7.30 a.m.
Kathleen Scanlon wakes the NCH from its night-time slumbers. She has never been to a classical music concert in the hall but she did go to hear Christy Moore there once, who was "brilliant", and is looking forward to country and western star, Charlie Landsborough, who is coming next Sunday for four nights. Kathleen arrives by bus from Ballymun to supervise the team of five green-aproned cleaners who are the first to start work at 7.30 a.m. Until 10.45 a.m. they go all over the building, vacuuming, polishing, tidying and shining the brasses. She looks after the auditorium: "I walk through row by row and pick up all the papers and programmes. Then it has to be vacuumed and spot washed."
8 a.m.
The head chef, Derek Morris, starts his 16-hour day. He is responsible for lunch and dinner at the Terrace restaurant (which has a capacity for 80) as well as corporate functions frequently held at the NCH (which could involve up to 1,000 people). He waxes lyrical about the food fads of the various celebrities who have given concerts here: "Nigel Kennedy is very difficult. He has to have low-fat food before he performs: salad, pasta, wholemeal bread. Everything has to be perfect. Otherwise he won't go on. Afterwards he has to have a certain brand of champagne."
9.15 a.m.
This is when I arrive. It is a miserable day, the last day of September. Rain is pouring down. The impressive neo-classical facade of the NCH is hooded and silent, all shut up at such an early hour. I slop through puddles to the stage door at the back. Ray Doolan is at security. His shift has just started and it's his job to check out newcomers like me. He is assisted by Christy King and George Hunt, although George is out sick today. They are grateful not to have to work nights (that is contracted to an outside security company). Jacqui Mahon - the NCH's marketing manager (and, in her spare time, a singer with Anuna) - leads me out of the backstage area into the John Field Room with its magnificent Waterford glass chandelier. It is full of quirkily posed black and white photographs of the members of the Stavanger orchestra from Norway who will be performing here tonight. We pass through to the foyer out front. Empty, it looks huge: the thick red carpet a vast spread before us. It is hard to believe that tonight this place will be jammed with people and noise.
10 a.m.
Members of the Irish Concert Orchestra with conductor Bill Dobbins and saxophonist David Liebman are ready to start rehearsing for a jazz concert they will give here in two days' time. RTE music librarian Francis Hughes has already put their scores on the music stands. He is outraged at the cost of renting music scores nowadays, which can run into thousands for just one concert. When rehearsals are over this afternoon, he will make sure to gather up all the scores.
Meanwhile, the first administrative meeting of the day takes place in the Terrace restaurant over coffee. Education and Outreach manager Lucy Champion, NCH Board member MarieLouise O'Donnell of DCU, and Jacqui have gathered to discuss the proposed second recital hall. They are joined by the director of the NCH, Judy Woodworth - a slender, smiling woman whose demeanour is a mix of cheerfulness and authority.
"We need a second space where two events can run simultaneously," says Jacqui. When Earlsfort Terrace was first constructed in 1865 as an Exhibition Palace, it included two auditoria. It was later turned over to UCD, which still owns the second hall (the NCH as we know it opened in 1981). The John Field Room, although a pleasant performing space, is little more than a foyer through which people must pass to enter the main auditorium. Because of this, and because of the potential clashes of sound, the two spaces can't used at the same time. The adjacent building which the NCH would like to use as a second performance space is owned by the OPW, and was originally Lord Iveagh's indoor tennis court.
Marie-Louise is excited by the potential of a new space for enlightening people in the surrounding community about classical music: "If you don't get them in at a young age, they won't come, unless Mammy has taught them the violin." Her big expressive face beams across the table. The NCH's outreach work, for which Lucy is responsible, is then discussed. At 6 p.m. there will be an open rehearsal with the Stavanger orchestra, whose concert proper begins at 8 p.m. - the first in this season of international orchestral music at the NCH. School groups as well as any interested punter can attend the rehearsal for only £3. There will also be masterclasses with some of the celebrities such as pianist Barry Douglas, who will be performing here on Thursday. Lucy is most excited, however, by a new venture, In Tune, which sees the NCH travelling out of Dublin to do "residencies" around the country.
Judy sees this as an important way to affirm the NCH as a truly "national" institution. The first one is in Kilkenny and starts on October 20th. It involves five school visits by a team of 15 NSO players, six National Chamber Choir singers and five composers, all trained to improvise with the children.
11 a.m.
