...And yet, it was here that my indiscretions were discretely ushered into the antechamber of their demise. Little did I know, but I was soon to meet the latest object of my desires who would prove to be my second wife, fit as hell, brighter than a 100-watt bulb and sharper than a brand-new Sabatier. In short: my match, and welcome, my dear; please come this way. As an aside: as I write, my wife is 40 with the body of an 18-year-old, a fabulous mother to our two daughters and as shaggable as a coked-up, 21-year-old Marilyn Monroe. Envy me; it's worth the effort, however vicarious.
Our first meeting was at Sunset Boulevard: I was Assistant MD, she worked Front of House, yet had to pass me on her way to the Side Bar every evening as I played the vocal warm-up for the cast on stage. One evening, I sat there as usual with my mobile and my cigarettes on top of the piano when she walked by. Then came the comment: "Mobiles and cigarettes; what other bad habits do you have?". I thought: 'I'm in love.' I'm a sucker for feisty women. We agreed to meet to meet at Caffé Nero, on the corner of Maiden Lane and Southampton Row (No idea if it's still there). She (G) was reading a book about Israel; I'd just been there. G was on the verge of going for an interview for a job on the Isle of Bute in Scotland...the message was clear: this babe was soon to be out of here and I had to make some decisions, and fast. She got the call to go North. Was I interested in coming? Duh! But we were still just 'friends'; this could be embarrassing...
We went to Scotland together. The company had - diplomatically - booked two single rooms for us but I had a perma-boner from Euston to Rothesay (those unfamiliar with UK geography, please check the route. Then you'll understand how painful it was). G got the job, we got together, the rest is almost history (I wasn't a complete saint; at least not in the first year) and now I couldn't imagine life any other way. I tell you (providing you want to 'listen'): Making love with someone you know really well just gets better and better, providing you stick to two basic tenets:
1) You really believe in the relationship:
2) You both stay fit.
As soon as beer guts and bingo wings make their presence felt, it's over. Fruit, veg and lots of affection. There's no secret. MacDonalds, Ladbrokes and Liverpool FC will kill anyone's sex life. Here's my recipe:
1) Fresh fruit, cereal and fish;
2) Excellent wines from the south-west of France;
3) Oodles of conversation;
4) Gorgeous children;
5) Fit wife:
= High-Quality Shagging.
It ain't rocket science. Bonne nuit à vous tous.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Monday, 4 July 2011
Basel, Switzerland, 1995.
So off I flew to Basel to put up the first Swiss production of The Phantom of the Opera. We were put up in a hotel, La Plaza, which, although fairly luxurious, had no experience of guests who stayed longer than 48 hours. This gap in their education proved fatal for them on a number of occasions, but for the time being, everything was OK: the cast, composed of Swiss, Americans, Brits and Germans, was extremely good, the music director a very able man, easy to work with and backed up by an American music staff with a lot of experience under its belt. I'd explore the town on my own, then some of us would take day trips out together, to Ribeauvillé, Freiburg (where my father went to university) and, eventually, further afield to the Alps proper, but other things were afoot in the city itself. Bizarrely, my feelings for SM began to cool almost as soon as I'd left Hamburg, something I couldn't fathom at all. It didn't have anything to do with the women in Switzerland; I got no more special attention there as I did anywhere else. We spoke on the phone and arranged for her to come down. She sensed something was up, but I decided to wait and see how I felt when I saw her before leaping to any conclusions. I picked her up from the station and her mistrust was palpable. Not surprising, really, and I couldn't blame her one iota. We made love, we laughed, we joked but there was something awry. Maybe it was the fact I'd decided to go to London and this was a tacit admission that the passionate period was over; I'd deposited my years of pent-up frustration into her and was now ready to move on. I hated feeling less for her but didn't know how to rectify the situation. Was our age difference suddenly assuming an importance it hadn't, before? SM was, admittedly, nine years older than I, but you'd never have guessed, and I looked young for my age even then. Anyhow, she travelled back to Hamburg with everything up in the air but it was clear to us both that the writing was on the wall. I still had a packed case to pick up from her flat, so it was imperative to remain on at least civil terms. I hadn't forced her to move house, emigrate, leave her job or anything like that, so ultimately any split would just entail healing emotional wounds, wounds which were, it has to be said, pretty deep, such was the intensity of our relationship.
