Monday, December 29, 2008

Happy Birthday, Jesus! Part 2

Link to Part 1

After the Methodists, the Pineda family singers took a well-deserved food break. And if you’ve spent any time with my family, you know not to get between us and our plate unless you’re looking to lose a finger. Unfortunately, the time between the Methodist service (aka church job 1) and the Catholic Mass we were scheduled to sing at next (aka church job 2) didn’t give us the requisite nap and digestion period we normally require. This, of course, left us all nauseous and extremely irritable for the Catholics.

So grudgingly, we jumped in the van - bloated bellies and all - and headed to Our Lady of Lourdes to rehearse for midnight mass. Another nasty side effect of eating right before a performance is increased phlegm production. So halfway to the church I had worked up a nice, juicy loogy and had nowhere to spit. Trish asked Val for a plastic water bottle she had left in the front seat. I dutifully deposited my spit in the empty container when Trish remarked, “This bottle wasn’t empty before.” To which Val replied, “No, I was really thirsty earlier and drank it.” After an initial confused/horrified look on Trish’s face, she started cracking up and said, “I’ve had strep throat the last couple of weeks and I’ve been spitting in this bottle that whole time. And you drank it - the whole thing!” Of course, normal people would have been sickened or nauseated by the thought, but we’re not normal people, Dammit! We’re Pineda’s, and we thought this was the most hilarious thing we’d ever heard and couldn’t stop laughing all the way to Church. Val then reminded us how she had been complaining all week about not feeling well, and that made us laugh even harder. Aren’t we just sick?!? Of course, Trish immediately had to call our white son, Chris Grimm, and tell him all about how Val drank Trish’s nasty spit water. FYI, Chris thought it was hilarious, too, and that’s why he fits perfectly into our sick little family. And although still painfully bloated, we at least arrived at Church giddily happy.

Once there, we thought, “This’ll be easy. Just sing a couple of carols and we’re out of here.” Of course, nothing is easy. As soon as we arrived, John, the musical director asked if any of us knew the recit before the "Glory To God" from Messiah. I wanted to say, “Hell’s no.” But instead, we all just looked at each other and shrugged. Of course, being siblings, I knew in their heads both Juan and Trish were saying, “There is no way in hell I’m going to learn three pages of recit at 11:30pm at night for $75.” Being diplomatic, Juan said, “Why don’t we all look at it and then decide.” Which of course meant, “Fausto, you’re the oldest, so you’re gonna’ have to take one for the team.” So we, meaning me, grabbed the music and hatefully, though with a full smile achingly stretched across my face, learned the recit. After that, the rest was painfully easy - just your traditional choral part-singing.

In the spirit of Christmas and love and all that good sh*t, I won’t go into the quality of the other “paid singers” except to say that John only asked the Pineda’s about learning the recit. Well, OK, I lied, I will go into it, a little. The attitude that some of these singers were swinging around, you’d think we were competing at the Met finals. I mean, we were not being snooty or aloof. We were actually on our best behavior. But a certain singer, who shall remain nameless and sexless and who obviously had sour grapes for dinner, refused to shake my hand at the “sign of the peace.” With a smile, I offered my hand, (s)he blatantly pretended not to see me and turned her back on me. Ouch. I mean, come on. You’re a thirty-something year old (wo)man (and I’m being kind) and you’re still gonna’ play High School popularity games? Grow up already, (girl/boy)-friend! Okay, sorry, back to the spirit of the season. It was nice to sing with the timpani, organ and full brass quintet. And after staring at the first trumpet player through the whole mass, Val and I finally figured out he had played in the pit for our production of Millie. And yes, sometimes it wasn't exactly clear which verses we were supposed to sing (often we'd start a verse only to realize the congregation was singing a completely different one) or that sometimes the harmonies written for the brass didn't always match what was in the choral books. But these are all minor details. All in all, it was a successful evening of winging it.

