The Pink Singers: 25 Years Of Pride

"Pride" is such an odd term. In its original sense, the concept is quite un-British. We are almost expected to feel embarassed about our accomplishments. So when I get asked, "What are you proud of?", the conflicted mix queasiness and confusion is exactly the same as I get when asked, "What are your strengths?" in an interview.

When it comes to the Pink Singers, however, I find it a lot easier to know exactly what I am proud of: I am proud of the fact that we are a very diverse group of individuals from all backgrounds, all shapes and sizes, with very different temprements, who all get along with each other. I am proud that we come togther once a week for just twelve weeks or so, and put together a slick, polished and musically accomplished performance. I am proud that the Pink Singers provides a safe and supportive space for people who love to sing who just happen to be gay and lesbian. And the best thing is that we have been doing all the above for 25 years.

I am very proud of the fact that the Pink Singers were created to add a musical accompaniment to the London Pride of 1983, and we have been singing at every single Pride since then. This year was no exception, and nearly the entire choir showed up to strut our stuff and wow the crowds in Trafalgar Square. Things started out rather grim that morning with torrential rain pouring down, but come midday, the clouds cleared and the sun came out in force. By the time Simon and I got down to Pizza Express to meet Lynne and the other Pinkies it was blazing down.

Pride (this time with a capital 'P') is that one day of the year when it seems like London's entire gay population turns out at once. There is an incredibly festive atmosphere and everyone, gay or straight, seems that much 'gayer'. Our maitre d' gave us a knowing wink when we sat down and you could tell he was checking out the passing hordes of muscle marys, twinks, drag queens and the much larger undefined majority as they poured out of Charing Cross station on their way down to the square.

After a hurried lunch - this is the second time the Pink Singers have eaten at Pizza Express in as many weeks, so we don't really even need the menu to order! - we joined the rest of the group up front and wandered backstage in preparation. Michael led the warmup by singing Son Of A Preacher Man. The altos really gave it all and I have to say they are sounding really excellent; they got us in the mood and there was a lot of jumping and jiving going on, and we weren't even on stage yet!

When we emerged from our marquee to make our appearance the atmosphere was electric! The sun was shining brightly and there were thousands of people standing in the square. It was a riot of colour and, thanks to the assorted sponsors, a cacophony of whistles. It is funny how little things prick that sense of pride in you, but seeing the words 'lesbian', 'gay', 'bisexual' and 'trans' in large posters on the parapet at the top of Trafalgar Square made my heart swell. The cheers when we finally got on stage certainly helped as well.

Philip R worked the crowd, Michael played the introduction to Son Of A Preacher Man and we were off! And for once, the sound engineer gods were kind and managed, by the second verse, to get the balance of piano and choir right. Old Pinkies in the audience, including our favourites like Ritchie, Andrew D (with Jamie) and Kay, were waving like mad and singing along. It always puts a huge smile on my face to see members of the wider Pinkie family coming along to give us support.

By the time we got to Forever Motown, spirits were so high and I was singing so loudly I would say that all musical nuances were called off. The sense of unbridled happiness I get when we start singing "Ah... ah... ah... ah!" in unison at the start of Ain't No Mountain always sends a shiver down my spine. This was by no means our most subtle performance, but it really didn't matter at all, and the cheers from the audience were loud and sustained at the end of our set.

Unlike previous years where we both opened and closed the ceremony, this time our duty was only to open the celebrations, so we could wander in and around the crowds. We were tasked to give out flyers to the concert this Saturday (see link to the right for details and tickets by the way!) and it was remarkably easy to do. I had people coming up to me to find out more about the choir, when the next gig was and how they could join. The Pink Singers are nearly at maximum capacity, but with members leaving at the end of every season there is always a space for new recruits.

After that it was off to Soho to fight our way through the mass of gay humanity along Old Compton Street and Soho Square. It was indeed a big 'family' reunion and I ran into several friends, many Frontrunners, and assorted members of our extended choir family. Who would've thought there were that many gay people out there? What really reassured me is that although there were many who fell into one or other of the 'gay' categories, there were many, many others who do not subscribe to these stereotypes. I blogged recently about the hijras in India and how they are the fighting for gay rights in India, and at that early stage of progress, I think you do need such high visibility. Thankfully British society has moved on a bit and there is less need for that kind of identity.

Indeed, to me the Pink Singers are a microcosm of our community. We have a few bears, a few queens (I'm not saying who!), not nearly enough muscle marys (join! join!), butch dykes and lipstick lesbians, but we mainly have a whole lot of members who just don't fit into any category, and who just want to sing. Now that is something to be proud of!

Oh Paris!

In a first for me I am writing a blog post on the train on the way back from Paris. Now the weekend is over, I can look back on it with a mixture of relief and contentment but the feeling on Friday morning was quite different.

There was, first of all, the excitement of simply departing from the new Eurostar terminal at St. Pancras; and what a beauty it is. Having a coffee at the platform level and seeing the blue sky shining through the glass roof of the train shed, itself supported by sky blue ironwork was of itself an amazing experience, made better only by the wonderful and not so expensive bacon butties with tomato chutney of the Baby Betjamin café.

