The Show Must Go On

"I love that. I want it at my funeral," is something I've heard a lot recently.

After a Carol concert, that was in a church in aid of a hospice and felt more like a remembrance service, the poems and song choices of people's own funerals were the main topic of conversation. The problem is that even if you plan it you won't be there to see it. Still, it seems to be human nature to think about these things as you get older. It's like planning your imaginary wedding and practising different surname signatures in the back of your RE book when you are in the fifth form (year 11).

I sometimes wonder if I should have the Queen song, 'the show must go on' at my funeral.

The psychology of this phenomenon is interesting. Why to people continue with things in front of an audience that they would stop doing if they were on their own? Is it a survival instinct? Never show a crowd your weakness or they might turn and eat you. Some people are more prone to trouping on regardless.

Musician forums are full of anecdotes about violinists who kept playing after a string snapped and nearly took their eye out or choral singers who kept going even though their hair had just caught light on a candle, or a drummer who thought he'd killed a nun in the front row when his stick flew out of his hand and knocked her off her chair (if you ever wonder why drummers are in Perspex boxes then this is the reason). My funniest moment was probably in a band for a show. The band were on stage, pushed right to the back, on the less sturdy part where the floorboards didn't quite meet. Just before the curtain opened I moved my chair into a slightly better position only to get a slow sinking feeling as one leg of the chair disappeared down the gap. The other band members grabbed various limbs that were sticking in the air and got me back in an upright position while the curtains were opening and we all played from the very first note.

The offending hole

I've never missed a concert due to ill health. My body always seems to know that it has to wait, or if it refuses to wait then I ignore it. One December (it's always December) I had a chest infection and had fallen asleep on the sofa, biting my bottom lip during the afternoon. That evening I did the concert with a temperature and an ulcerated bottom lip (torture for a flautist).

When you put on a show with children the risk of some being ill on the day is huge. Children have more bugs that their immune systems need to catch and so you can never guarantee that your whole cast or choir will be there on the day. Worst still, you can never guarantee they will make it through the whole performance. Once I took a choir to an old peoples home and a girl in the front row went a funny colour. A conductor's job is to keep the choir going and so I held out my hands, she vomited into them and left. My face continued to make the 'keep singing' gestures and the old folk thought it was all part of the show.

In this season of Christmas concerts, nativities and vomiting viruses we all need a little bit of Queen in our lives.

Empty spaces what are we living for.

Abandoned places I guess we know the score.

The show must go on.

Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats for today's performance of Strictly Camel Vomiting.

How to distress a music teacher in December

It's not hard to unhinge a music teacher in December. Life is so finely balanced: carved into 15 minute chunks. Every music teacher knows that you must never try to eat an elephant whole. Exhaustion and having no time to think or worry about anything (except at 3am) means that music teachers appear quite calm. They are not worrying that they haven't done their Christmas shopping or ordered a turkey or checked their fairy lights are working or washed the spare bed linen in time for the return of the prodigal daughter. There is a small chunk of time already allocated to those things.

Adding something to a music teacher's schedule, you would think might cause stress but provided there is a fifteen minute window it's all perfectly fine. If there is no gap then the rarely used word can be employed. I'll practise it with you now. Come on. I can do it. "No." See that wasn't so bad was it? Taking something away can cause a brief moment of anxiety but a few seconds later the gap is filled and there is no need to panic.

The thing that really causes stress is changing the time of things. If you had planned to meet a music teacher for coffee in December then remember that 11.30 isn't the same as 11. Changing the time of something without remembering to mentioning it is absolutely the worst thing you can do. Never leave a music teacher sitting in a pub only to turn up and say, "Sorry, I forgot to tell you I wasn't going to be here until 8.30." If you have organised a concert then you must be very clear with timings and never change them. To get a school choir to attend a concert will have required letter writing, permission slip chasing and logistical planning of soloists that would make Santa's elves sweat. You must not send different pieces of information by email that suddenly have the concert starting an hour earlier. If the music teacher checks the timings with you and you have changed them you must be very apologetic.  Know that this change will cause speedy letter writing, permission slip chasing, re-arranging of soloists, who now can't make it because they have a gymnastics competition or lunch with their elderly great grandma. The music teacher will wake in the middle of the night imagining that the fussiest, most complaining parent will arrive with their precious offspring at the end of the concert and book an appointment with the headteacher the next day to demand the immediate sacking of the incompetent teacher. Do not under circumstances say, "Oh well, an hour earlier is probably a good thing. At least the children won't be so tired." This might be true but whatever the music teacher was doing in the hour before (like rehearsing pupils ready for an exam the next day) will have to be rearranged until after the concert and when you can't give an exact finish time of finish the fifteen minute chunk schedule is falling about around the music teacher's ears and she is dreaming of ordering a whole elephant for her Christmas dinner and making everyone eat it whole because in December life is very stressful if you can't eat your elephant one bite at a time.

