Now, I'm determined not to post one of those dramatic 'I'm leaving cabaret' type statuses. I don't want any drama and I certainly don't want any sympathy. But I'm not going to just fade away either without (at least personally) noting how wonderful and important my cabaret life has been.
Soon I'm about to embark on an exciting new job. In less than two weeks I start rehearsals for 'Beautiful' - The Carole King musical going to the west end. Our hopes are high for this to be a hit. On broadway it's doing exceedingly well. But, let's be honest, the west end doesn't have a great track record for new musicals at the moment. Still, fingers crossed and all being well, I will be in this musical for at least a year.
Due to this (and also some unfortunate behaviour that I have experienced), I am running away from cabaret for a while. And although it feels scary and strange, it also feels exciting and freeing and new.
I fell into cabaret. Almost by mistake. While on my cousin's hen do five years ago, I decided that the singer that I was hearing was not using the space well enough and due to my champagne-induced cockiness I went marching up to the host and told her that they needed me. I came back the following week to 'live audition' and the rest, as they say, is vaguely-well-known cabaret history.
I was a body-insecure girl. I was always veering to the wrong side of chubby for my liking and put myself through treacherous crash diets and the like all the way through my teenage years. But about 4 weeks into my new life as a cabaret singer I found myself wearing stockings and suspenders ACTUALLY IN FRONT OF PEOPLE and not feeling too bad about it. Actually, feeling really fucking excited. I learnt to be a woman in cabaret. (No, I'm not saying that wearing stockings makes you a woman) I'm saying that I slowly stopped being awkward and trying to hide my boobs or slim my hips, I started to embrace my curves. I discovered Marilyn Monroe, vintage clothing, high waisted pencil skirts, beautifully curled hair, high heels, red lips - ALL of which the emo hippy child from Glastonbury had never even thought of before.
I became a compere. And I was terrible. TERRIBLE. Not least of all because I hated it. But when you've left drama school and you're a full time waitress and an email pops up in your in box saying 'do you compere too?' you of course say 'yes indeed I do, when do I start?'.
Over the years my confidence in my compering grew. You write your schtick and you create your character and your branch out from your usual cabaret clubs. I found myself on a UK Tour hosting in theatres and then The Hurly Burly Show on the West End. I couldn't believe it. Little nervous me stood front and centre in a beaming spotlight talking to an audience of 400 - 2000 people all on my own and making them laugh. ENTERTAINING them. Madness. I once even performed my entire routine in italian to 2000 in Milan's massive theatre.
Anyway, this isn't supposed to read like a CV.
The people I have met in cabaret are the most incredible people you could ever wish to meet. I am welling up as I write this. I was thrust into a world of the most hard working people. Night by night a different venue. Creating every act and skill from scratch. Sewing on sequins, glueing on rhinestones, sewing until their fingers bleed. People who go out and create, who throw around electric carving knives and bowling bowls, people who set their tongues on fire, who hang upside down from a pole and plunge themselves to the floor. Beautiful burlesque dancers who taught me what it is to feel sexy, to embrace the tease, to immerse oneself in glamour and sexual resplendency.
I have made real, long life friends. I have talked about periods and anal sex in a corridor with women as they stick a merkin on their vagina. I have seen real heartbreak, I have seen real drunkeness, I have lost myself in the underground world of gin and dancing and nakedness. I have sung songs and looked into the audience begging my poor lonely heart to love. I have looked into the audience and seen my love. I have passionately sung 'Cabaret' a gazillion times and believed every word with every fibre of my being. I have spent too much money on corsets and long dresses. I have hung from the ceiling of a strip club singing Shirley Bassey. I have laughed until I can't breathe and my corset forces out a little wee. I have cried, I have been angry, I have shouted and screamed.
I have loved you cabaret. And my goodness I shall miss you. The people mostly. But also that part of me that I found that I didn't think was there. Coco, the girl who gets up and makes people laugh, the entertainer, the clown, the part of me that says 'yep. I'm going to sing a classical song and strip out of a reindeer onesie' because why the fuck not? Life is too short. Things come to an end. And I feel like this may be our end, Coco.
Sometimes, you have to close a door in order to force yourself to move on. I have given nearly five years to cabaret. Five incredible years. But now I must become the actress I've always wanted to be and become the writer that I know I can be. New adventures, new roads to drive, new places to see.
New people to meet.
But. To the people I have met along the way, the people that have made my life so very full and beautiful, THANK YOU. You mean more to me than any blog can ever explain.
And Holy Crap, we made some memories.
"What good's permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away?
Life is a cabaret, old chum, so come to the cabaret"