Finally, after 1am, tired and spent, Trish, Val and I jumped into the van to head home for last minute gift wrapping. Juan had left just moments earlier with mom and dad since they weren't quite sure how to get home. You'd think we'd have been rewarded with good traffic karma for pulling double duty on Jesus' Birthday, but instead got slapped across the face with a sober dose of reality. Just minutes after pulling onto Route 22 and only a few miles from home, traffic came to a complete stop. We were literally trapped in the middle of the highway, a cement barrier to our left, and only dead end streets to the right. We sat for over 45 minutes and moved maybe three feet. Our only thrill was seeing the guy in front of us jump out of the car, whip out his weenie and pee on the barrier.

To be continued...

Friday, December 26, 2008

Happy Birthday, Jesus! Part 1

I am truly thankful that Christmas only comes once a year. It’s just way too much stress, anxiety, energy and happiness condensed into too short a time frame. After staying up late throwing out garbage and wiping down coffee stains and brownie crumbs from the stage of the CDC theatre, I wanted nothing more than to relax and enjoy my Holiday. Unfortunately, real life always gets in the way of even my best intentions. So instead of spending Christmas eve sleeping in and watching those whining, overpaid bitches on "The View" while sipping on hot cocoa in my pajamas, I was standing in the freezing rain at the train station.

Although I was well aware that no work would be done and that no banker in their right mind would venture into the office, it is company policy that a skeleton crew of admins come in to make sure there is “adequate coverage on the floor.” Meaning I get paid to sit in an empty office watching the clock tick away at any remaining shred of life and hope left in my dying soul.

So anyway, after a day of surfing the net and answering one phone call - “Hi, is Mr. So-and-so in today?” “No, you imbecile, it’s Christmas Eve and these bankers have real lives, unlike you and I!!” - I headed home to Astoria to change into my suit and immediately turned around to head back to NJ for church job number 1 of 2. Some of you may wonder why your Holiday church choir always sounds so amazing at Holiday times yet sounds like a bunch of drunk hyenas the rest of the year. It’s no accident, silly. It’s because most places pay professional singers to sit in with their choirs to “fill out their sound” so as to impress those people who only come to church at Christmas and Easter. Next holiday, take a really close look at the people in the choir. No one look familiar? Well, maybe you should go to church mare than twice a year. But honestly, it’s because they don’t go to your church, they’re paid to be there. In the biz, we call these mercenaries of song “ringers.” Honestly, wouldn’t you join the choir if you were paid to sing? What goes through people’s minds? "Wow, they sound like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir tonight when only just last week they sounded like a pack of castrated wild dogs." Please people, it’s all part of the holiday illusion.

Anyway, job number one was harmless enough. The full Pineda clan was hired to supplement the small choir at a Methodist Church in Scotch Plains, NJ, where my brother, Juan, is musical director - pretty easy stuff, just some traditional carols plus Juan asked me to do some piano accompanying. I actually enjoy working here because unlike other places, the congregation actually does know that we aren’t regulars and thanks us for lending our talents. So I don’t feel so much like a chorus prostitute. The one sadly uncomfortable part of this evening's service, however, was the special song prepared by the pastor’s children. Not because they performed badly, but because it was obvious from their scowling faces that they’d have been happier receiving full rectal exams with bowling pins than standing in front of the congregation and performing. These are grown children out of college, not trained monkeys. Please pastor, if your children don’t want to sing, let them enjoy their Christmas in peaceful silence. Believe me, from personal experience, I still get a slight panic attack if I'm at a party with my mom and there's a piano. In the back of my mind, I still think she's gonna scream out, "Play Für Elise. Now. I don't care if you have a broken finger!" and I'm a 38 - er, um, I mean - 29 years old.

To be continued...

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Billy Elliot

Let me start off by saying that sometimes great praise can be the cause of great disappointment. Many of the “big time” reviews (NY Times, Variety, etc.) greeted BE with such gushing praise, it reminded me of when I was little and my mom bragged about us to anyone willing to listen. Her hyperbolic praise so effusive you’d think I was the love child of Albert Einstein and Mozart (not that she was too far off, mind you). I should know better than to let reviews cloud my opinion. But they were so darn good and shows lately have been so darn mediocre, I wanted to believe I’d be witnessing the next West Side Story or Sweeney Todd.

