mostly david ephgrave

One thing I'm trying to do while in lockdown is get my voice back into shape. My voice goes through phases where I'm either actively keeping it ticking over with daily warmups because I'm using it regularly (like when I was playing Buddy Holly) or not touching it save a quick once-over before a one-off gig. I know the latter's inadvisable as it's expecting too much at little notice - particularly when I'm suddenly trying to hit top As in the Mostly Comedy theme, for example - but I know I'm not the only singer guilty of it. At least I'm not as bad as bands in the 1960s who'd class a coffee and a fag as sufficient prep. As a former actor/muso (and you'd best take that 'former' with a pinch of salt) I've found myself occupying a strange hinterland between real band-member and musical theatre performer as regards limbering up, where I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. Believe it or not, I'm a trained singer (la...

It was nice to sing through the songs from my show today to exercise that part of my brain (and voice) again. A pleasant byproduct of Edinburgh last month - though surely it was longer ago? - was I was singing every day, which meant my voice was in good shape; I may have lost my hearing by the last week, but I could still hit the notes, though whether they were in tune I couldn’t pass comment. I don’t know why I forget it so easily but I’m always happier when I look after my voice; it’s a simple thing, but it’s very important to me. It’s nice to not have to stretch to sound good and to feel you have command of your abilities. That’s why touring with Buddy was good at first, as singing and playing regularly kept you match-fit; you had the luxury of a band to play with, plus the intrigue of a new town and venue to keep things interesting. It’s even better when you work on your own stuff as singing through a few songs feels like opening a window wide to let the fresh air in. That’...

This week, for the first time in a few years, I got my acoustic out and played through some of the songs I wrote, and it felt like a light went on in my head. Admittedly it was a little painful on the fingertips - which is embarrassing for someone who has spent the vast proportion of his working life playing the guitar for money, though to be fair, this could be partly due to how long it's been since I changed my strings, but though I was a little ropey and out-of-shape it still made sense to me, and felt like I’d neglected a massive part of myself by leaving it so long. I guess it has a lot to do with absence making the heart grow fonder, as I had grown tired of the whole actor / musician thing for taking up the majority of my time while stifling my creativity…but it wasn’t just that. There was a sense of comparative simplicity compared to the frustration I’ve been feeling with my show as I remembered how music comes relatively easily to me and is more instinctive, and that ...

I'd have liked the guy shouting Rick Astley's 'Please Don't Go' at the top of his voice whilst decorating the flat next door me today to go himself, if given the choice. It’s not uncommon for people to moan about noisy neighbours, but this was the limit. The guy wasn’t singing, he was yelling, and he wasn’t shy about it either; he didn’t care that he was subjecting anyone within a two-mile radius to unconsenting Astley, or that he sounded atonal and unpleasant; he wanted the listener to know he was begging them to stay. I hope there's no truth to the Stone Tape theory that some rooms store traumatic events and then replay them when the conditions are right as, if so, a future tenant could be subjected to close-encounter Eighties pop on a wet Spring day. Even Rick’s biggest fan wouldn’t want to hear his songs that loud, even if Astley himself was doing the decorating; to paraphrase one of his other hits, I thought he'd never give up. Hopefully th...

Sorting my 2015/16 receipts today to the tune of the Paul & Linda McCartney album Ram made it a far more enjoyable experience. One thing I don’t do much of at the moment, as I’m not doing any muso work, is to have a really good sing. I tend to listen to music when I get ready in the morning, and will often join in with it a little (much to the consternation of my neighbours or anyone walking past my bathroom window), but outside of the occasional bit of bath-based Karaoke, I’m not keeping my voice in shape. I did give it a stretch today however, whilst knee-deep in bank statements and receipts, and if you going to do this, an album like Ram is a good one to work out to. The vocal parts are liter ally all over the shop , which is meant as a compliment. It was McCartney’s second post-Beatles album, which was slated at the time - largely fed by him supposedly being the root of the Beatles' breakup - but has been critically re-evaluated over the intervening years. It’...

