The Good, The Bad and The Buffet

I could feel goose bumps cover my arms as I heard the wave of applause of fifteen thousand people (Give or take an extra five thousand) as the orchestra took their seats.

I was about to step on stage of the Nimes Arena as a member of the Symphony Choir of Montpellier, singing under the direction of none other than the Maestro Ennio Morricone. We were being accompanied by the Rome Symphony Orchestra and, just to mention it again for my own ego’s sake, were going to be singing in front of a whopping fifteen thousand people.

I could barely supress my excitement (Or my bladder for that matter but let’s focus on the excitement). Only a few days ago I’d been performing in the French premiere of “The Monster in the Maze” in the Aix-en-Provence Music Festival under the direction of another of the world’s finest conductors, Sir Simon Rattle, and now here I stood about to perform with the composer responsible for the masterful music from “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”. Him as the oldest person on stage and me the youngest at the age of fifteen.

This opportunity had actually arisen in the first place thanks to the project in Aix. A month ago, during a rehearsal with Opera Junior for “The Monster in the Maze” a man I didn’t know had come to spectate the rehearsal. He was bald with glasses and had a jolly smile, and he was talking with Vincent Recolin, our choir master, during the rehearsal. Vincent had pointed towards the boys when the man asked him a question.

Needless to say, the man had approached all of the boys during a break and asked us individually if we were interested in performing with a man called Ennio Morricone in the Nimes Arena. I had only been with Opera Junior for about five months so if there was one thing I’d learnt with “The Monster in the Maze” it was that jumping at opportunities got you a lot further than simply letting them pass by out of laziness (Or out of lack of availability but let’s face it at this point, being home-schooled and having recently started a sabbatical from my university degree in English Literature, I was more available than a guy recently coming out of a vow of abstinence) so I jumped at the chance to be involved despite the fact I had no idea who Ennio Morricone was. Somebody then told me that the Nimes arena could hold upwards of twenty thousand people (Although apparently the maximum allowed amount is a measly twelve to fifteen thousand) and I was filled with excitement.

When I’d gone home that evening and I’d mentioned the name Ennio Morricone it had been the turn of my mother, Allison, to be blown away since the Clint Eastwood films for which Ennio Morricone composed had been her favourites when she was younger and studying film.

The rehearsals had been quick and frantic, I and the few other people from Opera Junior participating in the performance (I’d even managed to convince the president to let my girlfriend, Marjorie, perform as well. Not that much persuasion was necessary with a voice like hers) hadn’t exactly had very much time to rehearse because of “The Monster in the Maze” so we did the bulk of the work in the three days preceding the concert.

And now here I stood, under the glare of over a hundred lights and about to enter the arena in the same way as many a gladiator had thousands of years before me (Luckily, thumbs down these days only meant that we were off-key rather than we should be executed, although if you asked some people, beheading was fitting for either).

I and the rest of the Symphony Choir of Montpellier stood in formation, prepared to enter the arena. Thanks to the new recruits such as myself we stood nearly eighty strong and the air was abuzz with excitement at the view of the crowd and the cacophony that came with it.

I simply stood there grinning as Marjorie resisted the temptation to have a nervous breakdown.

We finally started moving towards the stage. We walked along a trench like corridor along the floor of the arena as we circled the gigantic stage until we arrived at the staircase leading up. The bass singers were at the back of the stage which meant that we were the first walking up onto stage and I was in the first line. As we appeared, the applause that had been enough to give me goose bumps a few minutes ago once again smothered me, even more intense than before now that I was onstage.

The experience was addictive.

Every clap combined together into a thunderous crash. As the choir finished taking its place, a kind of loaded silence took over. I looked out over the crowd. Most of them were nothing more than specks in the distance, but for those that had the privilege of sitting in the front row seats, I could see them shifting with anticipation, talking excitedly to their friends and partners as they waited for the legend to make his appearance. The arena was humming with the excitement of the crowd, tension rising, ready to burst.

Then, slowly at first, as only some members in the crowd noticed him, then with a crash of screams and cheers, Ennio Morricone walked out of his little canvas room to the side of the stage and walked up to the conductor’s platform, a small knowing smile on his lips.

Ennio bowed, his gesture doing nothing to calm the fervour of the crowd and waved as people chanted and cheered. Eventually, he took his place on his seat in front of the Rome Symphonic Orchestra and lifted his baton, ready to begin the show, the arena fell silent, waiting.

“I love you Ennio!” a girl screamed excitedly from the crowd, making the whole arena chuckle.

