One Chance

by Paul Potts

  ***

  Shortly after recording my first album, One Chance, I had been asked by my managers, Richard and Harry, whether I wanted to go on tour. I’d said yes, not really knowing what it would involve. Fast forward six months, and I’d spent Christmas and New Year’s listening to a playlist of music that would form my show as I travelled round the world. In early 2008, I was in rehearsal rooms in East London, close to Tower Bridge, wondering just what I was about to let myself in for.

  Prior to Britain’s Got Talent, the most shows I had ever done in a week was three, at Bath Opera and at Southgate College Opera. I looked at my touring programme and started to freak out. My schedule showed me doing fifty-five shows in six months. In the UK and North American parts of the world tour, I was averaging six shows a week.

  Not only did this feel like a lot, I was also very conscious of the fact that I wasn’t an amateur anymore, and I wasn’t playing a part. People were paying their hard-earned money to come and watch me perform. Could I pull it off? I felt nervous and tense, and was on the point of losing my nerve. When I practised the Mario Lanza–inspired Student Prince medley that would become a big highlight of my tour, I really struggled with the high notes. I started to panic.

  Even worse than the singing was the thought of talking to an audience every night. What would I say? I didn’t want someone to come and write speeches for me, as I felt this would be insincere, but the idea of speaking to thousands of people six nights a week scared me more than the singing. I was terrified, and it showed.

  In later conversations with my crew, it turned out they were concerned that I might have a breakdown. This was a real test of how adaptable I really was, a real sink-or-swim moment. The one thing I knew was that I was committed now. I had to go ahead and do my best for the people who were coming to watch me. The show, to use a famous phrase, must go on.

  The tour hit the ground running with a UK leg comprised of twenty-four dates in thirty-one days. It began in the classic British seaside resort of Rhyl, on the north coast of Wales. After the rehearsals in London, we took the long drive up to nearby St. Asaph where we were staying. We then headed over to Rhyl’s splendid Pavilion Theatre for a last full run through before the first show.

  I had a great team of people with me to help calm my nerves. There was my conductor, Mark Agnor; my musical director, Chris Taylor; the core technical team, Mark Littlewood, who dealt with front-of-house sound, and LJ, the engineer who looked after sound on stage. I was also fortunate to have a wonderful guest artist with me on tour. Natasha Marsh was an up-and-coming Welsh soprano whose debut album Amour had been released the previous year. She was approachable and lovely, and a real help in guiding me through my early days of touring.

  I hadn’t liked the term “support act,” and made the decision early on that I wanted my guest to be part of the main show. That brought its own questions. Natasha and I were to perform a duet of “Brindisi” from Verdi’s La Traviata, and I was unsure what we should do during the piece’s musical interludes. Dancing didn’t seem an option: firstly, I am reliably informed by Julz that I am a terrible dancer, and secondly, Natasha is much taller than I. Either I would have to stand on tiptoes or Natasha would have to bend down, making us look like a dodgy copy of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’s Roger dancing with Jessica.

  In the end, I decided to be a little inventive and suggested we toast and drink champagne (actually sparkling apple juice) with our arms locked. I would then exaggerate the difference in height, which usually got a good laugh. Unfortunately, occasionally some of the “champagne” would get spilt, but I figured it was better than Tash and the other sopranos getting bruised toenails or torn ball gowns.

  Meanwhile, I had worked out how to get around my concerns about talking between the music. I decided my approach to the talking would be to try and imagine that I was casually chatting to friends in a bar. Being nervous meant I tended to talk a little too much, which was quite normal for me. But talking too much was probably better than not saying anything at all.

  As the UK tour began, I was frightened that people would not enjoy the singing, meaning that I would be considered a fraud. Thankfully, however, my fears were to prove unfounded. The first few shows went okay, although I wasn’t especially happy with all of it. I asked Mark Littlewood to record the shows from the sound desk so that I could listen back and correct things that weren’t quite right. I have always been one of my harshest critics, and I wanted to learn from the mistakes I was making.

