Creativity in the Face of Insanity

Pandemic. Sounds like something that someone else lives through. Someone in a book or a film. Not us; surely not us. Yet here we all are, four months into a calamitous and daunting existence, socially distanced from our friends and family, watching from afar as livelihoods crumble and people unravel amidst the uncertainty of it all.

I spent the first few weeks of 'lockdown' soldiering through with a calm, practical, maternal mindset. Making sure we had enough food, keeping the children exercised and entertained. When we knew we just had to stay home to keep everyone safe, it was simple and straightforward. Not nice; but easy enough.

Then the rules started to change, and I began to feel a fizzing anxiety creeping in. Suddenly we were allowed to go places again and see people, if still maintaining our distance. But everyone seemed to be responding differently to the new rules, and it felt horribly confusing. Friendships suddenly felt fragile and precarious. The sensation of unknown adventure which we'd managed to maintain at first was quickly fading, to be replaced by the harsh realisation that this wasn't as temporary as we'd assumed. And with that, came a bleak feeling of claustrophobia and unease.

Right now, I am up and down on a daily basis. Some days, the sun will be shining and the kids just being kids in the great outdoors, and everything feels OK. Then I remember I still can't hug my mum, or go to the theatre, or enter a shop without a mask, and the weight of it falls back down on me like a ton of bricks.

The only way I've been able to quieten my frantic thoughts is by channeling my mind into creative pursuits. It doesn't always work, because the motivation ebbs and flows, much like the optimism. But with the help of willing collaborators, I have been able to at least complete a few little fun projects, which feel like an achievement under the circumstances, and will be something to look back on in years to come when we talk about what happened.

The day that we decided to lock down as a family (a week before the official lockdown), I had the idea to start a family podcast, which would record this unusual time for posterity. At the beginning, we were recording our activities and thoughts daily, but as time has gone on and the lockdown has eased, it has become more like once or twice a week. But listening back to old episodes is a reminder that family life has carried on in all its gritty, silly, ordinariness. And that is a comfort. Here's the latest episode. You can click on the title 'Bouncing Before Breakfast' to find the rest.


One of my first video projects was a topical parody of a Gilbert and Sullivan Song 'With Cat Like Tread', which I wrote and produced with the help of members of Eastbourne Gilbert and Sullivan Society:

This was followed by a silent movie style short film, also featuring G&S friends: 

All of this was making me miss performing, and a few weeks into the lockdown, I had the idea to do a play reading with some fellow thesps via Zoom, which I recorded and published as a radio play. It was really fun, so we did a few more. You can listen to them all on Soundcloud:

Rowstar · Radio Drama Recorded During Lockdown

Singing has always been therapy to me, and I've tried to make time to use my voice while stuck at home. Lucy and I enjoyed learning this duet from Patience, and performing together virtually:

I also co-wrote this Covid-themed Mikado spoof with Adrian, although I still don't know why he decided to wear goggles:

My friend Erika (who lives in the US) had her 40th during the lockdown, and requested that people send her videos instead of presents, so I came up with this:

I'm conscious that all of this output seems fairly frivolous in the face of the global situation, and I've been trying to figure out how to express my true feelings about it all, in a more sincere way. I think it's going to take a while to process it, and to find the words to adequately articulate how it has felt, and the effect it has had - and will continue to have - on our lives.

Meanwhile, I hope these small offerings bring a smile, if nothing else. I've taken great pleasure in seeing other people's creativity explode all over the internet over the past few months, proving that although the arts industry may be drastically battered and bruised by what has happened, nothing will stop human beings creating and performing. It may take a long while for life to get back to normal, and for the arts industry to recover, but theatre will endure; it will find a way.

