The Pirate Sting or: How Mr Smart Ruined my Pop Dreams
In 1995, I was in my final year of high-school and preparing not only for the dreaded HSC but for my final school musical production. It was a school production that I hoped would launch me in to stand-up comedy and a throng of adoring fans who found me unstoppably hilarious. It would also be my final chance to realise my secondary dream of getting a solo singing part. But this wasn’t to be – and it’s a dream that keeps haunting me.
Once a year, my school held a musical production. The idea of this musical production was to involve the entire school in putting on a production. Kids would be backstage helpers, lighting specialists, singers, dancers, and play in the band. There was also a main-cast that allowed enthusiastic kids to have even bigger on-stage roles. For three damned years I was involved in the main-cast with the idea that one day I would be given my chance to shine. It was my dream to sing my lungs out, and to be like a nerd in one of those crass Hollywood films where I shake my hair free, take off my glasses and suddenly become the most popular kid in school.
My school was connected to a large Catholic Cathedral, and as such the church’s choir was made up from kids at my school. The annual school production was a thinly veiled excuse for the school to showcase the choir and to prove that they could sing ‘popular’ songs and show tunes. It meant that the choir kids were given first choice in solos, while us supporting cast members were really only there to make up the numbers.
At this time in my life, I was a skinny glasses wearing kid whom other kids would call Denton, based on a dubious similarity to television personality Andrew Denton. While I aspired to be as funny or as charismatic as Denton, the nickname kind of took its toll on me as I became the honorary main-cast clown. I remember during one of our rehearsals inadvertently making a few of the kids laugh by being unable to correctly enact the technical choreography. Our choreographer, let’s call her Mrs Tankard, swelled to boiling point at this outburst and screamed at me across the room with a rage I have not seen since in a woman of 50+ years. She screamed a simple word that shut me and everyone in a 12km radius up for good: “DENTON!!”. But it is not Mrs Tankard for whom I have a gripe with for she was a simple lady with dreams of one day running the entire AV department.
A few days later we began to prepare for the final piece. Around ten of us would be singing a song called ‘The Pirate King’ from the musical ‘Pirates of Penzance’. For this piece, two of our class’ star choirists would be instantly selected for the solo – Ian and Nathan. (Nothing against these kids, they’re great singers and I am sure they do a lot of great work in the community). They both stepped up to the piano where the portly Mr Smart (head of the music department and something of a robust piano player come voice trainer) asked them both to sing the two solo leads. Once they had finished, he clasped his hands behind his head and smiled as if to say ‘My job here is done. No need to look any further’. Did he not know that I was waiting in the wings, not confident enough to step up and have a crack at singing the solo? Did he not know that there was more to being an encouraging teacher than wearing a brightly coloured tie?
Mr Smart turned back to the piano, began to pack up the sheet music and mumbled from the side of his mouth “Was there anyone else that wanted to try out for these parts?” and without even waiting for an answer “No? Ok then, see you tomorrow boys”. Another kid, standing to my right, Darren, knew I was keen to have a crack it. “Mason would like to have a go, sir,” he bravely put to the well-padded gent prancing before us in his own smugness.
Mr Smart turned and looked at me, knowing me only as the kid that looked a bit like Andrew Denton. He looked me up and down and through his massive upturned lips asked “Do you Mason?”.
“Yes, sir….if it’s not too much trouble,” I replied.
My nine classmates murmured a little in the huddle we were in. “Can he sing?”, “What’s he playing at?”, “Is this a joke?”. I could hear their murmurs, my nerves turning them into words in my head.
“Alright then,” Mr Smart mumbled, turning back to the piano and reluctantly unfolding the sheet music.
He began to play, a little faster than appropriate if I remember correctly, and I quickly blurted out the first line.
Mr Smart kept up, and I sang a further two lines. I was really struggling to keep up and didn’t feel at my full potential. One kid laughed. I’m not sure who it was though I suspect it was Colin.
Mr Smart stopped playing, collected the sheet music, and turned on his piano stool. “I think we’ve heard enough don’t you?” he asked with those mocking eyes that haunt me even today – particularly if I am looking at the eyes of a conjunctivitis-ridden daschund.
I slunk away with my head between my knees. My dreams had been dashed. My last hope then, or since to sing a solo. I knew Mr Smart hadn’t seen my potential, and as I left the gymnasium that afternoon I sang the words “For I am the Pi-hi-rate King….yeah hey…” to the tune of Rick Price’s “Heaven Knows” (hoping my ability to adapt the song to a modern tune would impress anyone listening). I don’t think Mr Smart heard that rendition. But I did. And I’ve heard it every day since.
Brilliant!
High school is tough – even for the class clown.
You may not have captured the attention of the so-called Mr Smart – but you have stolen my heart with this piece (and given me a solid belly laugh).
What’s next?
Thanks for your support NV. Step by step I’ll return to my former self…