Stripped Productions and Big Blonde Vocals

Back from Ordinary Days last night at the Round House and will use this to catch up with one other previously unreported artistic experience, the concert version of A Midsummer Night's Dream by the Baltimore Symphony, performed at the Strathmore.

I'm not a fan of overproduced shows, and it's a problem in musicals, especially, when I can't hear the lyrics to the songs. In a show like Ordinary Days, which is sung through, I wouldn't have much of a chance of following the plot if it weren't for the stripped down production--in this case, a pianist (musical director William Yanesh) and the powerhouse vocals of the actors.

I was excited to see a couple of familiar names on the program: adorable Erin Weaver as quirky, neurotic graduate student Deb and the handsome Will Gartshore as man-in-love Jason. Will has been around the Round for quite a while, but I really took note of him in this season's This. And Erin was the fabulous Juliet at the Folger's R&J production earlier this season. That's a little bitty blonde with a great big voice, and she took over Ordinary, too.

Erin Weaver. Courtesy of RHT via Facebook

Will Gartshore. Courtesy of RHT via Facebook

Likewise, the stripped down production of Midsummer was a full concert with seven actors running in and out of the orchestra, changing costumes on stage, and speaking their Shakespearean lines whenever the orchestra put Mendelssohn on pause.

Again, one of the attractions for me is always a familiar name/face, in this case Katie deBuys, who played Shakespeare's Hermia and was last seen at RHT in Seminar. But in this case, the "blonde with the big vocal" and very comical presence was Kate Eastwood Norris as Helena.

Maybe they teach you this in Shakespeare Clown School, but Kate had a way of running hilariously, like Tom Story did in Winter's Tale back at Shakespeare Theatre Company. It involves the arms flapping and flailing over one's head or outstretched in front while exiting (whether chased by bear or not). Anyway, she cracked me up.

Kate Eastwood Norris, via KateEastwoodNorris.com

Levity, lightness, a deft touch and a powerful voice. That's all it takes, and it's what I go to the theater for.

That, and the confetti. ;)

ephemera collected from Ordinary Days at Round House Theatre

ephemera collected from Ordinary Days at Round House Theatre

Love, hosaa
prop stealer

Papa, Wolfie, and Ludwig

The Baltimore Symphony's program at the Strathmore last night (which repeats tonight and tomorrow in Baltimore) advertised Mozart and Beethoven, omitting the opening presentation of a bright little symphony by Franz Joseph "Papa" Haydn.

And of course the headliner for the program was pianist Jeremy Denk on Mozart's 25th Piano Concerto. Jeremy stayed to sign CDs during intermission, but he didn't seem to have any with Mozart on them. It looks like he is more of a Bach specialist, which I thought curious for a Mozart moment.

Jeremy Denk signs CDs and chats with audience following his performance.
Credit: Photo by C. G. Wagner

But what I saw was a man wonderfully at home on the keyboard. He played Mozart like a toy! What a thrill!

Before the show, since I had a lot of time after making some ticket exchanges (OMG MICHAEL BOLTON!!!), I was reading the notes describing the program selections. There was so much anthropomorphizing, I thought there has to be a better way to describe it. But truthfully, music is a human art, it evokes emotions, so I guess it's only natural to describe notes that trip and chase and march and do other humanly things. I visualize country scenes, grand ballrooms, children or animals running around and what-not. It's like running a ballet in my mind.

Sample grab from the Program Notes for the Haydn piece (Symphony No. 30 in C Major, "Alleluia"):

In G major, movement two is a stately, well-bred charmer, prancing on dainty dotted-rhythm shoes.

Yeah, I guess this writer saw dancing, too. "Dainty"?

Anyway, since I don't really share that kind of vocabulary, I don't have too much to say about the program. I loved the Hadyn piece because it was so bright and joyful. Mozart was continued after the intermission with the Bassoon Concerto in B-flat Major, featuring one of BSO's own musicians, Fei Xie. I loved that the guy had fans (probably family) in the audience--when he came out for his bow, a mommy carried a little bouquet-bearing tyke up to the front of the stage to present to the bassoon soloist. It was such an awww moment.

The evening concluded with a Beethoven symphony. I forgot the number--not fifth or ninth, that's all I know. [It was No. 8 in F Major. ~h.] Not a Beethoven fan here. The evening's selections seemed to be in chronological order, going from Papa Haydn's bright grandeur, flowing to Mozart's bright complexity, and ending with pre-Romantic heaviosity. It was well-played, but I preferred my music brightly lit.

