Well we went and screamed. It was a big anti-climax. We were herded in through the back entrance at the Tate Modern. We had to wear rubber bands, that may have been stolen from the post office, on our wrists. We were given yellow ear plugs. Inside there were two screens with a count down from 10 to 1. Most people didn't wait and screamed when the numbers got to 1. But the scream was meant to be when the screen said 'scream'. Then it said 'wait' and then 'exit' and we all shuffled out again. There was a nutter in long robes and a gold hat handing out joss sticks and ching chinging on little chimes. His chimes were taken off him on the way in. There were people supposedly shouting 'free Tibet' though I couldn't hear them. It was very British in that we queued in an orderly fashion. However, at one point it was a little disconcerting - as we passed through the metal doors into the turbine room it was a bit gas chamberish. The metal doors came down.... and .... oh we got paid £20 a scream. That means it costs someone - us probably via the lottery or some such funding body, £20,000. They could have had some nice jazz for much cheaper.
I don't know if it sounded how the artist intended it to sound but it was interesting, and it was a hot day and we had a pitcher of Pims by the Thames and watched the boats go by afterwards. My son came with me (he's 21) and my friend who is a singing teacher and some of her students. We bought stuff in the Tate shop - a mug with Roy Litchenstein prints on it, a cartoon book, postcards. We walked across the Millennium bridge, you know the wobbly one that doesn't wobble anymore. I was a tourist in my own town! Got the tube home and fell asleep in front of Britain's Got Talent. Woke up just a little while ago to some noisy neighbours shouting at each other in their back garden.
There, life in the metropolis.
Angela J. Elliott
(The event described by Angela was to "Welcome" Edvard Munch's 'The Scream'.)
Twenty quid a scream? No wonder you could afford pitchers of Pimms!
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