  A real critic came for the first time to one of my early dates in Cambridge. He tore the show apart, which left me feeling a little unhappy, but I was heartened by the fact that the audience seemed to enjoy it. For me, they were the most important critics of all.

  I knew, however, that I was not singing at my best. I was thinking too hard about my performance and worried that the running order was causing most of the problems. Originally, when I sat down with Gary Wallis before the tour started to discuss the order, I’d suggested the great Mexican song “Granada” at the start of the show. It was a march, and the overture for the show also began with it, so I felt it was a perfect starting piece. Gary disagreed, and because this was my first tour, I’d gone along with it.

  The difficulty was that “Granada” was now coming after “Caruso,” one of the most passionate songs of the first half, as well as having some of the highest and most sustained notes. Following that, “Granada” was just too tough. Because I didn’t think I could do it, I was having difficulty with it technically. It was the single issue that led to my beating myself up over my entire performance.

  In the end, I had bad weather to thank for making the necessary change. We’d performed in Harrogate, North Yorkshire, before heading up to Scotland for our next show in Aberdeen. High winds, however, were grounding flights, which meant that rather than flying up to join us, Natasha was forced to travel up by taxi. She was busy in Leeds doing interviews for her album, so we had gone ahead in the bus. It was a long journey, and it became clear that Natasha was going to be severely delayed getting to Aberdeen’s Music Hall.

  I sat down with Chris Taylor, Mark Agnor, and my tour manager, Jake, and made a very quick decision about a revised running order. I moved “Granada” right to the start of the show, because we didn’t yet know when Natasha would arrive. It was originally at the very end of the first half. Ending with a long high C, I wanted to perform it early, when I was fresher. She eventually made it to the venue halfway through the show. As I was singing “Ave Maria,” I spotted her standing there out of breath, so I signalled to her that I would perform one more piece before introducing her. It was a testament to her adaptability and complete lack of an “attitude” that Natasha just got on with things, even joking with the audience that she had not had time on the way up for a toilet stop.

  The Aberdeen show was the one that helped me really turn the corner. Chris and I agreed that from now on I’d begin with “Granada.” I became more confident and performed better as a result. That fed into the talking as well as the singing. Jake suggested I make a point of keeping in touch with local and national news, and one story I particularly focused on was that of a BBC news presenter, Jeremy Paxman, who had been bemoaning the quality of Marks and Spencer’s underpants. I had spotted a children’s book called Aliens Love Underpants and suggested to the audience that Jeremy read it, and that in any case, I had hundreds of pairs of M&S pants and they hadn’t yet let me down.

  I was starting to enjoy myself more and more on stage. The show’s reviews improved, and that helped my confidence further. Before I knew it, I was singing the last show at Hammersmith Apollo in London. This I felt was my best performance yet, and we celebrated at the K West Hotel after the show.

  While we stood at the bar, Julz pointed out a guy in the corner. He was a comedian, Matthew Horne, who had played the part of Gavin in a hugely popular BBC sitcom called Gavin & Stacey. I had missed it, having been abroad for most of the autumn, so I didn’t recognise him
at all.

  Next to Julz was another famous face from the series I didn’t recognise: James Corden, the co-writer of Gavin & Stacey, who played the part of Matthew’s best friend in the series. James was holding a Tesco carrier bag and looking somewhat forlorn.

  “That’s all they left me!” said James, mournfully.

  “What?!” Julz said, trying not to laugh and failing.

  “They broke into my car, and all they’ve left me is my dirty laundry!”

  Julz broke into hysterics at this point.

  James appeared indignant: “I’m telling you that someone has broken into my car and that all they have left is my dirty underwear, and all you can do is laugh at me?”

  “Sorry,” said Julz, “but it’s your fault for being a comedian. It was the way you said it!”

  Despite his annoyance, James was a funny guy and difficult not to warm to. I don’t suppose either of us could have imagined that when we met again, it would be on the set of a Hollywood film, with James playing the part of me!

