When last we saw our intrepid Porgy folk we were sneaking up on the Gale, the general dress rehearsal. Or, truth be told, perhaps the Gale was sneaking up on us. This is where the old expression “canary in a coal mine” starts to seem prophetic.
It’s Wednesday last, and after 2 days of full rehearsals and a pre-Gale rehearsal we are ready to enter the run. Despite it being called a “general dress rehearsal” there is very little “rehearsing” about it. When I take a peak out from the depths of the pit there is nary an empty seat in the entire house. Honestly, we should just go ahead and call it another performance but, this being France, I’m sure there’s some regulation that we would be in violation of. Plus it’s Bastille Day, and you wouldn’t want to have our first performance then, would you?
We start off, and in the back of my mind I start hearing birds chirping. Maybe I should cut back on the late night foie gras runs. Hmmm…… a little bobble there…. no problem, I catch the eye of whomever and we promise each other to pay attention there…. slight mishap here….. same…….. orchestra not quite together….. blame myself…. look, it’s a complicated opera and there are bound to be some hitches. But we’ve all done this before. Let’s just find the groove and move on.
Thursday is a day off, and I take advantage of it to hop on the train and go down to Valence to see the 11th stage of the Tour de France! I set myself up about 250 meters from the finish line and wait. For 5 hours. In the hot sun. With a whole bunch of other cycling lunatics. All for 3 seconds of “my God, those guys are moving faster in a dead sprint than I can go downhill!!!” Cavendish wins the 11th stage, not without some head-butting help from his teammate.
After that excitement comes opening night. Friday is a nice relaxing day for me. I go out for a ride in the morning – 31 miles in my brand spanking new Maillot Jaune purchased at the 11th stage of Le Tour. Not that I’m showing off or anything. Then pick up some rocking chocolate at Bernachon, best chocolatier in Lyon (why yes, honey, of course I’m bringing you home some chocolate!). Then mosey on over to the opera, gussy up, walk in the pit, start of the opera, and ……….. what in the name of the four Gods is going on??? Why didn’t I notice that the canary was stone, cold dead? Let’s start the count-off:
Missed cues? Yep.
Missed stage entrances? Got that.
Missed curtains? Check.
Missed orchestra entrances? Oh yeah.
General madness? Here’s your 800 # for that.
Etc., etc., etc. I make a mental note to check and see if Mercury has suddenly gone into retrograde. The frustrating this is that there were things that went right that had never gone right before! That’s a truly annoying experience, especially since it was being recorded by Radio France and videotaped for possible [……… this section heavily redacted…………]. I believe the collective response of Serge (Director of Opera Lyon), Robert (Artistic Director of Opera Lyon), and myself could be summed up as “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot????” I gotta tell ya, this is certainly not what I signed up to provide the good folks at Opera Lyon, and it was kinda embarrassing. Unfortunately, the guy who’s listed under “conductor” is one William Eddins. That would be me. Buck stops right here.
Dammit.
Precious little sleep that night. General moping around while trying to pack the next day. Many frantic phone calls between The Powers That Be because we have just one more night to try and get something in the can that we all can be happy with and the only way to do this in the opera world is to PANIC!!!!!! That’s what opera’s about, right? And suddenly it’s 8 pm, Saturday night, and I’m walking back into the pit, and I’ve got no idea if my opera career is about to go deep, deep into the deepest freezer imaginable or……..
Then there’s that classic little ditty written by Maria Méndez Grever, with lyrics in English by Stanley Adams, popularized by Roy Harris and his orchestra, that won Dinah Washington a grammy award in 1959 – “What A Difference A Day Made.” Please don’t ask me what happened; I’m not really sure. What I do know is that there was a completely different atmosphere than the previous night. Suddenly Porgy found his groove. Radio France was happy. Serge was happy. I, obviously, was happy. This is how we wanted to launch our way towards Edinburgh. And perhaps I can now get some sleep. Next stop on the Porgy express – Haggis!!!