau d'Hardelot which is near Boulogne-sure-Mer in the Pas de Calais. Rather than construct the outer walls with authentic wattle and daub an alternative measure has been achieved in the form of a large marquee like polythene/rubber/pvc (you name it) wrap, adorned with printed pictures of windows and the suggestion of a timber framed construction. Imagine then our surprise upon arrival here to perform a concert of Purcellian duets when used to Wigmore Halls, Barbicans and Salle de Pleyels. The promise of the name "Chateau d'Hardelot" too.... picture this; a giant Moules Pot with 150 punters, 20 stage lights to make the Gestapo weep and add 6 black-clad performers with a harpsichord, chamber organ, lute and viola da gamba onto a cheese-board of a stage and turn the heat up to 30c. Yum yum. Would you like white wine sauce with that?
To add insult to injury I was exercising a maneuver known in the trade as a "gig-in-a-bag" which essentially relates to any concert performance for which one's personal paraphernalia including such things as music, toiletries, phone chargers and so on take up no more space than that offered in one small and preferably cabin-luggage sized bag. A major factor in all of this is that the traveller wears his or her concert gear from the moment they leave home to avoid unnecessary baggage administration. It goes without saying that such an operation cannot be very well achieved when the concert demands white tie and tails. I've not tried that one yet as it draws the obvious conclusion that besides looking a bit of a tit dressed as Bertie Wooster on an Easyjet flight the overseas gig involves a return journey by which time tails have lost their currency. A simple black suit on the other hand acts as the camouflage de nos jours allowing the day tripping singer to slip easily into 'international businessman' mode or 'holidaying security guard'. In short then, the smaller the hand luggage and the easier it is therefore to travel, slipping from border to border unhassled, the smugger and more content you should feel. That is until it becomes the hottest weekend of the year and you are performing in a rubber tardis.
What options I had were few; I would have to negotiate the sweaty rehearsal and even sweatier concert in such a way that at all times there was ventilation through my shirt. Of course from the moment I opened my mouth to sing "O Solitude, my sweetest choice" my clothes clung to me like a drowning mermaid. The worst was to come when the following morning I awoke bright and early to make my 8am Eurostar back to London with the world's first seaweed-cloak awaiting my full attention, hanging in the cupboard. If you've ever forgotten to hang a towel up after a shower and returned the following day fully expecting to dry yourself then you're halfway to where I was.
Thinking back I should have known that the infamous 'gig-in-a-bag' often ends in tears. I remember one trip to Belgium with a choir and orchestra many of whom were cavalier enough to throw their small carry-on luggage (containing only concert gear and music) into the hold of the aircraft. The Gods of baggage-handlers just happened to have been angered that day and somehow between London and Brussels 4 or 5 of the musicians' one and only life lines to appearing on stage that night were left somewhere else. From what I recall the best efforts in concert-fancy-dress that evening involved a bow-tie constructed from a paper napkin, held together not by the mysteries of the Heian period Origami masters but by the singer's chin clamped rigidly to his upper torso. Another attempt at fashioning an imitation set of tails from what sartorial shopping could been done in the precious 3 hours before the concert resulted in an unconvincing blue velvet jacket being worn over black jeans. Beware the gig-in-a-bag, or at least never lose sight of your bag.
'Gig-in-a-bag'...just one of the many tried and tested touring phrases favoured by singer and instrumentalist alike. I believe there's a list somewhere of these so I won't make it now but by far one of my favourites is the ridiculous epithet for a cockscrew - the "gig spanner". Deary me.
I will return to France for much of August. A couple of weeks of holiday and a couple of weeks of concerts. I'm packing the black linen suit for this one and several shirts....but however much I try, I just can't, can't, can't get myself of this obsession with fitting everything into a tiny bag.......am I in denial or what?
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