  With the UK part of the tour complete and my confidence up, I set off for the next set of concerts in North America.

  My first date was an event at the Planet Hollywood Theater in Las Vegas, before beginning the tour proper in Seminole, Florida. Julz and I spent a few days in Vegas, taking in a few shows and playing a few small wager card games. We also took the opportunity to go and see the Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon, flying over it in a helicopter and landing on the lower parts for a champagne picnic. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

  Part of the US and Canadian tours would be undertaken by air, and part by tour bus. This would be my first experience of travelling and sleeping on tour buses. I enjoyed the experience and the camaraderie with the other passengers. I enjoyed all the travelling, and it was great to have Julz by my side. However, she found it tiring, as she struggled to sleep on the buses and didn’t enjoy living out of a suitcase.

  After performances in Seminole and Tampa, the tour made its way up the east coast of the United States, with shows in Washington, DC, New York, Ledyard, Connecticut, and Boston. At Washington, DC, I was struck by the varying ages of the audience: at the stage door, I met both an eight-year-old fan and lady who was close to her century! Performing in New York City was a huge honour, but nerve-wracking as they have a reputation for being tough. But they seemed to receive me well, which was a relief. In Atlantic City, I announced my resignation from Carphone Warehouse. Up to this point I was still technically employed by them, and I’d felt that life was just too unreal for my good luck not to be a dream.

  After the Boston show, I felt a cold coming on. I tried to dose myself with vitamin C and echinacea, but they weren’t having any effect. The tour continued on into Canada, and my first performance in Hamilton seemed unaffected by my symptoms. But by the time I got off the tour bus in Montreal, I was bunged up, coughing, and had a temperature. I could feel the cold starting to affect my voice and booked into the spa of one of Montreal’s top hotels to use their steam room. This helped clear some of it, but even so, I was feeling very rough.

  I was due to play at the prestigious Place des Arts in Montreal. Postponing the concert was considered, but knowing the rivalry between Quebec and Ontario, I knew that if I cancelled the Montreal show, then I would be under pressure to do the same in Toronto and Ottawa. I made the decision to go ahead, but shortened my performance slightly. I didn’t want to sing anything that might do harm to my voice, so I made the reluctant decision to cut down the Student Prince medley and left out “Nessun Dorma.”

  I was gutted because both Place des Arts in Montreal and Roy Thomson Hall in Toronto were stunning venues to perform, and I knew that I wasn’t at my best in either. Roy Thomson Hall, the home of Toronto Symphony Orchestra, was a particularly great place to visit. I saw the ENT specialist for Canada Opera, who was very complimentary about my voice and said I had taken the correct course of action in cutting the set-list back.

  That wasn’t to be the only Canadian drama. As we arrived in Edmonton, I got pain in my left hip that was diagnosed as a trapped nerve. It was very painful and caused a heavy limp. I must have looked a right state, limping and coughing as I headed onto the Winspear Centre’s stage! By the time we arrived in Vancouver in a blizzard, my body was finally starting to recover. I got my strength back and the dropped songs returned to the set-list. After further dates in Victoria Island and Calgary, we headed back into the United States. I particularly enjoyed singing at the Warners Theater in Los Angeles, which was a wonderful venue.

  As the tour headed south, to Phoenix and on into Mexico, it was the equipment’s turn to have difficulties. The heat meant we had technical problems as the antiquated sound desk struggled to cope. Mark Littlewood, who dealt with the front-of-house sound, found himself surrounded by several hundred very passionate Mexicans wanting his guts for garters. Mark came to me at the end of the show, telling me that many artists would have thrown the microphone down and walked away in such conditions. I told him I would never do that as it would be insulting his hard work, the promoter, and, most importantly, the audience who had paid money to see the show.