One evening, after rehearsal, a group of us went up to my room and partied. One lady, LB, stayed a little longer than the rest and, after wild 'petting' we ended up in bed. I woke at around 8am with the two beds completely pushed apart, bedding all over the room and no sign of my mate. We caught up later and I found out I'd fallen asleep on the job. This needed to be rectified, not such an easy task I can assure you. Still, we ended up making love on a bench by the river. LB was married and anything we did was to remain sctrictly between us. I don't know to this day if she ever told her husband or not. Anyhow, a little later I found out that the harpist in the orchestra, LG, thought I was rather nice and wanted to get to know me a little better. She spoke only French so I had to dust off what I'd learned in school, and sharpish. Her uncle was a world-famous film director, truly a household name. I never managed to meet any of the family, but our gentle relationship played out my remaining two weeks in Switzerland before heading over to England. L had been in touch from London and smelt a rat one day whilost we were on the phone; LG had knocked on the door whilst we were talking and I'd let her in without making a sound, a pretty stupid move if ever there was one. I should have shown enough presence of mind to greet her as one would a member of staff who has come round to check the mini bar or some such. Still, I didn't and was well rumbled by my still-spouse, as I was to find out later in London.
LG's feelings for me didn't last, contrary to mine for her. We'd had a lovely day out in Geneva where she was teaching and a romantic trip back in the dining car of the Swiss train, accompanied by a plate of parma ham and some red wine. Her last words to me were "Don't forget me", though she pretty much did me, shacking up with a Canadian double-bass player almost as soon as I'd left the country. I understand she's still single to this day, a strange situation indeed, considering her talent and beauty. I had a couple of days back in Basel in early December, 1995, ostensibly to se how the show was shaping up but, in reality, to see LG, who, of course, didn't want to see me. It was a horrible few days, particularly as Les Mis was shaping up to be a political nightmare, so there was no enjoyment about any aspect of being in the Palace Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue in those days.
I went to see SM when I got back to Hamburg. Needless to say, the meeting was short and unpleasant. She gave me my case, saying if I ever found out what had caused an about-face in my feelings, then I should let her know. I drove home to Bahrenfeld, packed what was left of my belongings and drove off to Hamburg's ferry terminal. My furniture was already in storage and waiting for the nod to be delivered somewhere in London, my brother and sister-in-law expecting me sometime the following afternoon in their house in East London. After eight years, the German experience was about to end. There'd been pretty much everything packed into that time: I started out as a single, greenhorn pianist who'd never conducted in his life and was leaving quasi-married, quasi-adulterer, headhunted by the biggest musical theatre company in the world to be musical director of their flagship production. In terms of moving on in life it had been eight years at 100mph, and that was not going to change...
One evening, after rehearsal, a group of us went up to my room and partied. One lady, LB, stayed a little longer than the rest and, after wild 'petting' we ended up in bed. I woke at around 8am with the two beds completely pushed apart, bedding all over the room and no sign of my mate. We caught up later and I found out I'd fallen asleep on the job. This needed to be rectified, not such an easy task I can assure you. Still, we ended up making love on a bench by the river. LB was married and anything we did was to remain sctrictly between us. I don't know to this day if she ever told her husband or not. Anyhow, a little later I found out that the harpist in the orchestra, LG, thought I was rather nice and wanted to get to know me a little better. She spoke only French so I had to dust off what I'd learned in school, and sharpish. Her uncle was a world-famous film director, truly a household name. I never managed to meet any of the family, but our gentle relationship played out my remaining two weeks in Switzerland before heading over to England. L had been in touch from London and smelt a rat one day whilost we were on the phone; LG had knocked on the door whilst we were talking and I'd let her in without making a sound, a pretty stupid move if ever there was one. I should have shown enough presence of mind to greet her as one would a member of staff who has come round to check the mini bar or some such. Still, I didn't and was well rumbled by my still-spouse, as I was to find out later in London.
LG's feelings for me didn't last, contrary to mine for her. We'd had a lovely day out in Geneva where she was teaching and a romantic trip back in the dining car of the Swiss train, accompanied by a plate of parma ham and some red wine. Her last words to me were "Don't forget me", though she pretty much did me, shacking up with a Canadian double-bass player almost as soon as I'd left the country. I understand she's still single to this day, a strange situation indeed, considering her talent and beauty. I had a couple of days back in Basel in early December, 1995, ostensibly to se how the show was shaping up but, in reality, to see LG, who, of course, didn't want to see me. It was a horrible few days, particularly as Les Mis was shaping up to be a political nightmare, so there was no enjoyment about any aspect of being in the Palace Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue in those days.
I went to see SM when I got back to Hamburg. Needless to say, the meeting was short and unpleasant. She gave me my case, saying if I ever found out what had caused an about-face in my feelings, then I should let her know. I drove home to Bahrenfeld, packed what was left of my belongings and drove off to Hamburg's ferry terminal. My furniture was already in storage and waiting for the nod to be delivered somewhere in London, my brother and sister-in-law expecting me sometime the following afternoon in their house in East London. After eight years, the German experience was about to end. There'd been pretty much everything packed into that time: I started out as a single, greenhorn pianist who'd never conducted in his life and was leaving quasi-married, quasi-adulterer, headhunted by the biggest musical theatre company in the world to be musical director of their flagship production. In terms of moving on in life it had been eight years at 100mph, and that was not going to change...