First Night Reflections - Pirates of Penzance with Eastbourne G&S

Tonight is the opening night of Eastbourne G&S’s Pirates of Penzance, and I shall be playing Mabel – the leading lady. I joined the cast after someone else dropped out, only a month or so ago, and have crammed like mad to learn the part. It’s been 20 years since I performed in a show (not counting the odd concert or wedding) and I find it hard to believe where the time has gone. In those years (since Die Fledermaus with EODS in 1994), a lot has happened. I’ve been to university, had four different partners and married one of them, moved to London, Brighton and back to Eastbourne again, I’ve worked in bookshops, publishing, social media and beauty, lost two close contemporaries to cancer, become an auntie, bought a flat and now a house, and travelled to dozens of countries. But amongst all that, I have missed singing. I should say, I’ve never actually stopped singing – to myself around the house, in the car, while out shopping, and jamming with friends – but there’s nothing like the thrill of a paying/willing audience to reward one’s efforts.

As I warm up my rusty vocal cords this afternoon, I'm doing my best to channel Ben and Rose - my great-grandparents – who met as opera singers in the D’Oyly Carte. Thanks to them I have grown up with a love of Gilbert & Sullivan - having the hits sung to me by my mum, and learning many arias myself to perform in festivals and concerts. With all that familial sway, it amazes me that I have reached my thirties before actually performing in a full-blown G&S show. But here I am, limbering up for a week of piratical adventures, complete with tongue twisting lyrics and breath-defying cadenzas. I’m excited and nervous in equal measure, but wasn't that always the case?

Ben & Rose Williams

If you’d like to witness my theatrical comeback, tickets are on sale from Eastbourne Theatres and we are performing from tonight until Saturday, with matinees on Weds and Sat. You can sneak a little preview by watching the video above, of a promotional sing the cast did in Eastbourne town centre last weekend.

The Grand Glee Finale: End of Act One

Warning: Luvvie Alert (if you have have an aversion to campery or showbiz of any kind, you may as well stop reading right now. If however you are fond of a showtune or two, or like me, are a fan of Glee, welcome to the party...)

Since I first raved about it back in January, Glee has become my only must-watch TV show (oh, OK, there's Mad Men too), providing wry satire and sparkling musical entertainment every Monday night, which, I think you'll agree, is just what Mondays needed. Like any long-running series, it's had its occasional 'nothing much is happening this week' episodes and a few ill-conceived or just plain vomit-inducing musical numbers. But on the whole it's been first-rate.

We've followed the ever more complicated fates of a group of High School misfits and their equally troubled teachers as they prepare for Glee Club sectionals, an inter-school musical performance competition traditional in America. We've wondered who will end up with who, whether the club will survive its many slapstick bust-ups and whether they will make it through to the next stage of the competition.

There's decent eye-candy in the form of mohicaned bad-boy Noah 'Puck' Puckerman (or pretty boy Finn Hudson if that's your thing), but the undisputed comedy star of the show is cranky sports teacher and cheerleader coach Sue Sylvester, whose cutting one-liner comebacks are legendary. My favourite from this week's episode: "You'll be adding revenge to the long list of things you're no good at, right next to being married, running a high school glee club and finding a hairstyle that doesn't look like a lesbian." Genius.

The highlight of each episode for me is invariably the big showstopper number, generally performed by the group or two main characters in the midst of a poignant storyline. The episodes that fall flat are always those in which they get the showstopper wrong. Thankfully for the mid season finale this week, they got it very very right with a magical rendition of 'Don't Rain on My Parade' from Funny Girl:

As someone who performed in many musicals as a youngster and harboured aspirations towards professional singing, I was right there with (the talented but irritatingly fame-obsessed) Rachel as she stole the show at the Glee Club competition sectionals. Her heartfelt performance perfectly encapsulated the hunger and drive I so vividly remember experiencing as a teenager treading the boards; it was thrilling, infectious and rousing - bringing back a rush of teenage yearnings.

Both Ant and I have been humming the tune ever since and going back to watch this video of said performance to re-experience the tingling sensation all over again. It was so powerful that I can't even recall what the other songs in the episode were. Now that's what I call showbiz.

If you are still reading and have yet to experience Glee for yourself, you can catch up on the last few episodes via 4oD, or order the DVD from Amazon.

