"Life w/o Makeup" at The Berkeley Rep Theatre, my second week of shows

Tuesday

The show's bassist and drummer, Sascha and Dave, were speaking before the performance tonight about how this job has become a "union gig". I am not a member of the local musicians union. I have never felt compelled to become entwined in that. Apparently some of your pay goes to a pension account with the union. There are other benefits, too, I guess. It's a bit murky. I am not going to join the union unless I start doing shows like this on a monthly basis.

The music went well tonight. Ms. Moreno is battling an allergy which affects her speaking. No big problem; she just takes a couple more breaks in the show to sip some water and clear her throat. It does affect how she sings her ballad tunes, so I was listening carefully this evening whenever I accompanied her for the slower numbers.

Wednesday

There was a sub in the drummer's chair this evening. I caught an earlier BART train so that I could arrive at the Berkeley Rep with plenty of time to rehearse cues with him. The sub did fine. It's funny to me that this show has only been in my life for nigh on two weeks and now I'm the expert, teaching other musicians the ins and outs of a performance. It has been a swift assimilation.

I'm not having fun on BART. The ride to the theatre tonight was one of the most claustrophobic I have ever experienced. One of my fellow passengers mumbled to no one in particular, "This train at this time of day is usually a 6-car train." We were squished into 5 measly cars. I was thankful to have snagged a seat.

On my return ride at the end of the night I was sat behind a gentleman who wanted to chat. He asked me how my day was. "Alright," I replied. "How about yours?" -- I felt compelled to ask. "Today was my day off. I always spend money on my day off!" But he wasn't happy telling me about spending his money; he was rueful. He finished by saying, "I'd rather have worked today and not spent money." I didn't press him as to how he'd exercised his spending power, but it's fun to imagine he had just purchased a second hot tub -- one to keep in the bed of his truck... you know, just in case -- or something odd like that. He and I embarked the train at the Bayfair station and walked our separate ways.

Thursday

The days blur together. One performance follows swiftly after the last. Tonight was unique, though, because 15 minutes into the show we experienced a 3.8 magnitude earthquake. (I learned later that the nearby UC Berkeley campus was the epicenter of the quake.) The theatre rocked and swayed. I could see the stage set undulating on my monitor screen at my feet next to the piano. Ms. Moreno improvised some banter with the stage manager, initially doubting his assurances that everything was alright for us to carry on. I believe she flipped him off from the stage. The gesture was as light-hearted as flipping the bird can be.

At the end of the night I missed my regular BART train and had to wait 20 minutes in the catacombs of the station waiting for the next one to hurtle through. That was a drag. Getting home at 11:30pm feels a lot different than getting home 11pm, especially when I've been away working this show day after day.

Friday

Tonight's audience was up for it. One can have a pretty clear sense of how the day's show will be based on how rapturous an opening ovation Ms. Moreno receives when she first strides onto the stage. Tonight she was washed with waves of affection. Things proceeded swimmingly from there. Every comedic moment felt amplified, and I could hear Ms. Moreno alter certain bits of her dialogue slightly to give this audience a little bit more. They earned it.

The band is sounding great. I haven't had to do much besides slotting in my part to complement what the other 3 musicians were already doing. 

Sascha and Dave have an ongoing chess match that they resume at every intermission. The board and pieces are left out in the break area upstairs each night, in good faith that no interloper will pass by and shuffle their construct.

My wrists have been hurting this week. No fun. I've been resting between performances - no making music these days, except at the Berkeley Rep Theatre. There's not all that much playing in the show. But there are several instances where we have been sitting for 20 minutes and then kick into a very physical piece. It doesn't feel healthy, but there's no alternative.

I caught my BART train, barely. Had to sprint down the stairs again.

Saturday

The cast and crew of a theater production become joined as one in the course of a run of performances. If one member of this larger body falters in performance, others pick up the slack. This afternoon Ms. Moreno missed a vocal entrance for one of the songs. She called out to the band behind the curtain, "Oh, I'm so sorry - I missed it. Can we try that again?" We quickly ascertained where she wanted to restart, and the show proceeded from there without a hitch.

At the end of the performance Dave was marveling at Rita, saying repeatedly "She's such a class act." It's true. She could have thrown the band under the bus and somehow blamed us for the missed entrance. But she copped to her error, and we appreciate that.

I caught a car ride back home with my wife at the end of her afternoon errands. I thought I was in for a luxurious escape from my BART routine. Instead we got stuck on highway 580 as police spent hours trying to clear a crazy accident that happened in San Leandro. I learned later that a driver of a para-transit van had purposefully rammed and killed a Hell's Angels biker, dragging the unfortunate cyclist for miles. Uggh. Police cars streamed past our rows and rows of inert automobiles, broadcasting the words "Get off the freeway!" to us through their loudspeakers. We would have loved to get off right that moment. But instead it took hours to reach an off-ramp.

Sunday

I should have eaten more food prior to the show. My energy faded badly in the second half and a dip in my concentration accompanied the low energy. My playing on the final ballad number of the performance felt and sounded particularly stilted and lame. A day away from the Berkeley Rep tomorrow is much appreciated. Time to recharge.

My method of tolerating the repetition of "Life w/o Makeup": bring lots of magazines and bury your head in them whenever there is a break. This has been working for me. My ears perk up at important cue lines that let me know a song is near. Then I cast the magazine aside and help ready the band.

Jesse