Brit.i.am at the Red Dirt International Film Festival

Last weekend, I went to my first film festival. Here's what happened. 

When I got the email saying my short film, Brit.i.am, had been accepted into a film festival, I was delighted but then sad that I wasn’t going to see it on the big screen. The festival was in Oklahoma and it seemed an awful long way to go to watch a five minute film. In fact, my journey there would have been 129 times longer than the actual film (yes, I just stopped to work that out. That’s how committed I am to delivering the facts, dear reader).

Entering film festivals is a lengthy and potentially expensive process which involves hours of admin. Some festivals are free but many charge a submission fee and so essentially you’re taking a punt on your film being good enough or what the festival curators are looking for. Festival entries are really an admin-heavy form of gambling and up until this point our gambling was not paying off as we’d received a heck of  a lot of no’s. 

They were all very polite but after a while you can sense a ‘no’ email from thirty paces. I would read three words and know which way the wind was going to blow.  'Dear filmmaker' and then I would scan the rest of the text for the word 'unfortunately'. I had no idea if Brit.i.am was suitable for festivals, if we’d entered into the right categories or even the right festivals. Many of them I’d never heard of and if it weren’t for guidance from my friend and director of the piece, Adam who'd already had work including in festival line ups, I wouldn’t have had a clue where to start. There are over 6000 film festivals worldwide from Cannes right down to Van D’or, a festival… in a van!

So when we got the nod from the Red Dirt International Film Festival, I was more than happy but for some reason decided it was frivolous to go all that way to watch a five minute film. Then I discovered we were nominated for an award. Well, of course that changed everything! Be it a 25 meters swimming badge or a film gong, who would turn down the chance to pick up an award?

I was more than a little anxious about going there alone. Where the hell was Stillwater, Oklahoma, how would I get there and would I need to watch Oklahoma! the musical as research? 

  

Even though I came to Los Angeles alone I've always been a bit scared of solo travel. It makes me nervous and I’m not even sure why. On previous holidays, boyfriends have always taken care of the details, navigation was never my department. I've only taken a few trips by myself since then (usually to places I already know) and whilst I have gotten better at enjoying the experience, for some reason this trip still made me anxious. 

I kept putting off booking and started wondering if I would ever really go but then I thought, I'm already in the States, it seems nuts not to. So I let my fingers do the talking, went online and booked a flight, hotel and car. Right then, I thought. Oklahoma City here I come... Please don’t be racist. 

Fast forward six weeks and I'm on the smallest plane I've ever seen heading east like a back-tracking pioneer. The plane had two seats either side of the aisle and the rows were so closely packed that anyone over six foot would have to be a yoga master to get in them. I now understand why Americans complain about people reclining their seats. On these planes you practically have the head of the person in front of you in your lap.   

The guy next to me chugged a coffee then promptly fell asleep. Hmm, I thought. I think I've been doing coffee wrong because that is not the effect it has on me. 

I had a restless doze until we landed. I picked up my hire car and before long was on the open highway, the wind in my hair and the air conditioning blasting an icy breeze into my face. Luckily my phone had GPS because, like I say, map reading is not my strong suit. If I'd been on Christopher Columbus’ boat, Guernsey would now be known as the South Indies.

I tapped in Oklahoma State University where the festival was taking place and about an hour later, after long stretches of practically empty freeway, I turned into a narrow road.

The road got narrower as I approached my destination. On either side of me were vast open fields but no buildings save for a few farm shacks. I was a bit worried but trusted my GPS.  If she says OSU is on Coyle Road then that’s where it must be…even if all I'd passed in the last ten minutes were prairies. I was more likely to see Laura Ingles than a sorority girl.

Besides, I was reluctant to ask for directions in case I was told to turn left at the boy with the banjo. Finally GPS chimed, "you have reached your destination!". I pulled over and looked around. Bloody hell. I hope not, I thought. Aside from the odd barn, there was nothing. It looked like I’d been airlifted onto the set of True Detective. Uh oh. I was praying that Mrs GPS had misheard me, thinking I’d asked for Oklahoma State Farming and Occult Murder Academy. I googled OSC and fortunately found a new address, praying this wouldn’t take me into some Deliverance-type situation but the place I actually needed to get to. Before long, I was back on the main roads heading into Stillwater. Not, of course, before I'd passed a pile of snake on the side of the road. Oklahoma clearly has a classier type of roadkill, one that you can make a nice handbag out of.

In hindsight, I’m glad I got that detour because I saw that Oklahoma is very beautiful and much more luscious than Los Angeles, which isn't hard considering its essential a city dropped in the middle of a desert. I also saw where the festival got its name. The earth is a hearty, browny, red colour. It looks so fertile and full of goodness that if you ate food grown here, you’d immediately acquire super powers.

Finally, I arrived. The university was stunning. The college I’d gone to was tiny so to be on the grounds of such a vast intuition was impressive. OSU has several sites and a lot more facilities than the place I went to. They had a huge library, a student union the size of some council offices and their own stadium. The closest my college came to having a stadium was a ping pong table at the SU bar.

 

I immediately got stuck into the festival and went to watch some short films (I also wanted to check out the competition, of course).

After, I headed out to a local restaurant for dinner. It was a largely uneventful meal although I was tickled by the fact that when I asked for the wine list I was told “We’ve run out of our wine”. “No worries”, I said. “I’ll have a beer”. When in Rome.

The following day, in the back of my mind, I knew the awards ceremony was at nine that evening. It was wonderful to be nominated but you can’t help entertaining the idea of winning. Just in case, I did a trial run of my ‘I’m happy for you’ face in case another film won. Broad smile, gritted teeth, big clapping. Perfect.

Brit.i.am screened in the morning and after there was a Q and A. I was very proud to be talking about the film and so pleased people were interested in asking questions. The only downside was, the air-conditioning in the room was set to artic so I was shivering throughout the whole thing. I looked like a proud Chihuahua. 

Eventually the evening came around and everyone filed into the main room. It was well-attended and there was an air of excitement in the room. This was to be the close of this small film festival and it was exciting.

