My Musical Memories

I got to thinking, as I was not sleeping in the early hours of the morning, what a huge impact musicals, their songs and their stars, have had on my life. A lot my memories are tangled up with particular songs, albums are connected with specific moments in time, some good, some bad. I felt like sharing. This is practically chronological, though there are some jumps.

I remember seeing the stage show of Singin' in the Rain not long after I started secondary school, sitting in the third row and getting wet at the West Yorkshire Playhouse. It took a long time for me to 'condescend' to see the film. What a mistake that was.

I remember buying the Summer Holiday cast album on CD, bringing it home and my mum demonstrating how to dance along to 'Foot Tapper', one of my final positive memories of her.

I remember the triumvirate of albums that sustained me for what felt like an age but was a mere few months - film cast recordings of The Sound of Music and Grease and the Michael Ball production of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I loved the song 'Teamwork' in the latter and miss it since my CD broke and I haven't been able to replace it. 

I remember nearly breaking my ankle jumping over a sofa at a friend's house while listening to The Sound of Music. The friends were in another room, away from my racket. I realised in that moment I didn't belong anywhere near them.

I remember ordering The Harvey Girls on VHS having once seen it on television. It arrived at my Grandma White's house and I told her she could watch it. Jealous, and having had a row with yet another friend I shouldn't have been friends with, I was walking around Wrenthorpe and I called her. She told me she was up to 'It's a Great Big World' and the idea of being with 'friends' when I could be watching that beautiful scene instead made me indescribably sad.

I remember skipping college to watch Pal Joey. And On the Town. Maybe that's something to blame Frank Sinatra for.

I remember buying a book on MGM musicals and taking it to college so I didn't have to talk to anyone all day.

I remember doing an A-Level language project on musical songs in the 1940s and 60s. It stank.

I remember terrorising the neighbours with the Thoroughly Modern Millie Broadway cast recording with Sutton Foster. While dancing along to 'Forget About the Boy' I jumped on a chair and it fell over, sending us both crashing to the floor. Lesson not exactly learned.

I remember persuading my Grandma Brown to buy me three films for £20 in HMV - Singin' in the Rain, Little Shop of Horrors and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. She thought I selected the last one just to make up the three so I took my laptop round to her house and made her watch it - she soon changed her mind. Then there was me dancing the 'Barn Dance' along the corridor in that bungalow, scaring the life out of both my grandparents.

I remember countless Sundays  in my Grandma Brown's kitchen, listening to Elaine Paige on Sunday and writing fan fiction in thick spiral bound notebooks.

I remember taking walks down the backs near my Grandma White's house with a musical compilation recorded onto my Walkman. I danced along stones wedged into the shallows of a lake singing 'All That Jazz', Claire Sweeney's version.

I remember that after getting the Wicked soundtrack I went up a hill near my Grandma White's house and sang along to 'Defying Gravity' at the top of my voice while jumping between a rock and a bench.

I remember the thrill of listening to 'Processional and Maria' from The Sound of Music and how that piece of music still has the power to make me smile and conduct along.

I remember walking to my Grandma Brown's and making sure I was listening to the London cast recording of Mary Poppins and the song 'Jolly Holiday' for a particular stretch along Aberford Road. There was singing, lots of singing.

I remember getting through my first year at uni by taking long walks past midnight with my MP3 player. Particularly, there was a set of steps that headed up to the main road. I danced up and down those, frequently to 'Avenue A' from Mrs Santa Claus, waving at passing cars.

I remember the first time I ever watched A Muppet's Christmas Carol with my flatmate and pausing halfway through to take a call that made me smile more than I had since I got to university.

I remember sitting outside McDonald's near uni listening to 'When the Children Are Asleep' from Carousel and thinking how pleasant that scenario sounded.

I remember the first time I watched Call Me Madam. I was at my Grandma Brown's, my grandfather was in hospital and my great aunt called halfway through the film. I was upset that the phone call stopped my grandmother watching Donald O'Connor dance in 'What Chance Have I With Love?', one of his best performances.

I remember meeting someone and being gutted that The Sound of Music had recently toppled from the head of her favourites list. If only I'd spoken to her a month earlier.

I remember listening to 'It Really Doesn't Matter' on YouTube, learning all the words to distract me from the fact I was living in a fifteen person house I despised.

