Later today I shall post some reflections on the unusual experience of attending two different performances of the same concert on consecutive evenings and sitting in very different parts of the hall, but first a little bit of SOSSLED silliness.
Last night was an official SOSSLED night out. Objective: baritone stalking.
Long before the concert begun was the important task of eating, and planning the final installments of Jane's Wuthering Prejudice
I was trying to explain to our esteemed author how a seduction scene might occur, based purely on my close observance of DVDs. Showing is always better than telling, until one realises that a few little old ladies are getting the vapours at what they believe to be a Public Display of Sapphic Lechery in the Barbican Foyer, which, let's be honest, is not the most conducive of places for seduction, sapphic or otherwise, even if only in the service of literature.
Realisation that we had offended public decency set us rather into giggly mode, and on emergence from the Ladies we spotted the Fairy Godfather of SOSSLED in a telephone booth with his back to us. We stood on the landing waiting for him, and a friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, said to me in a rather loud voice "I dare you to pinch his arse..." causing us both to collapse into girlie giggles, followed almost immediately by horrified girly giggles in the realisation that at that precise nano second, my very favouritest baritone had walked past us, just a few feet away and surely well within earshot.
The concert came and went, and, as I say there will be a serious commentary written here before bedtime, because, ultimately, it would be very sad indeed to be a stalker of baritones and tenors, and, indeed, other voice types if one could not appreciate on an emotional, visceral and intellectual level the music they deliver*
Afterwards, via the waving of our Fairy Godfather's Magic Wand, we were able to go backstage, rather than stand at the Groupie's Entrance. We waited for Gerald Finley outside his dressing room. We were very conscious that his wife and sons were present, and, anyway, I am firmly of the belief that waiting for singers (and other performers) after a performance is an imposition and that they have no obligation to be gracious and friendly; the fact that many choose to do so is a bonus. And Gerald was very gracious and very friendly.
But we learnt a lesson in the art of Singer Stalking. Preparation. Gerald and I posed for a photo, but Faye's camera batteries had gone flat. Very stupidly, my camera was in its case in my handbag and I knew that the settings were entirely wrong for taking close-up 'portrait' type photos, and I did not want to give the impression of being a time wasting klutz, so, no photos...
I think Gerald might have realised that I am a fan. Perhaps when I said that I was the previous evening's concert, too, and I knew the precise date of the Sea Symphony, to which I'm going, and the two performances of Figaro to which I'm going**, or when I teasingly asked him to stop releasing CDs. And I got a kiss on the cheek. If Louise and the boys had not been present I might subtly have requested more, but I'm well brought up and respectful. And Faye got a kiss, too. It was a very nice baritone-stalking conclusion to an enjoyable evening.
Some time ago, in reaction to Hairy McMungo's classification of singers by how Scottish they are, I threatened to retaliate with Lancashire/Cheshire singers. I think a Canadian married to a Lancastrian singer must surely count as an honorary Lancastrian...!
* SOSSLED's Mission Statement: We are a group of respectable sensible women with considerable status in our respective professions. We just happen to like singers. We refer to stalking, but that stops outside the curtilage of opera house/concert hall. We are non-threatening, and don't have a criminal record between us, although one-of-us does have some Andrea Bocelli, which I suppose counts...
** I'm good at remembering dates, as it happens...
