We did it - four performances of Tom Smail’s new opera Blue Electric to full, socially-distanced audiences the week before another national lockdown.
I was expecting to wake up on Sunday morning feeling thoroughly depressed. I don’t have another opera scheduled until June 2021, and I only have two performances remaining in the diary for live, in-the-room audiences between now and then. The combination of this snowstorm in my diary, a national lockdown regardless of whether I stay in the UK or go back to Germany, and post-show blues seemed like a lethal cocktail.
But so far, so good.
I woke up on Sunday morning feeling happy, and most of all - grateful. Unlike the majority of my colleagues in this industry, I have just spent two weeks working. Furthermore, our hard work came to fruition not just with an opening night - but with a full run of performances. I have so many friends who have made it to their final stage and orchestras or dress rehearsals, only to be shut down after just one performance this week. It must feel devastating to do all that hard work for nothing. And by nothing, I don’t mean no audience adulation, I mean literally nothing.
Because more often than not - we don’t get paid if we don’t perform.
This brings me onto the main point of today’s blog, which is not vague ramblings about gratitude, my empty diary, and the general chaos in the world. It is this: we need to change the way people get paid.
The problem is particularly acute in opera - you rehearse for sometimes up to eight weeks before any money appears in your bank account. In this eight weeks, you will have been expected to pay for the following out of your own pocket: travel to wherever you are working, rent - usually both at home and for your theatre digs, food, general living expenses, plus any coaching or role preparation you conscientiously choose to undertake before arriving at your first day of work. If - and right now it’s a big if - you make it to the first night, you then receive your first pay cheque. Which might cover all of the above, if you’re lucky. If you get Covid-cancelled, it is down to the goodwill of whoever you are working for to decide whether they are going to pay you for work already done. Or indeed, pay you for all the work that couldn’t be done through no fault of your own - because it’s not like any other work has appeared in the diary to magically take its place!
Other areas of the music industry have similar problems, although less extreme. Force majeure in contracts means that when work gets cancelled by volcanic ash, floods, or - say - a global pandemic, you don’t get a penny. Mortgage? Children to feed? Too bad, they legally don’t have to pay you and so, more often than not, they won’t.
I have counted my blessings every day during this horrible year that I am still relatively young and responsibility-free. For me, this year has meant increasing my hours in my non-musical jobs, taking on a lot of new students, and accepting that my UK home is going to be my parents’ house for a while yet (thanks Mum and Dad). For others, it has meant making incomprehensibly difficult decisions that they would never have imagined 8 months ago when they had steady, successful careers.
We haven’t chosen to be self-employed. It is basically the only way to live as a musician in this country. It is time for companies to take a long, hard look in the mirror and start treating their freelancers with the same care and concern as they treat their employees. Otherwise they may soon find there aren’t many of us left.
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