Past: The Armenian Party

I don't drive. So I always need to bring someone to drive me to gigs. But I am also glad for the company, the help... and in this case, well. It would have been a lot scarier on my own.

I got hired, through confused emails and even more confused phone calls with Lady Organiser to dance at a party, on a docked cruise ship, for an Armenian cultural organisation, "promoting Armenian culture". The penny did not drop then but did once we arrived in Antwerp.

We arrive a little late, after getting lost in the docks/harbour. It is dark. It is in the middle of nowhere. The area around the venue is very dodgy looking. And already I am very happy I am not on my own.

The venue is hilarious. Departed glory. You know... when you can see something used to be fancy and luxurious, but it is totally run down now, but you can sort of still feel and smell the old luxury. That was, not is. The cruise ship is from Norway and from 1952. And it doesn't look like the furniture and upholstery have been renewed since.

Outside on the parking lot are men with their girlfriends of the decorative type. I am not the one wearing the most make up. Men in business suits, with bankrolls sticking out of their pockets, smoking cigarettes. And ladies in very fancy but rather short dresses and killerheels who all look like models. And OMG is that a gun? We're not sure. There seem to be some security type guys around as well.

Inside are more of the fashion model women and of the men in suits, and also some elderly gentlemen and older ladies dressed in black with big scarves around their shoulders, and dressed like my stereotype of russian widows.

I get shown the dance floor and the dressing rooms.

I ask to speak to the DJ. He turns out to be of the "I am so important"-type. Who also speaks no language I understand. I give him the cd. Which has three songs on it and has 1+2+3 written on it. Quite clearly. I tell the girl that brought me in and does speak English that it is my cd and that I am dancing to the three songs on it. She translates. He doesn't listen and brushes us off.

So, I am taken to the dressing room. The other act they booked is a singer with some Eastern European go go girls. They are wearing yellow fluorescent mini dresses and apart from their private parts and nipples pretty much most of them is on show.... Okaay.....

Their leery male  manager refuses to leave the dressing room. Does not understand my assistant or my hints of the "Artemisia needs to get changed" variety. I am really not the prudish type, especially not when it's about fellow artists in a dressing room male or female. I get changed anywhere, but this just did not feel OK,  so I decide I'll go change in the loos when the time is there.

And then we wait, and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. It is running very late. Russian gogo girls have no idea when we are on either. I send assistant to go find Lady Organiser. She comes back and says Lady Organiser gave her brush of. I am still in my civies so i decide to go find her myself. She is talking with some guests so I stand around and wait. I don't want to interupt her, but I do try to get her attention. She looks very annoyed that I come and see her when she is with her guests. She walks over. I tell her look, you are running very late, and a little late is OK, but do you have any idea, at all, when I will be on. She says, yes, soon, she is clearly angry, and she walks of. I am not sure if I did the right thing to go find her.

So I wait in the dressing rooms. and wait. and wait. and wait. and wait.

Here comes Lady Organiser. It seems the entertainment program is starting. Finally. Look, she says, we have this tradition. All the entertainers will parade through the building, on Armenian music, in costume. I am to go with the half naked gogo girls and walk around in costume with them.  I refuse. She is pissed of. I'll tell her I'll come and take a bow in the performance area when the parade reaches that part, with a veil as cover up, but that I am not parading around the building in costume behind the gogo girls. She talks to the manager of the gogogirls plus singer, clearly complaining about me. and leaves.

So the girls parade and reach the stage, and I go out and take my bow.

We all go backstage. And wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. There are speeches. There is some kind of lottery. There is fokloric dancing by men and loud shouting. There are more speeches

finally the singer and the gogo girls go on. and come of stage. and i wait.

suddenly and elderly Armenian lady storms over, and starts pulling my arm. yelling at me. really yelling. the gogo girls, who have already danced once and are now wearing a red skimpy outift manage explaining to me, "she wants you to go dance now". I try explaining it's not my music, but now do realise some vaguely arabicy sounding dj mix is coming out of the speakers. I send my assistent to either go see the DJ or to find Lady Organiser. The Dj brushes her of. Lady Organiser then storms over with her mother, and yells, "what is the problem, you you dance now!". I explain I'll dance once the DJ puts on the cd i gave him earlier. they all look at each other as if i'm crazy. And talk to each other and shake their heads a lot.

Anyway, they go to the dj, and tadaa, there comes my music. 

So i come out, and dance my first song. then the music stops. I wave at the dj, yes, continue.

Nothing. I wait. joke around. Audience laughs.

And he puts the first song on, again. I look confused. I guess. Start dancing again. So my assistent walks over. more confusion but they finally do play the rest of the cd. and i even get asked to do an encore for the people on the balcony. I do and  I also get tipped well. the audience at least seems really appreciative.

The rest of the story is short: I get changed. we wait around forever for me to get paid. I send assistant over to pissed of Lady Organiser. She sends someone over with the money, including my waiting fee (hallelujah for having added that to the contract). And we leave.

The parking lot going-ons look dodgy. Bored girls in short dresses, fat rolls of bank notes changing hands and yes, that does look like a gun.

Homeward!

Artemisia