How I Sang Into A B.B.C. Microphone —Then Burst Into Tears!

Radio Record, Volume VIII, Issue 33, 22 February 1935, Page 56

How I Sang Into A B.B.C. Microphone —Then Burst Into Tears!

This story was written for the "Radio Record" by Joan Laird who, as Auntie Joan, was known and loved by thousands of North Island listeners in the days when the Wellington broadcasting station, 2ZW, was in existence.

THESE words of my old sitiging-master’s have helped me through many moments of blinding nervous-hess-moments before the microphone when my vocal chords felt as though they were choking me and my heart was thumping like a’ sledge hammer. But let me go back to 1929, when I was a rather lonely girl endeavouring to "break in" on the*musical world of London. . The B.B.C. was at that time forming a great new choir, now known‘as the. National Chorus, and were inviting singers from:all.over London to send in appiications. . Armed only. with a few months of vocal training but full of determination, and inspired with encouragement from kind ‘friends, plus a very earnest desire to sing for the B.B.C. symphony concerts ‘under the batons of Europe’s famous conductors, I sent in -my application. The forms stated that each choralist was to be judged for tone, range, diction, sight reading, and also requited to be a good soloist. .. There were 6000 applicants in all; out of that number 1000 were invited to a solo test, and to my tnbounded joy I was.among them, but that was only the beginning. The test for the sopranos was "O Rejoice Greatly," from, "Tne Messiah," -scales, and a sight-reading test. There followed for me days of anxiety, and then came the great day itself, when I found myself for the first time in my life before’a microphone. It was not the microphone that really terrified me, but the very important men that could be seen wearing headphones who were to’ judge whether or not I possessed a broadcasting voice. Mr. Stanford Robinson, who had been chosen as choirmaster for the National Chorus, was there, looking very:stern, though with. just a faint smile of encouragement on his face. I think had he

% really sympathised with my very apparent fright I would have burst into’tears and fled, and been for ever filled with shame and remorse. Feeling like a patient in a dentist’s chair about to have the gas mask put over my face, I heard Mr. Robinson say, "Now then, just face the microphone and let us have ‘O Rejoice Greatly.’" I opened my mouth but no sound came-I.wanted the ground to open and swallow me. At a-word of encouragement I tried again, this time more sticcessfully. Next came the scales, followed by the. sight-reading test. Here my nerves failed me, I burst into tears and said, "Oh, why do ‘people break down at a critical time like this?" One of the judges, a very kind man (probably with ambitious daughters of his own) came over to me, patted my. shoulder and said, "Never mind, you haven’t done as badly as you -think." "Oh! for another'chance," I kept thinking. during the next few days as I tapped away at my typewriter ; and more in keeping with a novel, it came in the form, of a letter from the B.B.C. to the effect that they recog-. nised my nervousness and would be pleased to give me another test. From being in the depths of despair I was up in the clouds again, thrilled with the fairness. of it all, for I knew I could do it, though I didn’t know © they knew it, and this time I went before that ‘little "mike" to WIN. . Yes,. I was still nervous, but dif-. ferently somehow, for I felt that those men were ‘not there to criticise and judge me, but to give me a chance to show what I could do, and so I went through that second audition and left the studio feeling that even if. I did not perhaps possess a voice that the B:B.C. wanted, rs ‘I had at least not failed myself. A few days later 1) was the. proud possessor of a neat little card which will be a lifelong treasure, inscribed "National. Chorus, Member’s Pass." "I was, one of the lucky 250 chosen from the 1000 to represent the B.B.C.’s. great new choir. There followed ‘weeks and weeks of wonderful tehearsals' and never-to-be-forgotten symphony ‘ concerts. Space does not permit me to tell you all I should like to about them, except that.on one occasion when Sir Hamilton Harty was conducting, I was. so overcome by his magnificent conducting that I could hardly sing. His music was scattered across the stage, and beads _ of perspiration stood out.on his.brow. At the close :of the concert I could not refrain from dashing behind ‘stage and impulsively wringing his hand.’ Theri: there were the remarkable scenes at the Queen’s Hall when the Promenade Concert. (Continued on page 60.)

tow [ Sang . Into a BBC. : ‘Microphone -- Then Burst Into Tears (Continued from page 56.)

i et 6 ee ee conducted by Sir Henry Wood, included Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, with the B.B.C. National Chorus singing the choral finale. The performance was at that time a rare event in London, and the choral section had never been included in a promenade concert before. ‘The hall was packed to capacity; hundreds were turned away, and the police had te barricade the doors against the hundreds who still tried to force their way in. Is it any wonder that I felt privileged to have been chosen to sing in a choir which performed works by such great men as Beethoven? Now my story switches back to New Zealand, for my health broke; I could not stand up to the severe Bnglish winters, and so I had to bid farewell to those glorious musical events. Another of my treasured possessions is a letter from the B.B.C, expressing regret at my resignation and thanking me for the hard work I had contributed towards its success. Yes, each and every choralist was treated as an individual, and for that I can never speak too highly of the magnificence of the B.B.C. Within its walls one sensed the real love and knowledge of music, for the keynote was Sincerity. 5 Arriving back in my homeland still nursing my ambitions, I approached the programme organiser of 1YA for an engagement. There was the usual dreaded. audition to go through. One would have credited me with having all the confidence in the world after passing a test for the B.B.C., but no, I again experienced that same awful feeling of nervousness. However, periodical engagements followed, but I soon realised that to earn a living at broadcasting in New Zealand would be a very hard and precarious battle. Then fate stepped in, and I was appointed woman. announcer at station 22, Wellington, and found myself with a little studio and a microphone that seemed to be my very own. Many "Radio Record"-readers will no doubt remember 2ZW-I could write . for hours recalling happy reminiscences, and -to -siy that I loved my work at that. little station would be to express my feelings mildly. ‘The little ."‘mike" became a part of me; perhaps you would like to me say_now that I conquered my nervousness. and lived happily. ever after. Oh no, there were many times when I was just as nervous taking my children’s sessions as I was-at my first audition. That is where temperament plays such a big part. . When rumour said that station 2ZW would soon be no more, I decided to carry my vocal ambitions which had by this time become a big part of radio, to Australia, the supposed land ef opportunity. There I found conditions-everything-different again from those in England and New Zealand. To go from a B class station in New Zealand to a B class station in Australia, presents an almost unbelievable. contrast.