Saturday, 11 June 2011
Washington DC 1993
One of the most unusual jobs I've ever done was in September, 1993. I'd just taken over the musical directorship of The Phantom of the Opera in Hamburg when our supervisory team from New York came over to record the entire show with our orchestra but without singers. Apparently, there was wage-based discontent brewing between the orchestra of the Kennedy Centre in Washington and their employers and the smart money was on the players using the visit of the American First National Tour of Phantom to strike and get management to cede. The musical company had no desire to be taken hostage like that and struck pre-emptively by having a version of the show on tape in case there were no musicians to play it. They spent two days recording and went back to the US to face the music.
As it happens, the orchestra did strike and hell was let loose. They managed a couple of performances with two pianos before the musical supervisor started conducting the singers with the tape. A keyboard player was flown in from New York to cover the tricky, recitative-like passages. The audience was informed several times before entering the theatre that the performance would take place with pre-recorded orchestral playing and, should they wish to have a refund would they please claim it before the show started. Virtually no-one left. This happy state of affairs would have continued had the music supervisor not had to leave for another production. The regular conductor (actually my predecessor in Hamburg) could, as a union member, not do it, so they needed someone from outside. It was decided that they'd ask me to do it and, if I accepted, my predecessor would go back to Hamburg for the remaining three weeks of the Washington run. New York phoned me at about 11pm after a show; everything was sorted out with the Hamburg management and all they needed was my OK. So I gave it. Next day I sorted out flight details with the office in NYC, asked them to have a recording Fed-Exed over to Hamburg so I could get started on learning the guide track, sorted out a catsitter and, a few days later, headed off to the airport.
I flew Business direct from Hamburg to Washington. I was not to be paid while in the US as I had no work permit in those days but was generously 'taken care of' with a very good per diem and direct billing in the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown, so I didn't have to spend a red cent my entire stay. That was also made easier by the fact that The Four Seasons had the best of everything, so I had no desire to eat anywhere else. We were moved into the Wyndham Bristol for the last few days as the supervisors had left. It was good, but a bit of a come down after my initial palatial accomodation. One of the nicest bits was having a strech limo at our disposal. This was our car. By 'our', I mean the keyboard player and I. Our driver, Sam, was in his eighties and still working to help put his grandchildren through college. Just like in Europe. Yeah, right...
Working with Americans in America is always impressive, particularly after the lacksadaisical, entitlement-polluted attitudes you find in Europe. The message was clear: do right by us and we'll do right by you. It's a simple message and, if followed intelligently, results in a win-win situation. Our collaboration was fruitful and joyous, even if I did have to keep my true identity secret, a strange ituation to be in. I was also assigned a bodyguard, as was the keyboard player, just in case any strikers spotted us and chose to get nasty. It didn't happen, of course, and we had a good laugh with Chris and Jon, who turned into good friends during the time we spent together. We would always enter and leave the theatre by the underground passage which opened out next to the Watergate Hotel and some Embassy. Seeing as it is illegal in the US to picket within a certain distance of an Embassy we always had a free run down in and out of the bowels of the Kennedy Centre, though we were instructed to keep our sunglasses on until inside. It seems a bit OTT in retrospect (did then, too) but it was a wonderful experience.
I finished my time in the US with a few days with my in-laws in New Jersey. Whilst there, we had a DC reunion in Manhattan: Chris, Jon, the keyboard player and I met up and had dinner with my father-in-law. There was a funny story to that evening, too. One of the Christines in Washington, Terri, was due to leave the show after the DC run and start in the show She Loves Me on Broadway. On our reunion night we found ourselves in the same street as the theatre where it was playing, and one of the group said: "Isn't that where Terri is, now?". Just at that moment, who should poke her head out of the emergency exit we were standing in front of but...yes, you've guessed it: Terri. So I said "And here she is: Ms Terri ...." She looked a little nonplussed, so I said "Terri, it's us, from Phantom in Washington DC". "Have you come to see the show?" she asked. "No", I said, we happened to be passing and you came out through that door; it's an extraordinary coincidence". "Do we know each other?" she asked me. "Terri, yes. Until four days ago we were looking at each other three hours every day, sometimes more if we also had a matinee performance. I was the conductor in DC". "OHMYGAAAD! Yes!" Hug, kiss, all that crap. When I told my colleague in Germany about it he went ballistic: "That's SO typical of her! She's not interested in anyone except herself. What a selfish cow" etc etc. I did find it a little strange, to be honest, but maybe I'd never encountered anyone so self-possessed, before.
