Rowan Lipkovits (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} reluctance) wrote,@ 2007-07-17 16:00:00 |
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Hey, I'm running 57 Varieties tonight.
If you are reading this, you almost certainly already know everything you need to know about attending that open stage / variety show. I feel a bit bad about the promotional short shrift I've given it, but what with all the moving and shaking that's been going on lately, in (what is for me) brain-blistering heat, it's kind of a marvel I'm still managing to find spare moments to shower and find my bed. (It's curious how these projects gain and lose priority; certainly the revelation that enough foreign listeners are now tuned in to our Accordion Noir podcasts for each one to consume gigs of bandwith has bumped it up several notches in our feverish, squeezebox-infected minds.)
The big brain drain was the fabulous B:C:Clettes cabaret in the oven otherwise known as the Western Front; if you missed it, here's a peek at Friday night... the execution of our Planks sets, with different members available to play different songs every night, was precarious to say the least... but somehow we pulled it off. The material was much the same as we've shared to distracted handfuls at any number of living room parties over the years, so it was a bit revelatory to have people gushing as they left -- you mean all this time we could have been playing packed rooms? I always figured there just wasn't much of a market for it. Not only did we manage to incorporate performances from Planks old and new, many of whom had never even met before (unified only by their shared love of Dead Man's Pants and willingness to tolerate my accordion hijinks) but each night we were approached by a different person interested in joining the band. Not bad! (Saturday night the Friday night inquiry actually joined us on stage and no one was the wiser. I don't know if that stands as testament to her professionalism or the amateurishness of the remainder of us 8)
After all that the Tea Party, which I've finally got down, was almost an afterthought. I must have mastered the belly-and-whiskers school of acting, and our wild improvising between scenes outweighed in every regard the nonsense of the scripted lines. My only strong observation (with no glasses) was being pulled out to waltz during the grand finale; ordinarily I'd put up a fuss (Don't you realise I Don't Dance? So much is at stake!) but since I was already acting I fell into it pretty effortlessly (if not necessarily gracefully -- fortunately my character would back that up.) Maybe I could go out dancing every night dressed like a Walrus.
And now, yes, 57. It should likely be small, but hopefully charming and not entirely ineffective. (Ladies, please don't ever let me overhear you referring to me in such terms.)
If you are reading this, you almost certainly already know everything you need to know about attending that open stage / variety show. I feel a bit bad about the promotional short shrift I've given it, but what with all the moving and shaking that's been going on lately, in (what is for me) brain-blistering heat, it's kind of a marvel I'm still managing to find spare moments to shower and find my bed. (It's curious how these projects gain and lose priority; certainly the revelation that enough foreign listeners are now tuned in to our Accordion Noir podcasts for each one to consume gigs of bandwith has bumped it up several notches in our feverish, squeezebox-infected minds.)
The big brain drain was the fabulous B:C:Clettes cabaret in the oven otherwise known as the Western Front; if you missed it, here's a peek at Friday night... the execution of our Planks sets, with different members available to play different songs every night, was precarious to say the least... but somehow we pulled it off. The material was much the same as we've shared to distracted handfuls at any number of living room parties over the years, so it was a bit revelatory to have people gushing as they left -- you mean all this time we could have been playing packed rooms? I always figured there just wasn't much of a market for it. Not only did we manage to incorporate performances from Planks old and new, many of whom had never even met before (unified only by their shared love of Dead Man's Pants and willingness to tolerate my accordion hijinks) but each night we were approached by a different person interested in joining the band. Not bad! (Saturday night the Friday night inquiry actually joined us on stage and no one was the wiser. I don't know if that stands as testament to her professionalism or the amateurishness of the remainder of us 8)
After all that the Tea Party, which I've finally got down, was almost an afterthought. I must have mastered the belly-and-whiskers school of acting, and our wild improvising between scenes outweighed in every regard the nonsense of the scripted lines. My only strong observation (with no glasses) was being pulled out to waltz during the grand finale; ordinarily I'd put up a fuss (Don't you realise I Don't Dance? So much is at stake!) but since I was already acting I fell into it pretty effortlessly (if not necessarily gracefully -- fortunately my character would back that up.) Maybe I could go out dancing every night dressed like a Walrus.
And now, yes, 57. It should likely be small, but hopefully charming and not entirely ineffective. (Ladies, please don't ever let me overhear you referring to me in such terms.)
