Killing Time: Backbeat

view of the street from the baclconey of the theatre

I gave up the idea of going to Backbeat when at the ticket wicket, I was told that there were no more day-seats (those seats on the front row that are sold for less than £30’s at most theatres).

I was disappointed.

A few hours later, and a few blocks away, I thought about concessions – the tickets that are sold an hour or two before the performance to people over age 65, if the tickets haven’t been sold at full price.

That is how I found myself going to an evening performance of Backbeat, after a matinee of Absent Friends with Rebecca on Wednesday.

Two shows a day are too much for her, she said, and besides, she had two sick men at home, and the responsibility for an evening grocery run.

... eating out before the theatre starts ...

I stayed behind, knowing the theatre doors would open to the bar at 6 pm, a practise known to those who like a pre-dinner drink. I was there on time, but alone, and having no desire (yet) for a drink, I checked out the theatre bar and mezzanine, where I saw the open balcony that hangs over St. Martins Street. I had time to kill, my new camera and a place to stand high above the street.

My new camera has a 17x zoom, which is still making me laugh outloud. I can go from capturing three or four buildings in a street scene, to focusing on a picture of La Roche, the restaurant below, and to going right through the restaurant window and see if people have ordered beef or chicken and if they are eating their vegetables.

That seemed like a little too much power for me.

When taking pictures on the baloney was enough, I slipped downstairs, thinking I could stand in a corner of the foyer and stretch my legs before the performance began. I thought I was covered with a cloak of invisibility, but that was only imaginary, for the woman selling candy, jackets and mugs said called to me, “There are two chairs. Sit down.”

Backbeat -- the story of the 5 early Beatles

So now I sitting on a bow-backed chair, right beside the lady at the candy counter who was also on a bow-backed chair, but I was watching the theatre patrons arrive. They were greeting other groups of friends with kisses and warm hugs, picking up reserved tickets, buying programmes and sweets, and checking their coats. For 45 minutes, I sat there and watched couples come into the theatre all being given the same information: the programme is £4, £5 pounds with a bag of treats; the bar is upstairs; take this specific door for quickest access to your seat; enjoy the show.

Wyona had warned me that the music in this show is too loud. She had asked the usher for a seat further back in the theatre. He returned to her with a printout, showing her every seat that was still empty in the theatre and telling her that she could have any of them. Not wanting to go to that trouble if the music might be too loud for me or not, ... when I bought my ticket, I asked if the wicket teller could point out a store nearby, where I could buy earplugs.

'Stewart' with the guitar and the shades
"he died before the Beatles became famous"

“No need,” he said. “they are complimentary at the coat check.”

And that is how I found myself at the theatre last night, putting earplugs into my ears when the music was on, and taking them out when dialogue was going on after killing some time beforehand.