Saturday, September 29, 2007


Okay, now that it's over, I'm going to dish about the gig I had these past few weeks.

First of all, the conductor had a wierd habit of sweating under his man-maries, except he wasn't obese and didn't really have any. But still, there were two stains kind of like large eyes staring out at us by the end of every rehearsal. And a distinct lack of pit stains. Disturbing.

Second, he was extremely annoying and just bad. He told us to listen to the singers rather than follow him. So there I am, deep within the recesses of the pit-cave ten feet under the singers who are gallavanting all about the stage pretending to fight bulls in a Cuban cigarette factory while wearing platform shoes and fourteen pounds of cake makeup and wigs with sticky tape visible at the edges. Behind me is a long row of disgruntled and out of tune brass. They are righteously pissed, because have you ever tried to play a trumpet fanfare while "following" a sluggish male chorus? Of course you haven't, because that's what the conductor is for.

Then, at the first four-hour dress rehearsal, we finish 15 minutes early and begin to dream that maybe, just maybe, Mr. Boobsweat will let us out like a decent human being. Instead he launches into a long description of what he likes about Carmen, in which he implores us repeatedly not to play too "wet". For fifteen minutes we sit there seething, listening to what should have been a private conversation with somebody paid to hear it (concertmaster? they should fall on the occassional sword for the rest of us, no?) during a rehearsal break. But no, we are required to stay until 11pm, our instruments growing cold and sour in our weary hands.

Thank God I had a great standpartner, one who finds the humor in my lame jokes. She was even up for games of invent-a-bowing (we were last stand and invisible to the audience), left-hand-pizz-off and all-one-finger. She even laughed when I marked in our part that the men were shouting "I love Oprah" just before we played the fancy-pants spanishy number with all the gypsy ornaments. Indulgence goes a long way with me, my friends.

Bon soire, I love Oprah, good night.

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