Ed Rex

The word ‘concert’ means different things to different people. For some it evokes dinner jackets and not clapping between movements; for others, jumping up and down in a stadium, desperately trying to spot the band through a sea of blinking smartphones. But Secret Cinema’s latest brainchild, dubbed Secret Music, is something else entirely: its inaugural production brings Laura Marling’s new album to life and places you right at its core. Stepping into the grounds of a grand Victorian hospital in East London, transformed for the night into a 1920s hotel, you’re left to explore its various rooms, with their eclectic and unfailingly interesting occupants, at your leisure.

Technology is turning the human urge to consume information into an unhealthy addiction. Some of this consumption — reading, following the news, exposing ourselves to culture — has obvious merits; I’d have no trouble downloading the entire works of Shakespeare in the time it would have taken someone ten years ago to find their keys before setting off to a bookshop. But with so much around us to consume we seem to have lost the ability to make things ourselves. How can we be creative when every waking moment is spent trying to keep up with the feeds, updates and new releases volleyed at us from all sides? Take, for example, the iPad, that pinnacle of consumption, that manages to fit TV, record store and library into a retina display and a single button.

I was nervous as I approached the man in Paddington station on Saturday night. We Brits tend to assume that being addressed by a total stranger means one of two things: either they want our money, or they’re mad (and the 48 copies of Ben Macintyre’s Agent Zigzag in my bag might have suggested the latter). I was nervous as I approached the man in Paddington station on Saturday night. We Brits tend to assume that being addressed by a total stranger means one of two things: either they want our money, or they’re mad (and the 48 copies of Ben Macintyre’s Agent Zigzag in my bag might have suggested the latter).

Hush: it’s secret When I go to a film, there are certain things I expect: the popcorn only affordable with a small loan; the endless standing up and sitting down as people push past, suddenly sure the film will look better from the row in front; these are a given. What I don’t expect is to be plunged into the film’s set, spending two hours wandering through the real-life version of the world on screen. But that’s what you get when you sign up to Secret Cinema. I booked a ticket to its latest screening, and arrived at the specified time and place without knowing what film I would actually be seeing.

Sitting at my computer, headphones in hand and wearing top-half concert dress, bottom-half pyjamas, this is shaping up to be the most bizarre performance I have ever given. I’m about to join Eric Whitacre’s Virtual Choir, made up of singers from all over the world recording themselves singing his composition Sleep. Sitting at my computer, headphones in hand and wearing top-half concert dress, bottom-half pyjamas, this is shaping up to be the most bizarre performance I have ever given. I’m about to join Eric Whitacre’s Virtual Choir, made up of singers from all over the world recording themselves singing his composition Sleep.