As you can probably already guess, I didn’t love BE, although I didn’t dislike it either. I’d say it’s a better than average show, staged and choreographed dazzlingly well with a mediocre score and jaw-droppingly bad lyrics. And I’m being kind about the lyrics. A fourth grader could write more original rhymes. An example - and I’m paraphrasing a bit, but not much, because I don’t have a photographic memory:

Billy’s brother: What should we do? (in reply to an argument regarding letting Billy audition)
Billy’s father (sung): Let him shine, let him grow, let him go.

Ugh. These people are working class, not f*cking idiots. Sir Elton didn’t help much either, supplying forgettable melodies to trite sentiment.

What it lacked in a memorable score, it made up for in near cinematic staging, lighting and choreography. At times, the numbers became morphed into modern dance pieces, the story-telling done through movement and the weaving of disparate groups on stage. For example, in one extended section, choreographer Peter Darling juxtaposed tutu-clad girls with baton-wielding cops to create some dramatic and striking visual images.

Unfortunately, whenever people spoke or sang, the wonderful momentum and excitement created by the dance/movement grinds to a halt. Literally. The stage manager needs to plug up the many “dramatic” pauses littering the performance. These little black holes sucked the life out of whatever forward movement had been created in the preceding dance sequences. I don’t mean that the actors need to bulldoze through the dialogue, but there seems to be a lot of “thinking” going on up on that stage rather than “doing.”

Regardless, the cast works their asses off and all the leads acquit themselves nicely. Of the rotating Billy’s, we saw an amazing David Alvarez. I would kill for his calf and forearm muscle definition. Most of the other actors were solid - acting-wise, that is - but sometimes made some abrupt character choices/changes later in the show that didn’t seem to fit the characters they created at the beginning of the show. I tend to think these were probably directorial choices, so I won’t hold it against them.

For my money, the could have just as well been a theatrical dance piece, minus any sung music. The songs were that forgettable. Otherwise, it’s definitely worth trying to catch for the unique staging, dancing and performances.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Roadshow

Experiencing a new Sondheim show, you realize just how inadequate other modern composers are. Roadshow may not be the next Sweeney Todd, but it’s like pizza, even when it’s bad it’s good. And it’s not bad either, it’s just not Sondheim’s most brilliant work. After being brainwashed into believing that corporate-churned modern spectacles are “quality” and that pop scores with generalized, unspecific lyrics are adequate; listening to the intricacies and nuances of a Sondheim score/lyrics is almost like experiencing a musical theatre multiple orgasm after having subsisting on a steady diet of boring, drink-induced, pity f*cks. It’s almost criminal that we let such mediocre fare, like Legally Blonde and The Little Mermaid - both shows that I don’t necessarily dislike, but could have been much better - become representative of the modern Broadway musical. But I’m ranting way off topic here.

Like most of Sondheim’s oeuvre, at first reading, the story doesn’t exactly scream out to be musicalized: the relationship of two brothers turned conmen who lose their fortunes on risky schemes and bad business decisions. But again, Sondheim makes a detailed and interesting case study of the brothers’ psyches and explores how their deeply destructive relationship develops over a series of soured relationships and business ventures. All the while incorporating humor, interest and just the slightest bit of pity (although not much) for these unsavory characters.

The tone and style of the show are reminiscent of Pacific Overtures and Assassins in that the structure, though loosely linear, is a series of vignettes illuminating the high and low points of both brothers’ lives. There are some wonderfully melodic and touching songs, notably, “The Best Thing That Has Ever Happened to Me,” sung by Addison and his lover.

Lyrically, Sondheim is still untouchable. He makes everyone else sound like elementary school students forced to write poetry for class. His rhyme schemes are never obvious and are always unexpected - unlike most modern day composers, whose rhymes you can spot a mile away. All the while, he creates lyrics that are character, time and situation specific.

The cast is uniformly excellent and both Michael Cerveris and Alexander Gemignani, as Wilson and Addison Mizner, respectively, turn in believably nuanced portrayals. Not usually a fan of Gemignani, I found him likeable and extremely believable as the well-intentioned, but self-destructive brother. Through the show, I grew jealous of the ensemble of actor-singers who had the pleasure of interpreting Sondheim’s lyrics.

