Harold Hill has left the building

Sunday’s closing matinee of The Music Man was sold out and the cast’s excitement and adrenaline manifested in some crazy ad-libs and over-the-top performances.  I don’t blame them.  It was the school’s first musical.  I remember bringing one of my ex-bf’s to his first Broadway musical, Aida, and he was blown away.  I mean, Aida!?  Imagine if I had brought him to Ragtime or Hairspray.  He’d of passed out.

I had also forgotten how good Meredith Willson’s book is, with all the songs emerging organically from the dialogue and every scene catapulting the story forward.  The recent crop of new musicals, save maybe Book of Mormon, really do have shitty books compared to the classics.  It’s a pretty sad state of affairs when today’s audience standard of quality is Mamma Mia.

Considering many of our young actors had not sung onstage before, the shows went remarkably well with several lovely performances.  I do have to give an extra fist pump to Brenden Paternostro, our Harold Hill.  He was one of the few cast members who, throughout the rehearsal process, was always prepared and off book.

I also have to give a shout out to our dancers, who picked up any staging and choreography we threw at them with little to no rehearsal.  Oh, to have these dancers in the Pineda Conservatory shows (sigh).  A girl can dream.

If I was being picky, it wasn’t until Saturday evening’s show that the cast really relaxed and found their “groove.”  They finally got out of their own heads and started to work off the energy of the live audience.  But I guess that’s to be expected when you don’t have your lines memorized until opening night.  Oh, yes.  I went there. 

I won’t name any names, but imagine how much better the show could have been had certain cast members actually bothered to learn their lines before the first performance and we were able to actually direct them.  Sadly, some were still stumbling with lines up through the final performance - as if they think we didn’t notice.  Oh well, that’s a rant for another time and over a few cocktails. 

I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer.  There were some wonderful performances and many proud friends and family members.  Hopefully the success of this inaugural production will inspire these young actors to up their game next year. 

Double checking your work

The Music Man opened last night at APA, the performing arts high school in Union County, NJ.  This is the first fully-staged musical the school has produced.  Ever.  Can you believe that?  A performing arts school that's never done a musical?  Anyway, for some background, when APA decided they needed to produce a musical, they hired Juan and Val as guest artists.  Of course, hiring one Pineda means you've basically hired the staff of Pineda Conservatory, so Señor Chris and I were jobbed in for choreography duties and Trish was lassoed to do hair, make-up, costumes, photography and any other random crap that might get overlooked. 

Happily, the students acquitted themselves nicely.  For a first effort, it was actually quite impressive and the sold out crowd seemed to enjoy themselves.  There were no major flubs or disasters and the show timed in at a reasonable 2.5 hours even with the intermission.  I mean, the cast shaved about a minute from "Rock Island" alone given the craz-azy tempo they set.  Seriously, it was like they all did lines of coke before boarding that train.  But they pulled it off and we didn't even have to stab anyone in the heart with adrenaline. 

Given the show's extremely limited rehearsal time, I just barely finished choreographing "Marion the Librarian" the week before tech.  In fact, I had to leave it up to the cast to finish up the number since I literally ran out of rehearsal time.  Since I was also recruited to play keyboard in the pit, I hadn't really watched the show (I was trying sight read the damn score during the last two run-throughs) until last night.  And thus the title and moral of today's blog:  Always double check your work. 

Looking up to admire my brilliant choreography during last night's performance, I realized that perhaps I hadn't explained my concept for the library scene quite as clearly as I had thought.  Suffice to say, there will be an early dance call before the matinee on Saturday.  Sorry kids, art isn't easy. 

Of course, we haven't even closed Music Man yet and we're already rehearsing our next project, Die Fledermaus, with Pineda Lyric.  I've adapted the script for our kids and hopefully I've made the convoluted plot and dialogue a bit more palatable.  I mean, it's still cheesy, but at least I was able excise some of the more dubious jokes. 

It's fascinating to see how political correctness has aged both Music Man and Fledermaus.  Both shows literally use disabilities for laughs - Music Man has a lisping child and Fledermaus has a stuttering lawyer.  At yesterday's performance, you could feel the audience squirm uncomfortably when Amaryllis first makes fun of Winthrop's lisp.  I could see the communal thought bubble rise above the audience's head, "Do not laugh at the lisping boy." 

