mostly david ephgrave

I had an appointment at the Royal Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital today - which is a subsidiary of the Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes Institute - to look into my ongoing vertigo (which is some kind of John Virgo / Alfred Hitchcock amalgam). It was good to finally have extensive tests to try to get to the bottom of something that affects me almost daily. I first experienced this level of extreme dizziness while working on Dreamboats & Petticoats in the West End, which literally hit me mere minutes from curtain up. All of a sudden, I felt like I was going to collapse, and had to be taken out of the show for fear I would faint mid-performance (which was all included in the price). My GP at the time suggested it may be labyrinthitis, but they never quite got to the bottom of it. The dizziness didn’t pass for weeks, which ultimately led to me leaving the cast of Dreamboats to recover, and ever since then, I’ve suffered long bouts of vertigo so often...

I went into the office today with the intention of doing some work to promote next month's performance of my solo show, but ultimately, I couldn’t find the enthusiasm to do it. It’s not that I don’t have faith in the show itself (though like any creative person, I flit between thinking what I do is good or awful with alarming speed and frequency). It’s just that today, for whatever reason, I wasn’t in the mood to big something up for what seems like the millionth time, to no apparent interest. I know that sounds a little maudlin and self-pitying. The last bit’s also not strictly true; it’s just how it feels today, at this present moment. Working alone is hard; there’s no two ways about it. You only have yourself to depend on, and if you start feeling negative, this feeds laziness and apathy, which in turn, makes you feel worse. I’ve never been good at maintaining self-belief, particularly when no-one’s investing in what I do, or cajoling me on ...

I can pinpoint the exact moment I decided I no longer wanted to be Buddy Holly. It was at 7:31pm on Friday the 30 th October 2009 in Greenock, Scotland; barely a minute into my umpteenth performance as the bespectacled 50s rock star. This had nothing to do with the town, the venue or the audience, all of whom received us generously. It wasn’t in any way related to the man from Lubbock himself, who is still a personal hero. The final straw was purely technical. The show started with the MC warming up the crowd, while I stood in the wings - big glasses on my face and a Fender Stratocaster around my neck - awaiting my first entrance. On finishing his spiel, the MC would call for a roll on the drums and shout "Give it up for Buddy Holly". I’d then bound on from stage right, bring the drummer off (not sexually) with a downward swipe of my guitar neck, and launch into the opening riff of That’ll be the Day. This didn’t happen in Greenock. I played the riff confide...

When you work in theatre, the Front of House staff sometimes like to keep you in your place.   I have a lot of examples seared into my memory. They're my personal Vietnam, without the flashbacks. Take, for instance, the time I was on tour with Buddy Holly and the Cricketers, playing a venue in deepest, darkest Ireland, and one of the ushers came up to me in the green room mid-interval, jabbed a finger in my chest and said, 'Well, I couldn't hear you '. She seemed to labour under the misapprehension that, as well as playing Buddy, I was also in charge of the sound mix, and had given myself insufficient level as some kind of personal affront. The dressing down wasn't over yet. With her accusatory digit still extended, she proceeded to go around the rest of the room.  First the bassist. 'I could hear you.'  Then the rhythm guitarist. 'I could hear you.'  Then the sax player. 'I could hear you.'  Then the drummer. 'I could ...

It suddenly hit me this morning that for the past decade I've completely neglected my music.  The problem is I've mixed things up in my head. I said to myself recently that I wouldn't play any more, as I no longer really enjoyed it. I've since realised that it's not music as a whole that’s the issue; more the type of music that I’ve been playing. All the tours I've done as an actor / musician have lifted my musical ability, but stagnated my writing.  Part of the reason is I always used to be in a band. Even when I was the main writer, I still disguised my input by being surrounded by other musicians. This gave me more confidence in my material, as well as the motivation to see a song through.  I've always worked best to a deadline. The minute the band finished, I no longer had the reason to write. The fact that I was always working also gave me less time to even consider doing it.  I got out my acoustic t...

Sometimes, being an actor / musician can be a bit of a poisoned chalice.    I have a love / hate relationship with being an actor / musician, but utmost respect for the forward-slash. Much of my work has been in the actor / muso field (yes, we have a field - and I often work in it). It’s got to the point where I’ve started to resent this. It isn’t all I do – there are some people I work with, particularly in comedy, who have no idea that I do it – but while it can open a lot of doors (not literally), you eventually find yourself pining for a job where you don’t have to hold an instrument. Not just holding the instrument; bloody playing the thing too. That said, I've been very lucky. Being an actor / musician got me into the West End, as well as touring to most theatres in the UK (and many abroad). I've performed to countless audiences - and been fortunate enough to play three of my heroes: John Lennon, Paul McCartney and Buddy Holly - often in venues where ...