A good couple of days, though my mood at times has been low and dark, I know that mood is pointless and irrelevant to the world. Only actions matter. When moody, ignore it for the irrelevance it is, and simply keep doing as planned.
This said, yesterday morning was bright in mood and action as I sang the words to the three extant painter songs. Girl Reading a Letter is and was a constant problem. Its base note of C was either too low or (grew to be) too high. When low it just didn't sound good, no matter what, and though much better high, it had a medieval quality like the shrill voice at the end of the Blackadder the second. I re-wrote the melody hastily; I sang an alternative counterpoint instinctively and used that. I'm still unsure if this works. The other two songs appeared to be fine.
Generally in singing I seem to hit a sort of nasal wall, which is probably good and seems to sound better, but it doesn't really feel better. It feels sort of nasal and blocked, like the voice of the cat in in Roobarb and Custard, or a parody Ken Livingstone. This is where many singing voices lie, John Lennon and that Oasis gentleman. It is more 'resonant' to an external ear, but feels odd as I voice it. The sort of threshold here seems interesting. I wonder if this can be expanded.
Then, a second rehearsal of Selection Box and a few instrumental changes. Each rehearsal changes something. Deb will be playing a Stylophone solo.
The final act of yesterday was to see "A Christmas Carol – as Told by Jacob Marley (Deceased)" in the Crewe Lyceum Studio Theatre. Deborah was invited to review it: an ideal choice. She has seen and knows well every film version and about 10 different book versions, and watches many versions each Christmas - she even has the Scrooge quote about honouring the spirit of Christmas on the wall as a permanent fixture. I know this story backwards too.
This version, performed and adapted by James Hyland was, of all things, a masterpiece of acting and physical presence. Mr Hyland jumped from character to character with skill and fluidity, immense power and clarity of speech, and great energy to build an on-stage presence larger than his already big self. Starting initially as Marley, the story was generally told by every character, each portrayed in voice and form by the single actor with the sole aid of a skeletal wooden chair as a prop. Everything else was conjured in the imagination of the audience. There was a credit for composer but I didn't hear a sound. The (outstanding) costume and make-up were the only tangible guides to the tales' world.
The story was not radical and stuck closely to Dickens' text; abridged here and there, slight connecting strokes here and there. The shortening was welcome, the 75 minute tempo was just right. My overall memory was of slight fear, perhaps as expected of a tale told by a powerful, and halloween-clad, figure. This, I think, is the right mood. A Christmas Carol is more ghost story than one of Christmas cheer. Scrooge was frightened into being good. Does this mean he really wanted to be?
It made me think of my own Scrooge-like friend. Even Ebenezer, in the depths of winter, would put one lump of coal on the fire sometimes, and even Scrooge, when seeing his grave, cared for his own life; perhaps nobody else's but at least his own - unlike my friend who cares for nobody and nothing - not even money. The years of Christmas and Birthday cards given to him by his friends, his proverbial 'nephews', result in a lifetime of no reciprocation.
Today I programmed in a few inconsequential, code-neatening changes to Prometheus, taking it to version 2.98, then a third and final rehearsal of Selection Box which went well. We are now ready.