I remember annoying the neighbours when I lived in Middlesbrough by singing along extremely loudly to 'Do You Hear the People Sing?' three or four times a night.

I remember working to rule in Bradford, sitting in my dad's car until just before clocking-in time singing 'Once We Were Kings' from Billy Elliot loudly enough to irritate anybody in the car park.

I remember after a particularly bad supervisor meeting listening to 'A Star is Born' from Hercules and managing to make myself smile before I left Sheffield.

I remember seeing Liza Minnelli sing 'Maybe This Time' live and thinking that nothing could possibly beat that for me.

I remember seeing Idina Menzel singing 'No Day But Today' and the audience around the Royal Albert Hall joining in to create an electric atmosphere.

I remember sitting in the third row watching Merrily We Roll Along and never wanting it to end. I got a similar sensation when I watched the cinema showing, though I bawled my eyes out at a different song.

There are more, many more. A lot of songs associated with bad moments too but those I'll keep to myself. The point is, while most people say they 'like' music, I really couldn't live without it. These songs are what keep me going and not a day goes by (thanks, Mr Sondheim) where my earphones don't help me blot out the real world, just a bit.

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2013: Got There

Last night, not long before midnight, I hit the 50,000 word mark with six days to go. I haven't validated yet since I want to finish the whole draft before the end of November and, to be honest, validating and seeing the 'Winner' mark next to my name isn't something that appeals to me too much at the moment. I guess that sums up the whole problem.

There was a short burst of delight that lasted precisely the length of two songs (one Shania Twain and one from Betty Blue Eyes) then...nothing. Last year and in 2011 there was exhaustion and happiness. Despite knowing how much work had to (and still has to, in point of fact) be put into those drafts, the idea of having a first draft on paper made me grin. Maybe that's the problem here - that I haven't finished the draft. Maybe when it's complete I'll feel a little...happier - who knows?

I'll get back to you when I reach that next milestone, hopefully before the month's out. In the meantime, here's Donald O'Connor solving his problems the best way he knows how - getting incredibly drunk and wrecking a restaurant. Don't tempt me, Donald, don't tempt me.

I Said Love - Or Did I?

There's a wonderful little song in Robert and Elizabeth called 'I Said Love' which, as the title suggests, is Robert Browning affirming his feelings to Elizabeth Barrett via the helpful medium of song. It's a gorgeous little number, here are some of the lyrics:

"I said love, and I mean love

Let's be clear from the start

Something very strange has happened

Happened here, in my heart

Friendship can be quite delightful

Having friends is very nice

But my dear friend I must warn you

Merely friendship won't suffice..."

Good in it's way - and I do adore it - but perhaps a little too on-topic. I've been thinking a lot lately about how my characters admit they love each other. Most of the time it feels too contrived, as though the words have to be so irritatingly bland just to get it over with. Centuries of literature, music and film have rather dulled the meaning somewhat. So I'm trying to persuade my characters to say it without saying it. Donald O'Connor offers a good example of what I mean in Call Me Madam as he woos a princess played by Vera-Ellen:

The last few seconds and Donald's 'I'll shut up, your highness' make me giggle every time. But this is less about my love for the great dancer and more about my lack of love for...love. That scene's a perfect example of how to say it without actually saying it. Of course, this is Hollywood and the words are spoken later but do they have to be?

I feel like my characters roll their eyes at me when I force such hackneyed words into their mouths. Something that is massively helpful in 'showing' love is The Emotion Thesaurus, a wonderful little book that's all about conveying character emotions in realistic ways. The 'love' entry is very interesting, particularly the 'cues of suppressed love' - my characters utilise those quite often! It's proof that emotions are better off bubbling beneath the surface than being articulated every other scene. 

Now I just need to remember that. When I want to say love I should say something else. Maybe if I do need to spell it out then it isn't love in the first place... 

Although, sometimes, you do need to be told. I mean, sometimes you're just completely oblivious and Ethel Merman needs to give you a nudge:

"You don't need analysing

It is not so surprising

That you feel very strange but nice

Your heart goes pitter-patter

I know just what's the matter

Because I've been there once or twice

Put your head on my shoulder

You need someone who's older

A rubdown with a velvet glove

There is nothing you can take

To relieve that pleasant ache

You're not sick

You're just in love."