Ennio didn’t even look back, simply chuckled, and then began.

The music was beautiful, sweeping me off of my feet. The way the music resonated around the arena was like nothing I’d ever heard before. We’d been rehearsing under the scorching South of France sun for nearly the entire afternoon, needing a parapet for the instrumentalist so that no strings snapped. Yet somehow, as the sun set, leaving the arena in a state between light and dark, the sound imposed itself in a way that it simply hadn’t before.

I let myself be washed away by the torrent of sound around me. I was no longer paying attention to the crowd or the lights as I closed my eyes and absorbed the experience I was lucky enough to be contributing to. When I glanced at the people around me I saw it was the same for them, their eyes shining with unadulterated delight.

I let my eyes wander around the arena as the music ended and the musicians prepared their partitions for the second piece. I knew my parents were towards the very top of the arena, so I glanced that way on the off-chance I’d be able to notice my mother’s bright pink hair but was greeted by a completely different sight (Though no less striking).

Standing atop the walls of the arena, spaced evenly every twenty metres, security guards stood like titans, making sure nobody sat on the very top row of the rising arena, since it would have been a couple of metres from a deadly drop straight to the street outside.

I couldn’t stop staring at them. They stood so still you could have mistaken them for statues from a distance, their shoulders wide and hands behind their back. Behind them was nothing but sky, making them the only thing above the walls.

Then, suddenly, one of them started running. I felt my heart beat quicken as they sprinted along the wall. I didn’t know what they were running towards, but from this distance they looked like they were going in slow motion, the space they had to traverse so large that it barely seemed as if they were moving at all. I realized that they must have been running only metres away from the edge. One trip, and they could tumble into nothingness. I certainly admired their courage, though I couldn’t imagine wanting to do their job myself.

I was pulled from thoughts as yet another piece finished, and stage assistants gestured for us to stand up.

It was time.

As the choir stood, our sheet music in hand, we collectively breathed in. Ennio’s baton rose.

Then we sang.

 

*****

 

“Wow” I mumbled, as we sat on stone benches in the artists area off stage, comprised of alcoves and lots of stone.

“Yeah” Marjorie sighed contentedly, nuzzling against my shoulder.

Out of everybody at Opera Junior, only the eight of us who’d been honoured with the opportunity to perform in the arena were now sitting in a circle, grinning stupidly at each other. We were in the intermission to the concert, and morale was very high.

After we’d sung, we’d been hit with waves of applause once again. I hadn’t been able to resist taking a picture using the potato I called a smartphone.

“You youngsters had better eat something from the buffet while there’s still anything left!” one of the singers from the Symphony Choir said, walking past with a surprisingly large sandwich in their hands.

We’d quickly rushed over to the buffet, admittedly hungry after the first half of the show and a whole after noon of rehearsals, only to find that the singers comment had been misplaced: The buffet wouldn’t be running out of food anytime soon.

On three huge tables lay mounds of expensive cheeses, dried meats, and stacks of French baguettes filled with all kinds of meats, seasonings and salads lay ready for consumption. Wine flowed like water from bottles that had been placed all over the tables, and I felt my mouth water as I spied a Greek salad with feta and olives off to one side. The deserts looked as delicious as the main courses, with mountains of fresh, juicy fruits placed in bowls across the tables, with all types of chocolates and other patisseries also available for our delectation. Behind the tables, I could see that cooks and chefs dressed in white aprons and hair nets were rushing around, preparing even more food to fill any empty platter when it was left by the hungry crowd which was gathering.

As I stuffed my face, I liked to think that this feast, though no doubt paling in comparison, was a return to the opulence and revelry this arena had no doubt been witness to. 

After a very satisfying meal, it was soon time to return to the stage. I wasn’t sure exactly how much time we had left, so I decided to wander in search of some water I could take onstage. I’d been parched under the lights during the first half of the show, and I’d been forced to look on with thirsty envy as other members of the choir drank from the bottles they’d so intelligently thought to bring along.

When I couldn’t find anything, I sighed, before freezing when I heard the crowd start cheering. Was that the orchestra or the choir entering?

I sprinted back to the huge entryway we walked through and found the women of the choir urging me to hurry up, the men had already started making their way towards the stage. My heart skipped a beat, and I grabbed my partitions from Marjorie who’d been holding them for me and sprinted through the trench past the tenors, who laughed and patted me on the back as I passed, until I reached the basses who let me slip into my spot just as we walked up the metal stairway which led onto the stage. I let out of a sigh of relief. It would have been embarrassing to have to make my way to my seat after all the other basses had stopped moving. I grinned, as on the way to our seats we walked past a huge stack of small water battles. I permitted myself to casually lean over to and grab one, feeling its cool surface against my hand.