A Drunk in a Midnight Choir

“Like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free” Leonard Cohen

As a devout young choir girl (head chorister no less), I used to take umbrage at the hoards of ‘Christmas Brigade’ punters who would rock up at midnight mass having not seen the inside a church all year except possibly for weddings, Christenings and funerals. It seemed unfair that I should be there every Sunday doing my bit while they just got to saunter in for the fun part once a year. Little did I imagine that one day it would be me rolling drunkenly into the back pew for a sing-song on Christmas Eve.

But why would a confirmed agnostic/pantheist indulge in such institutional religious rites? A sentimental attachment to old times is partly to blame - my spiritual life may no longer be tied to the church, but I still find immense comfort in the traditions and surroundings that were such a big part of my childhood and early adulthood.

The other main attraction is the music. Having been trained and immersed in it for so many years, my singing voice comes alive to sacred music, particularly the good old Christmas carol. My heart does not belong to Christmas until I have belted out the soaring descant to Oh Come all Ye Faithful by candlelight. The past few years I have been exercising my lungs on Christmas Eve at our local church, St George’s in Kemp Town, where I get an extra thrill from knowing that some of my favourite performers have also sung there. But it’s not just about sentiment and singing.

Christianity may have appropriated many of its festive traditions from the Pagans and Romans, but Christmas is Christmas now (not Yuletide or Saturnalia) and there’s no getting away from it. So whether you believe in Jesus or not, it only seems fitting to pay one's respects to the tradition that gives us that precious time off work to argue with family, max out our credit cards and over-indulge on rich food and booze.

Joking aside, I may not be religious but I am a sucker for tradition and ritual and there’s nothing like candlelit mass for conjuring ceremonial magic and summoning the festive spirit (figuratively speaking of course). So call me a hypocrite, but come Christmas Eve I’ll be there giving it all I’ve got in my once a year pseudo-spiritual seasonal devotional. And pious choir girls, please don’t hate me for it.

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Nothing to do with midnight mass but suitably festive, the above video is from this year's Wainwright/McGarrigle family Christmas show, 'A Not So Silent Christmas' at the Royal Albert Hall. I recommend the CD or DVD of the occasion as excellent festive listening and have also picked out a few other favourite alternative Christmas albums for fellow music lovers. Enjoy...

This One's for You, Dear Craig

After a stupidly prolonged absence, I finally made my grand return to the stage last night. I had been putting it off for one reason or another (studying, working, commuting etc) and it took a little push from a friend to get me back in the saddle, so to speak. I was performing at the Hailsham Pavilion as part of a charity concert organised by the gorgeous (and talented) Natalie, in memory of her dad and our mutual friend Craig, both of whom died before their time. As I was standing in the wings, waiting to give my all in their honour, I thought back to the first time I met Craig, when we were cast opposite one another as the lead roles in The Pajama Game, back in 1993. We hit it off straight away, sharing a mutually mischevious sense of humour that made rehearsals a scream, and were soon firm friends. It was a joy to perform alongside him in that show, and the others that followed. I'd always hoped we'd get to do a turn together again one day, but it wasn't to be, as Craig died of brain cancer in 2005, aged just 30.

It was an emotional and heartfelt occasion for so many reasons. All of the adult performers had either been in shows with, or were friends of, Craig and/or David (Nat's dad), and the audience included lots of old friends and family of both men. It was also the first time my mum and I had been on stage together since we did Annie about 25 years ago! She was compering the show, and a did a grand job, without the aid of a microphone. I was slightly perturbed at having to use a hand-held mic, something I've never done before. I don't think I really needed it in such a little venue, but our sound man wanted to make sure all the singers were level. My first appearance was a duet ('For Good' from Wicked) with Natalie, which closed the first half. In the second half I had my solo spot, singing 'Hymne a l'Amour' (in English), originally recorded by Edith Piaf. This was especially emotional, as it followed straight on from a very moving performance from 10 year old Gus, singing an original composition written in memory of Craig by his ex-boyfriend, Michael England.

