80 Years of Shows - It's the little things that make the difference

“It’s the little things that make the difference,” was sung by Saskia and Serge. And indeed: it is the little things that make a performance a success… or cause it to take a slightly different turn. In this blog, I offer a behind-the-scenes look—what does a performance actually entail? Keeping with established tradition, I’m diving into Delpher once again. My miner’s lamp is fully charged.

From request to destination

It all starts, of course, with a request for a performance or workshop. People often assume we’ll just pop over for the price of a  glass of port or blackcurrant soda (our Dutch version for next to nothing). But unfortunately, there are always costs involved—travel expenses alone, for instance, which depend heavily on the destination.

For example, we read in De Tijd (March 5, 1958) that we took part in a charity ball at Noordeinde Palace in The Hague. Not bad at all. But it went even further than that: De Tijd – De Maasbode (May 31, 1961) reveals that LPR even performed in Vienna in 1960. And anyone who has read the previous blog posts knows that Nancy (and Maastricht in 1954) are on the list, too.

In short: we really get around.

Sources: De Tijd, De Tijd - De Maasbode en Gazet van Limburg.

The program: Rococo, Biedermeier, and an odd one out.

Once the location is known, the next challenge arises: the program. Nowadays, it is often Regency-style, whereas in the past, it frequently featured a combination of Rococo and Biedermeier.

Take the 1956 performance at the Palazzo Theater in Grave: the Rococo style dominates the first half. Yet one dance in that program stands out: the Gavotte Stephanic. It is completely unknown to me. The music sounds suspiciously like the Wilhelmi, which may well be the reason why this dance has since died out.

Incidentally, the program sometimes extends beyond mere dance. According to De Tijd (March 19, 1953), we regularly went on outings with Godfried Bomans—culture with a capital C. Or take a look at the videos below from a more recent period.

Sources: Grave, De Tijd

The logistics: from pianist to Prince Marshall

Then, the practical side.

You need:
● Dancers for the carré
● Wardrobe Assistant (heroes—let’s call them that)
● Someone to handle the music

In the early years, a pianist would come along. A luxury. In De Linie (June 1, 1963), we read that this pianist was replaced by a reel-to-reel tape recorder. A minor technological evolution followed:
reel-to-reel → cassette recorder → digital cassette → CD player → King Boomboom (boombox) → and nowadays: Prince Marshall (Bluetooth speaker + phone).

That’s what we call progress.

Sources: De Linie

The changing rooms (or what passes for them)

Then the big day arrives. The troupe turns up, and then… It's time to change.

This happens in impressive locations, including:

• The open air
• The hallway of a small hotel
• Garage units
• On stage during a play
• The shop window of a vacant retail space
• Changing rooms with cold (sometimes warm!) water
• A symphony orchestra dressing room… for two people

It certainly makes you flexible.

The audience: from the Queen to a handful of people.

Then the show begins. And the audience? It varies quite a bit

In the Nieuwsblad van het Noorden (October 22, 1959), we read that Queen Juliana once watched the performance. But the audience could just as easily consist of:

• Three random passers-by
• 900 telecom employees primarily interested in the buffet
• Children gazing breathlessly at the dresses
• Tipsy Belgians wanting to join in the dancing spontaneously

We adapt.

Source: Nieuwsblad van het Noorden

The little things

And now for what really matters: the little things. The moments when tension and relaxation rapidly alternate. Within our association, the vice-president is responsible for the shows.

Sound technician: “Hey Vice, has the music equipment been lent out?”

Vice: “No, why?”

Sound technician: “Oh… then it’s been stolen.”

Gentleman 1: “Where are the trousers?”

Gentleman 2: “!#@$@. I’ll just drive back and forth. We’ve got plenty of time, after all.”

Gentleman (5 minutes before Rococo):

“The makeup isn’t right… I’m starting over.”

Organizers: “Can you cut a few dances? We’re running behind schedule.”

Vice: “Sure.”

Organizers (half an hour later): “Could you cut a few more? Otherwise, they won’t make it to Schiphol Airport.”

Vice: “No problem.”

(From 6 dances down to 3. Efficiency!)

Vice: “See you tomorrow!”

Sound technician: “Tomorrow?”

Vice: “Yeah, Burgh-Haamstede.”

Sound technician: “…I can’t make it tomorrow at all.”

A gentleman tears his trousers while catching a “fainting” lady.

Someone from the audience: “Well, sir, just try staying in character after that!”

Horse show organizers: “When you perform again later... could there be less dancing?" "We’re here for the horses after all.”

Castle manager: “I’m so curious about your Rococo performance coming up; I can’t wait for all that beauty.”

The same manager immediately after the performance: “I’ve put your speakers outside because I want to get home on time, so hurry up.”

Gentleman (before leaving for a performance in Germany): "Hey, where is Lady X?"

Vice: She’s sick. Wardrobe Assistant, go home and fetch your dance shoes. You have your first Biedermeier performance today.

Wardrobe Assistant: “But I haven’t learned all of today’s dances yet!!!”

In conclusion

So yes—it really is the little things that make the difference. Not the perfectly executed steps or the tightest routine.

But the chaos. The improvisation. The near-disasters that ultimately turn out to be great stories.

And that is exactly what makes a performance a success. So, (former) members: share your memories by posting a comment!