I flew back to Hamburg a few days later. My most abiding memory of the Four Seasons was the service and the reaction of my room maid when she realised I'd left her a $50 tip (American dollar bills all look alike, you have to be careful). She caught me up in the corridor, went down on her knees and kissed my hand. I didn't know what to think, but it was clear that little bit extra meant an awful lot to her. Washington DC has a high black population and a lot of crime and poverty. I saw some of it when I went out to a suburban theatre performance with, funnily enough, the partner of the bloke replacing me in Hamburg while I was in the US. He knew Washington like the back of his hand but it was still a bit scary on occasions; not the kind of city I'd like to get lost in.
As it happens, the orchestra did strike and hell was let loose. They managed a couple of performances with two pianos before the musical supervisor started conducting the singers with the tape. A keyboard player was flown in from New York to cover the tricky, recitative-like passages. The audience was informed several times before entering the theatre that the performance would take place with pre-recorded orchestral playing and, should they wish to have a refund would they please claim it before the show started. Virtually no-one left. This happy state of affairs would have continued had the music supervisor not had to leave for another production. The regular conductor (actually my predecessor in Hamburg) could, as a union member, not do it, so they needed someone from outside. It was decided that they'd ask me to do it and, if I accepted, my predecessor would go back to Hamburg for the remaining three weeks of the Washington run. New York phoned me at about 11pm after a show; everything was sorted out with the Hamburg management and all they needed was my OK. So I gave it. Next day I sorted out flight details with the office in NYC, asked them to have a recording Fed-Exed over to Hamburg so I could get started on learning the guide track, sorted out a catsitter and, a few days later, headed off to the airport.
I flew Business direct from Hamburg to Washington. I was not to be paid while in the US as I had no work permit in those days but was generously 'taken care of' with a very good per diem and direct billing in the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown, so I didn't have to spend a red cent my entire stay. That was also made easier by the fact that The Four Seasons had the best of everything, so I had no desire to eat anywhere else. We were moved into the Wyndham Bristol for the last few days as the supervisors had left. It was good, but a bit of a come down after my initial palatial accomodation. One of the nicest bits was having a strech limo at our disposal. This was our car. By 'our', I mean the keyboard player and I. Our driver, Sam, was in his eighties and still working to help put his grandchildren through college. Just like in Europe. Yeah, right...
Working with Americans in America is always impressive, particularly after the lacksadaisical, entitlement-polluted attitudes you find in Europe. The message was clear: do right by us and we'll do right by you. It's a simple message and, if followed intelligently, results in a win-win situation. Our collaboration was fruitful and joyous, even if I did have to keep my true identity secret, a strange ituation to be in. I was also assigned a bodyguard, as was the keyboard player, just in case any strikers spotted us and chose to get nasty. It didn't happen, of course, and we had a good laugh with Chris and Jon, who turned into good friends during the time we spent together. We would always enter and leave the theatre by the underground passage which opened out next to the Watergate Hotel and some Embassy. Seeing as it is illegal in the US to picket within a certain distance of an Embassy we always had a free run down in and out of the bowels of the Kennedy Centre, though we were instructed to keep our sunglasses on until inside. It seems a bit OTT in retrospect (did then, too) but it was a wonderful experience.
I finished my time in the US with a few days with my in-laws in New Jersey. Whilst there, we had a DC reunion in Manhattan: Chris, Jon, the keyboard player and I met up and had dinner with my father-in-law. There was a funny story to that evening, too. One of the Christines in Washington, Terri, was due to leave the show after the DC run and start in the show She Loves Me on Broadway. On our reunion night we found ourselves in the same street as the theatre where it was playing, and one of the group said: "Isn't that where Terri is, now?". Just at that moment, who should poke her head out of the emergency exit we were standing in front of but...yes, you've guessed it: Terri. So I said "And here she is: Ms Terri ...." She looked a little nonplussed, so I said "Terri, it's us, from Phantom in Washington DC". "Have you come to see the show?" she asked. "No", I said, we happened to be passing and you came out through that door; it's an extraordinary coincidence". "Do we know each other?" she asked me. "Terri, yes. Until four days ago we were looking at each other three hours every day, sometimes more if we also had a matinee performance. I was the conductor in DC". "OHMYGAAAD! Yes!" Hug, kiss, all that crap. When I told my colleague in Germany about it he went ballistic: "That's SO typical of her! She's not interested in anyone except herself. What a selfish cow" etc etc. I did find it a little strange, to be honest, but maybe I'd never encountered anyone so self-possessed, before.