In Sydney alone, one finds artists of every description from all over Europe awaiting their opportunity. Yes, there are opportunities, many of them, but one must first invariably have _ influence to even get an _ audition. Letters, references, or the fact that you have sung for the B.B.C. mean absolutely nothing at one of these stations unless there is someone to speak for you; even then it is a hard fight, as I have proved. There is no sentiment in a B class station in Australia, but that is not the case with the A class. There one is given a chance to show what one can do and is engaged accordingly. I can recall several very happy associations with stations 2BL and 2FO, Sydney, and station 3AR, Melbourne, One has to go through the same heartbreaking auditions of course, but a much happier atmosphere is present for the A class stations in Australia, encourage whole-heartedly flesh and blood talent. Reverting to temperament again, I would here like to give you just a little incident which happened to me one Saturday night when I was engaged to sing at one of 2BL’s old-time dance nights. Knowing that many of my New Zealand friends would be listening in, I naturally felt more nervous than usual, so thought I would take along with mea _ little diluted sal volatile. Five minutes before my first song I _ hastened from the studio to drink my little pick-me-up, and on taking a hurried gulp, discovered to my horror that I had taken the wrong bottle. I had drunk half a bottle of neat sal volatile instead of the much diluted concoction. I certainly paid dearly for temperament that night, for I was violently. sick, and my throat felt like burning coals. However, I faced the microphone and sang my first song, "The Rosary." Many readers will no doubt remember that night, as I received many letters from New Zealand listeners saying they had heard me. Fate was kind to me: no one noticed my discomfiture, and I got through without a mishap, but I have never sung "The Rosary" since, I can assure you, for it recalls that awful experience too vividly. Several engagements followed at the A class stations, including a talk about my London experiences in connection with the National Chorus. I must say I found the A.B.C. in Australia wonderfully kind, but to succeed at a B class station there, one must not expect sentiment, for there,is a vast difference between singing five songs at an old time dance night, and telling lis‘teners all about the bargains to be found at Messrs. So and So down the street. Also, one must be prepared to do anything. I was called upon by a very jarge firm in Sydney to view all the big windows in their store, write a story on the new Spring goods there, and broadcast it from a certain B class station under the heading of a Spring Cocktail. Later I was requested to write a story on "Life Behind the

Scenes of a Mannequin Parade" andi *proadeast that as well. It was not: "easy work but; it was intensely inter--' esting. Then; again -at a moment’s/ notice I was called upon to take threeSaturday morning children’s parties: at this big store, as the usual Aunt was. away ill. I naturally thought I should. be in my element having done so much. of it here, but a big shock awaited me.. The kiddies at these parties thought: more of the presents and the nice: things to eat than of being at a party with a radio aunt. Even the lavish. entertainments provided for them by: minstrels was received by many of* them with bored expressions, so in--tent were they on the cakes and lemon--ade before them. It is not their fgult: that they lack the responsiveness\ Wet: our New Zealand children give tot Be: radio aunts and uncles, for everythi g: is so entirely different. To tell a child. that by writing in to so and so, hewould receive two cakes of chocolates. for the price of one, naturally tends to: make him mercenary. Letters from my little radio frieniis. here in New Zealand came as a wel--come tonic every week, and I very often: found myself thinking about one particular little girl who came up to me: a few minutes before T went on boani prior to my departure for Sydney, and handed me a shilling saying, "That is: for your tram fares in Australia, AuntieJoan." Another happy little incident comes to me as I write; after speaking to thechildren one Sunday evening at a 2BL. children’s sessiom about our lovely New Zealand birds, I received a letter from. an old New Zealander and his wife who were tucked away in their little hohe in the Blue Mountains. They were thriled to hear a New Zealander speaking about the birds, and invited me up to their home where I could see: many kookaburras eating out of their hands. I enjoyed a very happy day isi the mountains with those old folk, ana whenever I think of them, I am reminded of the lovely, thoughts that broadcasting has the power to bring into our homes. The past seems now more like w& dream than reality. With a little imagination I might never have been away from this little country, but exper i~ ences are good to remember. You will be curious perhaps to learn my feelings now regarding those big ambitions that meant so much to me. Hag it been worth it? Emphatically, yes, for unless one suffers and has to strive for the realisation of his or her hopes.and dreams, one cannot appreciate rel happiness when it comes his way. , .