Love, hosaa
will fill in gaps later - I'm on my lunch break.

eta, later that same day ... adding a few graphic and descriptive embellishments. ~h

Chris Botti at Strathmore

This will go under the category of Briefly Noted. I have nothing clever or original to say about jazz trumpeter Chris Botti, except he's a masterful musician in the best way that jazz creates music. His solo work is spectacular, but his duets are inspired.

At the Strathmore in Bethesda on Thursday, he singled out the members of his six-piece band when they were featured (drummer Billy Kilson held out for his killer solo till near the end of the set). Guest artists were violinist Caroline Campbell and vocalist Sy Smith, both of whom are impressive artists that Botti let shine on their own. But when he joined them, pure magic. Caroline and Chris are so physically well matched, it was like watching Torvill and Dean. And Sy's scatting matched Chris's notes effortlessly, like they could read each other's minds.

Caroline Campbell and Chris Botti in 2011. Photo by Darren McCollester/Getty Images North America, via Zimbio

Sy Smith and Chris Botti with New York Pops (2013). Uncredited photo via Broadway World

The cool thing about live performances is seeing how the artists work the audience--and the stage. When the house lights went down and the band entered, Botti was ready to begin, but the stage lights weren't! He calmly called for the lights, and quipped, "We're moody, but not that moody."

The first number, "En Aranjuez Con Tu Amor," had me grinning, and my joy never let go throughout the nearly two-hour set. The Aranjuez piece, of course, is a jazz take on Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez, and different enough from the Jim Hall version to remind me again that jazz is probably the most creative of all the living arts. Creativity, improvisation, is what it's all about, as Botti and band demonstrated again in their take on Miles Davis's "Flamenco Sketches."

Other standout pieces were Sting's "La Belle Dame Sans Regrets" and "Cinema Paradiso" from the When I Fall in Love album and "The Very Thought of You" from Italia. Now that I'm scanning the tracks, I don't see that he did that much other than Aranjuez from his latest CD, Grammy-winning Impressions, which I bought at the concession stand before the show (on faith, just from sampling my beloved Aranjuez). No matter, I'm hooked. I see another Christmas CD (December) heading toward my Amazon shopping cart!

Chris Botti at Major League Baseball All Star Game 2012. Photo by Rick Swig via ChrisBotti.com

You see I was good and didn't take any Botti clack. *g*

Love, hosaa

jazzed up

Haiku: Morning

Morning

Memories and dreams

evaporate, making way

as new moments wake.

-----------------------

Annotation: This is slightly revised from the version I posted on Facebook yesterday, but it still doesn't quite satisfy. Due to an unexplained shift in my REM cycle, I've been dreaming closer to when I'm supposed to wake up, so the images are lasting longer. The music and news from the radio alarm mix themselves into a dream-soundtrack, and I remember my dream images of crashing planes and refugees.

The thing about dreams and memories is that they play on the same psychic field. Am I remembering that correctly, or did I dream it? As I've gotten older, I'm finding it harder to remember my dreams. I'm finding it harder to remember my memories. I'm sad when I forget the song I composed and sang in a dream, but I'm sadder when I forget experiences that really happened. 

The time between both dreams and experiences and their evaporation is getting shorter with the amount of time ahead for new ones to wake.

love, hosaa

remembering dreams, at least temporarily.

Garden art, Strathmore Mansion (Bethesda). Credit: C. G. Wagner

The Right Planets, and Stuff

Back from last night's "Off the Cuff" program at the Strathmore, wherein Baltimore Symphony Orchestra conductor Marin Alsop was joined by astrophysicist Mario Livio (her good buddy, she delighted to inform us!) to reflect on Gustav Holst's masterpiece, The Planets. The chat and slideshow went on about 20 minutes, followed by the BSO's thrilling execution of the work. The program repeats tonight at the Meyerhoff in Baltimore.

Marin Alsop. Credit: Grant Leighton, via WGBH

Mario Livio. Courtesy of MarioLivio.com

This was my first experience with the "Off the Cuff" program, which is designed to educate audiences a bit before immersing them into the music. It speaks to the interdisciplinarians among us, the liberal-arts majors who like to know everything about everything. Marin took us on a tour of the musical and mythical stories that Holst told through his seven planetary movements; Mario tutored us on the physical matters of planetary fact, including that one of the planets (Neptune, "the Mystic") was discovered purely through mathematics.