I flew back to Hamburg a few days later. My most abiding memory of the Four Seasons was the service and the reaction of my room maid when she realised I'd left her a $50 tip (American dollar bills all look alike, you have to be careful). She caught me up in the corridor, went down on her knees and kissed my hand. I didn't know what to think, but it was clear that little bit extra meant an awful lot to her. Washington DC has a high black population and a lot of crime and poverty. I saw some of it when I went out to a suburban theatre performance with, funnily enough, the partner of the bloke replacing me in Hamburg while I was in the US. He knew Washington like the back of his hand but it was still a bit scary on occasions; not the kind of city I'd like to get lost in.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Endzeitstimmung.
My time in Hamburg was gradually drawing to a close. I was alone and was basically dead wood. One night, the night of March 31st, to be precise, one of the shapelier female violinists came up to my room after the show and asked to speak to me. Was it true, she asked, that I was leaving? Yes, indeed it was, I said, as I got changed out of my tails and back into civvies. Take a seat, Miss Jones, would you like a drink 'n' all that. We settled down with a glass of white wine each and started talking about everything under the sun. Cigarettes were lit, smoked, extinguished, glasses refilled, more cigarettes lit, and so it went on. We talked about her occasional ménage à trois involving her boyfriend and A.N. Other and how she preferred an extra woman to another man ('far too much work'). We graduated from wine to my Russian vodka stock, started to kiss and caress around 6am...it went no further, but we continued to talk until we both realised we'd created hell on earth for ourselves as it was now 9am: she had to play a concert out of town at 12 noon, I'd put myself down, exceptionally, for the 3pm matinee show with the second cast. I never conducted this performance and now I was going to have to do it with about a litre of vodka in my bloodstream. I went down to the garage, eventually found my BMW 520 and drove home with one eye firmly closed. If I'd been stopped I'd have been banned for life, but it was Sunday morning, after all...I set the alarm for 1pm and collapsed into a coma.
I vaguely remember something happening at some stage, but my most abiding memory of the day was waking at 2.58pm and realising the show I was meant to conduct was scheduled to start in 120 seconds. Trying to sound as level-headed as possible I phoned the theatre, asked to be put through to the stage manager's office and informed them that my assistant would be conducting the show that afternoon (we had a rule by which there was always a backup in the house). Some people thought it was an April Fool's joke. At 6pm I went into the theatre and turned myself in to the Company Manager. "I'm sorry, I have no excuse. Do with me what you will". Not having any previous in the last six years I was let off scot-free, but it was a salutary warning: don't mess around with your work. They didn't say anything like that, I just filled in the blanks for myself. You don't get many chances like that...
There was a Bulgarian violinist in the orchestra, quite one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. I remember cursing being married the first time I set eyes on her and often fantasised about being in bed with her, her on top, looking into my eyes...Anyhow, years later, we finally got talking one evening in the canteen. We left at the same time, walking down to the garage, talking as we went. We stopped by her car and carried on talking until I suggested we continue the conversation somewhere a little more comfortable. She suggested her place, but seemed only interested in talking. I accepted. I followed her in my car and we went up to the flat in Eppendorf she'd bought with her ex-husband. The evening got later and later until it was clear I couldn't drive home. She suggested I share her bed, but without any funny business. You can imagine what was going on in my head and my body at this stage. We settled down and the inevitable happened, if on a minor level. For my part, I was in heaven; I'd lusted after this lady for four years and she was now beside me in bed. Why do these things always happen just as you're going to leave town?
It took a few days for the affair to get started in earnest but when it did I thought I was going to explode with happiness. My fantasy picture was played out in front of me every night, we made love for hours on end; this woman was more fascinating, intelligent and sensual than anyone I'd ever met, and she was mine, or so I felt. There was the illicit thrill of slipping away from work, no-one suspecting anything (they were used to me just leaving on my own) and driving to SM's flat, Steely Dan playing on the car hi-fi. It was an illicit paradise, a relationship to which I gave more than I'd ever given before and which reciprocated. If there was perfection on earth, this relationship with SM was it. I'd drive home in the morning and the cats would always have peed on my bed, their sign of discontent at having been neglected. SM came over one night (as did Maria in her time) after we'd talked on the phone: I would've gone to her but the cats needed attention and I didn't want to risk having nothing to sleep on the following night, so I phoned her and persuaded her to come. During all this period I had unlimited stocks of energy: everything - literally - went into SM and I couldn't have been happier than just being the one to envelop this gorgeous lady every night, every day. Paradise. Paradise lost, soon enough, as reality beckoned. I was to leave Hamburg and Cameron Mackintosh in London had been in touch, wondering if I'd like to become music director of Les Misérables in London. London, yes; Les Mis: no. I hated the piece but desperately wanted the chance to 'go home' and work in my home town, get a sense of where my life was meant to be going , sort out the situation with L in an English-speaking environment and move on. Where was this to leave SM? In my headiest moments she would be at my side, our future would be in London, in more moderated times she would be in Hamburg, waiting for me while I assured her of my continued devotion as my divorce was processed. Everything was up in the air. I went to London for a few days to watch the show and give some kind of reply to CM's management. I decided to do what everyone was advising me to do and accept then returned to Hamburg, where I'd sat for months with no work offers. I returned and found seven job offers on my answering machine having only been gone a few days. Bizarre. I turned down Sunset Boulevard in Niedernhausen (little knowing I'd end up doing it two years later) and accepted the post of Assistant Musical Supervisor on The Phantom of the Opera in Basel, Switzerland. I cockily informed Cameron Mackintosh's office in London that I wouldn't be available until October, knowing full well that if they didn't accept I'd just follow up Switzerland with Niedernhausen, anyway. By this time, Germany was my home; I didn't love it, but it was familiar and I knew my way around it. It would also mean I could stay near SM, if that particular equation were next on the list.