In contrast to the good weather in London, Paris couldn't have been damper. Clouds rolled in shortly after the tunnel crossing, and by the time we arrived at the Gare du Nord, a full storm was underway. As we arrived in the early afternoon and our host was still working, we had a couple of hours to kill. Liang, Simon and I spent it in a random brasserie: hamburgers seem to taste so much better when they are called steak haché!

Our hosts were a lovely couple called Stéphane, a long-serving tenor in Equivox, and Harald his partner (a.k.a. choir widow) originally from Vienna. Not having known anything about them before going, apart from their names, I was pleased to see that we were very similar in age and temperament. In fact, Simon and I could not have asked for more gracious hosts, and made better friends, over our time in Paris.

After settling in, we took them out to dinner at their local restaurant called La Domaine Léopold which specializes in simple rustic food from the area around Toulouse. Harald and Stéphane are obvious regulars because we were treated to free aperitifs and a wonderful starter of the most amazing warmed fois gras I have ever had. Just don't think about the duck. We were supposed to meet the other Pink Singers at the Open Café later, but as both the wine and conversation were flowing so well, we decided not to interrupt either.

The next morning was largely filled with preparations for the concert. We met Philip G and Michael for lunch at a bistro next to the town hall and were joined by Ben P, Sue, Liang and his host, also called Stéphane, so it became a rather impromptu party.

The Pinkies are very much like a large extended family, and gathering in one of the side chambers in the town hall for the warm-up was therefore akin to a family reunion. We have only been apart for six days, but you just couldn't avoid the "How've you been? What have you been up to? Where did you get that pink accessory?" type questions. To complete the picture, Liang's and Mike's cameras were out in force, as was Celso's, so I cannot be accused of being the only photo addict!

The first real contact with Equivox was when we watched them perform on stage for the first of the two concerts. Their musical director, Babette, has definitely put her mark on the choir, and their incredible stage presence, theatricality and enthusiasm reflects her own background in street performance. Watching Equivox perform is a real spectacle, and although their outfits are more restrained than previous years (their current theme being a summer party), their stage presence cannot be denied. This is as much their signature as (I hope) musical fidelity is for the Pink Singers.

A minor upset occurred after Equivox had finished their set. We were under the impression that there was to be an interval, but when the compere began doing our introduction we vacated the seats at the back of the hall and trooped on stage. It is not easy going from being unprepared to launching into Dies Irae! I was especially impressed at the comedy double act of Johanthon and Philip R who managed to get the audience laughing and applauding in their bilingual introduction, no mean feat!

The stage itself was very small and apparently has safety regulations limiting the number to a maximum of 42 at only one time on it. That explains why Equivox singers took it in turn to sing in either concert. Even with only 40 Pinkies (and Mladen) there was a bit of a squeeze and I was in the fourth of five rows when normally I am in the third of four. The cosiness meant that I was singing into Liang's right ear and Celso was singing into my left, and I have to say that it the tenors sounded pretty tight as a result. In fact, the whole choir sounded really polished, and if anything the second performance was even better than the first because we were more relaxed. The usual adrenaline rush after a concert wore off by the time I was on stage for the second time, so I must admit I also enjoyed it much more. The break between performances also gave Philip G, who was already showing off his long, toned, stockinged legs, a chance to experiment with novel decorative uses of a feather boa…

The Parisian audience really loved our attempt at the French songs Dirait'on and Hymne a l'amour and the applause and whoops were very reassuring. So I was slightly amused, and partly deflated, when Stéphane said we were very "charming with our English accents". Aww, I was trying so hard too to "parlez la Francais" [sic]. The audience were also very generous in their donations, and by the end of the night we had raised €1,500 for Sidaction, the organization fighting AIDS in France.

The after-party was a mad rush through the rain to a venue called Le Tango, Paris’ (and probably France’s) only gay and lesbian dance hall. There was something somewhat surreal about getting ready for a night out in your jeans and T-shirt finery, to arrive at the venue where couples are doing the Viennese waltz around the dance floor. Clearly it is really popular, but being timorous souls and having four left feet between us, Simon and I elected to spend most of the evening nursing our beers and watching from the side. This did not stop Stéphane for whom Le Tango is virtually a second home. Where does he get the energy! I did get a chance to chat with one of the new altos, Christine, who for some reason I kept introducing to other people by a completely different name most of the evening – sorry about that Christine! Later that evening the music turned to Eurotrash (eek!) and then to 80s English pop, so not much of an improvement then!

The next morning it was with some difficulty, entirely self-induced, that we made it to the venue where the group brunch was to be held. This is where Equivox normally rehearses, and is a primary school near to where we were staying. Ah the mem’ries of small, low, tightly-packed and rather stinky urinals… Stéphane took Simon and I on an abbreviated tour of some of the arcades in Paris, these elaborate and often sealed short-cuts through the buildings between streets; by the time we got there a spread had been laid out. What was better was the chance to chat with some of the members of Equivox like Florian (Stéphane's - Liang’s host’s - partner), Karim (who is the only bloke singing in the altos) and Marc, a rather studious-looking and musically knowledgeable chap.