Me singing 'Hymne a L'Amour' (filmed by Ant from row G)

For the finale, everyone piled on stage to sing 'Seasons of Love' from Rent - not one of my favourite musicals, but Craig loved it, so we gave it our all for him and the sentiment rang true. Belting out a ridiculously high note at the end, I looked skywards and devoted it to my dear friend - gone but never forgotten. After the show, cast members and their respective entourages piled into the pub opposite for a much-needed drink and hug-fest, congratulating Natalie on a job well done. There was also much discussion of what my next theatrical venture might be, now that I've been re-initiated. The trouble is, no one seems to be doing any shows that I fancy being in, and I'm also scared of turning up to a new society and braving the inevitable cliques. I guess I'll just have to put on my own production, casting all my friends and giving myself the juiciest part of course! Watch this space for further ponderings on this subject...

I ♥ Musicals, Deal With It

I'm not ashamed to admit that I like musicals. It's in my blood - my great-grandparents were singers in the D'oyly Carte Opera (which pretty much invented the genre of the popular musical, performing the accessible and often humorous works of Gilbert & Sullivan), and I've been in dozens of amateur productions myself. It's been a few years now since I graced the stage, but I still like to go and watch other people leaping around and expressing themselves through the medium of song now and again. Of course it doesn't always work, and there are some dodgy productions out there that drag down the good name of the musical altogether. I recently tried to watch the film of Rent on DVD and had to turn off after 20 minutes, it was such a depressingly flat affair. To me, musicals should be jolly and uplifting, or at least have a good story and some memorable songs.

The last couple of West End productions I've seen - Avenue Q and Wicked - were both brilliant, and hard acts to follow, so when the lovely Neel announced that he wanted to go and see Hairspray on his birthday, I was somewhat dubious. But going on adventures with Neel is always fun, and with a gang of 15 signed up for it, I knew we'd have a giggle even if the show wasn't all that. But as it turned out, I quite enjoyed it. Never having seen either of the films, I was oblivious to the plot, which is a good thing in itself - with so many musicals you already know what's going to happen and just have to hope that the songs are enough to keep you amused. In the case of Hairspray, it's a pretty obvious rise of the underdog tale, set in 1960s Baltimore when racial segregation was still the norm. With full marks for feel-good factor, this new production is bursting with energy and humour, with a classic performance from Michael Ball in (almost believeable) drag. I know that a lot of people find him irritating, but I have a secret soft spot for old dimple cheeks. No one could deny that he has great stage presence, and a lovely singing voice. Admittedly, he did milk some of the comedy moments a little too much, but more in the over-the-top spirit of the show than through wanton self-indulgence.

The costumes were fabulous, and made me want to get straight onto ebay and treat myself to some vintage frocks. I found myself foot-tapping (though not clapping along - why do people do that?) through lots of the songs, and can even imagine one or two of them making their way into my DJ setlist repertoire. Most of all, it was lovely to break up the week with a cultural adventure, even if it did mean braving the cattletrucks and crowded streets to get across London. It also made me feel more excited about my own imminent return to the stage this Sunday, as part of a charity concert in aid of St Wilfrid's Hospice at Hailsham Pavilion. The last I heard, there were still a few tickets left (available from 01323 841414) if anyone feels inclined to witness this *ahem* historic event.

Singing for Your Supper

Going to Bom-Bane's The Musical was a bit like taking a step back through time into my 70s childhood. My early years were punctuated by those slightly surreal, often quite musical television programmes like Bagpuss, Rainbow and that one with Christopher Lillicrap, the name of which I can never remember (someone enlighten me, please!) - not to mention a family life in which bursting into song was a daily occurrence, as normal as brushing your teeth. So having my Friday night meal narrated by singing minstrels somehow seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

From the moment we arrived through the doors of the teeny Bom Bane's cafe on George Street on Friday night, we were warmly received into the eccentric Bom-Bane family. Each of the upstairs tables has some kind of gadget that livens up your mealtime - ours was a motor that made the table go up and down randomly during the meal. Soon the place was buzzing with diners, all eagerly awaiting the evening's entertainment - which began with a welcoming song for which we were led downstairs by Nick Pynn's bewitching fiddle-playing.