The room was getting packed with only a few empty seats dotted around. An older gentleman politely asked if the seat by me was taken. Not at all, I said. Unbeknownst to him I had been practically willing him to sit there because he was Grey Frederickson, producer of the Godfather and Apocalypse Now. 'No it's empty. Please sit!' I said, in an overly-friendly way. What I should have said was, “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse”.

The experimental film category which Brit.i.am was in was third to be announced.

"And the winner is..." said the host and just as she was about to name the film, a film maker who'd been in the bathroom when his category was announced, walked in.  The room erupted because they knew he'd won an award and he didn't. Rightly so, the host playful did a repeat performance of the category’s announcement and needless to say, the filmmaker was delighted. The room erupting once again with laughter and applause.

And so back to best experimental film and the winner was Brit.i.am. 

I was beyond delighted. 

The organisers of the festival had been so supportive of the film not only in selecting it for their festival but in encouraging people to come and see it.

After picking up the award and posing for photos I sat back down as Grey leaned in. 'Congratulations', he whispered. 'Thank you!' I whispered back. Unreal, I thought. 

I had such a great time and even if we hadn’t picked up our award, it was still very much worth the journey in so many ways. I met great people, I attended my first film festival, I saw a beautiful part of the country and the award was the additional, shiny icing on the cake that made it even more worthwhile.

This post is dedicated to the wonderful contributors and crew that made Brit.i.am possible and to my good friend Adam who directed and edited Brit.i.am and created this little gem of a film. 

Other posts you may enjoy: An interview with Gary Goldstein - I speak with the producer of Pretty Woman, Fight For Your Writes - a post on writing and Loving Lupita - posted following Lupita N'yongo's oscar win.

Britiam facebook page 

My Big Ass Singing Class - The Point of No Return!

Following last week’s post about my Big Ass Singing Class, here’s what happened on the day of the final open master class.

Last week I took part in an open master class of Singing and Speech for Actors. Though a large part of the program focuses on singing, the purpose of the two week course is to give participants access to their voice, which David Coury, a vocal coach and our teacher, reminds us is, “The organ of the soul”.

So what does that mean? Well for me, it was about getting to the truth of who we are. Cutting through the bullshit and sharing the authentic essence of ourselves.

Particularly in acting, it’s easy to simply present a mask, hiding behind the words someone else has written or the character someone else has created, evading using who we really are to bring that character to life and so in this course, SFA 2.1 Point Of No Return, we are encouraged to strip away that superficial exterior and just be ourselves, which is harder than it sounds.

In performing a song in front of an audience the temptation to get showy, is strong,  waving our hands around, diva-like, closing our eyes because we’re lost in the music but weirdly, all that, as pleasing to the eye as it may seem, takes you and the audience out of the experience. By being you, staying with the audience and keeping your intention on them, something greater than simply a performance unfolds. David Coury told us, “don’t sing. Tell a story on key”, an entirely different proposition.

The format of the course was that all ten students met with David in closed sessions for two weeks prior to the open master class. In that time, we had to select and rehearse two songs. One would be what was referred to as a gender bender, a song that shouldn’t work when someone of the opposite sex sings it. For example a woman might sing, Me and Mrs Jones or a guy might take on I’m Every Woman.

By using material that we wouldn’t normally perform, it brought the lyrics to life in a way that a “performed” version couldn’t. I heard lyrics to songs I knew well in a totally new way.  

We also had to write a ninety second story about our lives. Again, easier said than done. It’s hard not to compare yourself to others or try and cherry-pick the most dramatic highlights for effect. But because we had two weeks, we were able to work through that and find an elegant way of saying the things we wanted to say, leave behind the things that we realised were irrelevant and get down to the core  of who we really are. Even this process was powerful. I saw, as I wrote about my life’s events, that none of them where as significant to me as I had once thought. Yes, bad things happened, as did good, yes, I’ve achieved stuff I’m proud of, but in the final analysis, not many of those things were what I really wanted to say about myself. Life events seemed just that, events. They weren’t me and I really appreciated coming to that conclusion organically over the course of the two weeks.

Finally, we would end our piece with an a capella song, something we love singing and that we coulld naturally segue into from our stories.

So it’s Thursday night. We’ve just had our last session with David. We ran our accompanied songs a couple of times. After, he gives us notes, the most significant of which was encouraging us to see what a difference practice can make. Howard Fine, my acting coach is constantly telling us, freedom comes from mastery. It’s only when you know or can do something well, you can truly do it with abandon.

So I went home and I practiced – a lot. It felt strange at first singing in my apartment because it couldn’t be less soundproofed if the walls were made of tracing paper but I thought, what the hell. I’m not gonna let a bit of self-consciousness get in the way of me doing well on Saturday.

I recited my story and I sang my a capella. I was ready… and excited.

On the day, we met early with our amazing accompanist, Brent Crayon who had been a rock for us through the whole process. We ran all the songs and then waiting… for the audience to arrive.

2pm came around pretty quickly. David Coury set the whole thing up perfectly reminding everyone it was a class and to keep that in mind as they watched. It was weird. I didn’t feel nervous at all, which was very unlike me. Normally, I am a bag of anxiety before any type of performance. Before a stand up gig, I pace like I’m on death row. Oh, I’ll have a laugh and a joke with people beforehand but inside I’m in knots, thinking, this is it, this is where you’re going to have the most magnificent and inglorious death of your life. Strap in, sister.

We all settled in our seats but before I’d even had a chance to acknowledge, this is actually happening, David said “speak what you feel not what you ought to say…. Andi Osho!”. I know David never tells the participants the running order but I hadn't really factored in that I might go first!

Hold on a minute, me? First? I reminded myself it was a class and that the audience were friendly faces, people I knew and were willing us all to do well.

I strode confidently, or as much as I could in my 5 inch polka dot heels (what was I think) and took centre stage. Brent tickled the first few notes out of the piano on this peculiar new arrangement of my well-known gender bender.

Some of us would be singing to the audience but I was singing to an imaginary person so I fixed my eye on the back wall and smiled. David said, be in it from the moment your feet hit the stage, so I was.

I let the open lyrics fall out of me quietly, “If you can’t hear what I’m trying to say, If you can’t read from the same page, maybe I’m going deaf, maybe I’m going blind, maybe I’m out of my mind”.  I was aware of a few titters of recognition but I couldn’t play up to the crowd, I was too busy chatting up the imaginary girl in front of me!