My only regret is that our country’s greatest living theatre composer may not be for long. Nearly 80, his output has vastly dwindled in the last few years. Here’s hoping he can churn out at least a show or tow more before departing.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Hairspray (#3)

Harvey and Marissa are f*ckin’ amazing together. I didn’t see Marissa the first two times I saw the show years ago and I always thought she sounded annoying on the cast recording so I was pleasantly surprised by how wonderful she is in the role. For my taste, her vocals are still a bit nasal and pinched, but it really didn’t make a difference since she was just so likeable. As for people complaining that she’s too old, must be sour grapes, because she didn’t read any older than her jailbait co-star, Constantine Rousouli. I must also admit that when I first laid eyes on the handsome young Constantine in the first scene, my first thought was, “He’s way too attractive to have any singing ability.” (God, have I really gotten that jaded?!) But thankfully, I was again proven wrong.

Even though Marissa appeared to be sick - she was carrying some major dark baggage under the eyes - her performance didn’t seem to be affected. In fact, she seemed almost unnaturally energetic and enthusiastic. It was like like Tracy Turnblad on coke - in a good way, of course.
The show is in great shape. The ensemble was extremely tight and precise, Trish and I both noticed cast members eyeing their numbers on stage. No signs of long-run-itis here. Harvey seemed completely at ease and natural. He was fully invested and committed to every moment onstage without resorting to mugging or pushing punch lines as he’s has been known to do.

There’s also a natural chemistry between Harvey and Marissa that I didn’t notice between other pairings. Both actors seemed to have a genuinely wonderful time onstage. Although (disappointingly), the entire rear mezzanine was empty the night I attended, the audience’s reactions were out of control and it was like a rock concert, with Harvey receiving an extended entrance applause and the audience erupting into cheers throughout. It’s closing in January, so check it out before it’s gone.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

White Christmas

Well, I thought the show was enjoyable enough, with the dance numbers definitely the highlight. The book is almost groan-worthily bad, but hey, it’s White Christmas, not Hamlet. It’s corny, sappy and sentimental, but a nice way to spend a holiday evening. Trish sat basically annoyed through the whole show. The movie is one of her all time favorites and the show didn’t hold up to her high expectation. I, on the other hand, wasn’t burdened with memories of the movie, having watched it years ago and only remembering the great Irving Berlin songs.

They don’t dance like this on Broadway anymore and it was a treat to see a stage full of tap dancers as well as the old school, Fred-and-Ginger style, partner dancing. It really made me think of the inferior state of Broadway choreography today. Not that today’s dancers aren’t of the highest caliber, but modern choreography so lacks the sense of style, poise and precision so inherent in this period. That being said, there was a certain sense of remoteness, a lack of emotion, in the dancers themselves. Their dazzling precision was marked by painted on smiles and an almost mechanical twinkle in the eye. A certain exuberance was lacking throughout, though the angles and timing seemed almost robotically perfect. Perhaps they were just tired from performing the matinee, but it did add a distancing sheen to the whole affair.

Otherwise, Jeffry Denman and Meredith Patterson are period perfect. From their singing voices to their acting style (cheesy, yes, but right for the period), they seemed straight out of a vintage movie from the era. Stephen Bogardus and Kerry O’Malley as the more “serious” couple were solid but seemed to be a bit modern compared to the rest of the cats. O’Malley also seemed to be vocally tired, but still quite strong.

Overall, it’s a solid, though not outstanding production. Worth a TKTS or TDF ticket.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Happy belated T-day! Gobble, gobble

Well, I've finally found some time to update. I can't believe how much sh*t's happened since my last non-review entry before Thanksgiving. It's all a nauseating blur. I'll just run down the bullet points.

I flew to Richmond the night before Thanksgiving. It was my first time home in over a year. We released mom from her oven shackles, unbuttoned our pants and went to a local buffet. Why did we never do this before? I mean, you can sleep in, eat all the turkey, ham and trimmings you want and you don't have to clean a single dish. Genius. The rest of the day was spent wallowing in gastric pain and watching really bad TV - a perfect holiday scenario.

