COSTUME DRAMAS Working as an "extra" on a film set will never be the same after Ricky Gervais' brilliant comic series, "Extras", on BBC TV. Of course, it is a little different being employed as a musician, rather than an actor. Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, we get paid better. Secondly, we are engaged because we have a specific skill. Traditionally, actors are not entrusted to mime to music, as they cannot replicate musical actions in sufficient detail. If an “extra” actor is featured, by sitting in a particular position besides a "lead" then they qualify for a higher rate of pay; if they get a line (which is rare) then again, they are, again, entitled to a higher rate. With musicians, invariably we are seen playing to a pre-recorded track - so we put soap instead of resin on our violin/cello bows, to make sure that no sound will be heard when we are miming. A day of filming usually requires attending attending a fitting for costumes. In my case, there is also the necessity of getting a wig arranged as well. The film we were engaged for this month was a production called "Young Victoria", a drama featuring Miranda Richardson, following the early days of Queen Victoria and her relationship with Prince Albert. The scenes we were to be featured in were a large banquet in the main hall of Anundel Castle, and the Coronation Ball at Lancaster House. Early calls are de rigeur on film days. Waking at 4.30am I drove down to Sussex - it's always amazing to see how many cars there are on the road at that time - and I was on location by 6.30. If you are fortunate to be a featured artist, you are treated with the utmost charm and dignity by film companies. Stretch limos and finest foods are available at the wave of an arm, make-up ladies swarm around you, clucking and preening. As an "extra" you might as well be a flock of elderly sheep. You are herded around from bus to bus, "jobs-worths" shouting at you to hurry, even if you have just been sitting around doing nothing at all for four hours. The only consolation is that there is unlimited catering. Breakfasts are served out of large catering vans, and its possible to eat so much on arrival that the carefully fitted costumes no longer stand any chance of getting past your extended waistline. When you have squeezed on tights, period trousers, shoes and a Wee Willie Winkie nightshirt, then waistcoat and coat are then placed on top. On a hot day, these heavy costumes can almost cause fainting within a few minutes, let alone the many hours that you are going to spend on the set. Next comes make up. I enjoy this, since I haven't had a professional haircut for many years, and I like being pampered as the wig and false sideburns are fastened by glue; eye-liner and powder applied liberally to the cheeks and brow. "Hurry up now, you're late!" shouts someone at the door. Sure enough, all the other musicians have disappeared, and I am the very last to be delivered on set, and the French Canadian director is waiting, evidently not in the best of humour. We are to be filmed performing Strauss waltzes in the gallery, high above the guests in the main hall. A table the length of Oxford Street, weighed down with desserts, silver service and candles fills the hall below us; it looks quite magnificent. (see photograph) So as to get all the musicians in shot we are grouped so close together that we cannot even mime properly. Within a few seconds, Morgan Goff has poked my desk-partner cellist in the eye, and the brass players' instruments are sticking in each others' backs. The first waltz on the stand is called the "Paganini Waltz” which features a virtuoso fiddle player on the track. As we start to mime, the leader of our band struggles even to coordinate his actions to the track, and we all erupt into uncontrollable laughter as we witness him floundering. The director is perplexed, frustrated. We are shouted at to "keep the noise down" which makes matters even worse. Soon, some of the band are crying with mirth , tears rolling down their faces as the first shots start rolling. Our conductor drops his baton, Morgan plays too close to the strings and squeaks loudly, a trombonist breaks wind, and yet another take is ruined. These moments are the highlights of the day, because when they have eventually finished with us, we have to sit quietly in a holding area for the next five hours. After taking pictures for the archives in costume, everybody starts falling asleep (see picture) or relating the latest musical gossip. It is all very sociable, but very, very slow. On a good day, perhaps two or three minutes of the final film will be shot by the director. Miranda Richardson has to deliver only one line in the entire scene..."Always Shouting!" which hardly makes too many demands on her acting skills. We are called back to the musicians' gallery mid-afternoon, simply to appear in the background in a scene when the King looses his temper during a speech at the end of dinner. At eight in the evening, we are still sitting in our seats, and have not even mimed a single note. But we are starting to become animated - after eight o'clock we go into overtime ,at an enhanced rate. On the half hour, the orchestra all chime "Ker-ching!" together, as we have earned another unit of overtime. "Keep the noise down up there!" shouts a jobs-worth. The most ridiculous thing at the nd of the day, when you go to the cinema hoping to see yourself in full technicolour glory, you have either been cut out all together, or are so far in the background as to be almost invisible. Much Ado about Nothing. We have had a few wonderful Locrian trips since I last wrote this page. The best of these was a concert tour to Ireland. We started by performing in Dundalk, which is Rita `Manning’s home town. After a most successful Mozart programme, we were taken off into the hills, to a reception where most of the audience appeared to have assembled to treat us to a party, which lasted into the early hours of the morning. Everybody there appeared to be related to Rita Manning, and the tables were laden with an amazing selection of dishes, and wine flowed as if we were in the foothills of Chianti. Our next concert was in Londonderry, a massive hall, and here we had a party of enthusiastic youngsters who cheered and stamped, making it a really memorable evening. The final performances of the short trip was at The Helix theatre in Dublin. Over 800 people turned out to see us playing the Mozart Clarinet Quintet with Anthony Pike; it’s not often you have the privilege of playing chamber music to so many but they hadn’t heard my (two) jokes before, so that one again, we received a warm reception. We shall be returning to play our Carols by candlelight programme at the Helix at Christmas. I wonder what they will make of Paddy dressed as a forty-year-old-fairy or my rather noisy version of the Twelve Days of Christmas. As I write these few words, I am in the middle of recording the cast album of “Lord of the Rings”(The Musical), at George Martin’s studio in North London. I really enjoyed playing at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, opening the show and playing for the first few weeks of this major, £12 million production. It’s a really spectacular show, with many of the entrances and exits of hobbits, dwarves, elves and wizards, coming from the ceiling. However, Locrian projects have to take precedence over my West End commitments, and with a busy schedule of concerts and plays for this Autumn, I decided to leave the show to concentrate on these activities. Very best wishes to you all for the moment – I look forward to seeing you in the Autumn or for the Christmas show in December. Justin. WHY THE "LOCRIAN" ENSEMBLE? When, as four young and enthusiastic string playing students, we formed a string quartet at the Royal Academy of Music, we called ourselves the Lydian String Quartet for our first few recitals. Unfortunately we found that the name had already been taken, so we altered the name of our group to the Locrian String Quartet. For ten years, this group played and worked together most successfully, and we were the resident quartet at the University of Hertfordshire. When we decided to disband so as to pursue other musical directions (and to earn some money), I continued to be approached for concerts, so I started the Locrian Ensemble. I cheekily approached the best string players I could find in London, many of whom were working in the studios, playing music for televison and film. They were delighted to be asked to play chamber music, and the Locrian Ensemble was born. The name LOCRIAN is taken from the music theory of ancient Greece, and is a musical mode or diatonic scale However, what is now called the Locrian mode was what the Greeks called the Mixolydian mode. The Locrian mode was of mainly theoretical importance in classical music before the 1850s because of the large amount of dissonance created within the scale and its corresponding chord. It was sometimes referred to as the Devil's scale. In more recent musical pieces, the dissonance or musical imbalance created by the Locrian scale and chord have fallen back in favour (especially in Jazz) in order to create a sense of large tension.