Maybe it's a bit geeky, but I always watch the orchestra if I'm at a musical or, for that matter, the opera. I like craning my neck to see how they are getting on. They usually seem to be having a good time; maybe there's a bit of giggling, some talking, not much else, probably feverishly bar-counting in their heads. Reading books never comes into it.
So when I went to see The Valkyrie at the Coliseum the other night, I was quite surprised to observe one of the oboes suddenly fish out a rather large paperback from under his chair. Maybe it was a guide to leitmotifs, but it looked more like a potboiler. Halfway through Act One, he was still immersed in it. He even had a handy bookmark, for those irritating moments when he had to put it down to blow a few notes.
After the first interval, I became quite obsessed with him. Then I noticed that two of the flutes also had books - slimmer, though. I decided they were reading Salley Vickers, while the oboist was probably doing the last J K Rowling. Then, beside him, someone produced what looked distinctly like the London Evening Standard. This chap was canny, waiting for the timpani to go for a big drum roll before turning the page. I began to feel quite sorry for the singers - and the audience. I know it's five hours long, but if we can sit through it, guys, so can you.
No such slacking just around the corner on Shaftesbury Avenue, where the following day the cellist Julian Lloyd Webber had commissioned the Apollo Theatre to showcase his new IBossa Nova! line-up. As befits anything that renders the dynamic jazz rhythms of 1960s Brazil, it was very groovy. Keyboards and a double bass, both played by funky women; a sax, drums and guitar commandeered by men in corduroy tops and sneakers. And in the middle, there was Jules with his Strad, getting on down to the chilled chords of that Brazilian jazzer, Antonio Carlos Jobim. And more. There was Burt Bacharach's "The Look of Love", and even old Paganini made an appearance. "You can bossa almost anything," said Lloyd Webber by way of introduction to this last composer. "This is used by my brother, the lord, on The South Bank Show. We call it 'Pagan Samba'." He started the familiar refrain. Still sounded like Melvyn was just about to round the corner and come on stage, but it was a good attempt. And I liked the lord reference.
Afterwards we all went for lunch over the road. I like Lloyd Webber; he's engaging, and doesn't put himself up on a great big podium when he's talking about music. He told me that his line-up will record an album of bossa nova classics this summer. "What'll you put on the front?" I asked. Bossa nova albums are noted for their outrageous covers, which promote women in bikinis and men in teardrop shades. "How about dragging your cello down the beach?" asked a BBC producer.
To my amazement, Lloyd Webber, who has cherished his priceless Stradivarius, known as the Barjansky, for 20 years, thought this was a pretty good idea, which encouraged us all. "You could even be in swimwear," the producer continued. "Yes, you could do anything with computer graphics," he mused. So there it is - Julian Lloyd Webber in a turquoise tanga, strolling with his band down Copacabana beach, dragging the Barjansky Strad in the white sand. Now isn't that a CD cover you would just die to have on your bedside table?
