Tech.

Ah, tech rehearsal, our first time in the space. Now, tech rehearsal is a frenetic, aggravating affair for any production—even under the best conditions. You establish an agenda and certain goals, and you try to meet them as you steadily plod through cues and glitches long into the night, and hope to arrive on the other side with the performance’s technical components (roughly) in place. Now, we had only 2.5 hours to do all that. Granted, my show’s eight lighting cues did not require the grandest of Broadway plots, with follow spots, catwalks, ladders, grids, gels, and a programmable board. We could do everything we needed with what was available, and in a couple minutes at that. Thus, lighting was sacrificed for the sake of sound.

Though perhaps both light and sound are frosting on the cake of this production, the lights are but a thin, superficial top layer to make the cake presentable, while John’s sound was the embedded middle layer—an essential aspect holding the entire thing together with a rich consistency, if less visibly. But then again, there were the voiceovers, which brought the sound to the fore and injected bursts of variety. Perhaps they are the strawberries, or ornate icing flowers, or something made from marzipan? Or would that be the costume, or splash of water? Never mind. All this cake talk is only making me hungry. Speaking of which, wasn’t I supposed to get a congratulatory cake? You know, with something like this written on it:

1.“King of the Mountain”

2. Tom Decker

3. Congratulations

4. Startlingly young talent

Well, I guess I can’t eat my show and have my cake too.

As John puts it, he anticipated working with the moderate sound system the theatre actually had. But the phrasing of the description the theatre provided made him excitedly prepare for a more extensive high-quality system, you know, something with a mixer. So, he schlepped his portable sound shop across the continent. And walking into the theatre on Monday only confirmed his original assumptions.

And so, for a solid 2.5 hours we worked: John, checking levels, building and tweaking cues; me, scribbling said cues into my script—the “book” for running the show; Mary, consulting on mood and blocking; Tim, stapling programs and snapping photographs; and Ryan, pedaling as always, while adjusting to the Lilliputian scale of the stage. The size of the space seemingly shocked everyone but me, who was impressed with the fair approximation of the stage dimensions Ryan’s living room served.

Allow me to share a rare glimpse of KOTM coming to life:

And soon enough, the next show was at the door and we rushed out into Times Square. More work to do the next night.