So the week before I start a new job I lose my voice.
Winning the Munster Hurling Final is to blame of course.
Generally speaking an actors most valued attribute is his voice. I'm pretty sure a deep-seated love of talking is what leads some people to become actors (that and a serious masochistic streak I would say are essential to be honest.) and actors talk.........a lot. Why is it that we always want more lines than we have? Why is it that we love the sound of our own voices? And why do we always talk about ourselves. Jesus I don't know, but its certainly the case. If you can't read the lines you won't get the job. If you can't be heard in the back row of the Gods you wont get the job and if you can't charm the casting panel with your practised wit and polished brogue you're well fecked buddy, so just walk away there and then and save yourself the bother. A good clear articulate voice is essential she said in the back room of the Guildford School of Acting. 'But what about the morning after a deadly mad session the night before?' I hear you cry! 'The voice is never too shit hot after one those! Are you saying you have to sacrifice that?'
Fuck no!
In my case my voice is generally back to the land of the living after a seisúin mór just in time for the evening show at 7.30. I try to be a little less mad the night before a matinee and of course it all depends on the role and its hangoverability (more on that later). While I was in previews for Calico a number of us gatecrashed the Olivier Awards as i mentioned previously. It was a night spent drinking copious amounts of wine and ending up in that wonderful lady (and Olivier nominee) Tracie Bennett's room drinking vodka until 5 in the morning. I had rehearsals the next morning at 11. I was still full of vodka. I sobered up for the show of course and the voice was fine when it came to delivering the lines but the small bit of singing I had did not go so well and the director remarked the next morning that he could hear the half four vodka in my voice. I made a mental note never to tell a director where I had been the night before again. As for auditions, well I have to admit to going to an morning audition last year having not been to bed at and still a bit tipsy from an evenings merriment. I got the job. Sound. But its still not that advisable. If I'm singing for the Audition I'll be a good boy, if its for a play I'm a bit more lax. But I feel after nearly 4 years at this game i know how to handle the voce pretty well.
Famous last words.
I was back in the land of the Déise of course and we won the hurling. In style. Now I confess to know very little about the mighty Gaelic sport of hurling. But I have to say I go a bit mad when I watch it. Especially when I'm standing on the terraces in Semple Stadium in Thurles watching one of the most nail biting Munster finals in Waterford's history. The sheer excruciating tension of which was only broken when, as all eyes were fixed on the pitch with so much concentration that you would hear a pin drop, that great man of words Ultan Hayden uttered the immortal line;
'Come on lads....... dig deep, aim high!'
You had to be there.
But it was drama of the highest order and no doubt with the fighting Déise battling the Cork rebels despite one of our star players, John Mullane, being sent off for pucking a Cork langer in the head with his hurley. I was in the school choir with the aforementioned Mr. Mullane (He was a 1st year when i was a 6th year) and we used to give him an awful time about messing. Needless to say that wouldn't happen nowadays that he's a big mad hurler and I'm a poncey actor. I live in hope that he has put those choir days to the far recesses of his mind. Another valued attribute to an actor is his face, and while mine won't launch any ships or toilet products, the butt of a hurley in it would indeed lessen my chances at auditions. But I digress. To say that the Waterford fans present in Thurles that day turned at times into screaming lunatics would not be an overstatement. We went mental. As every ball went over the bar, as each goal went in, as the ref gave away each free I could feel the larynx being ripped out of me as I roared, and I mean ROARED, along with the crowd. No big stage shouts as we were trained to do at drama school, no supporting from my diaphragm, all that shite went out the window. Gutteral, primal sounds were roared at the men in blue and white who to us were no longer sportsmen, but warriors of old! Like the fecking Fianna they were!!! And we as their supporters sang powerful chants to give the Déise soldiers fire in their bellies. An age old chant from the mists of time which went;
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap clap)
'WA-TER-FORD!' (clap clap...........jesus noddy keep in fecking time will ya!!!!!!)