In escaping just performing the song to telling a story, I was now this confident guy who’s seen a hot girl at the bar and I want her! The shoe being on the other foot was a lot of fun.

But getting to this point had taken many hours of rehearsal. Not only technically, but I also had to make sense of the song. What was I trying to say? What did “what rhymes with hug me?” mean to me? It sounds silly in a way to break down what is seemingly a superficial pop song but that’s what we had to do.

Blurred Lines is a crazy catchy song and actually, in the final analysis, for me, it isn’t “rapey”. He’s not saying I’m going to take something from you, he’s says I want you to release the animalistic side of you. Stop just being a good girl and let your wild side out too. And which woman hasn’t wanted that for herself at some point and which man wouldn’t be driven crazy by a women in touch with her animalistic sexuality.

I don’t think this song would have had anywhere near as much criticism if Robin Thicke had subjugated himself to the women in his video. If he’d been their servant, saying “let me liberate ya” the song’s meaning would have been a lot less aggressive. Plus, that T.I. rap would have to go to. 

But for the gender bender, none of us where allowed to change any of the lyrics so I went into it full pelt, in fact we ended up slowing the rap down which meant every word was heard. “I’ll give you something big enough to tear that ass in two”. The audiences screamed in shock at the lyrics but delight that I was going there. 

All my life, I’ve had this thing where, I have an idea of how I want to perform something but then I hold back and take the soft or safe option. At primary school I had the lead role in a musical where I played a jester. I sat back stage planning all these cooll things I could do for my entrance, cartwheel on stage, pirouette then playfully bowing but when it came to it, I bottled it and played it safe. It was good but it could have been so much better. What I did was comfortable and there have been many times in my life where I’ve faced the same choice and stayed inside my comfort zone instead of cutting loose and risking myself.

There’s no harm in playing safe but if I want to be fully present, fully alive on stage, I realised I have to give all of myself be it singing, stand up or acting. If I’m going to show up, I want it to be completely. And who would have thought that in the middle of Blurred Lines I would finally do that.

What rhymes with hug me? I mouthed “fuck me” and the audiences screamed again.

With the resonant hum of the piano still in my ears I began my story “There is a storm inside me”

That’s how I feel and have only now been able to give it a name. It hasn’t always been pleasant and it was only through the work that I’ve done with David Coury in this course and the previous one, that I’ve realized that it was no bad thing to have this storm within me and that if I learn to harness its energy, I can do anything and nothing can harm me.

“I am too much” I said. “Talking to loud, running too much”. It was refreshing to give voice to things I’ve always thought about myself but also always battled with. Through this two week process, by saying it so many times, my “too muchness” stopped being a negative, even becoming a good thing and not the burden or the unwieldy beast within that I had to try and tame so that people would like me.

My last line was “I am my own Prospero”.  This was a line that arrived in my head and summed up what I need to be for myself. Prospero, the character from Shakespeare’s The Tempest who was able to control and harness the wild storm.

I began my a capella song. “When you were here before, couldn’t look you in the eye”.

In rehearsal I had to figure out, what was I saying and to whom. I realized it was a young version of myself and that the song was a celebration of my “creepdom”, my 'not belonging'. I’d always heard the lyric, “I don’t belong here” as a negative but when I told my story, using this song, Radiohead's Creep,  it was about saying, You and I are all spirits having a human experience. We don’t belong here so enjoy it. I remember, I know now.

After, David came on stage and reworked some of the sections with me which was great but I almost felt as though the greatest lessons and gifts this course had for me, had already been received.

Ostensibly this course was for performers but I think it was more than that. It was about life. It was about learning to speak your truth. Through all ten performances, we saw people’s passion, fear, hopes, dreams. We saw students struggle with self-forgiveness, self-love, self-harm, judgment, grief, loss, love and so much more. And because everything that happened on stage was so truthful, as an audience member, you couldn’t help but be touched by what you saw. Even Brent, the pianist was caught by surprise when he heard one of the stories.

It was a magical afternoon from which I am forever changed.

This post is dedicated to David Coury and the amazing work he does all over the world helping people find their authentic voice.

Here’s a recording of me a friend performing Creep a couple of years back.

http://yourlisten.com/AndiOsho/october-tapes-creep

Other posts you may enjoy: My Big Ass Singing Class - about the weeks leading to the master class, Girl Power? About women in music and An interview with Tom Bahler - Tom wrote She's Out of My Life and was the composer for The Color Purple. 

My Big Ass Singing Class

Who knew that a singing class could pack such a punch? This last week, I’ve been working with an amazing teacher, David Coury in his transformative program, Singing and Speech for Actors.

You may know that several months ago I plunged myself back into study and returned to training at Howard Fine’s Acting Studio, arguably one of the best studios in Hollywood. If you’re gonna do it, might as well do it right I say. One of the things I really appreciate about training with him is that he has no acting aspirations. He realised early on that his calling was working with actors not being one so he became a director and coach culminating in opening his successful studio here in LA. He’s coached stars such as Michael Chiklis (The Sheild) who wrote the foreword in Howard’s book, Fine on Acting, a must-read for all performers, Will Smith, Bradley Cooper and Academy Award winner, Jared Leto. So Howard knows what he’s doing. Equally he has an amazing faculty of teachers who are also masters at bringing out the best in the artists they work with.

All of them uphold the schools ethos of using yourself in your work authentically. At Howard’s studio, presentational performances just don’t cut it. Here, you are encouraged to dig deep. Students are often told, our performance must “cost us something” i.e. you must have given something of yourself to achieve it. Phoning it in won’t do!

Shortly after beginning the foundation course, Howard invited us to watch an open master class for the Singing and Speech for Actors program run by faculty member and voice coach, David Coury. The participants are required to sing what David refers to as a gender bender, a track that’s iconically something someone of the opposite sex should be singing. For example, a guy might sing Man, I Feel Like A Woman, My Milkshake or Private Dancer where as the women may take on, I’m The Man, Fat Bottomed Girls or She Bangs.

