You and Me and the Space Between – A Terrapin Puppet Theatre Show

In the first few years after arriving in Tasmania, I saw a production by Terrapin Puppet Theatre in which a colleague of mine had scored the music for an absurd, nightmarish puppet production in a small Hobart theatre. I was so thrilled by the idea that SOMEONE I KNEW was making music for theatre. I wanted that so badly it hurt. But 20 years ago, my skill set lacked, my connections were thin and it all seemed a long ways away. Fast forward to 2016. Terrapin calls me and…you’ll never guess? It took about 15 years and a raft of success and failure to get there, but I have now scored and toured with this delightful show by Terrapin written by Finegan Kruckemeyer. A few weeks of development, (full-time development – now that’s where the quality comes in),  and we’re on the road around Australia. This post about the show is now a few years in to its production life and so far we’ve toured most major centres of Australia, Edinburgh, the USA (including the Lincoln Centre in NY), China twice and Japan. This year 2020 (all things Coronavirus going well) we look to return to China and Japan again.

The show is a puppeteer, a narrator, a visual artist drawing the show live on an iPad, and me playing a bunch of instruments. This quartet is a delightful romp through an island story that touches many cultural issues, dilemmas and solutions. It’s pure joy to work on and I’m grateful for the partnership with Sam Routledge and Terrapin Puppet Theatre.

Oh Sting

Sometimes ,missing a deadline works to ones advantage. I’m not suggesting this as a business strategy, but sometimes, as in this particular time, something good came of it. I was so busy with the NW project, that when an email loaded with a poem from David Walsh, issuing the challenge to set it to music came, I quarantined it, knowing that it would become the greatest of marvellous distractions from all other work. I left it for a few weeks. This, apparently, is far too long for a poet who’s muse was restless for music upon his verse. So I was both disappointed and delighted when informed that, due to my lack of activity in this area, the poem had been sent to Sting to muse upon.

In the following blog, David writes that I dismissed said poem. See above my defence. See blow the blog. Being one point of a triangle of David Walsh, Sting and myself is a pleasant place to be. Sentimentally, I rejoice.

 

 http://monablog.net/2015/09/25/o-death-where-is-thy-sting/