The performance was followed by a question and answer period, but we didn't stay for that. I did have a great question all prepared, but it turned out that the performance itself answered my question:

Why was the grandest, most awesomely stirring movement, "Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity," stuck in the fourth position and not used as the ending of the suite? The very natural impulse of anyone experiencing this music (especially performed live in person by real human musicians) is to burst into loud, prolonged joyful cheers. Instead, Holst ends the suite with faint murmurings from the farthest rock from our Sun, "Neptune, the Mystic." The suite thus quietly fades out in the echoes of a celestial chorus (in this instance, the Women of the Baltimore Choral Arts Society).

Mario Livio contributed high-def images of our dramatis planetae, projected on a screen above the orchestra during the program. These included a caption shown toward the end of the "Neptune" movement reminding us that our own messenger to the cosmos, Voyager 1, has left our solar neighborhood. It carries our humanity with it into the unknown. Its next "stop," the nearest star system, is 10,000 years away.

Now the music makes sense: We are left with our innate wonder, awe, and imagination. Holst is a genius.

Prescient, too, Mario reminded the audience. Pluto was discovered some four years before Holst died, and he was asked if he would like to add a Pluto movement to the suite. He refused, and Pluto was later demoted anyway.

Another interesting point that Marin made about Holst's work was how evocative it was to later movie music makers like John Williams. She had her orchestra pull comparative samples from the opening of "Mars, the Bringer of War" and from the soundtrack of the original Star Wars. 

And of course, anyone who knows me knows my favorite movie in life is The Right Stuff, which captured my imagination aurally through the Academy Award winning soundtrack composed by Bill Conti. So here's my story:

About thirty years ago, my favorite movie in life became The Right Stuff, largely because of the glorious and inspiring music in the soundtrack. (Of course, Sam Shepard as Chuck Yeager was sexy as hell, so that didn't hurt, either.)

Sam Shepard, Barbara Hershey in The Right Stuff. Courtesy of PhilipKaufman.com

After the movie ran an abbreviated course in theaters, largely considered a failure (whether the movie killed John Glenn's presidential hopes or Glenn's politics killed audience interest in the movie can be debated by others), I went on a mission to find the soundtrack. It won an Oscar, demmit! It should be out there for me to buy!! No dice. I heard or read somewhere that Bill Conti was not satisfied with the score. Color me mystified.

Then one night, while falling asleep with the radio still tuned to my favorite classical music station, I sat bolt upright in bed when the theme from The Right Stuff started playing! OMG, Conti's soundtrack on classical music radio!

The rousing finish of the movement came and, yes, I probably did jump up and burst into a loud, prolonged, joyful cheer. That's what Bringers of Jollity do to you. The announcer then informed me that I'd been listening to a selection from Holst's The Planets.

Now, I always smile when, in the opening credits of Casablanca, Max Steiner's composer credential is accompanied by a quick theme from "La Marseillaise" in the soundtrack. We know Max Steiner is a movie musical genius, but he did not compose the French national anthem. Nor did Bill Conti compose any of the Holst themes--Jupiter, Venus, Mars--that were so seamlessly integrated into his Right Stuff score (rumor has it that this was not Conti's decision, but the producers'--probably explaining his dissatisfaction). 

Several years later, I did come across a symphonic rendition of themes from The Right Stuff paired with music from Conti's work for the TV miniseries North and South. I do recommend this 1990 disc. But I now learn that, just this year, a limited edition CD was released without the N/S tether, but with an exceptionally odd and disconcerting addition--a dance mix of the "Right Stuff" theme (see track 12). A single? Seriously? They were releasing this to radio? Pardon my WTF moment here.

Now back to Holst. You may notice that I didn't include a link to a recording of The Planets. This is where I pitch the live human musical experience as the only way it all makes sense. If you want to listen to it on your own, find some nice pictures of real live planets to look at. Enjoy, with awe and wonder, what your fellow humans create with their awe and wonder.

Courtesy of NASA.

Love, hosaa
awed, wondering

eta (Nov. 10): I couldn't resist - I purchased the digital album of Conti's The Right Stuff. It has more tracks than the version with North and South. I'm listening now. It's interesting how little there is on Conti's version of the score that is recognizable to someone who has seen the movie well over 25 times (probably closer to 50). This is like a "director's cut" of a movie--it's the artist's original conception.