The rest of the meal was interspersed with songs from other staff members, including the hostess, Jane Bom-Bane herself. Each humorous ditty related to the food or the venue in some way, enhancing the whole experience wonderfully, and breaking the ice between diners. For such a tiny venue, they managed to pack in an extraordinary array of instruments, including two harmoniums and a theramin. The food itself was hearty and unpretentious, starting with a selection of tasty dips with rustic bread, followed by Sausages and Stoemp (a type of mash) and concluding with the Bom-Bane's signature pudding - chocowafflettes, with a lovely fresh fruit salad. The finale number was a very Bagpuss-esque tribute to Bom-Bane's The Hat - a model of the cafe, complete with motorised penguins representing the staff (!) and sported by a very deadpan Jane Bom-Bane.

While we were sat polishing off our second bottle of (delicious organic) wine afterwards, I kept thinking of people who would have loved the evening as much as me, so I have decided to try and organise a private performance for my birthday in September. The next public shows are on Thurs June 12th, Sat June 28th, Thurs July 17th and Sat July 26th - get yourself a ticket here.

Complete photoset on flickr at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/sets/72157605400579755

Closet Romantic

I always cry at weddings. In spite of my sometimes cynical attitude towards the marriage institution, I find the sentiment behind two people making a heartfelt public commitment to each other deeply moving, and that little sparkle of romance left in my soul invariably swells up via my eyes, even more so since I tied the knot myself. I've reached that stage in life where every summer brings another two or three weddings, more excuses to buy new frocks and hats, and a chance for me to have a little cathartic weep as yet another pair say "I do". This weekend I shall be attending my first ever gay wedding. I refrain from using the term 'Civil Partnership', as to me it sounds rather formal and boring, and if I know Sham and James, their bash will be anything but dull. I am excited for lots of reasons - not least because they have asked me to sing at the ceremony, something I haven't done for a few years. From the ages of about 10 to 15 I sang in the choir of St Philip's Church Eastbourne, and was even Head Chorister for the latter years (I know, I can hardly picture it now, either!). As well as our usual Sunday duties, the junior choir would make a bit of extra cash by singing at weddings on Saturdays, for people who presumably didn't happen to know any good singers to ask. I've sung a couple of times at family weddings too, most recently at the reception of my cousin's big do in the Lake District last summer. But the last time I actually performed during the ceremony must have been for my Godmother Jood's marriage blessing, back in the early nineties. I remember it was on New Year's Day, so everyone was hungover, and it was freezing cold in church - not the ideal circumstances for singing - but I gave it my best, and it meant a lot to contribute to their special day in such a personal way. When Sham asked me to sing at his wedding to James, I had a feeling they would want something less traditional than I would normally choose for my voice (classical/sacred music is my forté), and so I had fun putting together a list of potential songs, mostly jazz standards, for them to pick from. These included 'Making Whoopee', 'Someone to Watch Over Me', 'Can't Help Lovin Dat Man' and for kitsch value, 'Nobody Does It Better'. Unsurprisingly, they went straight for this, clearly the campest option, which, although not really in my range, will be fun to perform. The lovely Brian will be accompanying me on piano, which makes me feel a lot more confident about the whole thing, and of course the fabulous full-length frock I've bought for the occasion will really help me feel the part. I'm also hugely excited because I've never been to a same-sex ceremony before, and it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling that British law has finally granted gay couples comparable rights, and the opportunity to express their love more openly than ever before. We've come a long way, and the added significance of this will be sure to make these particular nuptials even more poignant than usual. Let's just hope I can get the singing out of the way before I start to blub.

(Picture courtesy of Gino Ginelli on Flickr)