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bellydancing
Wow. That was the most disorganized event I've ever performed at, and I've performed at plenty of fiascos. This performance was for a beauty pagent. I had no idea. I thought it was a multicultural festival. Well, I suppose it was. It was a multicultural festival framing a central multicultural beauty pageant.
When I showed up with Kathryn, we couldn't find an organizer. Although I've been to poorly organized shows before, they'd always started out with a plan, and had then gone awry. This time, there wasn't the slightest whisper of a plan. No one seemed to know who we were even supposed to report to, but someone finally told us where the performers were hanging out. So we trudged back to the changing area.
The room was chaos, as backstages always are, but this was worse than usual. There was barely any space available. The room was filled with stacked chairs, tables with their legs sticking in the air, and attractive women getting hair extensions attached. At least there weren't any screaming children, this time.
We asked about the order of performance, but no one had a clue. We were just told to make sure we were ready to go on at any moment's notice. We would be announced.
This left me pretty leery, because no one there even knew our names. How weird is that?
Finally, we found out we'd be going on first, after the anthem and requisite speeches. Not wanting to wade through the audience in our costumes at the last minute, we decided to cover up and go hide behind the stage. There, we warmed up and waited. And waited. And waited. Kathryn was a bundle of nerves. This was to be her first stage performance.
Originally, the show was supposed to start around 6:00. It didn't begin until about 7:30. Then, after the cadets finished their dwindling rendition of "Oh Canada," the speakers had their turn. The emcee has an unfortunate habit of bellowing into the microphone in a most strident fashion. It was a bit like listening to a lady Hitler address the troops. I told this to Kathryn, and the giggles allayed the butterflies in her stomach.
Then, a representative for "His Worship," the mayor, spoke. The idea of calling someone "His Worship" amuses me. Although some people may inspire great feelings of sacred reverence, the mayor of Fredericton just isn't one of them. He seems a nice enough guy, but not the sort to make me need to genuflect.
I didn't actually get to see the mayor's representative, but he has a thin, reedy voice. He spoke the usual platitudes about how fortunate everyone was to see this once-in-a-lifetime event (a bit of hyperbole, if you ask me), and then we were announced. In a suddenly purring voice, the emcee made the discomfiting announcement that the audience should get ready for a sensual experience. And at that, Kathryn was up.
It was a shame about the stage. The event was being held in the UNB Student Union Building cafeteria. I'd performed on it before. It's not that bad, usually. When it's not moonlighting as a stage, it's just another dining area. People eat, argue, and do their homework on it. Tonight, no one had seen fit to clean it. The carpet was festooned with bits of food, paper, and other detritus. Poor Kathryn was dancing in bare feet. I suspect she'll remember to wear her dance shoes, next time.
She wore a black chiffon skirt, silver pantaloons, and a black satin bodice. She also wore half of my black leather, purple cotton, and sterling silver tassel belt. She danced to Loreena McKennitt's "Marco Polo", doing a beautiful job of it, too, I might add. She does a lovely subtle shimmy layered over a figure eight that suits her wonderfully. She also did some veilwork that looked very nice. Good job, Kathryn!
And then, for some bizarre reason, the DJ decided to fade her song out before the end and mix in my song. Let's just say that "Marco Polo's" end notes are not a good segue into the opening staccato rhythm of Emad Sayyah's "Min Aboukra l'Ashiye." It sounds awfully dissonant. Cacophonous, even. Nonetheless, I zilled my way onstage. Like Kathryn, I wore silver pantaloons and a black circle skirt. I also wore a silver-tone chain bra over a black base. The other half of the tribal belt held my butt on. Invisible to the audience was the pair of socks I'd been wearing that morning. They were now jammed into my bra to give me extra oomph (hey, I've also stuffed my bra with thongs!).
The stage was worse than I thought. A huge wooden podium was blocking off the view for about a quarter of the audience. Also, the microphone stand had also been left in place at the other side of the stage. Holy annoying, Batman! So I tiptoed amongst the paper and danced and zilled my little arse off.
Then the Gamal Gomaa drum solo kicked in, and Kathryn danced along with me. She knows this song inside out and bass-ackwards, so I suspect her nervous butterflies had flown the coop. But then, just before the wonderful explosive finale, the DJ faded our music down. Aaaugh!
While cooling down backstage, we were attacked by a few reporters. Apparently, we will be appearing in Monday's Daily Gleaner, and a feature article will be put in Wednesday's Aquinian. So if nothing else, at least the PR was well-organized for the event.
bellydancingWow. That was the most disorganized event I've ever performed at, and I've performed at plenty of fiascos. This performance was for a beauty pagent. I had no idea. I thought it was a multicultural festival. Well, I suppose it was. It was a multicultural festival framing a central multicultural beauty pageant.