The idea is that by singing a song not traditionally considered something you should be singing, it opens you up artistically to make new discoveries about the material but also yourself.

After students have sung their gender bender, they then tell a short story about themselves, segueing into an acapella song, one they love to sing and follows on naturally from their story.  I’ve never attended an open master class for anything and I was blown away by what I saw, or more specifically experienced.

The actors were all so open, and honest, sharing stories about their lives but also telling a story in their songs. Hearing a guy sing Alanis Morissette's, You Oughta Know... and mean every word is powerful stuff. Accompanied by Brent Crayon on piano they were able to bring to life songs whose lyrics, up until that point, had been just words to me.

Regardless of technique or experience, all the performances were beautiful and alive because the actors were willing to do what not all performers are and that is, risk themselves and put all of who they are into their performances.

Months later, sitting in one of eight closed classes leading up to my open session, David Coury would tell me and my fellow students, “it’s not about showing off, it’s about showing up”.

Isn’t that sound advice for life? It’s not about forcing who or what you are to appear significant or important, it’s about allowing people you encounter to experience all of you, as you are. By doing that, you immediately become significant.

As an audience member at the master class, I shed many a tear as did people around me as we were all moved by the power, vulnerability and beauty of the performances we’d witnessed. This wasn’t a class, this was a happening. After each set, David Coury would come and work with the students so we, as the audience, got to sample their process, which was an education in itself, reminding all of us that if we allow ourselves to enter into a process, much is possible.

So two weeks ago, I, with nine others, embarked on our Singing and Speech for Actors program.  Even after the first day, I was shattered, emotionally more than physically. There’s an energetic movement that can happen inside of you when you enroll into a program like this.

SFA is not a singing class. It is not primarily a technical training course to make actors better singers, it is about shining a light on who we are and giving us access to it in our work. This meant that as soon as we began, we were working on a very deep level.

Even when picking our gender bender, it had to be something that scared us. Like, it will cost us something to do it or feel like we’re risking ourselves. After all, it’s only in the pushing yourself beyond what is comfortable that change, transformation can occur. When we do what’s within our comfort zone, we’re staying in the known and therefore can only get expected results. It’s only when we push beyond that, that real breakthroughs can occur. This path is also littered with breakdowns as we were all going to discover as the two weeks rumbled on but it would be worth it for the end result (David assured us). The program isn’t subtitled Point of No Return for nothing!

On day one, I brought a couple of options for my GB. The Way You Make Me Feel by Michael Jackson and the Maroon 5 track, This Love.

But as the day progressed, I realised, neither or those two hit the nail on the head. Neither really scared me so I kept looking. We also had to come up with a story. Sum up our lives in a 90 second monologue. We could choose how deep we wanted to go but it had to be a minute and a half, about us, in the first person and authentic. How do you reduce an entire life down to just a few sentences.

I didn’t like my first few attempts. It either read like, “poor me”, a resume or just a random selection of circumstances but it didn’t speak to me.

It was now week two and we were supposed to have started memorising our stories but I was looking at mine thinking, “meh”. This isn’t me, it’s just stuff that’s happened to me.

I told David as much and he said, “OK here’s some things I know about you” and he began to reel off bullet points, things I’d said and forgotten but that he had observed, registered and recalled, all of which cut to the heart of who I was. This was a great start but it was almost like I was waiting for permission to say what I really wanted to say about myself.

And finally, we had to choose our closing a cappella piece. Deep down, I’d made my mind up about this months ago. Creep, Radiohead. I’ve sung this before and it touches me. Done. Now we had to rehearse, get notes and keep rehearsing, keep discovering, keep using ourselves and telling our story through the material we’d chosen to work with.

It’s an exhilarating and scary journey to go from no material to having the two songs and a very personal story to tell, in front of an audience but here I am on Friday, writing this post, not knowing what tomorrow’s master class will bring. 

Part of the program was inviting people to come and see us perform. My M.O. is exactly the opposite. If I invite anyone at all to see me perform, I usually leave it to the last minute, when I've decided I might not be a disaster. Even then, I’m more inclined not to let anyone know what I’m up to. Family have to pester me for tickets to my stand up. Why, what if I’m shit? That’s what I always think. One of the breakthrough steps we were encouraged to take on SFA was inviting people as soon as we began rehearsing, before we’d know if it was going to be any good. It was a small change but a significant one as I was so much more vulnerable in the inviting. In fact, at that point, I didn’t even know what I’d be singing.

In two short weeks, I was already become aware of a change in me. One of David Coury’s sayings is “Speak what you feel not what you ought to say” and I could feel myself taking that on. Saying No, when I don’t want to do something rather than acquiescing to avoid disappointing someone, putting myself forward when I'm I'm normally inclined to hang back and wait to be asked, being more open in my social encounters, laughing more, enjoying people, allowing myself to need them.

One of the discoveries I made was that I’m missing home which I wrote about last week. I certainly didn’t expect that to come out of a singing class. I learned a lot about how I feel about myself and my life. The first manifestation of my story was just a list of circumstances but when I really got down to it, I saw that how I really feel is, that stuff was behind. There's more to me than that.

So, it's Friday night. The open master class is, at the moment, only a …., a what-may-come, but even before I arrive there, I know I’ve already learned so much, speaking what I feel no what I ought to say.

I’m honoured to be a part of the final Singing at Speech For Actors as this currently location. Howard’s studio will soon be moving to a new address so there will be a number of previous participants and friends of the school come to say farewell at the event tomorrow.

I have no idea what's on the other side of singing my song, telling my story and being with an audience in such an open and raw way but I’m told by previous SFAers that it’s amazing.

See you on the other side. 

Other posts you may enjoy: The Actor's Actor - thoughts on Philip Seymour Hoffman, Thoughts of Home- Last weeks blog about missing home and Survival Guide for the Creative Mind

A survival Guide For The Creative Mind

Being a professional artist comes with its fair share of challenges so, through trial and a lot of error, I’ve come up with this survival guide on how to navigate the creative life without going bonkers.