Cameron accepted, so Basel it was to be, with a little trip in the interim to London to meet the man himself, then off to take over the show, just after its Barbican tenth anniversary show at the Albert Hall and its tenth anniversary show at the Palace Theatre, which I would be conducting. The game plan was sorted out; it seemed that L would be coming to London after Switzerland to give our marriage a second chance; I was frantically trying to keep hold of SM and hoping she wouldn't give up because of this latest development. After all, nothing was really holding her in Hamburg, she was prepared to up sticks and try something new, too. Everything was up in the air but first and foremost, money needed to be earned and marriages sorted out. Were they to be pursued or not? If not, which direction was life to go in? The summer of 1995 provided all those questions with answers, and most were not the simple ones we wanted to hear whilst stil in north Germany...
I vaguely remember something happening at some stage, but my most abiding memory of the day was waking at 2.58pm and realising the show I was meant to conduct was scheduled to start in 120 seconds. Trying to sound as level-headed as possible I phoned the theatre, asked to be put through to the stage manager's office and informed them that my assistant would be conducting the show that afternoon (we had a rule by which there was always a backup in the house). Some people thought it was an April Fool's joke. At 6pm I went into the theatre and turned myself in to the Company Manager. "I'm sorry, I have no excuse. Do with me what you will". Not having any previous in the last six years I was let off scot-free, but it was a salutary warning: don't mess around with your work. They didn't say anything like that, I just filled in the blanks for myself. You don't get many chances like that...
There was a Bulgarian violinist in the orchestra, quite one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. I remember cursing being married the first time I set eyes on her and often fantasised about being in bed with her, her on top, looking into my eyes...Anyhow, years later, we finally got talking one evening in the canteen. We left at the same time, walking down to the garage, talking as we went. We stopped by her car and carried on talking until I suggested we continue the conversation somewhere a little more comfortable. She suggested her place, but seemed only interested in talking. I accepted. I followed her in my car and we went up to the flat in Eppendorf she'd bought with her ex-husband. The evening got later and later until it was clear I couldn't drive home. She suggested I share her bed, but without any funny business. You can imagine what was going on in my head and my body at this stage. We settled down and the inevitable happened, if on a minor level. For my part, I was in heaven; I'd lusted after this lady for four years and she was now beside me in bed. Why do these things always happen just as you're going to leave town?
It took a few days for the affair to get started in earnest but when it did I thought I was going to explode with happiness. My fantasy picture was played out in front of me every night, we made love for hours on end; this woman was more fascinating, intelligent and sensual than anyone I'd ever met, and she was mine, or so I felt. There was the illicit thrill of slipping away from work, no-one suspecting anything (they were used to me just leaving on my own) and driving to SM's flat, Steely Dan playing on the car hi-fi. It was an illicit paradise, a relationship to which I gave more than I'd ever given before and which reciprocated. If there was perfection on earth, this relationship with SM was it. I'd drive home in the morning and the cats would always have peed on my bed, their sign of discontent at having been neglected. SM came over one night (as did Maria in her time) after we'd talked on the phone: I would've gone to her but the cats needed attention and I didn't want to risk having nothing to sleep on the following night, so I phoned her and persuaded her to come. During all this period I had unlimited stocks of energy: everything - literally - went into SM and I couldn't have been happier than just being the one to envelop this gorgeous lady every night, every day. Paradise. Paradise lost, soon enough, as reality beckoned. I was to leave Hamburg and Cameron Mackintosh in London had been in touch, wondering if I'd like to become music director of Les Misérables in London. London, yes; Les Mis: no. I hated the piece but desperately wanted the chance to 'go home' and work in my home town, get a sense of where my life was meant to be going , sort out the situation with L in an English-speaking environment and move on. Where was this to leave SM? In my headiest moments she would be at my side, our future would be in London, in more moderated times she would be in Hamburg, waiting for me while I assured her of my continued devotion as my divorce was processed. Everything was up in the air. I went to London for a few days to watch the show and give some kind of reply to CM's management. I decided to do what everyone was advising me to do and accept then returned to Hamburg, where I'd sat for months with no work offers. I returned and found seven job offers on my answering machine having only been gone a few days. Bizarre. I turned down Sunset Boulevard in Niedernhausen (little knowing I'd end up doing it two years later) and accepted the post of Assistant Musical Supervisor on The Phantom of the Opera in Basel, Switzerland. I cockily informed Cameron Mackintosh's office in London that I wouldn't be available until October, knowing full well that if they didn't accept I'd just follow up Switzerland with Niedernhausen, anyway. By this time, Germany was my home; I didn't love it, but it was familiar and I knew my way around it. It would also mean I could stay near SM, if that particular equation were next on the list.