It is not in our make up as Déise men to sing that song nicely, so this was further damage to the vocal chords. The final straw however came when Paul Flynn Stepped up to take a free late in the second half. Cork were slightly ahead and all eyes were on him and everyone thought he would send it over the bar for an easy point. Me Bollocks!!!!! GOAL! He drove it into the back of the Cork net like Setanta killing the hound of Chullain! YOU FUCKING LEGEND!!!! Mayhem on the terraces as the Déise crowd erupted! We're all screaming! Kevin Kehoe has nearly crippled an elderly gentleman in front of him and I feel me voice go. That's it then. No voce. It's officially gone dear and i can feel me glands closing in to try and repair the damage. Even when they blow the final whistle and we've beaten those Cork bastards by a point and Paul 'Flex' Browne is in floods of tears and I'm leaping up and down but the sound coming from my mouth is far from healthy. 'Of course you went straight home after the match to rest up the chords?' I hear you expect. Don't ya know me by now boy. We drove back to town and it was straight into the fair Downes' for a refreshing large bottle, then home for the shower and back into town to the musical mecca known as the Munster Bar to watch the game all over again on the big screen! GO ON PAUL FLYNN! Ouch! Now the voice is beginning to hurt. More beer will sort that of course. Of course not. It got to the stage where I had to leave that last chance saloon known as Muldoons early. Jesus there must've something up with me. There was. Me voice was completely fucked at that stage. Thank God I had a week to recover for the Willows aren't windy until the following monday. I'm shitting a few bricks but it should be grand, sure I've got a full seven days to recover. The phone goes. Tis the agent;
'They've rung me from Lord of the Rings and they want to do a new recording of the script, so you'll need to be back here for Friday the 2nd. Good news.'
Good news of course, it means they were happy enough with me at the workshops that they want me to go back and do some more work. This is only a good thing and hopefully will mean I'm a little bit closer to being in the full production. Middle-Earth here I come! Again! And its just a reading of the script so that's handy. Hang on, reading? Oh sure that's brilliant!! I have zero fecking voice for christ's sake! If I was shitting bricks about the first day of rehearsals of Willows now I'm building walls and possibly small McInerny houses. I can't turn up there with no voice. So the rest of the week is spent taking it easy. Well............except for the night after the final when I get blind drunk again. I've got a problem I tell ya! Lack of fecking cop on! Help! I'm woken from my drunken stupor the next morning by the agent and she is the bringer of bad tidings indeed;
'They rang from Working Title.'
AH! The Pride and Prejudice people. Yes yes go on...
'The director has narrowed it down to a couple of people for the part you read for and you're one of them,'
Legend!
'So they rang to check your availability...'
Yes! This is good!
'....for a week from the 19th of July.'
Shite! This is not good!
My agent already knows that that's the last week of rehearsals for Wind in the Willows and that's when a big discussion starts about whether I should back out of Willows which I say is impossible as we start rehearsals in 6 days. When you sign a contract you do the work. That's the way I see it. So that's that for my film debut. I've since found out that my scenes would have been with Kiera Knightley. Ah shit! That put me in a bad mood for a week.
'What's wrong with your voice?' quoth the agent.
'Waterford won the munster final.' hoarsely quoth I. She didn't get it.
Neither did I. The film that is. But hey ho. Onward to Middle Earth then. So after a few days of rest, relaxation and getting the voce back up to scratch I'm back in the London in a studio about to read the latest script of Lord of the Rings the musical. Now I'm not allowed tell you anything about it as this time they made me sign away my second born child if I should divulge anything. I would like kids at some stage. I can tell you that before the recording started I had a good auld chat with the producer of the show of the decade, who's a grand chap from Limerick. So I go into great detail about waterford's victory in the Munster championship and he's very entertained by my spirited retelling, but by the end of it I can feel the voice going again. Oh shite. So its still not recovered from Paul Flynn's goal. Bollocks. By the end of the day of elfing and hobbiting (which I cannot speak about) it was well knackered. No beer for me at the weekend then! Crap. But I'm a pro and a good boy I am. I Don't go out and I keep the chat to a minimum so as to make sure I'm alright for rehearsals. And I am in the end. Thank Jesus.
And so come monday morning I make the journey into Regent's Park. Its a place I know very well at this stage and whereas normally first days, meeting strangers who you are now about to work with for the next while, can be a bit nerve wracking, I'm well at home here. I'm feeling cool about the voice as well. It feels good and strong. There's nothing worse than turning up for a read through on the first day with no voice, as all the rest of the cast look at you wondering 'How the hell did he get this job?'. I know. It happened me last year and it wasn't pleasant. The Waterford Air Guitar Championships were to blame. But I digress and that's a story for another time. This read through, however, goes very well indeed and there's a good feeling in the room and the writer even compliments me on my reading. This could be a good show. In the afternoon we do some singing and some sweet sounds come out of me if I do say so myself. Nice. After a day like that I'm on a good buzz about doing the show, I feel I can do this well and its going to be a good auld craic.
By the end of the following day the voice is gone again.
Shite. As I mentioned before the beer intake during a show depends on the hangoverability of the role your playing. ie; How easy the show is to do with a bad hangover. Generally this effects the antics of the night before a matinee. On willows we only have matinees. Add to this the fact that - I'll be jumping around the stage for the best part of two hours in the open air singing and dancing in a big green suit and delivering my lines in a high pitched posh English accent which is so vocally demanding for me that I'm hoarse after just two days rehearsals - and a very bleak picture begins to be painted.
It was shaping up to be a very sober summer.