Value yourself

Get a sense of your own value and the value of what you do and can create. As an artist you are a conduit through which flows the boundless creative energies of the Universe. Sounds grand, doesn’t it but that’s what’s happening and the clearer that pathway, the more effectively you’ll be able to share these riches. The trick is to tap into this authentically and graciously. In times gone by creative genius was something you accessed, a gift from the gods not something you were. Creativity is much easier on the soul if you think of it as passing through you because then, your job is simply to capture rather than generate it and allowing it to pass through your own unique filter is what gives this abundant energy so many different expressions.

Rejection

Embrace it. It is your friend. We’ve all seen scans of rejection letters sent to famous artists early on in their careers and it amuses me how many of the subsequent comments are along the lines of, “I can’t believe Sting/ Tracy Emin/ Eddie Murphy got turned down for such and such”, and “I bet that exec is sorry now!”. Etc.

But how do we know that early work was as good as the work we’ve come to know them for? Was the first draft of Harry Potter any good? How do we know that 1978 demo of U2’s Boy was as good as the 1980 release? Could it be, these rejections caused those artists to go back, review their work and seek to improve it. Rejection is the Universe reminding us we can do better and giving us the motivation to do so.

Review your early work

This is a great way to chart your progress and see the gift rejection can be. If you look back at your earlier efforts, your paintings or recordings or scripts, hopefully, you’ll now see the flaws in them. Great, it means you’ve grown.

And if you think those pieces are still perfect there’s one of several answers a) they are indeed perfect and you are a genius (or have genius) b) it hasn’t been long enough since you last looked at it c) you are delusional (in which case have you considered applying for X Factor?) d) you are not committed to your creative growth.

You many have gotten too attached to a winning formula you are unwilling to move on from, which is essentially, creative death. True artistry is about continuing to develop, hone and explore. I was so scared of letting go of my first twenty minute routine, a significant landmark for any comedian. I thought the only reason I was funny was because of that routine.  When I let it go I was liberated and saw that what makes you a stand up is being the source of the comedy, not just the comedy itself.  

Comparisons

Only compare yourself to the artist you once were and the one you want to be.  Comparing yourself to anyone else is pointless. They are on their own path and have their own luck, rejections and success to work through. The minute you start comparing yourself to others you welcome in resentment and jealousy. You should be aiming to be the best version of yourself, not anyone else. We always invent a frenemy whose growth we secretly resent but let them go, allow them to walk their own path. If you stay in your truth, their journey becomes irrelevant.

Also, stop comparing how things are, to how you think they should be. That sense of entitlement will not serve you. The industry doesn’t owe us a living just because we decided to join it. It’s a tough reality to take but once we do, it liberates us from resignation, jealousy or frustration about the industry or our fellow creatives. Too often I hear performers claiming the state of the industry or the accomplishments of one particular act are the sole cause of their own lack of success. I say nothing but deeply believe it is their attitude that keeps success at arm’s length not the activities of others.

Chart your progress

One of my biggest pitfalls is listening to the voices in my head which pollutes my mind with negative feedback on how things are going. All it takes is one off day to create the perfect environment for doubt to start creeping in. I recently explained this unproductive mental cycle to a meditation teacher who recommended I begin to track my progress. It’s so obvious but it was a real a-ha moment for me.

I put together a really straight forward spreadsheet. Down one side, the things I wanted to chart, across the top, the date. Every day, I grade everything, (using a colour code, dark to light, dark being bad and light being great!) and over the weeks built up a colourful representation of how things really were. 

Spreadsheets may sound a bit corporate but it has done me the world of good. Now, when I get fearful because I’m not seeing the results I’m looking for, I glance at this chart and see the truth. Since I’ve started doing it, I’ve felt much calmer about what I’m doing which is important when you work in an industry that’s as unstable and uncertain as the arts.

Another way to plot your development is to set goals. If you know what you want and when you want it, you become accountable to yourself and have a better chance of making your desires real. Without them, success is more down to chance than your own clear and specific intentions. Some people like to chance their hand, but in my opinion, it’s the people who are clear and super intentional who achieve their dreams expediently.

Treat it like business

This is a tough one for people who tell themselves they don’t have a business brain. Well, first of all, as Olivia Pope would say, change the narrative. The story you tell yourself about who you are is the one you get to have so whether you tell yourself you can do something or you can’t, you get to be right. So, tell yourself you do have a business brain and can take a more business-orientated approach to your career. Why? Because you are the CEO of a very important company. Your artistry is the product and you are the boss and what boss spends all their days on Facebook and Twitter and not on letting the world know about the fantastic product they have. And remember, there’s a difference between being business-orientated and corporate. It’s the difference between Virgin and Morgan Stanley. Flair, individuality and fun needn’t be compromised by bringing order, professionalism and process to what you do.

Discipline

In acting and comedy I’ve seen many people who have a weak work ethic but are surprised when a successful career doesn’t fall into their laps. If that’s your attitude to your artistry, I suggest trying some other industry where the parameters of what’s required of you are set by someone else. Because to make it to the top requires discipline (I sound like the dance teacher at the start of Fame).

You need a strong work ethic and be willing to put all your heart and soul into what you do. What you put in is what you get out and if you put a little in, you get a little out. It may look like that’s not true when you see other people make little effort but reap big rewards. If you’re thinking about this, go back to Comparisons and READ IT AGAIN. 

Know this, whatever you’re doing, someone wants it more and is doing more than you to get it so do your best. But know this also. Someone is always doing more than you whatever you are doing so don’t kill yourself. Sounds like a paradox but it isn’t.

Rest

Make sure you rest. Even if you love what you do beyond all else, rest is important. In fact, not only is it important, it’s part of the process. You may think things working out is directly proportional to the effort we put it but it’s not. While you sleep, while you rest, while you play, the Universe is working on your behalf and if you “effort” all the time, you are not leaving any room for the Universe to make a contribution so take a break. Be it taking a walk around the block at lunch time, a day at the beach, an evening in front of the TV, whatever, but allow your brain to have a little space from thinking about your career. This has all kinds of restorative benefits. It clears the deck, allows inspiration in, gives you renewed enthusiasm, calms the mind. It probably makes you better in bed too. But that might just be wishful thinking on my part.