Cameron accepted, so Basel it was to be, with a little trip in the interim to London to meet the man himself, then off to take over the show, just after its Barbican tenth anniversary show at the Albert Hall and its tenth anniversary show at the Palace Theatre, which I would be conducting. The game plan was sorted out; it seemed that L would be coming to London after Switzerland to give our marriage a second chance; I was frantically trying to keep hold of SM and hoping she wouldn't give up because of this latest development. After all, nothing was really holding her in Hamburg, she was prepared to up sticks and try something new, too. Everything was up in the air but first and foremost, money needed to be earned and marriages sorted out. Were they to be pursued or not? If not, which direction was life to go in? The summer of 1995 provided all those questions with answers, and most were not the simple ones we wanted to hear whilst stil in north Germany...
Friday, 3 June 2011
IH
This delightful lady was on the ship's staff between Peru and Bremerhaven. We spotted each other quite early on and I'd already been propositioned by one girl from Berlin and bedded a Viennese beauty before I received the message that IH would like to have dinner with me. Our next port of call was in the Azores (regrettably we'd left it rather late) so we went out for dinner in Ponta Delgada before heading back to the ship to get to know each other a little closer. She was a lady of few words but those that issued from her shapely mouth were considered and insightful. Our first night together was a slow waltz of intimation, seduction, word plays and other games. Once we were finally together she proved herself to be as uninhibited between the sheets as she was discrete out of them. That's always a tantalising combination and we spent every remaining night together until we docked in Bremerhaven, her intimate scent still turning my head, the memory of her deeds still raising my temperature. All these years later and I still get hot under the collar when I think of our time together. Oh, a life on the ocean waves...
Monday, 30 May 2011
Cruises
The Hamburg years were punctuated by amazing cruises on which L and I, together or individually, would perform a 50-minute set once and then sit back and have a few weeks' paid holiday. In that time, either together or alone, we covered more countries than I can actually remember. I noted them all down and it's about ninety: all around the Mediterranean, Scandinavia, Acapulco to Sydney through the South Pacific; Peru to Cap Verde via the northern latino nations and the Caribbean, the Red Sea; Hong Kong to Singapore via Japan, Shanghai, the Philippines, Celebes, Bali and Malaysia etc. A wonderful time. L had done the dirty on me before I joined her in Hong Kong (she'd been on the ship with our friend Klaus a full month before I arrived) but every subsequent cruise I did alone I paid her back. These episodes will merit a few posts on their own, but there's time for all that. My favourite was a particularly intense couple of weeks I spent with IH, a German crew member, who was probably the most intensely stimulating and sexually provocative lady I'd ever had the good fortune to be naked with. More on that, later.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Moribund
By this stage it looked like my marriage was dead in the water, moribund, beyond help and hope. On top of that, one of my darling colleagues who will remain nameless as he is worth, even to this day, less than used lavatory paper, provoked me into resigning from my job as top musical dog at The Phantom of the Opera. The decision to quit was mine alone, but it was the spineless reasoning he used to explain himself when we subsequently worked together again four years later in Mexico City, which really sealed it.
Before leaving for the Antarctic and the gentle embrace of Maria I'd sorted out with the theatre that I would return on January 12th then fly on to Prague on the 15th to start auditioning singers for Phantom. I was to meet said colleague at the theatre just as soon as I arrived in Hamburg. Everything was sorted out, I was missing nothing in Germany, yet a provocative satellite phone call arrived while we were in Argentina to ask when I was thinking of coming back, followed by a protestation of innocence when I returned the call. I flew out of Punta Arenas, Chile, landed in Frankfurt fifteen hours later, caught my connecting flight to Hamburg and went straight into work, not having slept for 24 hours and, having flown east, subjected to appalling jet-lag. Colleague suggested I wait in the canteen as he something to sort out in the office. Eventually he turned up, not wanting to talk about the upcoming cast change i.e. the reason I'd come in to work in the first place and not gone home to sleep. I flew off to Prague a couple of days later, said colleague following on soon after. To cut a long story short, he'd kept me at arm's length concerning the cast change, choosing to discuss any possible changes with the Company Manager (who had no jurisdiction in the selection of artists), all the while lying to me about how long he'd spent in Hamburg preparing this little coup. The shit hit the fan in the Hotel Raphaël in Munich when I put two and two and two and two together and made eight. The extent of this guy's deceit was incredible. I threw the book at him, disturbing the other genteel guests over breakfast that morning, who had to listen to a few tabloid clichés about Germans, I'm ashamed to say...
