When people ask how my weekend was, I often give the standard reply: “It was lovely, thanks. I got to relax, watch TV, read a book, blah-de-blah… ”
That’s usually the reason most of us inquire about someone else’s wellbeing, isn’t it? We don’t want the response to diverge much from the well-worn path. No one wants an answer that launches with, “Well, actually, I’m glad you asked…”
Like throwing water on a robot.
I was certainly guilty of the latter this week. On Monday, anyone who even vaguely hinted at wondering about my Friday-to-Sunday activities, got way more than they bargained for.
“It was INCREDIBLE,” I began, clearly ready to expand on this further, as they surreptitiously sought out the nearest chair.
Sorry, kids, but there was genuinely no other way to describe it. On Friday night, I got to interview Mr. Iggy Pop himself on the stage of the Harquail Theatre in front of an electric audience, and then sang with Suckerbox and my ol’ buddy Derrick McKay, before Iggy took over the lead vocals from Derrick to sing with me.
Holy. Cow.
For those of you unfamiliar with the background of this event, it was a fundraiser for the non-profit Inclusion Cayman. Iggy had not only graciously agreed to be a part of it, he actually approached a local contact to ask how he could assist a worthy cause on the island.
Local bands – guys I have known for years – put a phenomenal amount of work into learning and perfecting songs of his so they could perform them on the night. When we all gathered for the soundcheck the day before, and one-by-one, they got on stage to play in front of him, he lit up and was so engaged. I basically had ‘something in my eye’ from the git-go. The musicians were fantastic, and performing for Iggy in the flesh was – understandably – a dream come true.
The man was a class act, in that he took the time to speak to all the bands and learn each person’s name, showing genuine interest in their work.
His memory put mine to shame. On event night, he insisted on introducing every group. He didn’t miss a beat and took command of the microphone, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.
In the meantime, some dear friends of mine managed to capture me on camera at stage left with my nose buried in a piece of letter-sized paper, trying to remind myself of the order of the evening. Even after referencing it extensively, I still barked at everyone that they only had a 10-minute intermission when it turned out they actually had half-an-hour.
That mistake was fun to admit over the speakers.
Calm down everyone. There’s time to use the toilets after all.
People seem surprised when I admit that I still get nervous when hosting or singing at a big event. Don’t misunderstand me – I love the stage. You’ll be ripping that microphone from my cold, dead, hands if I have anything to say about it. But call it adrenaline, excitement or just downright fear, I can’t imagine there are many performers who don’t get butterflies in some form or another.
From when I was a teenager, singing at events like the Miss Teen pageant, my legs would shake and my mouth would dry up. I stopped trying to accompany myself on guitar due to wobbly fingers (and before you worry about the world being deprived of another David Gilmour, I’m talking a limit of ‘A’, ‘D’, ‘C’ and ‘Em’ chords).
I don’t know if I’ve shared this before (see: ‘His memory put mine to shame’), but when my fledgling career as a standup comic began at Coconuts Comedy Club in the old Holiday Inn, I quickly realised I had to memorise the bios of the comedians I was introducing because trying to read them off the piece of paper clenched in my hand was impossible. Nerves had it flapping like a hummingbird’s wings.
Over time, and with experience, I’ve managed to lessen – even almost eliminate – the tremors, thank goodness. It comes in handy when I trip up/down the stairs in a floor-length ballgown, or when I call someone in the audience I’ve known all my life by the wrong name (you know who you are). I bounce back, rather than crawling into a corner and wishing the ground would swallow me up. We’re all human.
Nerves and being in the spotlight can be a tricky thing. That’s why I have a tonne of sympathy for famous singers who mess up the lyrics of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ at a big sporting event. Anyone who criticises doesn’t know what it’s like. It isn’t the same as performances they’re used to – no matter how famous they are and what size arenas they usually play. You don’t have to be too far out of your comfort zone before you start overthinking things, and there lies the road to ruin.
I’ve sung ‘God Save the Queen’ a bazillion (it’s a number) times with a crowd – no sweat. However, put me on stage at an important event or ceremony, and suddenly my mind races with thoughts of, “Are we sending her ‘victorious’ or ‘happy and glorious’ first?” Panic makes it worse.
I’m happy to say I’ve not yet belted “God save our awesome Queen” to the back row. Let’s hope that record stands.
Where am I going with all this? Well, you may wonder. That’s why you sought out the chair in the first place.
Here it is: When I think back to Friday night, and the moments leading up to it, it shows how the attitude of a celebrity or an iconic person can make or break an experience for those around them.
Clever Knots, Kuhyah, Sugardaddi and Suckerbox were obviously under a enormous amount of pressure to excel at that concert. I, in turn, had to ensure that I had done my research on M’sieur Pop and that the interview on stage was entertaining and informative, for him and the audience.
Nerves were heightened for all of us. I woke up on the Friday morning with clammy palms.
If he had been a different person, he could have made us feel inadequate or ignored us. It would have made our jobs 10 times harder and, “Tonight, the part of Vicki Wheaton’s knees will be played by jelly.”
Instead, he was gracious, generous, put us all at ease and gave us the boost we needed to give our best on the night.
Iggy Pop. What a guy.
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