Nov. 2023
I have been awarded a grant from Arts Council England to run my research and development project developing inclusive provision in North Somerset.
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Observations and Experiences Performing as a Disabled Artist
Bristol Beacon Housewarming
2nd December 2023
For years, Bristol Beacon has been undergoing extensive refurbishment, transforming from the Colston Hall into a spectacular, quality live music venue to be sincerely proud of. They host the Paraorchestra, a pioneering ensemble showcasing disabled and non-disabled artists working together on music projects in a barrier-free, truly accommodating environment.
All factors which made me feel confident about a last-minute depping gig on baritone saxophone, for the Sisters of Swing, who had been booked to play on the Bridgehouse stage in the afternoon. I happily took the gig, with five days’ notice.
Asking in advance about parking arrangements for disabled performers, Bristol Beacon advised that, while they had no provision of their own, I could unload at the main doors, and that accessible parking is available at Trenchard Street carpark, just over the road. They also highlighted in the same response that they had a wheelchair lift to get me on the stage if needed. BRILLIANT! I felt confident that all was going to be fine, but experience taught me that arriving mega early is always a good thing.
So, I arrived 1.5 hours ahead of the requested arrival time. Mostly to guarantee a parking space at Trenchard Street carpark, but also to allow plenty of time for me to navigate any obstacles between my car and the entrance doors of Bristol Beacon. I also wanted time to scope out manoeuvring between the dressing room and the stage, and to check on any general access issues getting to wherever I might need to while I was there.
The single most hazardous experience of the entire day was getting out of Trenchard Street carpark in my wheelchair. There is just no safe way to do it as an unaccompanied wheelchair user. The wheelchair lift onto the street has been out of action for years, and the only option to get out is via the “Emergency Wheelchair Exit” which is left permanently wide open. The route is then down a steep slope, straight onto the public highway… into oncoming traffic…
No barriers. No cones. No notices to the oncoming drivers that I could see... Just me, my bari sax, and an oncoming car…
How on Earth Bristol City Council have been able to get away with this ‘solution’ for quite so long is an absolute bewilderment to me. One to follow up, for sure.
Making it across the road, I sought out the step-free gateway to the “Artist Sign-In” doors. Once through, another temporary barrier had been positioned, for crowd control, however there was still enough space for me to get through it easily, with all my stuff. I signed in, explaining I was very early, but that I wanted to have early sight for access reasons. The sign-in staff were amazing, happy to help, and found me a host who then accompanied me to the allocated band room.
We moved through the busy foyer, to the lifts, and went down one floor. This opened out into the lower foyer – home to the now renamed “Bridgehouse Stage.” Ah! So that’s where I’m playing! We crossed the dancefloor in front of the raised stage, past some toilets – which included a Changing Places facility (Yay!) – and arrived at a set of doors to the Bristol Water Sound Studios. Our band room was through here.
Unfortunately, the automatic function of the doors into the Bristol Water Sound Studios wasn’t working. My host required assistance from a nearby security guard to push the doors open. They appeared to be very heavy, and both doors were held open to get me through in my chair, and with my kit. While helping with the door, the security guard mentioned they hadn’t been working for a long time. The automatic function of the doors which lead out to the street, at this location, was also not working today.
I expressed reservations about having to negotiate this obstacle when all the bands arrived later on, in what would surely be an extremely busy and distracted environment. Broken doors aside, I also didn’t feel okay about having to make the return journey to Bridgehouse in a wheelchair, with an uncased baritone saxophone, a music stand, and an iPad, through what would ultimately become a patron-filled hallway.
The host suggested potentially leaving my instruments behind the stage but was not sure about where my case and other accessories could stay. They’d also have to check if I could wait there, or just leave my kit. I was introduced to the freelance stage manager for the Bridgehouse stage, and it was ultimately agreed that I could join the people in Meeting Room 1, which was directly behind Bridgehouse, though this solution sadly meant sharing with different artists, and being away from my own band.
It was a warm and accessible space, with tables, and enough room for all. Although I had no phone or internet signal to let my bandmates know I was onsite in a new location, staff made sure they got the word around. But my next question was how I was going to get onto the raised stage…
Bristol Beacon had mentioned a wheelchair lift, but I hadn’t seen one yet, and railings had been installed all the way around Bridgehouse, including where, I was told, the lift would normally be positioned. Staff radioed to find out availability of the wheelchair lift. It was currently in use elsewhere. At this time an additional stage manager arrived to advise me that the wheelchair lift did not actually reach the full height of the Bridgehouse stage anyway, and that there would be a 20cm step for me to navigate.
This was… unexpected… and my anxiety rose quite severely at the idea of having to be physically helped to transfer in view of the audience. Not knowing which part of the stage I’d then have to make it to without my chair, in view of everyone, while relying on others to handle my saxophone, accessories, and wheelchair, was just sooo daunting…
Having been advised previously that there was a wheelchair lift to access the stage, I did not bring my walking aids. A bari sax was enough to bring as a wheelchair user, right?! Or was that my bad? Maybe…
My thoughts started getting catastrophic, and I had to manage the onset of a panic attack. As well as having a physical impairment, I have a diagnosis of Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This type of unexpected predicament is precisely the sort of issue which triggers my panic response. But because of the professional, caring, and genuinely friendly nature of the interactions I’d had with stage managers so far, I felt able to express what was happening to me, and that – right in that moment – I just needed to shut down the conversation completely, and for them to just fix it.
