Wildfire St. Andrews Day 2009

Saturday, 5 December, 2009

This time last week, I was lugging my piano through King's cross station, forced to adopt a grimacing, hunchbacked pose under its weight. We had been told to expect the worst for the weather; Cumbria was still underwater and there was a chance that high winds could cancel the show. In preparation for this, I had visited the army surplus and bought camouflage trousers and some wellington boots, as well as some long-johns and a hat from the outdoor shop. Despite these precautions, we were due to play an outdoor-show at the end of November on the North-Sea coast and the cold would be playing a part in the performance.

I meet my companions: a guitarist, who works in film and television writing comedy and theme music, perhaps most notably appearing on TV comedy show Absolutely, a percussionist who had shared a stage with Barry White, and our sound man, who had recently organised an orchestra gig with beatboxer Beardyman. Then there was me... with my long-johns and camo pants. I was the most inexperienced musician there by far, but having these seasoned professionals around was very inspiring; after-all, I was being sent up to Scotland to play piano to an audience.

The train speeds northward. I find the free wireless access point and can tweet from the train all-day. We're trying to stay alive on sandwiches, crisps and kit kats (with a bottle or two of pretend whiskey in pretend bottles), but we're never bored. I'm hearing about the tours and the after-show parties, wondering whether that would be me this time next year. I tried not to augur anything from the fact we'd been booked into the quiet carriage, and listen to the Wildfire soundtrack on headphones. I had trouble with the last number, a flowing ballad in which I play a string-quartet sample with my left-hand and a Celtic harp with the right. Yet somehow I'm completely confident that we're going to put on a show, that the weather would hold-out and everything would be fine.

Once the train gets past Newcastle, the line follows the coast, giving a panoramic view of the North sea. It was reassuringly calm, mirroring the mood. We change at Edinburgh, to the relatively uncomfortable local train, collecting glum Scottish rugby fans (whom I gather had lost) along the way.

We arrive. Its cold. My breath becomes a plume of silver. I wouldn't step outside without a hat all weekend (a 'bonnet'). I have a new respect for the locals, who would likely regard the conditions as being favourable; there was no wind to speak of, and no rain.

Our first night in St. Andrews turned out to be merely a break from the travelling. We were staying in the nearby picturesque village of Pittenweem, but after travelling all day we were in no hurry. We stopped to have dinner with the production team and caught up with the set designer and director. Due to unforeseen health and safety criterion, the stage had been in development longer than had been anticipated; entailing that we would rehearse indoors on Sunday. These circumstances probably saved a few digits from frostbite amputation, so I am privately appreciative of our draconian nanny state on this occasion.

Rehearsal

Sunday was my first full-day in St. Andrews. The surf on the sea outside the Scores hotel was formidable, the wind forcefully whisking about. The atmosphere of activity carried over to the rehearsal space (kindly donated at short-notice by the hotel), which during the day would be full of dancers and musicians.

The musicians were to rehearse separately from the dancers at first. In predictable style, we are an hour late in starting, but tempers never flared and a lot of work got done. This was the first gig I'd ever done in collaboration with a dancing troupe, and the word 'choreography' became relevant to me for the first time. Rather than counting bars, which may or not synchronise with the dancers, one eye had to be kept on the sequence, so that we could all start and end on cue. Borrowing the one eye was no problem anyway, since Alison Jones' story of a mythical Scot warrior takes us to another world of warrior-babes with swords, where our hero seeks the knowledge that can protect his clan from danger (presumably the English again... ). The choreography borders on the erotic; the leading lady and man rolling around, practically dry-humping and fighting before our eyes makes for an impressive spectacle, and its great to provide the music.

We are to provide a shortened version of the full show, to fit within a tight half-hour limit. We're to start with a soundscape-atmospheric number, followed by a Celtic dance, a flamenco / tango piece, a dancy / jazzy number and finally a ballad. Its an unusual mix, but these are genres that I wouldn't otherwise encounter and I'm thoroughly enjoying myself.

We are left to our own devices in the evening, and by midnight we're in a local Pittenweem pub trying various single-malts.

The performance

The show was to take part in the evening, after dark. When I woke up, I was delighted to see blue skies and no wind: a perfect day.

We took the opportunity to look around Pittenweem, with its precarious houses living attractively and dangerously close to the sea. We're making our soundman nervous, who relying on us for a lift, and who is late starting. Perhaps expectedly, although its bit of a cliche, the car wouldn't start, so the band give the car a push-start and we were back on the road.