It is always good to hear feedback from other choirs. I am very much a perfectionist, and I always go back over my own, and the choir’s, performance with a fine-tooth comb to pick out the mistakes made and identify areas for improvement. So I can be quite a downer sometimes, and it was a timely reminder that the Pink Singers really are very good, and we do have a clean, tight and very polished sound, and one that impresses other choirs! We had a chance to whip out that sound again in a spontaneous sing off between Equivox and us, and then reprised Let The Sunshine In which metamorphosed into a conga line snaking around the hall. What fun!

All too soon it was time to get back on the Eurostar to return to London. Unlike Paris, it wasn’t raining when we got back in, thank goodness for small mercies, but for dinner I defrosted a pizza; it certainly ain’t no fois gras! Sigh…

That's It! Bonjour Paris!

Yep. The last rehearsal before Paris - we perform on Saturday! - and it was a good one. The harmonies are sounding tight, the dynamics are more or less in place and perhaps most importantly, we are starting to look like we are enjoying being on stage rather than looking terrified. There are some songs like Big Band Bash and ABBA Pink which you almost can't help but dance along to. Of course ABBA has its own choreography, but Big Band Bash, which has no formal moves, is one song which really gets you tapping your feet - and we do!

The other song which, surprisingly, has that foot-tapping quality is Dies Irae with its aggressive vocals and furious rhythm. Unfortunately, as expected, it is incredibly difficult to learn the lyrics, so instead of a looking "evil" (Mladen's words) we look more like we are concentrating on what words are coming next. Mladen tested each of the sections on our knowledge of the lyrics yesterday; thanks to Johnathon's hood, Celso cunningly managed to sing the lyrics with no obvious sheet music (see picture!).

The biggie last evening was the choreography rehearsal for Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend. We're not doing this in Paris, but it is going to be in the winter concert on the 19th of January. Some of the moves are sexy, some border on the risqué, but the sops and altos really threw themselves into it. I must say that I was especially impressed with Karin and Cilla for whom the moves seemed to come naturally. The two choreographers were pretty good too and seemed to be aware of the limitations of our choir - especially the inability for us to move legs and arms at the same time! - and steered adroitly around them.

Off to Paris on Friday morning! Phillip, Simon, Liang and I are checking in early and grabbing a champagne breakfast before heading off. Hey you only live once! The next time (most of) the choir meets we will be in L'Open Café. See you there Friday night!

P.S. The sheer number of exclamation marks in this post belies! my! excitement!

Almost Paris

I have been away from rehearsal for 2 weekends while Simon and I were away in the U.S. on holiday, but we are back now, and it was with some trepidation that we returned to rehearsal to face two new songs
Let The Sun Shine In and Dies Irae from Jenkins' Requiem. The latter Mladen would like us to perform in Paris, while the former, well, we have to perform because it is our joint song. A few seasons ago we attempted, but never followed through on, a version of this song from Hair, and all I will say, for diplomacy's sake, is that it is an interesting arrangement. I don't know the musical well at all, but England and Manchester in particular seem to feature prominently in it. Perhaps this is an incentive to watch the show? Despite these misgivings, I think we did pretty well and the difference between how it sounded at the start of the rehearsal and the end of the rehearsal was staggering, thank goodness!

As for the other songs, they are shaping up well too, and for the first time ever, I think we paid attention to the markings on the sheet music and actually sang "pianissimo" when it was written "pianissimo". Notice I did not write "forte", mainly because we tend not to have a problem with "forte". Ever. In particular, even the semi-horrifying Come What May is sounding less like a dying cat, although we are still quite a way away from tenderness and romance.

The other highlight was some of the Soprano 1s going for gold by singing parts of Lacrimosa an entire octave above what was written; that goes to a high D for the musically inclined. Despite their hesitation, I think it sounded wonderful, and it was quite angelic to hear their high voices floating above the more earthy tones of the rest of the choir.

It was good to chat with some of the new members, even if I find that I am often in such a rush to arrive and leave that I don't get that much of a chance. Celso, who is the tenor who got me into the Front Runners in the first place, was there. He seems to be enjoying himself and is a really dedicated member, so props to him! It seems rather tragic to me, but in the break I was regaling Miranda, Tim R and Andrew D with my, and Johnathon's, adventures in the Front Runners. I also spoke briefly to Joey and Colm, ironically as my bladder was about to explode while queueing for the loo. Needless to say, the conversation was very brief.

All in all I thought it was a very exhausting rehearsal, especially for the tenors who have to hit ridiculously high notes in both Come What May and You'll Never Walk Alone but one in which we seemed to cover a lot. Paris really isn't very far away, so we need it!

P.S. The picture associated with this post is actually quite accurately linked to the title because the Eiffel Towel you see above is the one in Las Vegas, not Paris, but you knew that!