Things are hotting up. The box office has opened. Three people man the phones and there are two more in an office behind. Printers spew out tickets. There are a few left for tonight. As for advance bookings, there is a brisk demand for James Galway, who is not playing here until May. "This is our busiest time, when we first open. It gets busy again then at about 5 p.m.," says Fiona Tully, deputy manager of the box office. Most of the tickets are booked by phone; the NCH is one of the few places where you don't need a credit card to book.
Meanwhile a management meeting is starting in Judy Woodworth's office, which is a light-filled, high-ceilinged room dominated by a magnificent Victorian fireplace. Adorning the wall are signed photos of celebrities who have been here. Everyone is pleased that tickets have sold well for the Stavanger tonight, as they did not get huge audiences for their two other Irish gigs, in Galway and Limerick. It can require "lead time" of over a year to get an international orchestra in, explains Jacqui.
Stage manager Paul Hunt says that so far, all is well for this evening's concert. The Stavanger travels with its own truck full of instruments, which has already arrived and will be unloaded later. This is a relief, explains Judy, because once an orchestra arrived from abroad but their instruments did not. They had to improvise with whatever small instruments they had brought with them on the plane until 10 p.m. that night when, at last, the rest of their musical equipment rolled in.
Noon
Judy has yet another meeting. Karen Thompson, events and operations manager, is fine-tuning a presentation she will give this afternoon at an NCH board meeting about the new reception area and shop about to be completed in the foyer, and plans to extend office space. A frequent cry among the staff is about the space shortage in the NCH: "We have four and five people to an office," explains Judy. "It's a huge problem to make more out of the tight accommodation we have." Fiona outlines an ingenious scheme to cut tall rooms in half so that the top bit can be made into another room above. The counter in the Terrace restaurant will be changed to allow a few more tables. Karen is enthusiastic about a new griddle-style cooker due to be installed. Derek will travel to Italy to get special training, after which he will prepare food on the new Wamsler cooker in front of the crowd, "rather like performance art" says Karen.
Now there's a lull when Judy has put aside a bit of time to brief me on the NCH. She has been in the saddle now for over five years. "Most days are busy," she smiles. "We have 380 events a year. The joys of live entertainment mean that any problems are very immediate and you have to respond to them very quickly. I have been working for over 20 years in the music industry, so I'm well aware that the unknown is always about to happen." She relies a great deal on her "enthusiastic and committed team." She also gives credit to most of the performers who come to the NCH: "On the whole they are enormously professional. They are here to deliver the goods to the audience. But, in return, you have to provide them with the right conditions and anticipate their needs. "The hall has a good reputation now, so that American orchestras often want to start here at the beginning of their European tour. Irish audiences are also known to be very warm and appreciative."
1 p.m.
I have a pleasant lunch of turkey and herbed mash at the Terrace, full of young professional types in suits who braved the still pouring rain to sample Derek's cuisine. At nearby table, Judy is having yet another meeting, this time with Dermot Egan, chairman of the board. Backstage in the artists' bar, presided over by the welcoming Caroline Farrar, members of the ICO have taken a break from rehearsals and are imbibing soup, sandwiches and coffee. "This is a truce area, where people come to chill," explains Caroline.
3.15 p.m.
Tension is mounting backstage. The ICO is still rehearsing and the stage has to be rearranged for the Stavanger according to a stage plan sent to Paul Hunt. The ICO's chairs, which are "tatty and old" also have to be taken off the stage and replaced. Paul hops from one foot to the other, trying to keep his cool. "They're usually off by 3.15 p.m.", he says, looking through the side stage window at the musicians still practising jazzy rhythms. "We can't unload the Stavanger truck until the ICO has gone." The back door, through which the Stavanger truck will be unloaded, is already partially obstructed by stacks of paintings from an art auction last night. On top of everything else, it's still bucketing from the heavens.
At 3.30 p.m. the conductor, in response to an orchestra member tapping his watch, wraps up the session and the musicians, with a few last tootles and parps, straggle off the stage. Paul and his stage helpers, with an RTE orchestral assistant, leap into action: stacking chairs, rolling the piano off the stage. There is some uncertainty about the height of podium the conductor of the Stavanger, Vassily Sinaisky, will require.
Deputy front of house manager, Aidan Quinn, leads me up five queasy flights into the roof area to see the lighting cabin where two follow spot operators sit if there is a soloist performing (they won't be needed tonight). I gaze down at the tiny stage 60 feet below, trying not to feel ill.
4 p.m.
The stage is ready for the Stavanger and their truck is being unloaded. But out front in the foyer, things are not so calm. Karen and Aidan watch in consternation as carpenters are sawing into the new reception desk. "This is when it all goes pear-shaped," says Karen. She is promised that the mess will be cleared by 5.30 p.m.