Trust your gut

This means that no matter what anyone says, trust your instincts because, like genius, the messages it sends are not from but via you. Those instincts are the Universe’s missives offering you guidance. Trust your gut on your choices, on what your next move is, when and if you need to stop, change lanes, regroup, seek help, look for answers, knuckle down or take a break. Ask, listen and wait. An answer will always come. And make sure you are listening to your gut rather than your brain masquerading as your gut. Your head can generated fearful thoughts which are unhelpful and do not get you where you want to go.

So much of what artists do occurs on the energetic plane so make sure that you’re taping into an energetic stream that’s in service of your greatest dreams and desires. This may mean seeking coaching, therapy, incorporating a daily spiritual practice (essential for the artist). Look at your networks and make sure you’re surrounded by productive and positive people. Those in your immediate network are a reflection of where you’re at. If you are surrounded by procrastinators then, chances are, that’s the energetic space you’ll continue to occupy but if you align yourself with motivated, successful individuals, they will elevate you to where they are.

Let it go

Let go of everything. People chose an artistic life because they believe it will bring them pleasure so let go of the need to chase anything and simply do what makes you happy, every day. Do this and as the saying goes, you’ll never work a day in your life.

“But what about my goals and stuff?”, I hear you say. Of course you have dreams, and goals and tasks but never let your happiness become tied to achieving those things because it means you’ll only be happy once they appear in your life and that is a trap. Get happy and you will magnetise the things you desire to you. Remember, the moment you visualise your desires, they’re out there, they exist and are simply waiting for you to call them forth into the material world. How? By using your artists survival kit, in fact, let’s change the name from survival kit, to sur-thrival kit.

Grow, love, flow.

Other posts you may enjoy: Why Artists Will Always Work For Free, Path To Victory and Desk to The Dance - my journey from day job to performer

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The Beast We Dare Not Speak Of - The Comedy Writer.... gasp!

This week some mythbusting in the land of stand up comedy. 

A lot has been said about writers in comedy but not much of it by comedians who’ve actually, you know, worked with comedy writers. People take this whole topic terribly seriously, as though some, strict, unspoken law has been breached. I’m bemused by the contrived scandal that surrounds this topic but perhaps because of the lateral step I’ve taken away from comedy (just for a bit), I don’t see talking about it as that big a deal.

The perception of the dynamic between comedy writer and comedian seems to be one where the evil slave master comedian cages his anonymous chattel in a room with nothing but a legal pad and a can of coke forcing them, under threat of a damn good thrashing, to produce killer material which they’ll then go out and peddle as their own.

I got a tweet once helpfully telling me that I’d been “accused” of using comedy writers. It was hilarious. To me, that’s like being accused of owning a flat or watching X Factor (although that is borderline criminal). It’s not something you can be accused of because it isn’t a crime!

Many comedians have used, are using and will continue to work with comedy writers but because people get their knickers in a twist about this subject, they probably won’t want to talk about it. Personally, I don’t feel it’s something I need to hide.  

Grab a cuppa and let me tell you what it really means, to me, to work with writers. First, a little about writing comedy in general.

I’m not one of those comics who can sit down at the computer at the same time every day and write jokes. My approach is to wait for inspiration to strike and then write it down. Luckily, inspiration is everywhere - a weird commercial, a stored away memory, a crazy online story, an odd interaction. For this reason, I make sure I always have a notebook with me.

Sometimes, the joke arrives fully formed. At others, it needs to be pulled about before it will work and sometimes, it is sheer and unadulterated crap. In fact, a lot of the time, the jokes that occur aren't quite there but I write them down nonetheless because it may be, with some reworking, they could come together.

However, no matter how the joke comes out and whether you like it, your mates like it or it just is, in accordance with comedy law,  an awesome gag, you’ll only really know if it’s got legs once it’s been aired in front of an audience as they’re the true final arbiters. This trying out of material is as much a part of the process as the actual writing.

That’s why it’s funny when, after an audience doesn’t respond well to a joke, the comedian says, “you’re wrong”. It’s a deliberately arrogant acknowledgement of this dynamic. Ironically, sometimes, acknowledging a joke is crap gets a bigger laugh than the joke itself.

Some say the best place to write is on stage and certainly, once you’ve got the fledgling gags “into your bones”, you can start to have fun with them by riffing out the idea to see if there’s more fun to be had with it.

For me, jokes need to land in my body before I can do them any justice. It sounds poncy but what I’m really saying is, I need to know them so well that I can afford to forget them, lose my place, go off on a tangent and still have control. It’s tough going on stage with a routine you only half know because a portion of your energy is going into remember what comes next rather than being in the moment with the crowd. Conversely, one of my favourite things is performing material I know really well in front of an audience that are “up for it”. The cocktail of an open and receptive audience and a comedian who’s ‘loose’ and in the moment means that the material can often take on a life of its own, springing tangential riffs in all directions.

So what about these comedy writers I hear you say. I’m getting there. I just wanted to set the context. Writing material is a skill and takes time, something you don’t always have, particularly when it comes to topical TV. This is where the comedy writer becomes worth their weight in Macbooks. So let’s do a bit of mythbusting around the fabled 'comedy writer'.

Who are they?
There are a select few who work full time in this field but many stand up comedians write for other comics too. Some well-known people have done this. It’s a good way to supplement your income and get to know production companies who may be unfamiliar with your work. Some writers are also actors. You’ll have seen them in a variety of sitcoms and comedy shows. 

Working with writers

I can only speak for myself, but this is what it’s like working with a writer. And note I say ‘working with’. It may seem like semantics but that’s exactly what the process is. You don’t have writers fax over a sheet of jokes Bernie Taupin-style. No, we sit in a room, drink tea, riff ideas, read articles, tell each other funny stories and if, by a stroke of luck, any of it sounds like it could stand up to being repeated in front of an audience, then I type it up. Yes, me. Always me.

You have to work with people that a), you get on with and b) you think are funny and that is a rare alchemy. On Tonightly I was partnered with a writer and he just did not like me. It was a painful working relationship which thankfully ended in divorce. When it comes to comedians and comedy writers, rather than a group of impoverished underlings working remotely, picture a group of friends bantering. I wrote for a “big name” comic once. There were six writers in a room, including the “big name”, throwing thoughts around all afternoon. That’s what working with writers really means, sharing ideas and it’s so much easier to create when more minds are involved because it takes the pressure off having to keep generating and allows you to let inspiration do its job.  