I guess it's all in the set-up.  I mean, the audiences at Book of Mormon are convulsing with laughter at the line, "F*ck you, God, in the ass, mouth and c*nt."  In comparison, lisps and stutters don't seem so bad.

I'm now off to see my accountant.  Hopefully I'll get a nice juicy return this year.  Then three more Music Mans this weekend and I can collapse on the couch with a pizza, a pint of Ben & Jerry's and my DVR remote.

Weekend, Fame and Harry Potter

Since The Music Man goes into tech tonight at APA, I decided to spend a rare rehearsal free weekend relaxing in the city. Yes, for the first time in months I was actually able to spend the entire weekend in NYC and not have to make a run out to the wilds of suburban Jersey.

Friday night, Trish and I had trashy Mexican food at Chevy’s. I know its nasty, but sometimes I just crave that gnarly processed crap. Afterwards, we hopped across the street for Insidious, which scared the crap out of us, but disappointed in that Patrick Wilson remained fully clothed throughout. Not even a shirtless scene. What a waste.

We spent most of Saturday in our PJ’s watching a Fame marathon on Ovation (cast left). For those young ‘ens who think Glee is all that and a bag of chips, Fame was kicking it musical style while Lea Michele was still in diapers - and without auto-tune, thank you very much. You heard every delicious vocal imperfection. Nobody sounded like an emotionless, computer-generated voice. Plus you had the campy line readings of Debbie Allen. “Fame costs, and right here is where you start paying - in sweat!” Amen, sister. Oh, and there was also this young cast member named Janet Jackson. You might have heard of her.

Saturday night we were off to Punch, a restaurant and wine bar in the trendy flatiron district, where we met up with my longtime friend, Karen, who was visiting from LA. Karen works for Warner Brothers and was in the city for the opening of the Harry Potter exhibition at the Times Square Discovery Center (which Trish and I hope to catch very soon).

We gorged on pasta and over-priced drinks, whiling away the evening playing the “what-famous-people’s-numbers-do-you-have-in-your-blackberry?” game. Pathetically, I could only muster up a few Broadway chorus boys. Karen, of course, trumped us all with her rolodex of TV and movie personalities.

Dejected by my lack of famous friends, Trish and I hailed Karen a cab (she had to run back to her hotel to meet more Potter dignitaries) and then high tailed it to Mario Batali’s cavernous new Italian market, Eataly, for some gelato and people watching. Still slightly buzzed from dinner, my overly hospitable demeanor and wobbly gait prompted the check-out girl to ask if I was “funk-tified.” I promptly slurred “yeth” as she nodded with a smile of approval.

The high-pitched squeals you hear emanating from West 45th Street is the sound of tween girls losing their shit over young Harry Potter in his Broadway musical debut (pic below). I guess I can’t complain. He’s getting butts in the seats and introducing young people to classic musical theatre, not crap like Mamma Mia.

And for the bitchy folks over at All That Chat lamenting the lack of theatre etiquette amongst the younger set, not a single photograph or cell phone went off during the performance. Maybe there’s hope yet. Perhaps these young people’s model behavior will rub off on their idiotic parents.

As for the show (How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying), it’s slick and fun and the constant movement (please, Mr. Ashord, you need not choreograph every single beat of the show) almost hides the overall generic blandness of it all. Not to say that it was boring, just that with the exception of John Larroquette (Biggley), Tammy Blanchard (Hedy) and the gorgeous costumes (thank you, Catherine Zuber) there was nothing uniquely original about the production or cast.

Radcliffe is definitely likeable and cute, but I think he needs to loosen up a little and let his freak flag fly. He sings well enough and his acting and dancing are impressive (you go, girl, with your double pirouette), but I didn’t quite believe he possessed the overwhelming charm needed to hoodwink an entire company, even a company full of imbeciles. Nevertheless, he’s working his tail off and has some wonderful moments. And when he makes those smiling takes to the audience - well, you see why those tweeners are swooning. Overall, he’s a solid Finch. If not for his big screen fame, though, I’m not sure audiences would be so effusively complimentary about his performance.