We got back to Hamburg, I took an appointment with the MD and resigned. She didn't want to hear it. I stood my ground. The company eventually plumped for the default option of my assistant, not having found, in six months of auditions or interviews, anyone who they felt could take the show to another level. It was flattering, but I was not for turning; there was no way in hell I could continue to work with this particular manipulative, subversive arsehole.
It was only in 1999 in Mexico City that I found out why this bloke had behaved the way he had. He said he'd received information from the top floor in New York that I was to be replaced, so he decided to provoke me into resigning rather than see me suffer the ignominy of not having my contract renewed. He managed that quite successfully. He also had the good grace, I must admit, to add that he'd checked back with New York after I'd left if they really would have kissed me goodbye. The answer was interesting: "No way; he was the best music director we'd ever had for the show". Go figure, eh? This bloke, let's call him RF, as those are his initials, disgusted me ultimately only for his own lack of backbone and obsession to be an apparatchik. He ended up getting fired but still puts up Phantom productions, mostly in 'emerging economies'. He tried getting in touch a few times after Mexico, but I never replied to his mails, the main reason being they were always of the same ilk: looking for information but never revealing anything about himself. My days of playing with an open hand were long gone, as was any contact with this louse. Live and learn.
No shagging in this post, sorry about that. That'll change soon enough; we're working up to Switzerland, a fertile pasture after the self-destructive Endzeitstimmung of the last months in Hamburg.
Before leaving for the Antarctic and the gentle embrace of Maria I'd sorted out with the theatre that I would return on January 12th then fly on to Prague on the 15th to start auditioning singers for Phantom. I was to meet said colleague at the theatre just as soon as I arrived in Hamburg. Everything was sorted out, I was missing nothing in Germany, yet a provocative satellite phone call arrived while we were in Argentina to ask when I was thinking of coming back, followed by a protestation of innocence when I returned the call. I flew out of Punta Arenas, Chile, landed in Frankfurt fifteen hours later, caught my connecting flight to Hamburg and went straight into work, not having slept for 24 hours and, having flown east, subjected to appalling jet-lag. Colleague suggested I wait in the canteen as he something to sort out in the office. Eventually he turned up, not wanting to talk about the upcoming cast change i.e. the reason I'd come in to work in the first place and not gone home to sleep. I flew off to Prague a couple of days later, said colleague following on soon after. To cut a long story short, he'd kept me at arm's length concerning the cast change, choosing to discuss any possible changes with the Company Manager (who had no jurisdiction in the selection of artists), all the while lying to me about how long he'd spent in Hamburg preparing this little coup. The shit hit the fan in the Hotel Raphaël in Munich when I put two and two and two and two together and made eight. The extent of this guy's deceit was incredible. I threw the book at him, disturbing the other genteel guests over breakfast that morning, who had to listen to a few tabloid clichés about Germans, I'm ashamed to say...
We got back to Hamburg, I took an appointment with the MD and resigned. She didn't want to hear it. I stood my ground. The company eventually plumped for the default option of my assistant, not having found, in six months of auditions or interviews, anyone who they felt could take the show to another level. It was flattering, but I was not for turning; there was no way in hell I could continue to work with this particular manipulative, subversive arsehole.
It was only in 1999 in Mexico City that I found out why this bloke had behaved the way he had. He said he'd received information from the top floor in New York that I was to be replaced, so he decided to provoke me into resigning rather than see me suffer the ignominy of not having my contract renewed. He managed that quite successfully. He also had the good grace, I must admit, to add that he'd checked back with New York after I'd left if they really would have kissed me goodbye. The answer was interesting: "No way; he was the best music director we'd ever had for the show". Go figure, eh? This bloke, let's call him RF, as those are his initials, disgusted me ultimately only for his own lack of backbone and obsession to be an apparatchik. He ended up getting fired but still puts up Phantom productions, mostly in 'emerging economies'. He tried getting in touch a few times after Mexico, but I never replied to his mails, the main reason being they were always of the same ilk: looking for information but never revealing anything about himself. My days of playing with an open hand were long gone, as was any contact with this louse. Live and learn.
No shagging in this post, sorry about that. That'll change soon enough; we're working up to Switzerland, a fertile pasture after the self-destructive Endzeitstimmung of the last months in Hamburg.
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