Even the "Tango" cut on this was replaced in the movie. I didn't remember where it was used until I watched the movie again. It's in the last scene at the clinic where the astronaut prospects are undergoing medical tests. Tough Navy aviator Alan Shepard has just had some balloon inserted in his bladder and needs to get to the john before it is released and makes a mess. Very funny scene, because he's at the mercy of nursing aide Gonzales, whom Shepard had offended with his Jose Jimenez imitations.

Anyway, I think it would be fun to montage the scenes from the movie with Conti's music. (What, another non-Clay, non-futurist video project??? Can I have more hours, Madame Clock?) ~h

etaa - The "single" is still bizarre. I guess Conti thought they needed something to sell the album to MTV in 1983. Without liner notes, though, it's hard to tell.

Keane at the Strathmore

The fact that I'm about a week and a half late in reporting this is somewhat telling. My friend really wanted to go to the Keane concert at our favorite concert hall, the Strathmore, and needed a buddy to go with her.

I know nothing about Keane, though she insisted I probably had heard their music at some point in my life. There's a pet food commercial that has licensed one of their tunes, I believe.

Anyway, the opening band was louder, but Keane had better production. The lead singer was a cutie, there was a backbeat, and the place was packed. Everyone stood except for us little old ladies. We slid over to a side section to rest our backs.

The show was enjoyable. Glad I went. I still haven't picked up the "Thank You" download from the little postcard, though. Amazon link to the album Strangeland

Since I wasn't all that into the music (no objections to it), I spent my time experimenting with the settings on my camera, in preparation for the next Clay Aiken tour. *biggrin*

As you can see from the results below, the high-sensitivity setting on my old Lumix is very noisy. I bought a new camera yesterday and hope for better results at the next event I need to cover in low light.

KEANE at the Strathmore (Bethesda, MD), June 14, 2012
Click to enlarge. All photos by C. G. Wagner / Hosaa's Blog. Please credit if used!

   

  

    

Itzhak Perlman, conductor and violin

Back from seeing (and hearing) Itzhak Perlman at Strathmore, along with a completely packed full house. My friend, who knows much more about music than I do and is more particular about where to sit, could only score the second to last row of the orchestra, which is saying something about what it meant to see the master: Bring binoculars.

Well, my friend forgot her binoculars, which isn't surprising, because she'd nearly forgotten the tickets. Or at least the one extra ticket that I'd already paid her for; somehow it got separated from her own ticket. She did find it, but accidentally tore it; she's a season subscriber to the Strathmore, though, so they were willing to replace the torn ticket at the box office.

My point in relaying this adventure is to demonstrate that, though she knows more about classical music than I do, and is as committed to her season subscription at Strathmore as I am to my Round House and Shakespeare and American Ballet Theater (when they come to town), there wasn't much enlightenment from her on what I was to expect tonight. Did I want to see Itzhak Perlman? Sure.

But it didn't occur to me that he wouldn't be playing the violin for the entire evening. After the two Vivaldi Seasons (Winter and Summer), which Mr. Perlman conducted as he bowed, he returned exclusively to conduct the Mozart (Symphony No. 25 in G Minor, K. 183) and the Brahms (Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, Opus 98).

The conducting was impeccable, but I wanted to watch more than Mr. Perlman's back. So I resorted to my usual approach to enjoying a symphony: visualizing it as dance. This was especially fruitful in the Brahms, whose opening calls of horns took me to the hunt; in the melancholy second movement, we are dragging our weary horses and hounds back home; the bright third movement, with its undertones of turmoil, is a celebratory ball; and the powerful fourth movement is a confrontation between the young revolutionary and his betrothed's father, stalwartly defending the old order.

But my friend, who knows more about classical music than I do (but who had to be nudged from her nodding drowsiness a couple of times. Ahem), didn't especially care for the Brahms. Different strokes, I guess.

And interestingly, she kept trying to point out someone in the orchestra who would be of interest to me:

Friend: "The guy sitting right on the other side of Itzhak. He looks like Clay Aiken."

Me (peering through my binoculars): "You mean the one who looks like [a young] Lyle Lovett?"

Friend (borrowing my binoculars): "Oh. Heh."

Two Singers: Nnenna Freelon and Elliott Yamin

Two singers I catch around town as often as I can just happened to be in the neighborhood (or close enough) in the last couple of weeks: Jazz artist Nnenna Freelon and American Idol alum (season five) Elliott Yamin. They don't have terribly much in common, except I like them both for their unique voices. You don't mistake them for anyone else.