Since we lazed around the house all day, we decided last minute to make a Black Friday run to the outlet mall in Williamsburg, VA, which opened its doors at midnight. As it turned out, we were one of thousands of families that thought this was somehow a good idea. Even before we got to the exit, it was stand still traffic miles away from the shops and it was friggin' 12 o' clock at night! When we finally got to the entrance of the mall, all the parking lots were full and barricaded closed. So we had no choice but to turn around and drive back to Richmond. Three hours later and empty handed, we arrived back home. Everyone decided to get up at 4am and head out to the stores. I decided to go to bed and not get up until my bladder forced me.

Since Juan, Val, Trish and Billy (Trish's best friend from Richmond who recently moved to Astoria) had driven to Richmond earlier in the week, I road-tripped back with them rather than fly. The ride was uneventful, unless you'd call a painful case of nearly explosive diarrhea an "event." Soon after getting home, I realized I had gotten some crazy food poisoning or caught a stomach virus. So I ended up missing Sunday's all day tech rehearsal for HSM. I'm not sure what's worse, ten hours of tech or ten hours on the toilet.

Anyway, the rest of the week was spent at my daily 9 to 5 and commuting back and forth to NJ for rehearsals. I would not recommend this schedule for anyone trying to recuperate from illness. One five-show weekend later, I'm finally feeling better. I dropped off 20 pounds of dirty laundry (literally), cleaned all the dishes in the sink and cleared the debris from my living room floor. I'm finally returning to the land of civilized behavior just in time to start rehearsals for our Holiday concert, prepare for Carmen rehearsals and finish up the run of HSM with a six-show weekend. Yippee!!!

Me feeling bloated and nauseous after way too much turkey and stuffing.

Pal Joey - Rizzo's all grown up and still a slut!

Going in, I didn’t know the show very well except for the brilliant, but mega overdone (usually badly) classic, “Bewitched”. Talk about your depressing endings (minor spoilers ahead). I mean, nothing works out for any of the characters except maybe the nightclub owner and Gladys. But even they have to resort to extortion to make their “dreams come true.” Every character is seedy and deceitful except for the ingénue, and she basically gets screwed at the end as well.

So uplifting and feel-good, Pal Joey is not. Which isn’t to say there aren’t any laughs or fun musical numbers, it IS a musical comedy after all. Actually, I think the audience’s mixed response to the show stems from mistaken expectation. I mean, you hear the words “Rodgers & Hart” and “musical” together and automatically you think of zany Broadway a la Guys and Dolls. Wrong. I mean, there are some wildly funny characterizations, especially from the ensemble of nightclub dancers - the cigarette-smoking butch chorus girl is a hoot. And both Stockard Channing and Martha Plimpton will probably get Tony nommed for their work, but there was definitely something missing.

That missing "something" might be attributed to leading man Matthew Risch, who inherited the role from Tony winner Christian Hoff after Hoff suspiciously withdraw from the project a week into previews because of a foot injury. Darkly handsome, Risch sounded like a young Frank Sinatra and danced with finesse and ease, but lacked a certain “star” charisma that couldn’t match Channing or Plimpton. Maybe he’s just too young and lacking in life experience to really inhabit the role of a womanizing user.

Channing, however, is the real deal. Rizzo’s all grown-up and looks pretty damn hot as the rich society matron who keeps Joey as her sex pet. Her Vera is sexy, funny, vulnerable but self-assured all at the same time. Though obviously not a singer, her incredible phrasing and interpretation make you forget her vocal shortcomings. My only complaint - fix her dance! She was a hot mess in the first act ballet, making even Risch, a spectacular dancer, look clumsy and uncomfortable. It probably doesn’t help that her skin tight gown (which she and her boobs look spectacular in) doesn’t allow her legs to separate more than about a 18 inches.

Plimpton, too is a surprise, having only scene her in straight plays. I had no idea she had that crazy low belt. And she, too, looks great in skimpy costume and garters.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

I'm still here...

Thanksgiving, stomach viruses and tech week have kept me busy as hell! But I will update as soon as I shovel out from under the piles of dirty laundry on my floor, clean my grimy bathtub and wash all the crusty dishes in my sink. Happy Holidays! Go Wildcats!
"I'd rather be nine people's favorite thing thana hundred people's ninth favorite thing."

Jeff Bowen, Lyrics "[Title of Show]"