Special Material Written by Glen Roven and Maria S. Schlatter
(The guests are surprised when, out
of nowhere, a VIOLINIST—Bruce Dukov from
the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra—appears
and starts to play the theme from
FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. The show is beginning!
MICHAEL, as TEVYE the dairyman, makes his
Way to the performing area. The MUSIC
Continues)
MICHAEL
(as TEVYE)
A Jewish star in the movies?! Sounds crazy, no? But in our little shtetle of Trousdale estates you might say that every one of us is a Jew trying to make it in the business of show. It isn’t easy.
You may ask, “why do we do it?” Do we do it for the money? Yes.
Do we do it because of our unmitigating and enormous egos. Yes.
Do we do it so we can rub that first bastard casting director who said we’d never make it-‘s nose in our success? …Yes.
But there’s something far more important than all of that…We do it to get the hot chicks. It’s tradition.
And the man who got the hottest chick in town is the man we’re here to celebrate. Kirk Douglas!
(JOEL and PETER enter)
JOEL, PETER and MICHAEL
(as JEWS from ANETVKA)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(THEY spin like Jews for a beat)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(Another spin)
KIRK DOUGLAS.
HERE IS A MAN WHO
IS SO VERY MANLY
CLEFT UPON HIS CHIN,
SO DEEP THAT YOU COULD DIVE IN
THIS MANLY MAN
HE SHOT HIS SEED AROUND
AND MADE SOME OTHER
MANLY MEN
MY POPPA
MY POPPA,
(SPIN)
KIRK DOUGLAS
MY POPPA,
MY POPPA,
(SPIN)
KIRK DOUGLAS
(The VIOLIN underscore continues.)
PETER
Some say that the Spielbergs, Katzenbergs, Soderbergs, all the…Bergs are perhaps more Jewish than the non-Bergs. But I ask you: Do they go to temple more often? No. Are their ‘CHHHHHHHHHH’s” stronger? No. Were their circumsicians more painful? No…Definitely not!
JOEL
When my father changed his name to become an actor…he purposely chose a name that was steeped in ancient roots and meaning of its own. His first name “Kirk” is actually Native American. It means “I took an axe to his chin and it looks pretty damn good.”
ALL (with Michael trying to smooth everything out.)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(THEY spin like Jews for a beat)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(Another spin)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(JOEL and PETER to leave the
playing area as the VIOLIN continues)
MICHAEL
Kirk Douglas. Kirk Douglas. This may sound silly or overly-dramatic, but, if it weren't for him, I have a sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't be here today.
(MUSIC VIOLIN BUTTON)
MICHAEL
(He wraps up the show…and…)
I mean…after all that what can you say, except: (to the pianist) HIT IT.
(SUPERCALIFRAGILISTIC)
MICHAEL and CATHERIJNE
KIRK CAST A GIANT SHADOW
THROUGH ALL SEVEN DAYS IN MAY
OUT OF THE PAST, THIS JUGGLER
PLAYED A GREAT "DOC HOLIDAY"
HE CRASHED THE WALLS OF JERICHO
'CAUSE THEY WERE IN HIS WAY
ALL WOMEN DREAMED TO BE WITH HIM
ALL MEN WISHED THEY WERE GAY.-
CHORUS
THE CAST
OH, SPARTACUS, TO CATCH A SPY, ULYSEES: SUCH A CAD, OH
LUST FOR LIFE, I WALK ALONE, THE BEAUTIFUL AND BAD. OH
SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, THE FURY CAST A GIANT SHAD-OW
ISSUR DANIELOVITCH DEMSKY: PETE AND MICHAEL'S DAD, OH!
CATHERINE (spoken)
In Wales, we’d never have a birthday celebration without a good ol’ fashinoned birthday sing along. So under your plates our the lyrics. You must know it by now. EVERYBODY!
(And indeed, under the plates, in nice
BIG letters, are the words to the CHORUS)
THE ENTIRE ROOM
SPARTACUS, DOC HOLIDAY, ULYSEES: SUCH A CAD, OH
LUST FOR LIFE, I WALK ALONE, THE BEAUTIFUL AND BAD. OH
SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, THE FURY CAST A GIANTO SHAD-OW
ISSUR DANIELOVITCH DEMSKY: ONE TERRIFIC DAD, OH!
CATHERINE
One more time!
THE ENTIRE ROOM
SPARTACUS, DOC HOLIDAY, ULYSEES: SUCH A CAD, OH
LUST FOR LIFE, I WALK ALONE, THE BEAUTIFUL AND BAD. OH
SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, THE FURY CAST A GIANTO SHAD-OW
ISSUR DANIELOVITCH DEMSKY: ONE TERRIFIC DAD, OH!
(THE BRING OUT THE CAKE)
EVERYONE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR KIRK
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!!!
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
BIOS for I HATE MUSIC QUEER SONG BOOK
I was so thrilled and flattered that these magnificent artists offered to share their talents with you this evening that I felt I should personally write their bios. If you want the traditional credits, you can either ask the person sitting next to you, who will no doubt, know every last detail, or check the internet. I thought this would be more interesting; this way, I could share my personal anecdotes and heartfelt appreciation .
GR
Donna McKechnie: Donna's legendary performances in Promises, Promises, Company and, of course, Chorus Line, are burned deep in my consciousness. I've worked with her a few times over the years, but we really got to know each other during Singular Sensations, where I interviewed and accompanied her for a week down at the Village Gate. One night, when I suggested she was a Muse to the great Michael Bennett, as Susanne Farrell was to George Balanchine, she looked at me as if I were insane. Never mind. She was. She graciously participated in a workshop of Pandora's Box where she had the "Grizabella" part (which meant she came in to sing one song and stop the show). Well, the invited audience, who didn't know the show, saw Donna sit on her stool for the entire first act, wondering what the hell she was going to do; but then, midway through the second act, she got up and stopped the show cold with "One Great Love." Why should I have been surprised? Stopping the show is her trademark.
Douglas Sills: When I first heard that Douglas, the phenomenon from Scarlet Pimpernel, was sent the script to Doctor T, I was excited. But nothing prepared me for the miracle of watching him create Terwilliker and perform in the workshops. Never has a monster been so evil and yet so lovable. And funny! And sexy! Plus, he's extraordinarily creative, articulate and a real inspiration to work with. One improvised line of his can trigger an entire song. He's also a loyal friend. Quite honestly, I wouldn't have presented this evening if he were unavailable. My greatest wish is for Doctor T to get to Broadway with Douglas singing If You Want to Rule the World .
Sandy Duncan: Seeing Mary Martin fly into the bedroom window as Peter Pan was a seminal part of my childhood. I always thought my heart would belong to Mary until 1979, when I saw Sandy fly off the stage and straight into audience; it was then that my heart stood still. I’d seen Sandy on TV many times before, but I fell in love that afternoon at the Lunt. And her rendition of Ugh-a-Wug with Mary Beth Kurdock was definitive. We subsequently worked together but only became friendly when we were both recruited to the swamps of Florida to help a mutual friend: we were the Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul of Ft Meyes/Naples Idol. There, I met her son, Jeff, also a great actor; it was touching to see her in dual capacities: performer and doting Mom. I knew that she would be perfect to narrate “The Runaway Bunny,” tonight; she’s a sensitive actress and nurturing Mommy.
Ittai Shapira: Quite frankly, Ittai is the very epicenter of classical music in New York City. Not only is he a brilliant musician (well, you can hear that for yourselves tonight) but a force of nature. Plus, he is consistently optimistic and positive which is amazing given the vicissitudes of the music biz. I wrote “The Bunny” especially for him utilizing all of his enormous talents: his dazzling virtuosity, his tenderness, and especially his humor. We’ve done many concerts together and playing with him is a master class in humanity. He founded The Ilona Feher Foundation which promotes young Israeli Violinist. I am honored to be on the board. If you’d like to come to one of our concerts, just get to Ittai or myself after I HATE MUSIC. He’s recorded ten Cds released on the major labels; they are all brilliant, no surprise. And if you’re a wonderful women (aged 22-35) looking for a violinist boyfriend, also come up to us…well, Ittai. This probably isn’t the best venue to look for something like that, but what the hell.
Kaitlin Hopkins: Kaitlin is a new friend of mine; I met her on the last reading of Dr. T. I didn't know her work (only because I'm a recluse and never leave my apartment) but Susan Schulman and Jay Binder stated unequivocally that she would be a great Mrs. Collins. And, of course, they were right. She had a tiny little number in the beginning of the first act. We had a few discussions about it, and, the next time she performed it, she virtually stopped the show. It was a wonder to behold. She's a real artist. (I liked her so much I actually got out of my apartment to see her in Trailer Park. Wow! If you missed it, buy the CD.) She's a great singer, a warm actress, and I'm glad to now be her friend. Tonight, she is singing songs from Pandora: it's a long leap from confused Mrs. Collins, to Mona, the lesbian handywoman of Pandora, but Kaitlin can take the jump in her stride. (And I love her on Law and Order!)
Sal Viviano: I've know Sal a long time from the proverbial “Broadway scene,” (Falsettos, The Full Monty) but I think the first time we actually worked together was in the Pandora's Box workshop. (Sal had an incredibly, difficult part to play: he was Oliver who is basically completely unsympathetic and a real shit until the second act; now "unsympathetic" is an actor’s least favorite action to play.) But he was fantastic. And the audience loved it. Then, when his character grew emotionally and transitioned into a state of vulnerability, he had the audience in tears. He sings two songs tonight from Pandora: the first, "Nothing To Do With Love," is a duet with his penis. It was a treat finding out what key his dick sang in.
Noah Galvin: When we were casting the 4,999th reading of Dr. T, Amelia DeMayo, the great voice teach for kids, called me up and said she had someone. When Amelia calls, you listen. I ran over to her studio and was treated to Noah. What a gem. What a voice. The casting people didn't know him and were a bit reticent to call him in, but, after hearing him sing "You Deserve a Prince" (which I hear is his new audition song) they leaned over to me and said, "Hire him!" He's going to be in Tommy this summer in East Hampton, and I know he will have a great career. People just don't sing better then he.
Kevin Chamberlin: I know Kevin least well out of the group, although I've obviously known his brilliant work over the years. One night a few weeks ago, he ran into a friend of mine who told him about I Hate Music. He said it sounded great and wanted to be a part of it. I immediately ran to the phone. "If you want to, I'd be honored." He gave me an enthusiastic yes. I love it when things like that happen; I always find the more talented the performer, the nicer the person! He listened to a couple of different songs on my web site and really responded to "Daddy's Here", from Norman's Ark, one of my favorites. He's on his way to national recognition with his new series in the fall with Jeffrey Tambor and John Lithgow. Don't miss it.
Joy Lynn Matthews: Joy is simply that: a joy. She's been slaving away in Menopause, The Musical for the last couple of years, although I swear she couldn't possible be over 38. (A great actress like her can stretch.) I loved her in Renee Taylor’s play, “Crowns” and look forward to her appearing in “Mrs. Lincoln” at the York. She's participated in all the many Dr. T readings and workshops, and her talent is a "joy" to behold. And ya gotta love those high notes. Stand back!
Erick Devine: Eric also has been in many of the Doctor T workshops. (And didn't you love the picture of him on the front of the New York Times Arts and Leisure section from Of Thee I Sing, a couple of weeks ago?) After the last workshop, he handed me a resume outlining his formidable directing career. I didn't know he did that. But, anything he does, he does well, so I asked him to direct tonight’s evening. I'm so glad he gave me that resume.
Amy Alexander: Amy, too, has participated in far too many Doctor T workshops. At one point she had a very small part in an early scene in the show. A friend of mine said, “I liked the show but I LOVED that girl.” She really can make an impression. (Of course, those of you who saw Little Women on Broadway know that.) At a previous Doctor T incarnation, the boy playing Bart was a millimeter away from puberty. Amy is so delicious and beautiful that I forbid her to come within 10 feet of that kid because I knew her mere presence could trigger his soon-to-be raging hormones and his lovely soprano voice would change right there in front of Gerry Shoenfeld. She was a good sport about it, kept her distance, and happily the kid made it through the run through--just! But I don't know what will happen with the kids in our show tonight; good thing they kids are on first.
One of the best things about doing an evening like this is meeting new people. Paul Staroba, a great new musical director in town, put together a choir from his colleagues. In their own words:
Brad Standley: As a new addition to the city, Brad Standley is
excited to participate in his first New York event and
to meet so many new and interesting people.
Sarah Orr: "Sarah Orr studied the piano for seven years as a child, and still could not tell you what a C diminished chord entails. Luckily she lives with a brilliant pianist. Play it again Paul."
GR
Donna McKechnie: Donna's legendary performances in Promises, Promises, Company and, of course, Chorus Line, are burned deep in my consciousness. I've worked with her a few times over the years, but we really got to know each other during Singular Sensations, where I interviewed and accompanied her for a week down at the Village Gate. One night, when I suggested she was a Muse to the great Michael Bennett, as Susanne Farrell was to George Balanchine, she looked at me as if I were insane. Never mind. She was. She graciously participated in a workshop of Pandora's Box where she had the "Grizabella" part (which meant she came in to sing one song and stop the show). Well, the invited audience, who didn't know the show, saw Donna sit on her stool for the entire first act, wondering what the hell she was going to do; but then, midway through the second act, she got up and stopped the show cold with "One Great Love." Why should I have been surprised? Stopping the show is her trademark.
Douglas Sills: When I first heard that Douglas, the phenomenon from Scarlet Pimpernel, was sent the script to Doctor T, I was excited. But nothing prepared me for the miracle of watching him create Terwilliker and perform in the workshops. Never has a monster been so evil and yet so lovable. And funny! And sexy! Plus, he's extraordinarily creative, articulate and a real inspiration to work with. One improvised line of his can trigger an entire song. He's also a loyal friend. Quite honestly, I wouldn't have presented this evening if he were unavailable. My greatest wish is for Doctor T to get to Broadway with Douglas singing If You Want to Rule the World .
Sandy Duncan: Seeing Mary Martin fly into the bedroom window as Peter Pan was a seminal part of my childhood. I always thought my heart would belong to Mary until 1979, when I saw Sandy fly off the stage and straight into audience; it was then that my heart stood still. I’d seen Sandy on TV many times before, but I fell in love that afternoon at the Lunt. And her rendition of Ugh-a-Wug with Mary Beth Kurdock was definitive. We subsequently worked together but only became friendly when we were both recruited to the swamps of Florida to help a mutual friend: we were the Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul of Ft Meyes/Naples Idol. There, I met her son, Jeff, also a great actor; it was touching to see her in dual capacities: performer and doting Mom. I knew that she would be perfect to narrate “The Runaway Bunny,” tonight; she’s a sensitive actress and nurturing Mommy.
Ittai Shapira: Quite frankly, Ittai is the very epicenter of classical music in New York City. Not only is he a brilliant musician (well, you can hear that for yourselves tonight) but a force of nature. Plus, he is consistently optimistic and positive which is amazing given the vicissitudes of the music biz. I wrote “The Bunny” especially for him utilizing all of his enormous talents: his dazzling virtuosity, his tenderness, and especially his humor. We’ve done many concerts together and playing with him is a master class in humanity. He founded The Ilona Feher Foundation which promotes young Israeli Violinist. I am honored to be on the board. If you’d like to come to one of our concerts, just get to Ittai or myself after I HATE MUSIC. He’s recorded ten Cds released on the major labels; they are all brilliant, no surprise. And if you’re a wonderful women (aged 22-35) looking for a violinist boyfriend, also come up to us…well, Ittai. This probably isn’t the best venue to look for something like that, but what the hell.
Kaitlin Hopkins: Kaitlin is a new friend of mine; I met her on the last reading of Dr. T. I didn't know her work (only because I'm a recluse and never leave my apartment) but Susan Schulman and Jay Binder stated unequivocally that she would be a great Mrs. Collins. And, of course, they were right. She had a tiny little number in the beginning of the first act. We had a few discussions about it, and, the next time she performed it, she virtually stopped the show. It was a wonder to behold. She's a real artist. (I liked her so much I actually got out of my apartment to see her in Trailer Park. Wow! If you missed it, buy the CD.) She's a great singer, a warm actress, and I'm glad to now be her friend. Tonight, she is singing songs from Pandora: it's a long leap from confused Mrs. Collins, to Mona, the lesbian handywoman of Pandora, but Kaitlin can take the jump in her stride. (And I love her on Law and Order!)
Sal Viviano: I've know Sal a long time from the proverbial “Broadway scene,” (Falsettos, The Full Monty) but I think the first time we actually worked together was in the Pandora's Box workshop. (Sal had an incredibly, difficult part to play: he was Oliver who is basically completely unsympathetic and a real shit until the second act; now "unsympathetic" is an actor’s least favorite action to play.) But he was fantastic. And the audience loved it. Then, when his character grew emotionally and transitioned into a state of vulnerability, he had the audience in tears. He sings two songs tonight from Pandora: the first, "Nothing To Do With Love," is a duet with his penis. It was a treat finding out what key his dick sang in.
Noah Galvin: When we were casting the 4,999th reading of Dr. T, Amelia DeMayo, the great voice teach for kids, called me up and said she had someone. When Amelia calls, you listen. I ran over to her studio and was treated to Noah. What a gem. What a voice. The casting people didn't know him and were a bit reticent to call him in, but, after hearing him sing "You Deserve a Prince" (which I hear is his new audition song) they leaned over to me and said, "Hire him!" He's going to be in Tommy this summer in East Hampton, and I know he will have a great career. People just don't sing better then he.
Kevin Chamberlin: I know Kevin least well out of the group, although I've obviously known his brilliant work over the years. One night a few weeks ago, he ran into a friend of mine who told him about I Hate Music. He said it sounded great and wanted to be a part of it. I immediately ran to the phone. "If you want to, I'd be honored." He gave me an enthusiastic yes. I love it when things like that happen; I always find the more talented the performer, the nicer the person! He listened to a couple of different songs on my web site and really responded to "Daddy's Here", from Norman's Ark, one of my favorites. He's on his way to national recognition with his new series in the fall with Jeffrey Tambor and John Lithgow. Don't miss it.
Joy Lynn Matthews: Joy is simply that: a joy. She's been slaving away in Menopause, The Musical for the last couple of years, although I swear she couldn't possible be over 38. (A great actress like her can stretch.) I loved her in Renee Taylor’s play, “Crowns” and look forward to her appearing in “Mrs. Lincoln” at the York. She's participated in all the many Dr. T readings and workshops, and her talent is a "joy" to behold. And ya gotta love those high notes. Stand back!
Erick Devine: Eric also has been in many of the Doctor T workshops. (And didn't you love the picture of him on the front of the New York Times Arts and Leisure section from Of Thee I Sing, a couple of weeks ago?) After the last workshop, he handed me a resume outlining his formidable directing career. I didn't know he did that. But, anything he does, he does well, so I asked him to direct tonight’s evening. I'm so glad he gave me that resume.
Amy Alexander: Amy, too, has participated in far too many Doctor T workshops. At one point she had a very small part in an early scene in the show. A friend of mine said, “I liked the show but I LOVED that girl.” She really can make an impression. (Of course, those of you who saw Little Women on Broadway know that.) At a previous Doctor T incarnation, the boy playing Bart was a millimeter away from puberty. Amy is so delicious and beautiful that I forbid her to come within 10 feet of that kid because I knew her mere presence could trigger his soon-to-be raging hormones and his lovely soprano voice would change right there in front of Gerry Shoenfeld. She was a good sport about it, kept her distance, and happily the kid made it through the run through--just! But I don't know what will happen with the kids in our show tonight; good thing they kids are on first.
One of the best things about doing an evening like this is meeting new people. Paul Staroba, a great new musical director in town, put together a choir from his colleagues. In their own words:
Brad Standley: As a new addition to the city, Brad Standley is
excited to participate in his first New York event and
to meet so many new and interesting people.
Sarah Orr: "Sarah Orr studied the piano for seven years as a child, and still could not tell you what a C diminished chord entails. Luckily she lives with a brilliant pianist. Play it again Paul."
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
GAMES WE PLAYED: On With The Show
ON WITH THE SHOW
Every block had one and I was it: the queer. I grew up in the early sixties in Flatbush, Brooklyn long before queer had any sort of positive, ACT-UP connotation. It was merely one of the epitaphs hurled at me along with the usual fag, sissy, pansy and homo. These were the words that supposedly wouldn’t break my bones.
Naturally, I was excluded from all the block sport. I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life and to this day I still throw like a girl. But quite honestly, I was one, thrilled outcast. Being gay made me feel special, different from the Brooklyn thugs who lived on my block, and the kids who would be stuck in Brooklyn for an eternity while I would make my fame and fortune in Manhattan. For an occasional nanosecond, I did miss the camaraderie of playing on a team. Although having a real friend instead of Lucille Ball and Wally Cleaver might have been nice, I had my world and they had theres; I was fine with the uncrossable rubicund between us.
The big game on Marlborough Road was stoop-ball. Most of the houses had two sets of steps leading up to the front doors. After buying a new Pensy-Pinky or a Spaulding at Lamston’s around the corner, the boys would spend hours throwing the ball against the upper set of stairs, each step having a higher point value, the lowest being 5 and the highest 50. If you were able to throw the ball so that it didn’t bounce on the way back to the street the points doubled. Occasionally, I was recruited to help with the math when my friends couldn’t figure out what came after 1,999. I assured them it was a trillion.
Who needed to play ball outside, anyway? I was quite content to stay in my room and play at something I seemed to have an innate talent for: big Broadway musicals.
These were not just any run-of-the-mill productions. These were extravaganzas complete with (homemade) costumes, an orchestra (my scratchy 78s on a little red, portable record player), and a cast of thousands (the three girls on the block I could recruit)—each and every production directed, choreographed and starring me.
The only cast albums around were my mother’s old 78 recordings of Rodgers and Hammerstein shows. So my Broadway reviews consisted of the four of us lip-syncing to Mary Martin as she Washed That Man Right Out of Her Hair or Cockeyed Optimist (although I was certain that the title was Cockeyed Optometrist and consequently had the entire cast in cardboard cut-out glasses). We would usually end with the Grand Finale: Oklahoma! complete with trenches.
Where I picked this up is anybody’s guess. I hadn’t seen a Broadway musical yet, so it must have been the occasional movie musical on TV. Perhaps it was the perennial running of Wizard of OZ, or Peter Pan. Maybe it’s just in the genes. However this form of entertainment seeped into my consciousness, it filled my mind at a very, very early age. I’m sure my parents’ friends never forgot my definitive version of “People Will Say We’re In Love” sung to my sister’s Chatty Cathy.
For those who are already shaking their heads in horror about the little-gay-boy-putting-on-shows-in-his-bedroom, I fear it gets worse. My parents took me to Balanchine’s Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet and my life changed.
Not that I became a ballet dancer, but I saw how magnificent professional theatre could be. By a happy coincidence, the most celebrated, commercially successful Christmas show in NYC was also produced by the great titan of twentieth Century ballet. I venture to say any kid with artistic ambitions who had the momentous fortune to see this ballet at an early age was forever changed. I still vividly remember the ballet’s two children peeping though the key-hole trying to see the great Christmas tree. And then there was the theatrical coup as the painted scrim of the door dissolved through and we could see the guests actually trimming the tree. Amazing!
When I returned to my rehearsal room—bedroom--I knew I had to move on. Out were the tacky, under-rehearsed Broadway numbers with the amateurs from the block. Sorry Denise, sorry, Suzie. I needed professionals. Luckily, Elise Brodsky, a girl in my first grade class was already taking ballet lessons and when I suggested a full-length production of the Nutcracker with a cast of two, she jeteéd at the chance.
Unfortunately, this production never came off and I learned a valuable lesson that would hold me in good stead over the years. Stars are different. Stars are temperamental. Stars want things. Elise and I easily divided up the solos in the ballet: she would be the Sugar Plum Fairy, I would be the Mouse King, she would be Marie, I would be Fritz. But when it came to the Candy Cane dance, we reached an impasse. She wanted it and I wanted it too. In fact, I had already cut my hula-hoop in half so I could do the jumpy bit over the multi-striped candy cane.
No matter what I did or how I pleaded, Elise wanted to dance that Variation. I offered more money, better billing, the final curtain call, all the things that you learn to do early in the game. Still no movement. Negotiations collapsed. So, I did what any budding entrepreneur had to do: I cancelled the production. Artistic differences.
It was back to Broadway for me. Back to Mary Martin and the toilet paper wigs for Washing That Man Out Of My Hair. Back to real show business. And when my parents bought me a 60’s style tree-lamp reading light with three adjustable lights for studying, I knew I was right where I belonged. If I took a white sheet off my bed and painted a doorway on it, and if the tree light was positioned just right, we almost had a bleed-through effect. This wasn’t a game. This was theatre.
Every block had one and I was it: the queer. I grew up in the early sixties in Flatbush, Brooklyn long before queer had any sort of positive, ACT-UP connotation. It was merely one of the epitaphs hurled at me along with the usual fag, sissy, pansy and homo. These were the words that supposedly wouldn’t break my bones.
Naturally, I was excluded from all the block sport. I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life and to this day I still throw like a girl. But quite honestly, I was one, thrilled outcast. Being gay made me feel special, different from the Brooklyn thugs who lived on my block, and the kids who would be stuck in Brooklyn for an eternity while I would make my fame and fortune in Manhattan. For an occasional nanosecond, I did miss the camaraderie of playing on a team. Although having a real friend instead of Lucille Ball and Wally Cleaver might have been nice, I had my world and they had theres; I was fine with the uncrossable rubicund between us.
The big game on Marlborough Road was stoop-ball. Most of the houses had two sets of steps leading up to the front doors. After buying a new Pensy-Pinky or a Spaulding at Lamston’s around the corner, the boys would spend hours throwing the ball against the upper set of stairs, each step having a higher point value, the lowest being 5 and the highest 50. If you were able to throw the ball so that it didn’t bounce on the way back to the street the points doubled. Occasionally, I was recruited to help with the math when my friends couldn’t figure out what came after 1,999. I assured them it was a trillion.
Who needed to play ball outside, anyway? I was quite content to stay in my room and play at something I seemed to have an innate talent for: big Broadway musicals.
These were not just any run-of-the-mill productions. These were extravaganzas complete with (homemade) costumes, an orchestra (my scratchy 78s on a little red, portable record player), and a cast of thousands (the three girls on the block I could recruit)—each and every production directed, choreographed and starring me.
The only cast albums around were my mother’s old 78 recordings of Rodgers and Hammerstein shows. So my Broadway reviews consisted of the four of us lip-syncing to Mary Martin as she Washed That Man Right Out of Her Hair or Cockeyed Optimist (although I was certain that the title was Cockeyed Optometrist and consequently had the entire cast in cardboard cut-out glasses). We would usually end with the Grand Finale: Oklahoma! complete with trenches.
Where I picked this up is anybody’s guess. I hadn’t seen a Broadway musical yet, so it must have been the occasional movie musical on TV. Perhaps it was the perennial running of Wizard of OZ, or Peter Pan. Maybe it’s just in the genes. However this form of entertainment seeped into my consciousness, it filled my mind at a very, very early age. I’m sure my parents’ friends never forgot my definitive version of “People Will Say We’re In Love” sung to my sister’s Chatty Cathy.
For those who are already shaking their heads in horror about the little-gay-boy-putting-on-shows-in-his-bedroom, I fear it gets worse. My parents took me to Balanchine’s Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet and my life changed.
Not that I became a ballet dancer, but I saw how magnificent professional theatre could be. By a happy coincidence, the most celebrated, commercially successful Christmas show in NYC was also produced by the great titan of twentieth Century ballet. I venture to say any kid with artistic ambitions who had the momentous fortune to see this ballet at an early age was forever changed. I still vividly remember the ballet’s two children peeping though the key-hole trying to see the great Christmas tree. And then there was the theatrical coup as the painted scrim of the door dissolved through and we could see the guests actually trimming the tree. Amazing!
When I returned to my rehearsal room—bedroom--I knew I had to move on. Out were the tacky, under-rehearsed Broadway numbers with the amateurs from the block. Sorry Denise, sorry, Suzie. I needed professionals. Luckily, Elise Brodsky, a girl in my first grade class was already taking ballet lessons and when I suggested a full-length production of the Nutcracker with a cast of two, she jeteéd at the chance.
Unfortunately, this production never came off and I learned a valuable lesson that would hold me in good stead over the years. Stars are different. Stars are temperamental. Stars want things. Elise and I easily divided up the solos in the ballet: she would be the Sugar Plum Fairy, I would be the Mouse King, she would be Marie, I would be Fritz. But when it came to the Candy Cane dance, we reached an impasse. She wanted it and I wanted it too. In fact, I had already cut my hula-hoop in half so I could do the jumpy bit over the multi-striped candy cane.
No matter what I did or how I pleaded, Elise wanted to dance that Variation. I offered more money, better billing, the final curtain call, all the things that you learn to do early in the game. Still no movement. Negotiations collapsed. So, I did what any budding entrepreneur had to do: I cancelled the production. Artistic differences.
It was back to Broadway for me. Back to Mary Martin and the toilet paper wigs for Washing That Man Out Of My Hair. Back to real show business. And when my parents bought me a 60’s style tree-lamp reading light with three adjustable lights for studying, I knew I was right where I belonged. If I took a white sheet off my bed and painted a doorway on it, and if the tree light was positioned just right, we almost had a bleed-through effect. This wasn’t a game. This was theatre.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Fred, Onna and Cy: Oh, My: A Few Memories
With the passing of Fred Ebb, Onna White and, most recently, Cy Coleman, the ‘death comes in threes' superstition seems to have a sorrowful twinge of truth.
These three legends were part of the last generation of professionals who came of age when it was possible-- so it seems to me--actually to maintain a career on Broadway, to do a show every year or every few years, and not only make a living from the theater, but create a body of work that was respected, admired and cherished. I was fortunate enough to work with all three, and I'm grateful for the knowledge they so willingly shared.
We had to shoot the show quickly, and something wasn't working in Flora's song, “Sing Happy.” It didn't have the impact it needed, or as they say in the theater, it wasn't landing. Fred, the first one to sense the problem, quietly started talking to Lenora Nemitz, our Flora, who was outstanding in the rest of the show. He whispered to her for a few minutes and then started gesticulating wildly. Suddenly, something wonderful happened: Fred started to perform the number full out. And he wasn't doing it as Fred Ebb, he was doing it as Lenora, or more accurately as Flora -- or as Lenora doing Flora -- complete with the choreography, the character and in Lenora's key! It was a remarkable moment. And lo and behold, Lenora scored on the very next take, imitating Fred imitating her.
Over the next few years, I worked with Fred on a multitude of projects with all his favorite performers, Liza, Chita, Joel. In every case, the exact same transformation took place. He came to rehearsal and when we needed dialogue to lead into a song, he would morph into that performer and the words would pour from his mouth like a theatrical font. When Fred did Joel, he was Joel. When he did Chita, he was Chita. As for Liza, you haven't lived until you've heard Fred Ebb sing Liza With A Z!
***
I never knew exactly how old Onna was, but she'd been a Hot Box Girl in the original cast of Guys and Dolls and when we first started working together, she'd just had both her hips replaced. Tall and elegant and with a deep sophisticated voice, she loved telling anyone who'd listen, “I have the same material in my hips that they put in the space shuttle.” Despite this—or perhaps because of it-- she was still dancing up a storm, demonstrating all the steps for the teenaged company.
I was doing the dance music and felt privileged to be working with her. After all, she had choreographed the film, Oliver!, a seminal film to those of us who are artistically inclined. She loved to tell stories about the dance arranger she'd used on Irma La Deuce ; she once asked him to come up with some music for a transitional section of the second act ballet--music that sounded like penguins dancing. (Check your CDs for the identity of that dance arranger, none other than a young John Kander!) Here was a great lesson in creating dance music: often the choreographer can't quite verbalize the musical terminology. Many times he or she simply describes the desired mood and it's up to the dance arranger to come up with “penguin music.” Stories like that make me weep!
***
I was the executive producer of an ill-fated arts center somewhere in the bowels of Pennsylvania. I had the good fortune to nab Cy and his trio for the first night of our jazz festival. The previous night, I'd been flicking around TV and in quick succession heard Cy's "I Love My Wife" as a theme song for a cable show, Sinatra singing "Witchcraft," and a commercial using "If My Friends Could See Me Now". My opening speech was all about how Cy's music has pervaded our culture, how it was virtually impossible not to hear some of his music every single day. Cy came out and was clearly touched by my introduction. A few weeks later I was preparing a show in Greenwich Village called Singular Sensations where I'd interview and accompany legendary musical theater people like Carol Channing, Donna McKechnie and others. Cy's manager, always protective, phoned him to confirm I could handle such an undertaking. His manager reported to me that Cy, who didn't suffer fools gladly, told him in no uncertain terms, “Oh yes. Glen can do it.” For me, his approval, was a tremendous gift.
***
I had different relationship with all of these giants, but I will always remember the days spent in those musty rehearsal studios working out the numbers. I have to believe that although we have lost monumental artists, they are not finished. In fact, heaven is a bit more heavenly now with Fred doing Piaf for Piaf, Onna telling Mozart to give her some giraffe music, and Cy jamming with Dizzy, surprising him by playing in unexpected keys. Now that's theater!
Monday, December 6, 2004
Program Notes Mountain Laurel: Chamber Series
INSPIRATION
The year is 1807. We are in a fifth-floor dilapidated studio in the middle of a brutal Viennese winter. Freezing wind blows through the tattered curtains of a broken window. Beethoven is struggling to write a new symphony but the music paper is blank. He’s too worried about his bills and debts to concentrate. Suddenly, his landlord begins pounding on his door. Bang Bang Bang Baaaang. ‘Where is the rent?!’ Bang Bang Bang Baaaang. “Mein Gott!” shouts Ludwig as if struck by lightening. “That’s it. Bang Bang Bang Baaang. My fifth symphony.”
Now, even I, one of the most gullible people alive, don’t believe that. (In actuality, people say that a sweet little bird-call inspired Ludwig’s famous 4 note “fate theme.”) But the point is this: all composers, artists in general, are inspired by something and I would say 99.99% of the time, that ‘something’ certainly not a bolt out of the blue.
This first of our Family Chamber Concerts here at Mountain Laurel is titled, Inspiration, and this morning I will attempt to offer a little insight into two pieces that have been inspired by material written by other people.
The first is by the aforementioned Beethoven who took a famous theme of Mozart’s and spun out variations.
The other is a World Premier by a young English composer Nicholas Korth, who is here with us to day. Korth’s piece was inspired by a Whitman poem. In fact, every concert will feature a new composer and most of them will be here to discuss their pieces. (This is, in fact, our second world premier here at Mountain Laurel; the first, The Nightingales Prepare, was premiered by Dick Hyman in June.)
Music can be the most communicative force between human beings. From Beethoven to Korth, it contains human thoughts and emotions that cannot (and should not!) be expressed in words. Now, it is not my intention to cram 4 years of music theory into a 40-minute lecture. But I’m hoping to give you a key that might unlock the door to a couple of pieces of music. Hopefully, you’ll be inspired to come back and hear the next 4 afternoon concerts. Or even go out and hear another concert on your own. That would be great!
Enjoy.
The year is 1807. We are in a fifth-floor dilapidated studio in the middle of a brutal Viennese winter. Freezing wind blows through the tattered curtains of a broken window. Beethoven is struggling to write a new symphony but the music paper is blank. He’s too worried about his bills and debts to concentrate. Suddenly, his landlord begins pounding on his door. Bang Bang Bang Baaaang. ‘Where is the rent?!’ Bang Bang Bang Baaaang. “Mein Gott!” shouts Ludwig as if struck by lightening. “That’s it. Bang Bang Bang Baaang. My fifth symphony.”
Now, even I, one of the most gullible people alive, don’t believe that. (In actuality, people say that a sweet little bird-call inspired Ludwig’s famous 4 note “fate theme.”) But the point is this: all composers, artists in general, are inspired by something and I would say 99.99% of the time, that ‘something’ certainly not a bolt out of the blue.
This first of our Family Chamber Concerts here at Mountain Laurel is titled, Inspiration, and this morning I will attempt to offer a little insight into two pieces that have been inspired by material written by other people.
The first is by the aforementioned Beethoven who took a famous theme of Mozart’s and spun out variations.
The other is a World Premier by a young English composer Nicholas Korth, who is here with us to day. Korth’s piece was inspired by a Whitman poem. In fact, every concert will feature a new composer and most of them will be here to discuss their pieces. (This is, in fact, our second world premier here at Mountain Laurel; the first, The Nightingales Prepare, was premiered by Dick Hyman in June.)
Music can be the most communicative force between human beings. From Beethoven to Korth, it contains human thoughts and emotions that cannot (and should not!) be expressed in words. Now, it is not my intention to cram 4 years of music theory into a 40-minute lecture. But I’m hoping to give you a key that might unlock the door to a couple of pieces of music. Hopefully, you’ll be inspired to come back and hear the next 4 afternoon concerts. Or even go out and hear another concert on your own. That would be great!
Enjoy.
Friday, November 12, 2004
You Gotta Go To Placido's: Some Memories of my Times with Hildy Parks
To me, Hildy Parks embodied the uber-New York Woman, the career gal/mom who had it all long before having it all was in the American vocabulary. Think Rosalind Russell mixed with Holly Hunter when she's feisty; then add a bit of Meryl Streep and Julie Andrews for good measure and you have the whirl-wind I knew as Hildy Parks.
Every day, she got up at the crack of dawn to swim a few laps before breakfast. Then she'd rush to her office at the Shubert Theater to write a network TV special. At a time when there could be 10 to 20 writers on any given project, Hildy wrote the entire script (or the whole enchilada as she used to call it) by herself. Of course, Alex produced the whole enchilada by himself too, but that's another article.
After lunch she'd work with Alex on the creative side of producing Broadway plays and musicals. Whenever they would have a disagreement, she would look to the heavens for guidance and like a Mom scolding a petulant child she'd moan, “Jeeeze, Alex, what are we going to do with you?”
At night when she wasn't at the theater, Hildy had meetings with the local school boards, or the local community boards, or the landmarks commission, or worked with the World Health Organization or the UN. There was always something to do to make the world better. All this in addition to looking after her two boys. In the morning the exhausting cycle would start again. Exhausting to anyone but Hildy.
I worked closely with Hildy for about 15 years writing/arranging/conducting the music for her television shows. My phone would ring at 9 AM: “Hello, TC. It's Hildy.” TC stood for Tiny Composer. I rather enjoyed being referred to as tiny by a woman who barely cracked 5 feet. “Listen, what are you doing today? You gotta go over to Placido Domingo's house and work with him.” I was barely 21. Imagine getting a call like that. Throughout the next 15 years, there would always be a similar phone call with a different name: Julie Andrews, Patti LaBelle, Peter Brook. It was a very heady experience.
The first TV show we did together was called Parade of Stars. I was hired to put together a Broadway tribute that was going to be performed by 35 stars. I had some general meetings with Albert Stephenson, the choreographer, and we went into her office to discuss the number. When we got there she said, “Well, lemme hear it.” I blanched and stuttered, “We need a bit more time.” Hildy gave one of her “Jeeze, Alex” looks, threw a legal pad in the air and said, “We're shooting this next week. Let's do it now. What should Linda Lavin sing?” And led by this feisty spark plug, we finished the number in 15 minutes.
My friend Robin and I were on vacation in England once. Hildy called and said she was in town for the day and wanted to work on the Emmy show. I politely told her I was going to Glyndebourne, a country opera house that is sold out for years in advance. You have to go in black tie, take a train 2 hours outside of London, eat between acts, and then return. Very English and very exclusive. Hildy said she'd meet us on the train and come too. Robin was relieved because he felt she would never get a ticket on such short notice and he was confident we would continue our much-needed vacation.
Just as the train was pulling out of Victoria station and Robin was breathing a sigh of relief, the door to our compartment swung open and there was Hildy, in full evening gown regalia, but holding her legal pad. “But how did you get a ticket?” Robin asked stupefied. “Oh, I called Peter Hall. Now, what should Hal Linden sing in the Opening?”
I remember shows where we would shoot for 24 hours straight. Everyone was exhausted, but not Hildy. I once tried to grab a cat-nap in a dressing room when she walked in, “Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you. But as long as your up, have you thought about the closing of Night of 100 Stars III? And this years Tony's, let's do a tribute to Kander and Ebb. Think about it.”
I was doing a production of my first musical in Cleveland. We were having our last dress rehearsal where nothing was going right. Actors were forgetting lines, dancers were forgetting dance steps, the usual. I was much younger then so I didn't quite know how to remain calm in the face of adversity. After one particularly bad flub I had had enough: I looked to the heavens and screamed “Jeeze” and threw my legal pad in the air. Everyone stopped. They had never seen me so upset. But my friend Robin easily broke the tension by saying, “Don't worry. He's just doing Hildy.”
After doing the Tony for 25 years, Alex had some sort of problem and he and Hildy did not do the 1987 Tonys or any subsequent ones. This was very hard on both of them because the Tony's were their baby. This was the best award show on TV and the entire industry knew it was because of Hildy and Alex. We were all nominated for an Emmy for something else that year and gathered in their living room to see if we had won. The Tony Award show was nominated for Best Variety show and it won. Alex was very magnanimous and you would swear he was glad the show's quality would continue. But Hildy looked at me and she quietly said, “Oh well. You're worst nightmares do come true.” I had never seen her so vulnerable before. That's the Hildy I remember most.
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Berlin Philharmonic Notes: Mountain Laurel
THE COLOR OF MUSIC
The Berlin Philharmonic is the greatest orchestra in the world. Now that’s a pretty big statement especially given our musical neighbors to the north and south, but in this free country, everyone is entitled to his or her opinion and that is mine. And by way, I’m right.
My partners and I feel honored and privileged to present the members of this prestigious orchestra here at Mountain Laurel, especially in this intimate environment.
The Berlin Philharmonic was founded in 1882. In their early days some of the most important names in music have conducted them including Hans Von Bulow, Brahms, Greig, Gustav Mahler, Richard Strauss and the legendary Wilhelm Furtwangler. Peter Tchaikovsky, a frequent guest said, “The splendid Philharmonic possesses a special quality for which I can find no more appropriate expression than elasticity. They are a self-governing body, they play for their own benefit and not for an entrepreneur who takes the lion’s share of the profits.”
Given the glorious artists whom we have today, I thought I would explore the different colors found in an orchestra. I’m constantly asked why a particular instrument plays a particular passage and how does the composer know when to use a French horn instead of a clarinet? This morning I plan to answer some of these questions as well as explain the delicate balance that makes up Chamber Music.
As this is the most important orchestra in the world, I thought I would discuss and explain Sonata Allegro form, arguably the most important form in Classical Music. I’ll discuss the themes and development of Dohnanyi’s Sextet in C Major. Dohnanyi is a composer I wasn’t too familiar with but when I heard Ittai Shapira and Concertante (who will be appearing here at our next concerts) play his Quintet at Merkin Hall, I became his newest fan.
We are also continuing are commitment to contemporary music. Although Alban Berg won’t be with us today (because he’s dead!) I wanted to explore into his wonderful pieces for Clarinet and Piano. Berg is one of the first composers labelled as a “modern composer.” But as far as I’m concerned he’s just as romantic and accessible as Puccini.
Once again, I’m overjoyed that our audiences have been so enthusiastic. It continues to be a great pleasure for me to share with you some of the joys of this wonderful music. Sit back and come with me to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I wish we were serving schlag.
Glen Roven
The Berlin Philharmonic is the greatest orchestra in the world. Now that’s a pretty big statement especially given our musical neighbors to the north and south, but in this free country, everyone is entitled to his or her opinion and that is mine. And by way, I’m right.
My partners and I feel honored and privileged to present the members of this prestigious orchestra here at Mountain Laurel, especially in this intimate environment.
The Berlin Philharmonic was founded in 1882. In their early days some of the most important names in music have conducted them including Hans Von Bulow, Brahms, Greig, Gustav Mahler, Richard Strauss and the legendary Wilhelm Furtwangler. Peter Tchaikovsky, a frequent guest said, “The splendid Philharmonic possesses a special quality for which I can find no more appropriate expression than elasticity. They are a self-governing body, they play for their own benefit and not for an entrepreneur who takes the lion’s share of the profits.”
Given the glorious artists whom we have today, I thought I would explore the different colors found in an orchestra. I’m constantly asked why a particular instrument plays a particular passage and how does the composer know when to use a French horn instead of a clarinet? This morning I plan to answer some of these questions as well as explain the delicate balance that makes up Chamber Music.
As this is the most important orchestra in the world, I thought I would discuss and explain Sonata Allegro form, arguably the most important form in Classical Music. I’ll discuss the themes and development of Dohnanyi’s Sextet in C Major. Dohnanyi is a composer I wasn’t too familiar with but when I heard Ittai Shapira and Concertante (who will be appearing here at our next concerts) play his Quintet at Merkin Hall, I became his newest fan.
We are also continuing are commitment to contemporary music. Although Alban Berg won’t be with us today (because he’s dead!) I wanted to explore into his wonderful pieces for Clarinet and Piano. Berg is one of the first composers labelled as a “modern composer.” But as far as I’m concerned he’s just as romantic and accessible as Puccini.
Once again, I’m overjoyed that our audiences have been so enthusiastic. It continues to be a great pleasure for me to share with you some of the joys of this wonderful music. Sit back and come with me to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I wish we were serving schlag.
Glen Roven
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