Around about lunchtime we were setting up on the stage. Our guitarist, with relatively little to prepare, hammered out ABBA numbers, and the mood was jovial. I soon realise that if it did rain, I could potentially lose quite a lot of equipment; I really need to find a way of mounting my interface onto my keyboard, which ultimately ended up on the floor, and also a stand for my laptop, which was finally propped up on an up-turned bucket. Even with my simplified setup, I'm competing with the soundman in terms of number of wires on-stage.

We begin to soundcheck, which was shorter than I had hoped. With a variety of sounds, its difficult to say whether my accordion sample was relatively loud next to a string part; but our check was cut-short by an angry-looking man in high-visibility clothing who told us to keep the noise down. There was a graduation ceremony taking place nearby, which was being interrupted by sporadic "1, 2"s and squeaking instruments struggling with the cold.

We later have a rather calamitous run-through, which was plagued with sound problems and a lack of organisation. Yet my feeling of confidence was unmarred; the best thing about working in a production of this size is that there was an entire crew of people all responsible for their own area. Unlike my own original music gigs, the soundman actually gives a toss about the quality, and my only responsibility is to keep warm and play the right notes in the right time.

There were ongoing issues and it was decided to cancel the dress-rehearsal. The wisdom of this decision lied in the judging of the moment; everyone was up for the show, broadly knew what they were doing, and a dress rehearsal would only make everyone cold.

As the show drew nearer, we sheltered in a nearby university building. There was little to do in preparation for the musicians, but the dancers have their own routine. I'm quite intimidated by guys who put their legs behind their head, and there was an awful lot of bending and stretching going on.

At the last moment, we heard that a show-stopping problem had occurred with the sound-desk, and for a second there were fears that the show wouldn't go ahead; but after some expert tweaking the problem was remedied and the show was back-on.

Finally, the stage manager comes in to tell us to take our positions and ready ourselves, and casually mentions that between 800-1000 people are expected in the audience. The show would be the culmination of a procession that began in the centre of St. Andrews, and follows a group of pipers and fire-bearers through the town to our secret location. We rook to the stage, and soon enough the drone of the pipers drew closer. We were waiting for a cue to begin creating a soundscape, an atmospheric sound that would provide the backdrop for the start of the show. Over the din of the pipes, and the sound of the audience filing into the field, we either missed the cue or couldn't hear it. Amidst the confusion, we begin to play, for considerably longer than expected; but eventually things began to come together, and the dancers could begin their sequence.

From the stage, with lights shining onto the stage, I could only make-out the first line of the audience. But I think that I had the best seat in the house: stage centre, with the dancers inches away.

Once the Celtic dance begins, I need to take my gloves off to play the piano properly. After a couple of minutes, the cold on my fingers was seriously beginning to affect my dexterity. There was one song where I play organ, and there is a middle-eight bars where I drop out; during which I get back into my gloves and rigorously rub my hands together under the piano, counting the bars, until I am a beat away from playing again.

The third song is the flamenco number, and I take Alison's cue (a hysterical cackle), and count-in the band. Its a surreal piece to play in the biting cold, but nonetheless we manage to create an easy-going vibe that captured the spirit of the piece.

The next song was the dancy/jazzy number, which required an organ solo. We're joined on-stage by the carnex horn, a reconstruction of a bronze-age war trumpet, about six-foot tall with a metallic boar's head on top. I had blended two EXS organ sounds together with the organ on my P90, which kicked-out a convincing rotor-head sound. By now I was feeling at home on the stage, and it seemed a shame that we were only a song away from ending.

The last song was a bit trickier than most. It moves in unusual ways, with similar but difference endings to each section. I play arpeggios in the right-hand, and once the tempo is established it is carried off-well. The ending of the song culminates with the hero lifting a sword, to signify the victory he has made, to a crescendo of music. Without the benefit of a volume pedal, my string part abruptly ended, and there was no way of blacking-out the lights, so it wasn't until Alison thanked the audience that I think the public knew we'd finished. We were all invited on stage to have a victory/keep-warm jig, a bow and then it was all over.

Were you at the show? What did you make of it? If so please sign-up and leave a comment... I'd love to hear your feedback, or Twitter me on @dmgarland.