  The next section of the tour was New Zealand, Australia, and Asia. After the intensity of the British and North American legs, I was pleased to find a bit more space between shows and to have a little bit of time to explore the areas we were visiting. We had a few days before our first show in Christchurch, so Julz and I and Jake, my tour manager, made our way to the beautiful city of Queenstown on South Island. This was bliss. Beautiful scenery, wonderful lake, great food, and lovely people—what’s not to like? I thought to myself.

  My guest artist on this part of the tour was a young, pretty Kiwi singer called Elizabeth Marvelly. Elizabeth is from Rotorua, and rightly proud of her Maori heritage. It’s obvious in her performance of the Maori song “Tarakihi,” which stirs people wherever in the world she performs it. Elizabeth and her parents were kind enough to show us round the area, famous for its volcanic activity. The activity is evidenced by the strong, unforgettable smell of sulphur.

  After the New Zealand shows, including a performance in Auckland that I thought my best performance on tour to date, we flew on to Australia. Starting in Adelaide, I sang in Brisbane, Sydney, and Melbourne before heading on to Perth. When we got to Sydney, I took the opportunity to climb the famous Harbour Bridge. For safety, I used climbing clips to reach the amazing view at the top. It felt incredibly surreal that while I stood there with the opera house below me, the orchestra was down there rehearsing my show! Both Sydney Opera House and Hamer Hall in Melbourne were great venues to play. Both had stunning acoustics and, if anything, I thought Hamer Hall’s acoustics were even better than those in Sydney.

  Asia was another adventure, and the press conferences there were as crazy as my previous time in Hong Kong. In Seoul, there were so many camera flashes that I could feel the heat from them! The concerts in Seoul and Tokyo were similar in some ways but very different in others: the Korean audiences were less reserved than the Japanese, though the Japanese audiences always gave me a fantastic response at the end of every piece. Outside the cities, Julz and I particularly enjoyed our time in Busan in South Korea; it was sunny, warm, and very pretty, with a rugged coastline.

  It was time for the final European leg, taking in Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Finland, and Holland. I was joined by Natasha Marsh for this part of the tour, and it was great to catch up with her again. The audiences across Europe were welcoming and enthusiastic, and the programme was back to a hectic five shows a week after the more restful pace in New Zealand, Australia, and Asia.

  Whilst I was in Sweden, I got news that something extraordinary was happening in Germany. My initial audition on Britain’s Got Talent was being used in an advert for Deutsche Telekom, and there had been a very strong reaction to it. The result was that One Chance was at number one in the German album charts, where it remained for seven weeks. My recording of “Nessun Dorma” reached number two in t
he singles charts in Germany on downloads alone.

  I found myself going to Germany more and more. I was asked to perform at the opening of the German football league season, the Bundesliga at Bayern Munich’s Allianz Arena. I went on an arena tour in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, performing to audiences of over ten thousand people a night. It was more than I could ever have hoped for in any dream.

  The craziest event I did was at the Dome in Mannheim. It was very much a youth event. I made my way onto the stage and was met with a wall of sound from teenage girls. When I told Julz, she didn’t stop laughing for about fifteen minutes.

  “You a pop star? Don’t make me laugh!”

  I found it bizarre, too. The noise was so loud that I couldn’t hear myself or the backing track. I had to rely completely on memory and a little bit of luck to be in time and in tune. I was blown away by the fact that an operatic aria written nearly a hundred years before was causing such a reaction with a teenage audience. It proved to me what I had always known: that music can cross the boundaries of geography, age, class, and creed.

  All in all, 2008 had been another incredible year. The travelling meant I hadn’t seen much of my family and friends, but I stayed in touch as best as I could.

  Julz and I had adapted to the pressures of both travelling round the world and spending time apart. Julz had also been a great interview partner who would lighten the mood with a deft comment about how daft her husband was.

  I had feared doing fifty-five shows and truly believed I would crash and burn. I don’t think I was the only one who thought that. But I learned an important lesson. Yes, there were obstacles. Yes, there were difficulties. But the only real obstacle in the end was in my own mind, and for the first time in my life I had overcome it. I performed more than a hundred live concerts that year—nearly double what I thought I could ever achieve.