When I showed up with Kathryn, we couldn't find an organizer. Although I've been to poorly organized shows before, they'd always started out with a plan, and had then gone awry. This time, there wasn't the slightest whisper of a plan. No one seemed to know who we were even supposed to report to, but someone finally told us where the performers were hanging out. So we trudged back to the changing area.
The room was chaos, as backstages always are, but this was worse than usual. There was barely any space available. The room was filled with stacked chairs, tables with their legs sticking in the air, and attractive women getting hair extensions attached. At least there weren't any screaming children, this time.
We asked about the order of performance, but no one had a clue. We were just told to make sure we were ready to go on at any moment's notice. We would be announced.
This left me pretty leery, because no one there even knew our names. How weird is that?
Finally, we found out we'd be going on first, after the anthem and requisite speeches. Not wanting to wade through the audience in our costumes at the last minute, we decided to cover up and go hide behind the stage. There, we warmed up and waited. And waited. And waited. Kathryn was a bundle of nerves. This was to be her first stage performance.
Originally, the show was supposed to start around 6:00. It didn't begin until about 7:30. Then, after the cadets finished their dwindling rendition of "Oh Canada," the speakers had their turn. The emcee has an unfortunate habit of bellowing into the microphone in a most strident fashion. It was a bit like listening to a lady Hitler address the troops. I told this to Kathryn, and the giggles allayed the butterflies in her stomach.
Then, a representative for "His Worship," the mayor, spoke. The idea of calling someone "His Worship" amuses me. Although some people may inspire great feelings of sacred reverence, the mayor of Fredericton just isn't one of them. He seems a nice enough guy, but not the sort to make me need to genuflect.
I didn't actually get to see the mayor's representative, but he has a thin, reedy voice. He spoke the usual platitudes about how fortunate everyone was to see this once-in-a-lifetime event (a bit of hyperbole, if you ask me), and then we were announced. In a suddenly purring voice, the emcee made the discomfiting announcement that the audience should get ready for a sensual experience. And at that, Kathryn was up.
It was a shame about the stage. The event was being held in the UNB Student Union Building cafeteria. I'd performed on it before. It's not that bad, usually. When it's not moonlighting as a stage, it's just another dining area. People eat, argue, and do their homework on it. Tonight, no one had seen fit to clean it. The carpet was festooned with bits of food, paper, and other detritus. Poor Kathryn was dancing in bare feet. I suspect she'll remember to wear her dance shoes, next time.
She wore a black chiffon skirt, silver pantaloons, and a black satin bodice. She also wore half of my black leather, purple cotton, and sterling silver tassel belt. She danced to Loreena McKennitt's "Marco Polo", doing a beautiful job of it, too, I might add. She does a lovely subtle shimmy layered over a figure eight that suits her wonderfully. She also did some veilwork that looked very nice. Good job, Kathryn!
And then, for some bizarre reason, the DJ decided to fade her song out before the end and mix in my song. Let's just say that "Marco Polo's" end notes are not a good segue into the opening staccato rhythm of Emad Sayyah's "Min Aboukra l'Ashiye." It sounds awfully dissonant. Cacophonous, even. Nonetheless, I zilled my way onstage. Like Kathryn, I wore silver pantaloons and a black circle skirt. I also wore a silver-tone chain bra over a black base. The other half of the tribal belt held my butt on. Invisible to the audience was the pair of socks I'd been wearing that morning. They were now jammed into my bra to give me extra oomph (hey, I've also stuffed my bra with thongs!).
The stage was worse than I thought. A huge wooden podium was blocking off the view for about a quarter of the audience. Also, the microphone stand had also been left in place at the other side of the stage. Holy annoying, Batman! So I tiptoed amongst the paper and danced and zilled my little arse off.
Then the Gamal Gomaa drum solo kicked in, and Kathryn danced along with me. She knows this song inside out and bass-ackwards, so I suspect her nervous butterflies had flown the coop. But then, just before the wonderful explosive finale, the DJ faded our music down. Aaaugh!
While cooling down backstage, we were attacked by a few reporters. Apparently, we will be appearing in Monday's Daily Gleaner, and a feature article will be put in Wednesday's Aquinian. So if nothing else, at least the PR was well-organized for the event.
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no subject
Date: 2004-01-31 07:34 pm (UTC)From:Here's a Love Banana for *both* of you: )
Yay for the Love Banana!!!
Re:
Date: 2004-02-01 05:51 am (UTC)From:Re:
Date: 2004-02-01 06:10 am (UTC)From:And yes, if I have time I'll generate some new icons and/or post some negascans. Time is a rare thing, however.