Last night, for some unfathomable reason, I dreamt I had to sing a Righteous Brothers duet in a show in Portuguese; it's clearly time to adjust my medication. I can't be certain of the language, if I'm honest; if anything, it was non-specific foreign. The only saving grace was I was singing the lower vocal harmony; even in a catatonic state, I know my limitations.  What's amusing in retrospect is I didn't question why I had to do this; it felt completely normal, if a little mundane. It was just another run-of-the-mill, performing-a-Sixties-song-in-a-central-European-language situation; we've all been there. I've been asked to do stranger things in castings. I once had to pretend an alien was bursting out of my stomach à la John Hurt; I didn't get the job. 

I discovered today, perhaps unsurprisingly, that it's best to not attempt to sing a top Ab   Immediately after a large fried breakfast. (After  eating  the fry-up, I mean; it hadn't just sung an Ab itself.) The reason for the post-meal screech was I'd decided to pop to the office to record the jingles for next week's SG1 Radio show after a spot of petit déjeuner (French) with my wife (English). While the timing wasn't perfect, it was still easier than last week's 'session', when I had barely recovered from losing my voice; it seems my vocal range is less hindered by a stodge-coated gullet. (Pleasing image.)  The theme for next week's show is 'WHAT?!', in the sense that we'll be discussing the things we find ridiculous, or don't understand. While I like the topic, I hadn't accounted for how hard it would be to sing the word 'what' twice in quick succession, without the second one sounding like 'twat'...

I was sad to news about Cilla Black this week. While her music generally doesn’t do it for me (I can’t get past her brash belt-voice that usually sneaks in halfway through a record), there’s one song I like, and don’t mind listening to, and that’s her 1964 number one hit You’re My World. It brings back memories of touring The Netherlands in 2004, playing bass for the show Hold Tight it’s 60s Night. Despite being a bit of a Sixties aficionado, who always spouts trivia about music from the decade, I’d never heard You’re My World until I learnt it for the set. Even then, it didn’t stand out – though this isn’t surprising in retrospect, as I had a lot of bass parts to cram into my head in a short space of time, and there’s little going on at the bottom end of the Black track to speak of. When we played it in front of an audience, I was hit by its impact. Every night, without fail, the opening string part would elicit the same gasp of recognition. It would often get a standin...

I’m ashamed to say my singing voice is in a bit of a state. I haven’t done any actor / musician work for ages; a situation that was self-inflicted. I grew tired of it. There was always too much stuff to be learnt, particularly when the show was a one-off. These gigs are particularly unsatisfying. You don’t feel like you’re playing as a band, more a collection of musicians who occupy the same physical space, but are each in a world of their own; staring at their crib sheets, trying their best to get through it. You also score it all out by ear, which is a time-consuming process and brain-frying process. I haven’t taught singing for a while, which keeps your voice in shape. Well, it does when you’re not shouting at your students to be quiet, or to encourage them to sing up. I’ve not even sat at my piano and sung for my own enjoyment. I can’t remember the last time I switched it on (it’s electric). My guitars sit in their stands, gathering dust. Singing, like anything physi...

Of all the weekend performing arts schools I’ve taught at - and there have been quite a few - the one that was the most fun was in Harlow. The atmosphere was great. The staff got on brilliantly, had total faith in each other’s ability, and the students were lovely. Going there was never a bind, despite the early start. Any tiredness would soon be fixed by a black coffee and a biscuit. I worked there for four or five years; long enough to become a permanent fixture and to gain the students' respect. The saddest part was watching them grow up and leave. I remember one boy really not wanting to go. I understood how he felt; I knew how much my drama club meant to me when I was his age. It was where I felt safest, and most able to be myself. Being a teenager can be hard, man. (Apparently I grew up in the Sixties.) For me, these clubs are about giving children confidence. If they decide to work in Performing Arts in the future that’s great,...