They responded really well to this need too, and cracked on. Time to calm down. Distract myself.
All performing artists had been issued with tokens for use at the bar. I’d go and grab something while I’m waiting. However, getting anywhere near the bar, through the growing crowds, was another challenge. Being low down in my wheelchair, and being in such a noisy environment, it was extremely difficult to alert people to my presence. I was already in a heightened emotional state and getting increasingly nervous. The bar queue was long…
I decided against pursuing a drink and went back to Meeting Room 1, which, I discovered, I was sharing with the compere and their partner, who worked as an artist wellbeing liaison, a BSL interpreter, and other experienced musicians who engaged me in fabulously distracting chat about peanut butter Kit-Kats, and getting around various public spaces with huge musical instruments. Oh my word how I love creative people!
In general, moving through crowds is daunting for me now. Being an unaccompanied wheelchair user, I feel vulnerable, and am often not seen or heard in busy spaces. In noisy spaces, like Bristol Beacon this weekend, when I had to resort to absolute bellowing to alert to my presence, the default reaction of people blocking my way was almost exclusively to turn around with disparaging, gobsmacked frowns... Of course, once they ‘realised’, they (mostly) softened their facial expressions, but that whole social exchange is just another example of daily micro-aggression I encounter generally, and one which continues to hit my self-esteem on an almost daily basis. Us disabled people, just causing inconvenience again, hey?
The Bridgehouse stage manager returned with a photo of the wheelchair lift, in situ, at the Bridgehouse stage edge. The information about a 20cm step between the lift and the stage was wrong all along! I would be able to wheel onto stage after all... OH GOD, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU…!
The stage railing had to stay where it was though, so the lift had to go right up against a partition wall, slightly affecting my swing room to get onto the ramp. The pile of equipment which had been placed just a couple of feet away from the ramp end wasn’t ideal, but my wheelchair is compact, with a tight turning circle (a Sunrise Quickie Power Chair, should you care to know!) so, after removing my footrests, it was fine for me, even while holding a baritone sax, upright, on my lap. Other models of wheelchair might have struggled with the minimal swing room. Once on stage, wires had to be quickly relocated so I didn’t roll over them, and a monitor also had to go. But… they got me on!
And it was a really fun gig! With dancing and interaction with the crowd and people of all ages listening, dancing, drinking, and enjoying their time at this special event. I was also very happy to be able to hold my bari sax out over the front of the stage, so that a little girl, aged about five, could “do the buttons” while our drummer was doing a line check. That’s the kind of stuff I love most about performing.
A heartwarming, crowd-pleasing gig, which made me feel great! And despite access oversights, Bristol Beacon threw all their resources at the issues and got it all sorted.
And so, time to go home. Safely out of the building and feeling really good about the abundance of assistance I’d been given to ensure I could be included…
…only to discover a motorcyclist had taken it upon themselves to chain their vehicle to the crowd barrier, on the pavement, blocking my only level access back out onto the street… FFS…
There was also a bicycle chained to the same barrier. Two lots of wheeled transport to shift now then. Back into Bristol Beacon again… to ask for staff assistance… again…
As ‘luck’ would have it, the owner of the bicycle appeared while we were pondering what to do about the motorbike. Cue much comment from bicyclist about the motorcycle being a selfish road user...
Trying to locate the owner of the motorbike would, obviously, be near impossible, given that literally thousands of people were now in the building, all listening to various loud music performances taking place in different halls. Plus, of course, the motorbike owner might not even have been inside Bristol Beacon at all. Staff said I could go back through and around the front of the Bristol Beacon building, however, I explained that, once through the internal crowds, I would also need to be accompanied back to this point, as my car was in Trenchard Street carpark, and that I would need someone to assist me in the event of the pavements being obstructed, or negotiating kerbs, especially with all my kit...
Ultimately, staff elected to unhook the temporary barriers, and try to move them enough out of the way for me to pass behind, all without damaging the motorbike, which, despite how it appears in this photo, was a huge, big heavy lump of a thing, and not going anywhere! By luck again, rather than by design, there was enough space on the other side of the motorbike for me to access the temporary gateway to the street.
I did have a good gig. I did come away feeling pleased. But I’m in a good place with my mental health right now. In times not-so-long past, that amount of additional hoop jumping, which so often falls on the disabled person, would have seen me become a crumbling, non-functioning emotional wreck…
All of these small issues were easily avoidable, yet still only came to light because I elected (and was able) to turn up an hour and a half earlier than everyone else... Which I chose to do because I had some insight into the potential traps.
Overall, I was really impressed with Bristol Beacon as an accessible venue. But it was their staff who really made the difference. So often I try to explain to people that it’s not the oversights which are the problem, but the responses you give when they happen. Theirs was exactly the right response*. They had the tools. They had enough people to divert to my needs. And they had the training and capacity of thought for matters of inclusion, including the Mental Health awareness I required, which even I didn’t expect to encounter that day.
As for the motorcyclist? There really isn’t anything we can say, is there? Other than to keep reminding everyone of the importance of sharing these first hand experiences, and the cumulative emotional impact of daily so-called ‘small’ barriers to access, in the hope that, one day, maybe, the public en masse will adapt to include all of us.
We can! And we will be included!
* This was in stark contrast to a different experience I had recently, on Portishead High Street, when a shopkeeper told me they weren’t going to consider getting a portable door ramp because “It’s not something I encounter that often…” Yeah, I see… Because most of us just roll right on past, right?!