Michael Jackson Memories: Part One

If you're around for long enough, you suddenly find that everyday events become legendary over time. For large chunks of my working life I have been fortunate to work in radio. In the early '80's I had the privilege of working for BRMB Radio, then the most successful radio station in the Midlands. There wasn't much competition, mind, in those days. Anyway, to Michael Jackson. Most people who worked at BRMB then - and maybe now! - will remember this story.

My last radio studio. A bit more advanced than MP1!

The boy-wonder record rep for Sony - then CBS, I think - was Bobby Hermon. He was, and occasionally as a freelancer, still is, a colossus amongst what were known as 'record pluggers'. There's a whole story there, but that is for later. Michael had just signed his first solo record deal and so Bobby was hiking Michael on a promotional tour of what was known as the 'Big Five' commercial radio stations in the UK, mainly based in the metropolitan areas.

Michael J, as you know, had a fairly high voice. We all know this now, but then we didn't. We were his first set of interviews. Bobby bought Michael into what was known as studio MP1 (we think it might have meant Music Production 1. There were some sweet anachronisms with early BRMB. We were all a bit BBC in those days. The D.J's office had a plaque on the door that said 'Announcers'! Or was it Presenters. Memory dims...)

So the morning show presenter - let's call him Steven, to protect the shocked - stands to greet Michael. Bobby introduces Steven to Michael.

"Hi Steven", squeaked Michael.
And Steven, being an Announcer and thinking Michael is having a bit of a joke, squeaks back "Hi Michael!"

I left the studio at this point. Forever etched on my memory is an image of Steven laughing, thinking he's joining in a great joke, and Bobby H looking horrified. Michael seemed not to notice...

Melancholia... like Insania, but without an eejit singing!

Roger D. Scott - far right. R.I.P.

I'm feeling a bit low tonight, or should I say this morning (4.50am!) Partly because I've had a few hard Uni days, but also partly because I've had to walk away from a project that could have been great, but I was mislead somewhat by the originator. So it means I have time now, at least for a few hours, when I can be self indulgent. Every day for the last few months, including weekends, I've worked an average of 12 hours. Yesterday 18 hours, the day before 16 hours. All for no money!

I'm usually always fairly positive. But when not driven by work, and having reached an impasse in a hectic schedule, I sometimes find myself taking a quiet moment to reflect. And as they are often rare moments they can sometimes be intense.

Like Roger Scott. Not the radio jock, sadly no longer with us. But Roger D. Scott, even more sadly no longer with us. Scouty person, who has been around it seems for all my life, who wasn't a best friend, but a friend; an adult who was always there - who took me to his sisters farm when I was 12, who occasionally would talk to our Mother and gossip till dawn, owner of various scouty awards, with an occasional mid-Atlantic accent and a love of anecdote. Dear Roger who became a vicar and then Maverick Theatre's Chaplin, because he liked to support me and be involved, if I'd noticed. Roger the toastmaster who gave me an award for Services to the Arts in the Midlands and who, I think, I used to smile at in later life a bit too much and ignore a bit more than I should have done. But a character who was always smooth and easy and then died a few months ago with the same easy smooth grace, planning his funeral service from his hospital bed and then passing smoothly away at... what age? I don't, to my shame, even know that. Although he died from one of the hospital super bugs and I'm ashamed for all of us for knowing about that.

And I heard in London he had gone and I drove to Birmingham for the funeral service and arrived late. And as as I was let in, the porter, who recognised me from my days at BRMB Radio, many days ago indeed, muttered how Roger seemed to have known everyone and a packed crem was indeed testament to that. And the soul-searing 'Last Post' played on a solo trumpet. And the service and the final song, dignified and moving, 'Time To Say Goodbye'. And my brother's tears, dignified and moving.

I'm so sorry Roger, I let you slip. Time to say goodbye.

The Party's Over....

I've already Twittered that I can't believe that we had our last lecture tonight! It only feels like a month or so since I started Uni - an MA in Creative Producing - but of course it was last year. The work is not yet over. We have another presentation next week and our dissertation in September, but the formal bit is done and dusted. And although the time for 'real' work is upon me and I have to try and repay the thousands of pounds it's cost me in bank borrowings to do this course, I can't help but feel quite sad.

Have I changed? This was me 2 years ago...

http://www.artshub.co.uk/uk/news.asp?sId=163056&ref=admin#


Maybe not hugely? But I think I have.

As I've already mentioned I'm the first of my family to go to Uni, even though I think my siblings are far smarter and harder working than I, and I almost feel the experience should somehow last longer because of that. I've not had a full summer to learn the routes to cycle to lectures and get to know the real cheap student haunts or be wistful and longing or angry and student arrogant. I suppose its because its a Masters and only one year and unlike most of the others on my course I've not had three years previously taking a 'normal' degree. And maybe its age too; the fact that I'm going through these feelings in my 50's instead of my 20's. Although, as has been pointed out, I was having fun in other ways in my 20's!