Anonymity and Transparency

Some people take umbrage with shows that don’t “admit” they use writers. Well here’s the thing, sometimes, writers aren’t credited on a show because the comedian hired them rather than the production company. And regarding anonymity, while some shows do attribute their writers with some vague, TV-speak title like associate chief magician, a lot of shows credit them (go to IMDB and look). As for being denied the limelight,  many writers are already stand up comics in their own right, some have tried it and not enjoyed it and some simply don’t want the attention that comes with being a performer and prefer working in the engine room. 

Remuneration

Comedy writers, at the least the ones I’ve worked with are well paid and because there are relatively few good ones, they are in a strong position. It’s not my place to discuss specifics but put it like this, their kids won’t be going hungry this Christmas. The only possibly context in which I can imagine a writer not getting paid their going rate is if everyone on staff (including talent) are having to take a pay cut due to budgetary constraints, they’re working on something speculatively or they’re doing a friend a favour.

Sometimes, I’ve hired friends to write with me, usually for TV shows because firstly, I feel more confident if two people have agreed that something is funny i.e me and them. Often there’s not enough time to run the material out in a comedy club which makes the opinion of the person I’m working with, invaluable and secondly I cannot produce the quantity of material required. So simply because of the work load, I need more hands on deck. In these instances, I’m paying them from my own pocket.

A Comedian's Voice

A common criticism of comedians using writers is that their comedic voice becomes inconsistent and that somehow, those in the know can tell. This is, frankly bollocks. The simple fact is, even when I’m writing for myself my writing  can be inconsistent. Sometimes I’ll write a joke and it just doesn’t work in a stand up routine because for example, it’s too punny but it’s perfect for Twitter or Facebook. I would argue that’s it’s near impossible to distinguish material written by a writer and the act themselves because no matter what the source of the jokes, it is always expressed through the filter or performance style and persona of the act in question. This process automatically makes it, their voice.

Some have declared it an injustice that writers don’t get to share in the fortunes some big name acts make from their ‘acquired’ gag however I would argue that the material only acquires this value once the big name comic performs it.

That’s why, rightly or wrongly, writing is not actually the most important element of stand up. Persona and performance are also critical. For example, if someone wrote a song, the value would be different depending on if it were performed by Katy Perry as opposed to Geri Halliwell (no offense).

Stand up is one of my greatest loves but the business side of it is a little disagreeable sometimes. When I write that bite-sized material, it feels like my day job but when I write stand up, that’s my love. That’s why working with writers on my own shows has never really worked. I’m not motivated as there’s no deadline and also, it’s more about a labour of love. I want to discover the thoughts myself and figure out what I want to say rather than what’s bite-size, pithy and topical. Having said that, occasionally, I’ve taken material from writing sessions I’ve had on TV shows where some good material has been generated. If I reckon it’ll work in my stand up, why wouldn’t I give it another airing? I’m not an idiot!

I understand why people get upset about the idea of writers because it undermines the grand conceit of stand up, that these are all spontaneous thoughts I happen to be having right here, with you, right now. 

In my head, however, I’ve made a distinction between what happens on panel shows for example, a format that can clip the wings of a stand up and being with a live audience.  That’s when stand up is at its finest. I prefer my stand ups standing up. That’s what makes it joyful, that two-way exchange between audience and performer, the experience both parties are having that will never occur again. It’s actually quite mystical because, regardless of its source, stand up is what happens in the space between the performer and their audience and that is a magic no one can write. 


Other posts which may be of interest: Fight For Your Writes - about getting started with a writing project, The Cat That Got The Dream Pt1 - About living your dream and Why Artists Will Always Work For Free

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Why Artists Will Always Work For Free

Artists often complain about having to work for free. Here's my take on it.

This week I compiled a list of what I’m working on to help me better manage my time. The list included screenplays, short films in different stages of completion, various smaller projects and of course, this blog –none of which are paid. 

Across the internet there's much talk and lamentation for and from the poor, struggling artist who is abused, taken advantage of and disrespected by an industry that seems to expect them to work for free. While that does happen, I have another take on working for free or, as I think we should rebrand it, working for potential.

I’m currently living and working in arguably, the most competitive market in the entertainment industry, Los Angeles where the potential rewards are high but the market place is also very crowded. To make your mark here, you have to innovate and it’s for this reason that you’ll find actors turning to stand up, writers directing their own work, painters going into set design and all the other ways people try to expand their creative reach to launch their professional, artistic career.

I’ve seen many a Facebook meme, open letter or blog rant about how artists shouldn’t be expected to work for free but I think many scenarios are being lumped together when this topic is discussed. This banner of 'working for free' seems to include everything from copyright theft to labour of love projects. So with that in mind, let’s unpick what it means to really work for free – or for potential and what we should look out for so that it can be mutually beneficial and artists can still feel as though their time, effort and energy is valued.  

Know your value

Just because someone asks you to work for free it doesn’t mean you have to. Decide what your value is and base your assessment of a work offer on that. If you do go ahead with the job, make sure the terms of your engagement are clear. Ironically, it’s when no money changes hands that hours often extend unreasonably, so make sure you’re clear about what the agreement is. Often, unpaid gigs are labours of love for the people creating them and so whilst you want to support them and help them realise their passion, make sure they keep up their end of the bargain by not abusing your time, talent and commitment. Perhaps if they can’t pay in cash they can pay-in-kind by putting some money towards your travel or providing snacks and food.

Medea - I've just realised, killing my kids might have been a bad idea

If it’s a short film, ask them about getting an IMDB credit and a copy of the finished product. Also, think laterally when assessing the project. Though it may not be financially rewarding, there may be other benefits. For example, when I first started acting, I found myself doing more and more children’s theatre which wasn’t the path I wanted to take. To re-calibrate, I took a lead role in a fringe production of Medea. Though it was unpaid, I gained valuable experience. It was a great showcase and it gave me a useful credit  so that people casting the type of work I really wanted to do would take me more seriously. My next job after Medea was a paid role in a fantastic play called, Yellowman. I’m certain I was a contender for this because of my work on Medea. 

