There's only a few extras for the pub scene--Dino obviously isn’t a
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popular attraction--and Sylvia is one them, sitting at a table about 30
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feet from the stage. Hadi is sitting behind his monitors to the left of her. The main person giving me directions is Tibo Tavers, his First Assistant Director. Tibo is very good, patiently explaining everything
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they want and instantly putting me at ease.
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They do the first rehearsal run through. 'Whispering Love. Take One!' That's my own voice booming through the pub. So it's my recording, the rough one I did on the Tascam. The music intro to the song starts, the camera is close in on me and I raise the mic at the appropriate point and start singing. Except that, since I haven't heard this specific track for six months, I don't know what the appropriate point is. I miss my cue at least three times, coming in just slightly too late every time.
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One of the crew at the side of me, out of shot, mutters grimly into
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his walkie talkie: 'He can't get his timing right!'
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The camera pulls back from me and then goes up the bar. I only get to sing the first two lines of the song, then the group at the bar explode in a roar of enthusiastic applause: 'Bravo Dino!' 'Go Dino! 'The British
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Charlie Rich!' Hadi shouts 'Cut!' And I can't stop laughing. The applause interruption was a complete surprise. So I'm only singing two lines?
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Then we rehearse it again. And again. And again. Each time there's something wrong, usually with me. It's not like singing a song for real, where you can gain in confidence, feed off the audience and eventually, if you're good enough, own the room. This is tortuous and precise and takes a lot of getting used to. Stop-start. Stop-start. Stop-start. No time to build up the rhythm of a real performance. I'm also conscious of the fact that the whole crew is waiting on me eventually getting this right. They're losing patience and I'm losing face. And it's me that's holding everything up.
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'Don't look at the camera! shouts Mr H. Having been raised on Engelbert and Elvis performances, where the singer does little else, I find this very difficult.
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I was hoping to have legs in my scene, but the camera is right up to my chest at the start, almost pinning me back. Oh, to be back in the old Shoreditch Birdcage on a Friday night! It's so much easier singing live in front of 200 people.
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Tibo is very patient, reassuring me about hitting the mark on the backing track and, finally, I nail it, where the singing should start. I don't mime, I sing along loudly and, even though the mic is a prop, a dud, my voice carries across the room.
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Then they decide that Sylvia should walk past as I start singing. And then Hadi asks me how I spell the 'Laine' in Dino Laine. A few minutes later and I've got my own chalk board at the side of the stage: 'Dino Laine Live Tonight', a very appealing touch.
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Now we're all ready to shoot the scene for real and someone actually does say, 'Let's go for take!' Suddenly I feel completely at home. It's great to have all this attention. Just for these few minutes, I'm the star! All the focus is on me. And, at the end of each take, I can't help laughing. Again, it's all that hectic fake applause from the bar.
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We do several takes, just of me lip-synching to the first two lines of the song with the camera going back to close on the villains and then, finally, Hadi thinks he's got it.
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NEXT PAGE, ‘DON’T LOOK AT THE CAMERA!’
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