PETER DAWSON HAS NEVER HAD "MIKE FRIGHT’

New Zealand Listener, Volume 6, Issue 153, 29 May 1942, Page 8

PETER DAWSON HAS NEVER HAD "MIKE FRIGHT’

But Television Is Terrifying

ing New Zealand, for a series of NBS broadcasts and "Liberty" Concerts, claims to be one of those rare souls who never suffer from "mike fright." "All the same, I. much prefer concert work," Mr. Dawson confessed to me. "I do like to have a flesh and blood audience-I like to be able to see people’s reactions and adjust myself accordingly. But I don’t remember being scared the first time I faced a mike. Radio work’s O.K. But wait till you try television!" I waited. "It’s awful," he said, impressively. "You know how bad it is getting your photo taken? Well, imagine what it’s like when you know you're getting your photo taken and you're expected to be singing at the same time, And what’s worse, is that afterwards you don’t even get a chance of seeing what you've looked like. "Then there are all sorts of queer distractions going on while you’re supposed to: be singing. There are men crawling round the floor placing lights, and technicians giving signals, and people tripping here and there waving arc lamps. I knew someone who bolted right in the middle of the programme. He just couldn’t stand it. And I don’t blame him." xe DAWSON, now visitFilm Work is Different "How do these singing film stars manage?" I wanted to know. "It must be distracting for them having directors shouting through megaphones and furniture being shifted and people rushing on and off." ; "Singing in a film is comparatively easy," said Mr. Dawson. "You see, you make all the sound track first- it’s just recorded in a studio-and then you synchronise it with the action afterwards. When you see a screen star ‘singing, she isn’t really singing, she’s just mouthing the words in time to the music. Oh, no, it wouldn’t suit some of these female stars if they had to sing in front of the camera. They’d have to open «their mouths too wide and then they wouldn’t look so pretty. "Have you done much film work?" "T’ve been in one or two British films. There was one called Chips, for which I wrote the musical score, as well as doing some acting. The last thing I appeared in was O.K. for Sound, with Flanagan and Allen and the Crazy Gang. I enjoyed doing that. I was a sailor, and had to sing something called ‘The Fleet’s Not in Port Very Long.’ It’s quite a good song." No Hollywood Ambitions "The trouble with film-making is that ‘there’s such a lot of hanging around," wae on Mr. Dawson. " You’ve got to

be on the set for hours even though you may not be required. I remember one day when we went on the set at 6.30 a.m., had 10 minutes off for breakfast at nine, and then went on working till 1 o'clock. Then there was a break for lunch, we worked again from 2 to 4.30, started again at 5 and worked on without a break till 2 a.m. But of course that was only because the director wanted to get something finished. But then it’s surprising how often the director does want to get something finished." "Ever thought of going to Hollywood?" I asked. "No, I don’t aspire to such heights. For one thing, film-making’s too much like hard work, for another they haven’t asked me. But I don’t think I’d want to." He Prefers a Mixture On his present tour, Peter Dawson has Henri Penn as his accompanist, and rehearsing with Henri Penn is, for Mr. Dawson, mostly a matter of recalling old times; each old dog-eared copy of a ballad that is turned up reminds him of someone he knew in Blackpool or Melbourne, Sydney or London, a singer perhaps, or a/publisher, or some tour manager. Peter Dawson first met his present accompanist in London, and they have come across each other at intervals ever since. As I listened to them rehearsing at 2YA it was plain that each knew exactly what the other wanted. One question we had looked forward to asking this man with a big voice was, "Do women like the men’s songs you sing?" "Men’s songs?" said Mr. Dawson. "Tm sure I don’t know how they like them." Try again, we thought. " What do you like singing best?" "Well, it’s a sort of mixture I sing, you know. I like a mixture of things."

M.

B.

a _- HIS FIRST CONCERT ETER DAWSON is a_ miniature vaudeville show in himself. After his first item (a Handel song) at the Wellington "Liberty" Concert last week, he rubbed his hands, mopped his brow, and then, as the applause dfed down, said: "Hm, Good old Handel." He would rather forget the words of a song than impede his gentures with a slip of paper, and during "The Changing of the Guard," he swung round: "Oh! I’ve forgotten the ruddy thing now." He is considerate, and before starting one song he remembered that ‘a ‘choir and an orchestra were behind him, "I'll sing the first verse of this one to the people on’ the dresser here," he said, turning his back on their Excellencies to enable the other performers to hear his voice direct. ‘Waltzing Matilda" does not seem to be the song nearest to Peter Dawson’s heart, because he said he was singing it by request and had sung it (Continued on next page)

(Continued from previous page) only once before on a record. This was one song of which he did require a copy : in front of him. " Let’s have a look at it," he said, putting on his glasses. "*Under the shade of a koolibah tree.’ What’s a ‘koolibah tree?’ You've got to have a ‘koolibah tree’ in an Australian song, but I’m an Australian and I’ve never seen one." Neither our readers nor Mr. Dawson himself will expect us to discuss his singing from the serious artistic angle; his strength lies in the command he has over his voice and the audience. Whatever he is using it for, Peter Dawson controls his voice perfectly, and he uses an entertaining personality to make the audience react exactly as he may want it to. He has only to announce his next song with a little humble diffidence as if it were nothing much really, and the whole theatre is in an uproar of enthusiastic expectation.