And tonight we had a very apt lecture from producer Neil L. We've had some top talent talking to us on this course and Neil by his own confession, is and yet isn't, a major player. He's a real enigma; both supremely assured and simultaneously self-effacing. He managed to piss off some of the chorum at his first appearance with his strong and provocative opinions and assertions. But to be fair to him, our first time with Neil was also his first time with producers, instead of directors or actors. And we soon all warmed to him for his enthusiasm, passion and belief. And tonight, with his lecture entitled 'Surviving as a Producer', he became the first of our lecturers to get a spontaneous and genuinely warm round of applause.

Looking back on the lectures and lecturers we've had over this (fleeting and all too brief!) course, we've been spoiled with some of the very top names in the theatre industry. It's been an eye opener in many ways and if nothing else has made me realise the work I like doing - maybe I can call it a career now - the career I have chosen (or did it choose me?) is as tough as it was at the Billesley Pub in Birmingham.

The business of theatre producing, particularly commercial theatre, is tough and brutal and like most professionals in any tough business you have to be careful. But I've also realised from our lecturers that because this business IS so brutal and tough, there's a perceptible camaraderie amongst those that last the course. We've had lectures from some very hard nosed operators, but its obvious that they are full of admiration for us wanting to be in the game - even at student level. Once we graduate, these Uni philanthropes will treat us like any other competitor. And yet I can't help but feel that if any of us were REALLY in trouble, rather than laugh and spit on us, they may actually rally round and help if they can. In fact I know this for a fact. It sounds weird. And maybe it is unique to theatre.

And I know once I graduate, I shall always think very fondly of the professionals I have met through the course. And never forget Neils final lecture and the final, spontaneous round of applause from we producers to be. Or, indeed, that the first course of this type at Birkbeck appropriately ended with a spontaneous outburst of audience appreciation...

The NickBury Set.

I'm becoming aware of three things.

1. I'm the first of my family EVER to go to University. And I'm a bit pissed I've got to fork out nearly £5k in fees and survive with no income. Grants? Don't make me laugh! (I spit on this govt. But the previous one even more!)

2. I've almost finished my Masters even though I've hardly got used to it yet. And...

3. Because of 2. I should document it more. So here are some pics of the view around Birkbeck College, University of London. Including one of the most ridiculous wall plaques I've ever seen...


The pic of the ridiculous plaque is too ridiculously small. Next time perhaps.

But don't you just LOVE George Birkbeck? Go Doc...

Flat out.

I feel really knackered and yet strangely satisfied. I'm at Uni and earning nothing and the last loan I had is about to run out, but I went to lectures today in Russell Square and Gordon Square and was aware of the awesome pedigree surrounding me. On almost every building there are blue plaques. Christina Rossettii lived down the road, Keynes, Virginia Wolfe, Lyton Stracey and the whole Bloomsbury Set lived and worked in the buildings I'm now studying in. It's quite effecting. I see a job for an Associate Producer. It's part-time till August, then full time at the Edinburgh festival, for a play about the Monty Python team. Perfect. I apply with not much hope. x

Happy St George's Day?

There seems to be a whole forced thing about why we should celebrate St George's day. Now I say we, but with a name like Hennegan, guess where I hail from!

It could be argued it's a xenophobic backlash! Ooo the Scottish can do their thing, the noo, and the Welsh and the Irish are all so... identifiable. But not we, the English. We mustn't upset anyone. National days are not for us. Surely, though, England to the other home nations is like a big and more successful elder brother. The bastard's always beating you, but you're stuck with him. Part of the family though, and so you're not going to give him an easy ride. We English, like a big and more successful elder brother, might not like the crap we take, but we still appreciate our siblings.
And while the Tories and right wing papers get hysterical about any perceived (and usually misreported) slight to our national identity - "they're not teaching about W.W. 2 anymore" (Wrong) "We can't mention the holocaust because it upsets the Muslims" (Wrong again) I actually find this kind of attitude sloppy and lazy.
Surely England stands for things greater than national costumes and food? Democracy, for instance. Magna Carta was a moment in the world, was it not? Is that arrogant? Possibly, but that's what I think being English is about. Not arrogance, but one of the reasons I've not yet applied for my Irish passport is that to my mind the quintessential thing about being English is that we shouldn't have to worry about visible markers in the sand (or the tabloid newspapers). Being English to me is being proud of my Bangladeshi neighbours who work all the hours God sends and have introduced my Birmingham neighbourhood to a new style of food. I don't mind St George's day, whoever he was! Its an excuse to say Happy National Day. But to my mind Being English should be about being passionate, but sensitive and most importantly comfortable with being English! Not getting arsey if other nations have better dances, or flags, or attitudes to national days. Being English should be about saying, yep, we are English, but you are your nationality, and as an Englishman, I embrace that. Not patronising, but happy in our English skins. And seeing other nations having a good time. I suppose the only other Big Good Reason for St George's day is commercial exploitation. But that's another story.

And if not, feck ya all ya English gits - me Dad's from Co Mayo!

Heh!

x

Super Tuesday!

God. What a day. Today (later) Rebs has a recall for a commercial. I will hear if the only source of finance left to keep Maverick Theatre alive is going to kill us or carry on with our application for funding and I have my first ever presentation to potential commercial theatre funders at the Actors Centre in London. Watch this space. We've run out of dosh, so tomorrow will be kill or cure.

Mmm. But at least I'm not Jade Goody.

No. I had no empathy with her either. But a loss is a loss, poor them.