(And you know that's why I like Clay Aiken, too, but while he is working on his surprise for my birthday next month--which I am guessing is going to be his plan to collaborate with David Foster on adapting my screenplay into a Broadway musical--I have to spend this time pursuing my other interesting interests. Pardon my daydream...)

Both Nnenna and Elliott played to less than packed houses at the Strathmore and the Birchmere, respectively. This is unfortunate, but it didn't affect their performances.

Nnenna goes into her own world in her dreamy interpretations, bringing the audience along into the experience. "Skylark" gave me chills, performed with simple bass accompaniment.

One difference between a Nnenna/Strathmore experience and an Elliott/Birchmere one is my level of inhibition in clack-gathering. It's just taboo in a concert hall like Strathmore, and an artist of Nnenna's elegance, well, it would just seem like a violation to try to video her performance. At the Birch, with a guy like Elliott joshing with his E-Train riders in the audience, the pictures and videos are almost expected.

So to give you Nnenna's "Skylark," I borrow from someone else's lack of inhibition. This is from a year ago:

And "God Bless the Child," which made me feel as though I never heard or understood it before:

Now, Elliott, on the other hand, I had no problems mustering courage to video, so these are mine. My only problem was the tall fellow directly in my line of sight. (Situation normal.)

Here he is previewing some new songs, and delivering a heartfelt version of an earlier hit.









Love, hosaa
hearing (really great) voices

Sing Casual

Back from Strathmore for the first of a two-night gig by Mandy Patinkin, with pianist and occasional duet partner Paul Ford, on the "Dress Casual" tour.

When I saw that Harry Chapin was among the songwriters that Mandy intended to cover in this tour, I was a bit disappointed because "Cat's in the Cradle" was on the setlist the last time I saw Mandy (New Year's Eve at the Kennedy Center a number of years ago). But even though the material was familiar, the execution was remarkable (and in the case of the Chapin piece, quite touching, for reasons that I won't spoil).

The 1-hour, 45-minute set was full of lyrically complex and dramatically challenging songs from the best of Broadway, ranging from Les Miz ("Bring Him Home" opened the show) to Secret Garden, and of course Sunday in the Park with George. Mandy's tone was richer than ever, and his range is nothing short of astonishing.

Flaws? As I mentioned, there were some very challenging lyrics, like the "Trouble in River City" and "He Doesn't Know the Territory" numbers from Music Man. He lost his place several times, but handled it as part of the show. At one point he called out to the audience, "what's the line?" and sure enough a chorus of half a dozen guys in the back provided the correct lyric. The power of the voice more than made up for the lyric issues.

The two Music Man numbers got a couple of fun twists - "do certain words start creeping into his vocabulary--words like 'Twitter'?" and the crooked salesman who sold boys' bands was not Harold Hill but Bernie Madoff!

It's all entertainment. Mandy cracked on the group of latecomers down front (the ushers erroneously led them in as Mandy was sliding into his next song. He hit "abort" and started interrogating the latecomers on what took them so long to get here). Other than that, there wasn't much in the way of interaction with the audience, but he reached up into the upper tiers to draw everyone in.

There is nothing casual about that kind of star quality.

love, hosaa

being alive

A King's Christmas

Back from seeing The King's Singers perform their Joy to the World concert at Strathmore. All I can say is, I'll never listen to schlocky radio "Christmas" music again.

The program was based on their latest Christmas CD, a highlight of which for me was Stille Nacht (Silent Night). The song was preceded by a reading of a letter from a World War I British soldier marveling over the brotherhood of the German and British combatants during a too-brief Christmas Eve cease-fire. When the Singers began singing "Silent Night" in German, I couldn't hold back the tears.

My only complaint was that the final portion of the program featured non-Christmas songs (e.g., a new arrangement of Straighten Up and Fly Right and a cover of Michael Buble's Home). It just seemed weird to me and spoiled the Christmas feeling.

But then they brought it all back with the encore. There's a special tradition in D.C. that the King's Singers always give us New Day as their encore. Well, maybe they do that everywhere, but it feels special in D.C. because of WETA DJ Bill Cerri, who played it every morning as his theme song. After he passed away, the King's Singers paid tribute to him by singing it at their next concert here. The audience was so moved by it, I think we've come to expect it; so far, they have always delivered.

