Getting it On in Sopot Poland
Tom Jans
Rolling Stone
12th October 1972
One year
ago my partner, Mimi Farina, and I "competed" in the Polish
International Folk and Pop Song Festival.
Armed with visas and guitars we entered Communist Poland and
immediately learned that the festival was no small shakes. Broadcast to
300 million people behind the Iron Curtain, the festivals top prizes are
held in high esteem throughout Europe. The festival consisted of 250
contestants who vied musically for the awards over a period of five
days; two days were spent rehearsing and three days were reserved for
the festival itself. Included on the festival bill were “guest stars”
who didn't compete for prizes but added a “Hollywood luster” to the
affair. The stars for the 1971 festival were Nancy Wilson from America
and Nina Van Pallandt from Denmark. The festival took place a full year
before the Clifford Irvinges-Howard Hughes intrigue, and Nina was sort
of a glamorized folkie, having many fans in Scandinavia, but unknown
elsewhere. Not until we reached Poland were Mimi and I told that we were
representing the United St of America in the competition.
All
the contestants were flown first to Warsaw for a day's rest before the
flight to Sopot, a northern coastal town and site of the festival. We
arrived in Warsaw and were whisked away by a special army van and taken
to customs. After customs, another army van bounced us over cobblestone
roads to the center of Warsaw and the “Grand Hotel”.
Since the Communist government was sponsoring the festival, the
accommodations were the best Poland had to offer. The Grand Hotel was a
large 10-storey affair with airy though somewhat drab rooms. In her day,
before Hitler and then the division of Poland by the Allies, she could
easily put the Plaza to shame; but, adorned in army brown and without
carpets and ferns, she had been robbed of her beauty and had become
merely a service rather than a pleasure. Her somewhat tattered exterior
had plenty of character, though. Many of the window ledges still carried
bullet holes, a grim reminder of the fighting that took place in Warsaw
between the Jews and the Nazis. We went to sleep that night to the sound
of a Russian patrol marching every hour around the hotel.
Early the next day we boarded a small plane and headed for Sopot, 300
miles away. Upon arrival at the Danzig airstrip, each performer was
presented with a guide who was with us for the duration of the festival.
With incredible efficiency our passports were collected, and we were
herded into more army buses for the ride to Sopot, a few minutes away.
The
idea of a festival to most of us, and especially musician, means a
some-what sloppy affair attended by fun-loving folks intent on having a
good time rather than concentrating heavily on music. Not so in
Communist Poland. The music is taken very seriously and talked about in
hushed tones.
Wouldja Believe a Polish Folk Contest
All
the performers were to have rehearsals with the Warsaw Symphony, the
backup band. Everything was done according to the clock; strict eating
hours were maintained as well as practice times. Each performer was
given a meal ticket, good for three meals a day for five days.
All
the performers were given the option of using the symphony, which
consisted of 60 pieces, timpani drums and an electric guitar player
complete with Fender amplifier. Also optionally included in the backup
package was “soul” group – four Polish girls singing in the style of the
Supremes.
During the rehearsals, we noticed a wide variety of styles, singers,
groups and stage mannerisms designed to entice the judges' eyes. Some of
the groups included: a Russian rock & roll band singing in the style of
Crosby, Stills and Nash, only about 2 octaves lower; a black Tom Jones
from Jamaica complete with black tie loosened at the appropriate moment;
several smiling quartets, and half a dozen no-nonsense husband and wife
teams. Nearly all the groups were choreographed and decked out in the
latest spangles and sequins. Mimi and I tried to work out a box-step
number, but abandoned it at the last moment; couldn't feel it enough, I
guess.
During the second day of rehearsal of rehearsal, I could not believe the
tension that permeated all aspects of the festival. Costumes were
checked and checked by the performers and the managers, as were the
camera angles, cues, stage positions and lighting. Five international
judges would pick the winners along with a very jittery five-man jury
from Poland. The judgments were to be made on stage presence, song
arrangement, delivery and audience response.
Opening night did nothing to alleviate the pressure of competition for
the performers. About halfway into the show a Belgian girl fainted after
singing the first verse of her song. Her head hit the stage so hard the
sound could be heard in the last row of the large amphitheater. Since
she was a rather lofty soprano, four Polish stalwarts were required to
remove her from the stage. No mercy was spared the weak as her
spread-eagled torso and skirt around her waist were picked up by the
leering television cameras and sent to 300 million viewers behind the
Iron Curtain.
The
next day of the festival proved to be nearly as exciting. A string of
Tom Jones' imitators, tuxedoed and elegantly coiffed, sang their way
through old musical numbers, Broadway hits, and Cole Porter. Mimi and I
made our debut on this night and naturally created a fuss when she
explained to the audience before our first song: “You now it's really
too bad we have to represent countries in this festival, and it's even
worse that we have to compete. Music shouldn't compete.”
We
took our encore bow, received a dozen long-stemmed roses, and retired,
happy in the knowledge that the “competition,” for us, was over.
The
third and final day of the festival found the performers crazed, the
judges weary, and the orchestra fatigued. The final evening proved to be
full of surprises. To begin with, The Baroness Nina Van Pallandt had not
rehearsed enough with the orchestra and as a result the conductor, angry
over her carelessness, walked off the stage minutes before her
introduction. A spare arranger filled in but the result was the same as
if I had taken over. To make up for rhythm mistakes, Nina rushed
everything and finally, in confusion, began repeating verses. Her
closing medley of “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “Old Man River,” and “Lucky Old
Sun sounded like a German beer garden band backing Kate Smith. God knows
at least she tried.
After Nina, came the festival finale, our very own Nancy Wilson singing
to 300 million communists who were hanging on her every gesture. The
orchestra played admirably for her, although at one point in “Try a
Little Tenderness,” when they began to lose time, she pointed to her
rear end and joyfully yelled, “Just keep your eyes on this fellas, and
we’ll be all right.”
Apparently they got the message. Nancy sang her way through ten numbers
and easily won the hearts of the Poles.
The
winners were announced that night. Samantha of England was the top
female vocalist with Emile Ford taken honors for the men. Top band
honors went to a Russian group entitled the Reds.
For
the winners, the sweet smell of success was somewhat tainted by
indigestion as a result of Polish food. For the losers there was a long
trip back to London via Polish Airways and the frustration of knowing
that not a soul would believe your story when you returned home.
