Audience Participation, Yea or Nay?

Hi there,

I had a dream recently that I was on a tropical island. It was my birthday, my mother was there, and I was watching a male strip show. One of them dances off the stage and comes my way. As I try to shrink behind Mum, he goes to grab my hand to pull me onstage...then...wait a minute! None of that was a dream! Yes this really happened, and since this was Noumea I frantically repeated: 'Non Merci! Non Merci!' until the Chippendales wannabe targetted another hapless soul instead. So now you're probably wondering what I was doing at a strip show with my Mum in Noumea? Well that might have to remain a mystery because my actual topic for today is audience participation.

Awkward Stripper Photo courtesy of MyBadParent.com

I make my living onstage and it is one of my favourite places to be - but only when I feel I belong there (and being the object of a stripper's gyrations is more my idea of wrong place, wrong time). I often try to incorporate an element that includes the audience, whether it is encouraging clapping along, asking a question or two, or in some cases getting someone to join me onstage. I am all for breaking through the fourth wall - I think it is a music performer's job to engage the audience. But let's get back to the strippers...apart from a two minute sloppily choreographed opening sequence, every single part of their show consisted of dragging at least one audience member up to the stage to share the bump and grinding duties. They decimated the fourth wall with one kick from their underdressed quadriceps. If I have spent the time and money to experience professional entertainment I want to be entertained by the professionals, not drunken hens' party escapees.

I work in some bands where audience participation is considered on par with karaoke, far too 'cabaret' (said with a sneer) for some but I don't mind a bit of cheesy goodness as long as it is not the only ingredient on offer. What do you think?

Cheers,
Amanda
www.amandaeaston.com

20 Feet from Heartbreak

Hi there,

I know I'm not the only singer who went to see '20 Feet From Stardom' and felt the way I did - I sat in the cinema staring at the final credits rolling by, gulping back tears and trying to recover from the blow to the solar plexus the film served me. 

The lump in my throat was partly for the singer who received no credit for a No.1 hit she recorded that was released under someone else's name. Years after, she happened to hear the song on the radio - she was cleaning someone else's house to make a living at the time. The tears were partly for some of the most devastatingly talented singers I've ever heard and their disillusionment in the industry they loved that at times treated them so roughly. So many home truths, so much heartbreaking reality. 

Of course the tears were also for me. The documentary introduced us to singers who dreamt of being artists in their own right only to find after years of playing the support role for established acts, their dreams had passed them by. I spent years as a backing singer working with well known artists: Wendy Matthews, Richard Clapton, Powderfinger, and many more. Did all that work for others mean I didn't pour my heart fully into my own career? It sure was fun being on the road with some of the names I grew up with, appearing on TV, performing to full theatres and in auditoriums. Surely those experiences helped hone my own artistry too? 

I'll never know what would have happened if I'd taken a different path but I've decided not to dwell on what might have been but to see that glass, ideally with bubbly contents, as being half full. In the words of the diva with one of the most heartbreaking stories of all, je ne regrette rien! 

See you next time,
Amanda
www.amandaeaston.com

What a Singer can Learn from a Stripper

Hi there,

Many moons ago, a few friends and I decided it would be a fabulous idea to check out the seedy delights of Kings Cross in Sydney. Our road trip through sleazy showrooms and seamy strip joints brought us to an esteemed establishment where we were ushered to seats with another dozen or so punters. Soon after, a young woman ambled on stage in a tiny white bikini. She alternated smirking at the audience and looking for obvious guidance to a gentleman standing at the back of the room. She reminded me of a kid in their first kindy concert, but with fewer clothes. It was vaguely, darkly, humorous at first, watching a stripper in training. It became more interesting if you watched the trainer at the back of the room - the pupil on stage was trying to mimic the teacher's clunky gyrations and gestures, awkwardly pulling her bikini bits to the side to flash this and that and then looking out at us like a deer stuck in headlights.

Let's forget for a minute that we were not experiencing a slice of the often sad and unsavoury underbelly of our city and judge this strictly as a performance. Earlier that evening I had seen unmistakably more seasoned strip artistes flaunting their talents. The surrounds were equally salubrious but I didn't get the same depressing, distressing feeling I did at this last show. Those other women had looked as though they enjoyed their work and took pride in it, no matter how that kind of work may be judged by others. As a result, the audience got caught up in the moment and responded with enthusiasm. The white bikini girl was so uncomfortable and frightened, it was painful to watch for everyone.

Now I'm trying to equate anything I do with a strip show, but I have certainly performed at gigs where I have been less than prepared, proud or comfortable. But I've realised that no matter how much I wish the stage would open up and swallow me on occasions, it's my duty to look like I belong there, look like I'm enjoying it and do the best job I'm capable of. A performer that has committed to their art and is comfortable in their own skin, feels authentic to an audience and they react accordingly.

So there, I learnt all about commitment from a stripper!

Cheers,
Amanda
www.amandaeaston.com

Do you want to ride The Beast or the Ladybird?

Hi there,

When I was starting out in this business, I sang in a Top 40 Dance Band with another female singer. She also did regular gigs in cocktail bars and even sang at weddings and parties. She had gone to a Performing Arts High School - like the kids in 'Fame'. To me, she had it made and I looked up to her. She had what I wanted - she lived off her music and even owned her own microphone. I felt I was on my way to living the dream she had already achieved. 

But she always seemed restless and after a few weeks she sat me down and told me she was leaving the band. Why would anyone want to do that? We had a gig that was highly sought after by every other covers band in town - a well paid residency to big crowds in a classy venue. But she looked at me knowingly and said, 'look while you're 21 this is all great but I'm about to turn 25 (!) and it's time I got on with life.' She wanted a real job with a real income and some stability. 'You'll be the same when you're 25, you wait.'

Well I'm not going to tell you how distant a memory my 25th birthday is, but let's say that things are still looking green and lush from my side of the fence. I experienced a solid wage and security thanks to the corporate jobs I took after uni, so the lure of that life was never that strong for me. 

I recently overheard a muso saying something particularly wise to another after listening to him bitch bitterly about our industry (we've all been there). The wise one said and I paraphrase, 'As professional musos we sign up for the rollercoaster. Our lows can be really low but our highs are right up there. If we wanted safe we would have got on the Ladybird ride but that just wouldn't be much fun'. 

I'll take one ticket to white knuckled exhilaration and stomach lurching intensity with the earth teetering beneath my feet, thank you. By the way, I now own three microphones.

See you next time,
Amanda
www.amandaeaston.com