To build intrigue, the accompanist may be billed as an android, caveman, confirmed serial killer who is shortening his prison sentence through a musical community-service program, or all of the above. Therefore, it is necessary for the accompanist to play from music sheets of binary code, create music by striking the keys with an oversized faux-wooden club, and play with ankles and wrists cuffed.
Some of my singing engagements take place late at night, in the homes of strangers, without audiences or music, and may appear to be elaborate art or jewel heists. For engagements like this, the accompanist may be called on to pick locks, crack safes, break windows silently and jump over large, sometimes barb-wire topped fences with me riding piggy-back at all times.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
This evening I found yet another accompanist poem, this time from McSweeney's realm of the bizarre and postmodern. An excerpt from Accompanist Needed by Sean Adams: