Steven Tyler, Eat Your Heart Out
So here I am, back in DC and sick as a dog. All that bragging about not getting the flu for the last 4 or 5 years has triggered the inevitable karmic reaction. This in spite of copious "knock on wood"s. The question is whether I got it yesterday in DC, Sunday on the plane, or earlier in Canada. I suspect the last, since the children's chorus - while cute as hell - turned Evita rehearsals into a de facto daycare setting at times. As a result, I have become an inadvertent Patient Zero, facilitated by globalization's interconnectedness as I spread headaches and high temperatures cross-country in my wake. The worst part is, I have to leave at 9 AM tomorrow for Philadelphia where I begin rehearsals for a new show on Thursday.
I am not packed.
So what do I decide to do?
I decide it's time to bring the blog up to speed.
Evita turned out to be a smashing success. I largely mean that in relative terms - it was a classy production for Sault Ste. Marie. But I think we achieved some real quality in absolute terms as well. People were genuinely blown away by parts of it, and I don't think they were wrong to be. The chorus was touch and go at first, but once they decided to kick it in they ended up being quite solid. The same was true of the Symphony. There were moments in the show (like the opening Requiem) that sounded pretty fantastic. As director/musical director SB repeatedly noted, "you can't pull that stuff off with a synth, a bass, a guitar and some drums." (Though damn if we didn't try in 1993.) And a lot of the singing/acting work was pretty top notch for the hybrid concert approach that we adopted. I often stood off to the side observing the action on stage, and at times I seemed to forgot where I was - I was just watching a really good show, no conditions attached. TM was immensely talented and a blast. And JT took my breath away at several moments. Working with her on this again after 12 years (regardless of whether either of us would ever really be cast in the thing at this point) proved to be really special and moving. She was a scene partner par excellence.
In terms of my own work, it was a thrilling and liberating experience. The lack of pressure, plus the jolt I got from showing the hometown crowd what I'd been up to for the past 10 years, gave me an immense sense of joy and freedom. My voice was in great shape. And at a couple points in the show, I felt like I was at the center of the universe. I told my Dad how, at moments like that, you feel like you're as bright as the sun - there's a thermonuclear explosion going on inside you, and the audience is like Icarus - they can't take their fucking eyes off you. You might just burn yourself blind, but it's what you're after. It's "look what I can do" but powerful, aggressive, even violent at times. It comes from feeling an immense sense of belonging and of permission - of having the right to stand there on that stage and be heard. It's a rare feeling - I've felt it very infrequently in my career - but when you do, goddamn, you are more alive than you can ever hope to be. At a few points during Evita, standing on a stage in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, I actually found myself in the middle of one of those moments. It was surpising how much they often derived from anger, aggression - at one point I likened it to a shark who tastes blood in the water. But they were true moments: vivid, true, alive, electrifying. The deeper implications of all that rage we can leave to my therapist.
If I had one.
(I really should have one.)
But the catharsis afterwards (and the whoops from the crowd) felt amazing.
And after all, better that I channel all that potentially destructive energy into an act of creation.
(I had a microphone in my hand after all, not a broken beer bottle.)
Just call me Shiva.
The other amazing part is how close I felt to the community up there after having been away for so long. Two weeks let me sink back in in a way I haven't been able to on shorter jaunts. It felt a mix of love, hope, regret, admiration and increasingly a sense of ownership. It's hard to describe the many ways all those sentiments materialized and mixed but, after a decade living first in NYC and then Washington, it was both surprising and reassuring that they did. After a year in which my sense of where I belong, with who, doing what was pretty much shattered, I left more confident, assured... claimed. The number of people who came out to see me in the show (many of whom vividly remembered the first time around) was really special. And my sister reminded me after the first show that she and my brother hadn't seen me perform since 1996 (incredible, really). So it felt great to offer so much of me back to the community I came from, even if for three nights only. I'm certain it won't be the last time. And I don't plan to wait for another decade for the next go 'round.
Thoughts of summer theatre festivals dance in my head...
Aside from the show itself:
I made some new friends.
I saw a ton of deer winding their way across the roads and through the trees (a herd of 13 at one point meandering in a graceful line through the forest).
I saw the Northern Lights (for what I think is the first time) driving home from the show one night. Gorgeous.
I ran head on into my past once or twice and seem to have survived the experience.
And the river in front of the house was wide open, not frozen over - the first time in memory that such a thing has happened in mid-February. We used to build hockey rinks out in front of the house and play on them for hours. There were lines of Fortess-of-Solitude-like ridges and ice palaces that would form dozens of meters out on the ice. We'd climb them, looking like nothing but little dots to those on the shore. Not so much anymore. Global warming is alive and well in Sault Ste. Marie.
The other highlight was when SB brought me in to talk to one of her high school drama classes one day. When you show up for these kinds of things you never really know what to expect. What will you talk about?
Will they ask questions?
Are they really interested?
Will it get too jargon-y for them?
As usual, I was pleasantly surprised. Very. The minute I started I remembered how much I love doing it - because when you have to teach what you know, you inevitably come away with a deeper understanding of it for yourself as well. It's the test of how deeply what you know really sunk in. The kids were great. A couple of them pulled me aside and chatted me up afterwards (one talented young guy for about 45 minutes). I came away feeling like it mattered that I'd done it. I felt like I had something to offer and it was gratefully received. And I offered what I had to offer him in the generous manner that the people who really made a positive difference in my life offered what they possessed to me. Teaching can be a profound act of giving, but it can also (not infrequently) be one of taking. The story of my life has included both (as I'm sure everyone's has). The immense satisfaction I derived from passing along even a little bit of that which had been given - without trying to fill a void by taking from them what had been taken from me - was heartening and satisfying. You become aware of the immense responsibility you have, given that you can profoundly shape the course of someone's life. I felt I passed the test, and it made me want to do more.
So... Still not packed. Still sick as a dog. Still more to write. The nexy post will be on Canadian PM Paul Martin, civil marriage for gays and lesbians, and some of the reasons that the debate has evolved so differently north of the border vs. south of it. While I was basking in my Argentinian sun up in the Soo I missed Martin's quite eloquent comments defending equal rights for all. My friend Steve Clemons caught it, and he has an excellent post on his excellent blog about why Canada's role in drawing attention to American inequality through cross-border moral contrast is not a new phenomenon. Sullivan also has a longer excerpt of the Martin speech that includes a concise and rather moving argument about why minority rights can never fall prey to the whims and predjudices of the majority (a reference to the referendum-obsessed Conservative/ex-Reform Party that wants to kiebosh the bill). In my next post (post-packing), I'll offer some thoughts on some of the fundamental structural differences in the Canadian political system and process of debate versus those in the States - differences that I think inevitably create a more favorable climate for the issue among Canucks than among Yanks.
That is, if I don't pass out first. In which case, "Philadelphia, here I come!" Cheesey-steaky goodness...
(PS - Is Atrios still having his "Drinking Liberally" get-togethers? I must inquire.)
(PPS - He is! And they're all over the place, not just in Philly. I'm behind the curve...)
I am not packed.
So what do I decide to do?
I decide it's time to bring the blog up to speed.
Evita turned out to be a smashing success. I largely mean that in relative terms - it was a classy production for Sault Ste. Marie. But I think we achieved some real quality in absolute terms as well. People were genuinely blown away by parts of it, and I don't think they were wrong to be. The chorus was touch and go at first, but once they decided to kick it in they ended up being quite solid. The same was true of the Symphony. There were moments in the show (like the opening Requiem) that sounded pretty fantastic. As director/musical director SB repeatedly noted, "you can't pull that stuff off with a synth, a bass, a guitar and some drums." (Though damn if we didn't try in 1993.) And a lot of the singing/acting work was pretty top notch for the hybrid concert approach that we adopted. I often stood off to the side observing the action on stage, and at times I seemed to forgot where I was - I was just watching a really good show, no conditions attached. TM was immensely talented and a blast. And JT took my breath away at several moments. Working with her on this again after 12 years (regardless of whether either of us would ever really be cast in the thing at this point) proved to be really special and moving. She was a scene partner par excellence.
In terms of my own work, it was a thrilling and liberating experience. The lack of pressure, plus the jolt I got from showing the hometown crowd what I'd been up to for the past 10 years, gave me an immense sense of joy and freedom. My voice was in great shape. And at a couple points in the show, I felt like I was at the center of the universe. I told my Dad how, at moments like that, you feel like you're as bright as the sun - there's a thermonuclear explosion going on inside you, and the audience is like Icarus - they can't take their fucking eyes off you. You might just burn yourself blind, but it's what you're after. It's "look what I can do" but powerful, aggressive, even violent at times. It comes from feeling an immense sense of belonging and of permission - of having the right to stand there on that stage and be heard. It's a rare feeling - I've felt it very infrequently in my career - but when you do, goddamn, you are more alive than you can ever hope to be. At a few points during Evita, standing on a stage in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, I actually found myself in the middle of one of those moments. It was surpising how much they often derived from anger, aggression - at one point I likened it to a shark who tastes blood in the water. But they were true moments: vivid, true, alive, electrifying. The deeper implications of all that rage we can leave to my therapist.
If I had one.
(I really should have one.)
But the catharsis afterwards (and the whoops from the crowd) felt amazing.
And after all, better that I channel all that potentially destructive energy into an act of creation.
(I had a microphone in my hand after all, not a broken beer bottle.)
Just call me Shiva.
The other amazing part is how close I felt to the community up there after having been away for so long. Two weeks let me sink back in in a way I haven't been able to on shorter jaunts. It felt a mix of love, hope, regret, admiration and increasingly a sense of ownership. It's hard to describe the many ways all those sentiments materialized and mixed but, after a decade living first in NYC and then Washington, it was both surprising and reassuring that they did. After a year in which my sense of where I belong, with who, doing what was pretty much shattered, I left more confident, assured... claimed. The number of people who came out to see me in the show (many of whom vividly remembered the first time around) was really special. And my sister reminded me after the first show that she and my brother hadn't seen me perform since 1996 (incredible, really). So it felt great to offer so much of me back to the community I came from, even if for three nights only. I'm certain it won't be the last time. And I don't plan to wait for another decade for the next go 'round.
Thoughts of summer theatre festivals dance in my head...
Aside from the show itself:
I made some new friends.
I saw a ton of deer winding their way across the roads and through the trees (a herd of 13 at one point meandering in a graceful line through the forest).
I saw the Northern Lights (for what I think is the first time) driving home from the show one night. Gorgeous.
I ran head on into my past once or twice and seem to have survived the experience.
And the river in front of the house was wide open, not frozen over - the first time in memory that such a thing has happened in mid-February. We used to build hockey rinks out in front of the house and play on them for hours. There were lines of Fortess-of-Solitude-like ridges and ice palaces that would form dozens of meters out on the ice. We'd climb them, looking like nothing but little dots to those on the shore. Not so much anymore. Global warming is alive and well in Sault Ste. Marie.
The other highlight was when SB brought me in to talk to one of her high school drama classes one day. When you show up for these kinds of things you never really know what to expect. What will you talk about?
Will they ask questions?
Are they really interested?
Will it get too jargon-y for them?
As usual, I was pleasantly surprised. Very. The minute I started I remembered how much I love doing it - because when you have to teach what you know, you inevitably come away with a deeper understanding of it for yourself as well. It's the test of how deeply what you know really sunk in. The kids were great. A couple of them pulled me aside and chatted me up afterwards (one talented young guy for about 45 minutes). I came away feeling like it mattered that I'd done it. I felt like I had something to offer and it was gratefully received. And I offered what I had to offer him in the generous manner that the people who really made a positive difference in my life offered what they possessed to me. Teaching can be a profound act of giving, but it can also (not infrequently) be one of taking. The story of my life has included both (as I'm sure everyone's has). The immense satisfaction I derived from passing along even a little bit of that which had been given - without trying to fill a void by taking from them what had been taken from me - was heartening and satisfying. You become aware of the immense responsibility you have, given that you can profoundly shape the course of someone's life. I felt I passed the test, and it made me want to do more.
So... Still not packed. Still sick as a dog. Still more to write. The nexy post will be on Canadian PM Paul Martin, civil marriage for gays and lesbians, and some of the reasons that the debate has evolved so differently north of the border vs. south of it. While I was basking in my Argentinian sun up in the Soo I missed Martin's quite eloquent comments defending equal rights for all. My friend Steve Clemons caught it, and he has an excellent post on his excellent blog about why Canada's role in drawing attention to American inequality through cross-border moral contrast is not a new phenomenon. Sullivan also has a longer excerpt of the Martin speech that includes a concise and rather moving argument about why minority rights can never fall prey to the whims and predjudices of the majority (a reference to the referendum-obsessed Conservative/ex-Reform Party that wants to kiebosh the bill). In my next post (post-packing), I'll offer some thoughts on some of the fundamental structural differences in the Canadian political system and process of debate versus those in the States - differences that I think inevitably create a more favorable climate for the issue among Canucks than among Yanks.
That is, if I don't pass out first. In which case, "Philadelphia, here I come!" Cheesey-steaky goodness...
(PS - Is Atrios still having his "Drinking Liberally" get-togethers? I must inquire.)
(PPS - He is! And they're all over the place, not just in Philly. I'm behind the curve...)
posted by Canuck at
10:56 PM
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