4.30 p.m.
The sponsors' table is being set up in the foyer, where guest tickets can be collected. Statoil have sponsored the Stavanger orchestra's visit, and this NCH concert series has been sponsored by the Sunday Business Post.
5.15 p.m.
The Stavanger orchestra members arrive, still in their civvies, shaking the rain off their brollies. They have just checked into Jury's Inn on the quays.
5.45 p.m.
Ahead of schedule, the rehearsal begins. Boys and girls from a school in Tullamore tiptoe in and take their seats. About 40 people are sitting in the auditorium listening to the Stavanger rehearsing the Cello Concerto No. 1 in E flat, Opus 107, by Shostakovich, with cellist Truls Mork. An enormous carved harp looms over the orchestra.
6.30 p.m.
A bustle is beginning in the foyer. In spite of the rain, people are arriving in their finery. There are several couples drinking tea and eating scones in the John Field Room. The Terrace is filling up. The Ladies is full of women attending to their hair and answering their mobile phones. Anne Frame, an usherette who is selling programmes tonight, slips out of the open rehearsal which she has been enjoying (she plays the oboe with the National Youth Orchestra and studies at the RIAM) and puts on her uniform. "This is a fantastic job for me," she enthuses.
7 p.m.
A reception for the Friends of the NCH is under way on the balcony. Banqueting manager Margaret Moore, wearing a rakish bow-tie, greets her guests with a warm smile and goes around filling up glasses with red and white wine.
7.30 p.m.
The group of people I met at this morning's management meeting, then dressed for a sensible day's work, are now re-emerging in smart suits for their real business: entertainment. Below, the foyer is full of people quaffing drinks and talking at the top of their lungs. Backstage, the orchestra members have emerged from the changing rooms in natty tails, patent leather shoes, and evening dresses. I am surrounded by sounds of tuning up. Paul finally gives them the signal to go onstage.
8 p.m.
As they tune up, the noise in the auditorium from the chattering audience dwindles. Backstage, the tall conductor, brandishing his baton, is still waiting to go on, as is Thale Valland, the young woman soloist, here to sing Norwegian folk songs, decked out in traditional costume. I can hear her loud nervous breathing. Finally, they're on. As the audience settles down to enjoy the lovely sounds of the harp and the woman's songs, all is still bustling backstage. Paul rushes off to get flowers and gives them to an usherette, Pauline McAuley. In fifteen minutes, when the soloist finishes, Pauline will have to go onstage and give her the bouquet. Pauline is nervous because she is not sure of the protocol: "I know the French kiss on both cheeks, but what about the Norwegians?"
9 p.m.
At the interval there is a crowded Statoil sponsored reception in the Carolan room for guests. There is a crush of punters at the John Field Room bar. Barman Jim McLoughlin is calm and methodical as he takes orders. "It's always white wine and gin and ton tons with this crowd," he explains. If the auditorium is full he can expect 400 people descending on him for the short interval while 300 will go to the foyer bar and another 300 to the balcony bar.
Backstage, the orchestra members are sipping water and grinning. All is going well. "This is a wonderful country," exclaims Russian viola player Mikhail Zemtsov, who is holding his daughter's hand. Dana (6) is travelling with the orchestra as her mother, violinist Julia Dinnerstein, is also a member of the Stavanger.
9.30 p.m.
During the second half of the concert we are treated to Dvorak's moody and dramatic Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Opus 88. I sit at the back of the auditorium with Dana and a member of the orchestra who is minding her. During the encores, Dana is conducting. She hardly misses her minder who slips out to join the orchestra on stage for the last encore. He plays the triangle. She continues to conduct, and waves to her parents as they stand with the others to receive the audience's thunderous applause.
10.10 p.m.
Backstage, the orchestra members are now on a high, drinking beer and pulling on dramatic long coats: "It was wonderful. The hall is very good for performing," says Mikhail, lifting Dana into his arms. Mark Sejpkens, from the Netherlands, who plays percussion, agrees: "It has been fantastic, especially tonight. The Irish audience is very enthusiastic." Luckily, they aren't too bothered about the weather because they are used to endless rain in Stavanger at this time of year. They head off to be wined and dined courtesy of Statoil at the Viking Centre.
In the John Field room out front, the audience queues at the cloakroom for coats and brollies because, yes, it's still pouring.
Backstage, ever vigilant, Paul and his team are already loading the Stavanger truck, and resetting the stage for tomorrow's music.