Yellowman at The Everyman, Liverpool

Never say never

Having said all that, even though you need to be clear as to your value, of course you may still want to do people favours, help out developing artists with your time, expertise or simply gain practice or experience in an area you’ve become rusty. In stand up, even the multimillionaires still lend their name to good causes or bolster the bill of a fledgling comedy night to help promote. All for free. Knowing your value isn’t about saying no to unpaid work.

Self-generate

Sometimes the person you’re working for, for free, is you. Often the most successful individuals in competitive markets are the ones that don’t wait for the perfect opportunity to land in their lap, gift wrapped, they go and create it for themselves. It’s unlikely Warner Brothers will give you $100million for your first feature so if you want to direct something, why not get a group of friends together and shoot your own film. It’s a low risk way of generating experience and as you learn more, you can take on more and more ambitious projects. Writers, don’t wait for a commission or to sell that one precious script you love so much it’s become an extension of who you are. Set it aside and start working on something new. You are not that script (or film, performance, painting or stand up routine), you are the source of it and the more practice you get at tapping into that source, the more prepared you’ll be for when people are paying you to do it to their schedule and not your own.  

People often think that success is down to luck but luck is simply opportunity meeting preparation so get ready! And if that means generating your own opportunities, do it. Don’t make yourself a victim, lamenting that your agent isn’t doing their job or no one wants to fund your short film. Stop being a moaning minny and just get on with it. Spielberg was making films from childhood with a Super8 camera his parents gave him and that worked out OK.

Labour of love projects vs cheeky blighters

In terms of 'working for potential', there’s a difference between an independent artist who is making a labour of love project they’re financing from whatever funds they can raise and a business that has simply decided they will try and engage artists for free or try to avoid paying for their material. There’s a now infamous email circulating from a disgruntled musician which is a reply to a request from a successful production company asking to use his music for free on their project. The musician in question rightly inquires as to why everything else on this project seems to have been budgeted for (including the production co-ordinator who has the bald-faced cheek to email him), except his music. He then proceeds to dress down this person, pointing out that they were the ones who created the budget so why wasn’t there a line in there for music when it’s cost him time, money, know-how and creativity to produce it in the first place. His answer to her request was a resounding and permanent foxtrot Oscar.

Breaches of contracts and copyright theft

The above leads on to this - when working for free becomes uncool. Some people and employers take liberties. I recently saw a post about a BBC production which reneged on the crew’s contract. They’d agreed to give them per diems and accommodation for a location shoot but then changed it to a 250GBP/week payment i.e. They expected them to eat and accommodate themselves for this amount while on a 6 day/week shoot on 12 hour working day. Not cool. And whilst it's not "no pay" it is unacceptable corner-cutting from an organisation that should be paying ALL it's staff the going rate what ever that may be.

Equally, using someone’s material without their express permission is also uncool. There's an open letter doing the rounds from a graphics designer to Spike Lee complaining that the marketing company for his recent release Old Boy used his work without paying him. Rather than investigate, Spike Lee dismissed the designer as a chancer. Now, if this story is true, then karma is a sweet mistress because the film has disappeared without a trace with two star ratings and 42% rating on RottenTomatoes.com

Being asked if your work can be used for free

We have to use our judgement when deciding to allow material we own, i.e. music, video, photography  etc to be used for free. It shouldn't necessarily be no every time. What about those self-generated labour of love projects for example or student pieces where the budget is probably smaller than Jeremy Clarkson’s list of black friends?

During the making of Britiam, our editor found a still that worked perfectly with one of the lines of the poem but the still was copyrighted material. We wrote to the photographer explaining the project, how his work would be a huge contribution to our short and how eternally grateful we'd be if he allowed us to use it. He said yes and every time I see that image, I’m so delighted we’ve been able to include it in the final piece. 

There are many artist who are only too happy to give their work away for free. Famously, Moby has made much of his back catalogue available online.

Asking for someone’s material

There is a skill to asking to use people’s work for free or asking them to work for free. One is to acknowledge what you’re asking for. Just because being creative is one the ultimate pleasures in life, it doesn’t mean we should assume people love it so much they’ll do it regardless of whether they’re paid. Therefore it’s important to acknowledge that it’s not a given that there’s no budget for this person. Even if it’s for a charity event, always offer the acknowledgement. It makes the giver feel like they’re not being taken for a chump. Also, verify your credentials i.e. let them know you’re not some chancer, that you'll have a professional approach regardless of whether money will change hands or not. It let's the giver feel that their time and effort won’t be wasted or their work associated with a crumby project.

Also, be humble, be grateful and as I once heard it described, be graciously assertive. Don’t push, but hope for a positive outcome and let them know that a no is OK. That’s an important part of the request. No one likes to feel guilted into doing something. I said no to a chugger once and as I walked away he shouted after me “People are dying!”. Oh well that'll make me give you money.

Working in the creative arts is the most liberating, frustrating, magical, confounding, exhilarating, confusing, rewarding industry you can work in and, alongside sports, is probably the most competitive.

Sometimes artists have to work for free and whilst it’s not ideal what with the small matter of bills to pay and a roof to keep over our heads,  it’s a necessary part of the business. It weeds out those who are not serious for one. Quincy Jones said of struggling artists, “If you can do something else, then you should” – the business can be that demanding.

The benefits and rewards can be great, and, aside from people willfully stealing or abusing artists, working for free is a necessary part of the process of creative growth. To make it in this business you need a mental toughness that not getting paid, being broke but working as through you weren’t furnishes you with. If every artist were paid for everything they did, I promise you, there'd be a lot of shit on TV, in theatres, in galleries etc but because people need to have passion and drive to make it, those strong enough, talented enough and resourceful enough thrive and those who, perhaps aren’t quite suited to this life, will, more than likely fall by the wayside.

As fun as it is, it’s a tough business but one that if you’re willing to put your heart into it, be authentically you and create joyfully, letting go of your idea of how things should turn out, embracing the flow, a rich life awaits you.

Dedicated to Adam, my most excellent friend and fellow adventurer on Brit.I.am

Similar posts: What Are You Up To in 2014?, Fight For Your Writes and From The Desk to The Dance