So tonight, as the concert ended and the audience drew the Singers back to the stage for an encore, the lady sitting next to me muttered, "I wish they'd sing New Day." I almost told her "They will" (but as you know, I don't like to make predictions. Heh). Then they did.

What I didn't know was that they had written special new lyrics for the Christmas version of "New Day," emphasizing that the birth of Jesus was the New Day that gave mankind hope. It was perfect for the concert, perfect for the audience.

And I am completely awestruck that these six men can blend their voices so perfectly together, their tenure with the company ranging from 18 years to six months. It must be magic.

love, hosaa
not rockin' around no Christmas trees, thank you very much

Dancing as Fast as I Can

This is a bit of a catch-up post. Got to see the So You Think You Can Dance Tour come through Baltimore on October 5, along with a couple of friends. Photos follow. (I did take video, but the spotlight ghosted out the dancers quite a bit; my camera isn't sophisticated enough to resolve complicated lighting issues on the fly - nor am I.)

Full cast as appearing in the last photo (left to right): Courtney Galiano, Ade Obayomi, Ashley Galvan, Kent Boyd, Kathryn McCormick, Adechike Torbert, Lauren Froderman, Russell Ferguson, Robert Roldan, Billy Boyd, Allison Holker, Jose Ruiz. Photos by C. G. Wagner

The show was loud and exciting, short on traditional ballroom, long on hip-hop and contemporary. The crowd favorites were clearly Lauren and Kent, the most recent season's number one and number two "favorite dancers." I kept my eye on adorable Robert and incredibly gifted Allison, whom I've now seen perform live three times. (See "Ooo That Kiss," below.)

My friends had treated me to dinner before the show, and it would have been thoroughly delightful if we hadn't had to go through the ritual of dissatisfaction - we were seated in the bar rather than the upstairs dining area; the garlic-free menu was limited (girlfriend's severe allergy is a handicap in happy dining); the service was slow, though to my mind quite friendly; the portion for the dish gf's hubby ordered was ridiculously small for the price, whereas mine was ridiculously large. In short, my hosts were aggravated, but I was delighted.

Then there was the issue with not knowing how to do the pay-on-your-way-out parking machines. It would help if the driver would (a) remember where he parked and (b) read the instructions.

Those were their problems, I figure. I can usually drown their bickering out. But the bummer for me was, again, listening to gf try to itemize the gay versus the non-gay dancers. What was the bloody point? Even gf's hubby couldn't get her to see why it was so offensive to bring up the dancers' sexuality. GF keeps saying she doesn't have anything against gay people, but she keeps bringing it up!

I finally called her a bigot. Not a nice thing to do in the back seat of someone else's car, but I couldn't help it. We didn't continue the conversation, except in my own mind, which is where I silently lecture the world... (until I blog about it, that is!) The next time this happens, I will just ask her to repeat the exact same conversation, but instead of saying "gay," substitute the word "Jew." She might get it then.

For the next couple of days I stewed a bit, then felt bad that I called her a bigot. It wasn't nice. Anyway, we got together just two days later for another concert at Strathmore, Baltimore Symphony Orchestra's tribute to dance, where we were joined by another couple.

This time we just focused on the show, which was a little lighter on the actual dancing than we expected - only six of the 16 numbers were accompanied by dancers, ranging from classical ballet to a couple of performances by the Lombard Twins, Facunda and Martin, amazing tango-tappers dancing to Astor Piazzolla. (A total of three Piazzolla pieces were on the program, compared with two Tchaikovsky pieces; the other composers covered included Dietz and Schwartz, Khachaturian, Cole Porter, Richard Rodgers, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Jerome Kern, George Gershwin, and Ronan Hardiman).

This afternoon gf and I went together to see "Sabrina Fair" at Ford's Theatre, which has already received a rave review from WaPo, so I won't be redundant. The nontraditional casting (an African American Sabrina) was the twist to this production, and gf questioned whether it would work. I believe she accepted it but felt it ought to have been addressed in the script somehow. Apparently, even the playwright had suggested addressing the race issue if directors chose to cast the show this way, but it didn't happen.

The result of that ignoring the elephant in the room, to me, made the story more focused on the essential issue of class distinction (and incidentally whether money can buy your way into an elevation of class). I think a lot of other things could have been done with nontraditional casting, including making the Larrabees African American and the Fairchilds white. Or make the Larrabee brothers sisters instead, and the chauffeur's daughter a son.

