It took me no moe than five weeks to get the sentence out, so it would, well, what? Feel right? Feel or sound like I had said it at some point? Especially said it to someone? Just a little detail from the rehearsal period of "Aus Meinem Mund". Written and directed by Helwig Arenz for the Gostner Hoftheater in Nuremberg. The first play I composed music for. I had no idea what to expect, in hindsight, if anything at all, certainly not what it turned out to be. Above all, I was quite curious simply because I couldn't actually imagine how something like this works. Theatre. Or more precisely: Theatre and me.

Of course, based on the initial version of the text, I had given it some thought. As much as time allowed during the whole tour chaos and hustle in autumn/winter/spring. Which means, not really a lot. Things like "maybe there should be a recurring theme" or "this or that character should have a motif assigned to them". Or maybe entire songs? At that time, I didn't know that there would be a first version followe by an edited version. Or rather, several of them. By the way, "edited" in this context means reducing, shortening. Which means that quite some bits of the text, initially there, would be gone at some point in the later versions. This means that any clever ideas about specific passages can quickly prove to be futile. The only thing that ultimately remained from my preparation was the idea to use "Into The Light" from the "Homeland" album and some snippets I recorded with my phone during beforehand meetings, which I played to Helwig to get an idea of what I was intending to do.

Six weeks of rehearsals initially seemed more than enough to me, but that feeling quickly faded. On the contrary, I had no idea how what they were doing and what I was doing could somehow come together, despite my general optimism. The whole process turned out to be exploring situations, movements, and moods related to a constantly changing text. Fundamentally, it was about "them" and "me." In retrospect, I believe the moment I started to see something tangible from the snippets that were created was when the distinction between "them" and "me" disappeared. It was strange. Suddenly, it wasn't there anymore. Maybe it was after that one evening rehearsal, during which a scene and the accompanying music simply emerged from an improvised moment. Just like that. Suddenly, everything clicked, without anyone consciously doing anything about it. Magical, like sometimes in music. That was when the big picture unfolded before me as not only achievable but also potentially magnificent. That a production with actors, set design, music, and sound is somewhat like songwriting, writing a grand arrangement, and producing an album. All at the same time and all in 4-D. Or something like that. I am still deeply impressed and will probably be pondering over it for a while.

Tour routine is routine. A challenging routine, but I'm used to that and learned to handle it pretty well. Theater turned out to be no less demanding (surprise, surprise), just in a completely different way. There wasn't much that could be easily called up; it involved one hell of a lot of tiny details when it came to the music. I don't think I had ever before given such long thoughts to a few millimeters of pedal or amp knob movement and what exactly that would result in. Admittedly, its been a good 25 years since I played with more effects than just a distortion pedal. So, in a way, it was also a personal journey back in time to a closed and forgotten chapter.

In terms of writing process, there was a lot of improvisation plus subsequent capturing, recording, and writing down of usable moments. So, it was definitely a lot more work than I had imagined. However, for someone who truly hates jam sessions, it worked out surprisingly well in the end. I suppose I was lucky in the entire project too - I'll just call it that - as, firstly, Helwig had no specific ideas about the music and gave me complete freedom, trusting that I would do the right thing. At least, that's what I assume. Takes some courage to do that. Secondly, the cast and the whole team. Wonderful actors, both in a personal and professional sense, a fantastic team from stage design to sound crew to directing assistant, well...just everyone. It could have gone differently and could have been really annoying. For that, I am more than grateful to each and every one of them. You not only made it easier for me, but also ensured that it became an extraordinary and unforgettable experience. Even though Lea and I didn't manage to fill all the ashtrays in the smoking areas. We did our very best.

Did everything go smoothly without any catastrophes? Almost, I would say, almost. Somehow, it was clear that something would happen, simply because I am very, very good at causing near-disasters and full-blown catastrophes. Always have been. A God-given talent.

The premiere? Fantastic. Just in the thirty minutes prior to it, I learn even more new things. That people give each other little gifts, that they spit over each other's left shoulder and say "toi, toi, toi," (which I suppose equals "break a leg" in English), things that apparently happen in theatre. And then, inevitably and well-deserved, the premiere party afterwards. First, right on location, until they're closing down the bar. Then, a collective move of all involved plus some guests, from the main hall to the theater's home base, the small bar in the rehearsal building. Euphoria, happiness, and drinks. And even more drinks. Even more euphoria too. At some point, inevitably, lock-in. At some point, ashtrays appear, celebrating is simply more enjoyable with ashtrays. At some point, it's just late. Very late. Or early. At some point, someone comes up with the liquor idea. Seems like a reasonably good idea. For now. Until that moment when I have the urgent need to lie down. Sleep. Rest. It's urgent, did I mention that? Not later or when I'm home, no, immediately. But hey, that's not a problem on this blissful evening. On the third floor is the rehearsal stage, there's a mattress, a blanket, and a pillow. That will do. The next performance is a morning show for school classes. 10:30 am. Feasible, easily, if I get out of here at 9:00 am. There'll be even time to grab a coffee on the way.

Unfortunately its already 9:30 am when I wake up. A close call, but still doable. I'm leaving my bedside, making sure the door behind me is really closed, I'm taking downstairs. Just a mild hangover, nothing stands in the way of a good performance. Except for the entrance door that I'm standing in front of now. It's locked. Just like all the other doors here. This does not look very good, I realize, and try to keep the panic under control. Sending a text message to one of the colleagues, letting them know it might be a tight one today. Nothing serious, I'm just locked in. Unfortunately, phone battery dies right after that very message.

Fast solutions are urgently needed now, missing the performance is not an option. And, indeed, there is a possibility. There is a way out. It doesn't look particularly easy, but seems to be the only one. On the first floor, there is actually an unlocked door that leads to the restroom. There's a big enough window there through which I could escape, even with my bag, but it's uncomfortably high above the ground. Too high to just jump down, significantly too high. However, I am at the level of the gable of the courtyard's plexi-cover. Reachable with a bigger step. Above all, it seems to be the only somewhat stable route. Emphasis on somewhat. Estimated 4-5 meters of balancing on the gable until I reach the steel structure on which the roof is mounted. From there, at least from what I can see, the large branch of the chestnut tree in the courtyard might be reachable, from which I could swing myself to the iron fence. If everything goes well, if I can slide down the fence and still be unharmed, I would only need a taxi to be available somewhere nearby, and chances are I'll be making it to the performance on time. By now, I suspect that it's simply too late to think about alternative options. Additionally, I am severely under-caffeinated, slightly unwell, a bit panicked, and not necessarily in a state to think any further about it.

I am probably more amazed than the rest of the ensemble when I arrive on-site five minutes prior to the start of the performance. It actually worked exactly like that. Even that one taxi I needed was there waiting for me.

Thanks to Christian Vittinghoff for the photos, both in the newsletter and in the news section of the website.