It's a good job I like elephants.

It's December

Everyone gets excited when it finally gets to December. The countdown to Christmas: opening a door of the advent calendar each day, burning a little bit of the candle, going to the church advent Carol service,  drinking gingerbread latte in a coffee shop with shopping bags at your aching feet while the Salvation Army band serenade you with Christmas carols, work Christmas dos where a pianist rises from the floor,  sitting through a performance of the Messiah on hard church pews, fighting your way around the supermarket for your sprouts (you've got to get them on soon!) with strains of  a primary school choir murdering jingle bells wafting down the aisles. It's all exciting. It's also a little bit exhausting.

This week, people have been asking me things and the only reply I seem able to give is, "It's December!"

December means something completely different to a musician. It's a double edged sword. The only time people really want you. The only time that, "let's stick a cd on" becomes replaced with "let's get a band." It's great to be wanted. It's exciting that people want to listen to live music but it is exhausting to try to fit a year's worth of performances into one month. We crawl into Christmas on our knees and spend most of Christmas Day sitting in the chair making incomprehensible burbling noises. The turkey might be over or under cooked, as by the 25th we have lost all powers of reasoning and simple things like telling the time become a liability.

The composer Eric Whitacre put this meme on Facebook this morning, which sums it all up perfectly.

The worst thing you can say to a musician in December is, "Can you do that? Because I'm too busy."

The Long Suffering Husband has learnt over the years and now makes it into a bit of a joke. "Can you go and order the turkey on Monday? Because it's December and you're not busy at all. Ha ha ha. Oh, by the way, I watched a lovely film while you were standing in the icy wind with a freezing lump of metal in your hands and on your lips, getting chilblains on your feet. How are the chilblains, anyway?" The children at school are beginning to learn. When one of the band said, "can you write me a new part? This one is too easy," and I shrugged, "It's December!" I did notice the person next to her give her a little nudge. 

Sometimes, though, they don't get it  and the results can be a terrifying. This week a boy, who was old enough to know better asked, "Could you...the school...put my name on my recorder for me?

"Why can't you do it?" I asked, not unreasonably.

"Because we're too busy"

The room went silent as I took a deep breath and answered very calmly and quietly, "You're too busy?"

"Yes"

"It's December!"

Now, the whole class were watching, listening, attentive. If only I could have been diverted from the words fighting their way to get out I could have taught them something really important like string theory and they'd have got it.

Sadly, I couldn't but I stayed calm and quiet, leaving a sinister air in the room.

"What are you doing after school tonight?"

"Err...I'm not sure."

"Oh, I'm going to do a stall at the school bazaar and then go and conduct an orchestra. I'll get home at about half 8 and have something to eat before I sort some music for the next concert."

"I...err"

"And what are you doing on Sunday?"

"I...err"

"I'm doing a concert in a church. It starts at 5, so I will get there at 3 to move all the furniture around, put the stands up, make sure everyone has the right music and then when the concert is over I'll put it all away again'

"oh...err"

"And what about Monday after school?"

"I.....err"

"I'll be teaching some people and then playing my flute at a concert.

"Oh"

"Tuesday?"

"*squeak"

"A choir concert, that I'm singing in. After teaching a million pupils that is and accompanying three people in their exams"

*silence. Wide eyes.

"What about Wednesday?"

"Errmmmmmm"

"Another concert. Do you think you might be able to find time to write your name on your recorder or shall I do it for you!"

The poor kid shuffled back to his chair and I heard someone whisper, "it's December."

I'm not complaining really. It is wonderful to be able to do what I love but if I greet a request of yours without my usual sunny, "Of course I can," response then I can only apologise a say, "it's December!"

Although, I might have to cancel Christmas this year because I've just been to the allotment to find this.

And you can't have Christmas without home-grown sprouts.