Or you could even go nontraditional in the gender casting too. But it was set in the 1950s, when such a love story was even more unthinkable than cross-racial pairings.

The first comment gf had was that she thought one of the Larrabee characters was miscast. I won't say which one. She just said she thought he was too obviously gay.

Sigh. At least she stifled herself before the second act and didn't bring it up again afterwards.

Social progress still has a long way to go, ya'll.

The show ended with a glorious dance to Nat King Cole singing "LOVE," and you couldn't pry the grin off my face! What joy!

love, hosaa
dancing in my heart

Musical Landscapes (Baltimore Symphony Orchestra)

Back from the BSO's performance at Strathmore. The pieces under the authority of conductor Marin Alsop's robustly light touch were:

1. "Doctor Atomic Symphony" by John Adams.
2. Violin Concerto in E Minor by Felix Mendelssohn, with guest violinist Stefan Jackiw.
3. Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, "From the New World," by Antonin Dvorak.

It was for the third piece in the program that my friend particularly wanted to go out on a schoolnight, in the rain, to hear. I agreed to go because her husband would not, and after all the Sunday "family" dinners she's had me over for, I figured my companionship was the least I could offer.

"New World" is a good draw and a great end to an evening out. It'll keep all us oldsters awake. But more than that, the piece is an exploration of a landscape in musical tones, shades and contours, lights and earthy darks.

It was the second piece that got the biggest applause, though, thanks to the pyrotechnics of the guest hunk. Oh yeah, baby, the 25-year-old Korean-German wunderkind looked about 15, so it seemed to me the enthusiastic standing ovation may have been on the patronizing side. Maybe not. He really was quite fantastic.

For me, the first piece was worth the price of admission, though my friend said it was too "modern" for her taste.

Here is where I remind myself not to call this stuff "classical music." When you tell your friends you're going to a concert and it's not Lady Gaga or even Coldplay, you can usually just get away with saying it's classical music. But I guess the correct term is "symphonic" or "orchestral" concert. Anyway, the "Doctor Atomic Symphony" ain't "classical" no-way, no-how.

Having spent the afternoon listening to my CD of Philip Glass symphonies (conducted by above mentioned Alsop, that dinky little force of nature), I was probably in a better mental position to accept the less-melodically inclined Adams piece than my friend was.

Typically when at an orchestral concert, given little else to look at besides the clarinetists cleaning out their instruments every chance they can, I visualize dance, movement, and even a narrative. That was not the case with Adams. Instead, I was visualizing the landscapes of the dread, barren Southwest, and rhythms of dawn and decay. It was both fracturing and refreshing.

Because my friend and I had been yammering away before the program began, I didn't get to read about what I would be hearing this evening. So in the interval before the orchestra and hunky guest launched into the Mendelssohn, I glanced at the program and saw that "Doctor Atomic Symphony" was actually inspired by Robert Oppenheimer, dirctor of the Manhattan Project, which of course was set in the New Mexico desert and, according to the program notes, was "ripe for mythic treatment."

For some reason that made me very happy. That I "got" it. Listening to something I knew nothing about, not exactly prepared for, and feeling what the artist wanted me to (I think).

Love, hosaa,
getting it (I think)

Louis and Wynton

Just back from seeing an extraordinary show at the Strathmore: Silent film LOUIS accompanied by Wynton Marsalis, Cecile Licad, and a smoking jazz ensemble.

The film is a fictionalized rendering of the childhood of Louis Armstrong in corrupt, decadent old New Orleans, but it is also an homage to the redemptive power of music. Aesthetically, think Francis Ford Coppola meets the Keystone Kops. The transformation of the turn-of-the-century villainous politician from Snidely Whiplash into Charlie Chaplin (City Lights, Modern Times, and Great Dictator references) was a fun touch. And the young boy who played Louis, Anthony Coleman, was a wide-eyed charmer, totally convincing as a young Satchmo.

The music had me smiling all night, melding 19th-century Gottschalk with 21st-century Marsalis. At first I didn't recognize Wynton sitting in the band - of course I know what he looks like, but I was pretty far back. He is an icon but didn't march on stage separately from the other musicians, no spotlight. Then he played: The music IS the light. Wow. It's been 25 years since I saw him perform at the Kennedy Center (oh please bring back the Jazz Festival!) and he still blows me away.

It was a sold-out show, according to the signs at the box office, but there were a few scattered empty seats. Three boisterous standing ovations filled in those gaps.

love, hosaa
wishing the gift show had been open