Finally, everyone had finished taking their place, and in a repeat of the beginning of the concert we were waiting for the Maestro to exit his tipi like tent. When he emerged, the crowd went wild yet again.

The second half of the concert was the one everyone was waiting for, the famous piece from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (You know which one I’m talking about, which is testament enough to its renown). I’d never known that there was as much choir as there was until I’d been asked to perform it.

When the music started playing, the percussive beat started and the crowd applauded loudly. The next few minutes went by in a blur. I kept my eye focused on my partition, willing myself not to make a mistake in front of so many thousands of people, and too quickly it was over. The waves of applause submerged us again, and I felt my shoulders relax.

The show continued, the choir sat down. Our whole section was buzzing with adrenaline. We hadn’t finished yet, though.

The orchestra played more pieces, some I knew and some I didn’t (Apparently a friend of mine had shouted out ‘Royal Canin!’ to one of the pieces, much to the amusement of the people around them), and finally it was time to end the show. We ended with ‘Here’s to You’.

The choir stood up. We all knew it was time to give it our all, because we wouldn’t get another opportunity like this for a long time, if ever again.

As I sang, I absorbed my surroundings, doing everything I could do to commit it to memory. I wanted this memory to follow me to my grave. I knew the piece by heart, so I simply held my partition holder open, the page in front of me empty.

Then, it was over. We’d finished. Ennio was bowing, the crowd was chanting, the orchestra were applauding as well. The noise from the arena must have been heard in half the town.

I clapped people on the back, we laughed and we bantered. We’d managed, the show had been a success. I could see my girlfriend going through the same thing, her eyes shining and her beauty addicting under the hundreds of powerful spotlights illuminating her and making her shine. I smiled to myself.

As we made back towards the trench leaving, I took one last look at the arena, as the crowd started to stream out. The person walking behind me stopped but didn’t complain. We all knew how special the night had been.

Spirits were high in the changing rooms. Some people had got changed back into their normal clothes, but when possible I never changed back into my everyday clothes after a concert. I wanted to keep that thrill of the stage and performance with me as long as I could. As I walked past the buffet one last time I grinned. They were packing it up, but so much food was left. Surely I couldn’t let it go to waste?

I walked over to Marjorie, my bag heavier with the three sandwiches I’d been kind enough to relieve the caterers of, and took her in my arms, breathing in her perfume. The night had been intoxicating, but I was coming down from my adrenaline high and I knew it was only a matter of time before the crash.

One person wasn’t even near to coming down though. My friend, Roxanne, was twirling around, dancing to music that was no longer playing. Ennio Morricone was her hero, and when she’d heard he was going to performing in her town, she’d been thrilled. Knowing the tickets would be too expensive, she’d planned on sitting outside the walls, listening to the snippets of music that would reach her. When she’d been given the opportunity to actually perform onstage, first row seats facing the legend himself, she’d been completely blown away, and she’d been surfing on that high all the way to now.

Still, it was time to go home. Everyone from Opera Junior were in desperate need of rest. It had been non-stop for nearly a month and a half in the rehearsals leading up to The Monster in The Maze, and soon as that had finished it had been three days of rehearsals before todays concert. I was ready for my summer holidays.

We exited the arena and walked out into the cordoned after area for the artists to leave through. Members of the crowd had gathered, waiting on the other side of the barriers. I’d had illusions of yet more applause as we left, but they’d clearly been unfounded as we were briefly glanced at, before people’s focus was brought elsewhere.

“Well the welcome is a bit lukewarm” I commented.

“Oh, just enjoy the moment will you?” Marjorie rolled her eyes.

 

*****

 

I was lying in my bed. It was late. The drive back from Nimes to Montpellier had seemed a lot longer than it actually had been. Marjorie was pressed against my chest, her breath warm against my neck and her hair definitely doing its best to smother me.

I kissed her on the forehead, only garnering a slight groan as a reaction. I waited and smiled when she held me closer.

The night had been absolutely magical. It had been completely new, full of feelings I’d never felt before.

As I felt my eyelids droop and my head sink further into the pillow I promised myself something. I promised that today wouldn’t be my crowning achievement. I promised myself I’d do everything in my power to fill my life with the kind of events that made me feel on the top of the world. I’d performed in front of fifteen thousand people in a choir. Someday, I’d perform in front of twenty thousand people as a soloist.

Couldn’t be that hard, right?