Radcliffe’s Rosemary (Rose Hemingway) was pleasant and competent, with the requisite skill of any young ingénue pumped out of any one of the current musical theatre factories (CCM, Boston Conservatory, Northwestern, et al). And that’s the problem. She’s talented but non-descript, lacking any kind of unique charm that the young Megan Mullally (below) possessed when she essayed the role pre-Will & Grace.

Though Matthew Broderick has slowly become a caricature of his quirky Ferris Bueller character, when he tackled the role of Finch opposite Mullally, he was still that doe-eyed trickster we remembered singing "Danke Schön" on a parade float. I can’t, of course, compare Radcliffe to the original Finch, Robert Morse, as I hadn’t yet been born, but it seems to me Morse also possessed a somewhat off-kilter charm and sense of humor that Radcliffe seems to lack. Perhaps Radcliffe just needs a few more weeks in the role to loosen up.

As I side note, Trish and I were kicked to the curb, literally, as we waited outside the theatre before the show. Since I don’t like squeezing my fat ass into those tiny theatre seats too early, Trish and I usually wait outside. On this occasion, a black SUV with frosted windows pulled up right next to us and the driver asked us to step aside. A few minutes later, a white van pulled up and a swarm of paparazzi, clown-car-like, spewed forth from the double doors, swarming the SUV. This, of course, got the crowd worked up into a near frenzy. Would I soon be catching a glimpse of some glamorous star? A Madonna or Brangelina?

The street-side door finally swung open, better to avoid the hoi polloi on the sidewalk, and out stepped…wait for it…Tori Spelling (insert long sigh of disappointment here). Yes, the queen of the D-list - Kathy’s moved up to at least “C” after multiple Emmy wins - decided to join me and a throng of teenage girls for the matinee.

I did happen to catch a glimpse of Damian Lewis and his wife, Helen McCrory (obviously here for the Harry Potter event) walking through the lobby. And according to the Potter blogs, David Thewlis was also in the audience, but he must be avoiding me.

<< He'll always be Ferris to me.











How To Succeed...

Al Hirschfeld Theatre

Sunday, April 3, 3pm performance

High School shows

The Pinedas' annual March pilgrimage to each local high schools’ spring musical is finally over.  Since it’s just plain heartless to rip apart a high school production in a public forum, I’ll just limit my comments to praise and constructive criticism.  I don’t want to be accused of dashing some young thespian’s dream.  These young people have plenty of opportunities for heart-crushing disappointment once they move to New York and hit the audition circuit.

Oklahoma! at Cranford HS.  Gorgeous physical production, great leads, some fine singing, generally wonderful choreography but an over-choreographed title song.  Seriously, it’s acceptable to display beautiful technical dancing on its own, but not okay to display beautiful technical singing on its own?  I mean, if Agnes DeMille didn’t think to add choreography to the number…well, I’m just sayin’. 

Hairspray at Scotch Plains HS.  Incredible Tracy (Val’s student, Samantha Tropper), Penny Pingleton, Edna, and Wilbur; an energetic and diverse ensemble that for the most part, overcame dirge-like tempos.  Hand that conductor a red bull.

Sweeney Todd at Westfield HS.  OK, I didn’t see this, but Trish and Val told me the ensemble singing/staging was quite impressive.  To be honest, I have no desire to watch teenagers perform one of my favorite Sondheim shows.  It’s just too complex and sophisticated for teens no matter how talented.  While we’re at it, I’d probably also refuse to see a high school production of Follies, Company, Sweet Charity, Dreamgirls, Showboat or Gypsy except to laugh at the inappropriateness of it all.

Thoroughly Modern Millie at Hillside Middle School.  All I can say is cute, cute, cute.  I was dubious this show would work with 10-14 year olds, but mini-flappers and boys in zoot suits won me over.  And yes, some of the Asian stuff was on the verge of being offensive, but you can’t expect 10 year old kids to finesse the material the way an adult would.

Audition hell

Our Summer Conservatory production of Crazy for You basically cast itself.  How?  Well, when you pick a tap show requiring incredible triple threat high school performers for all roles, the casting options are understandably limited.  The Pineda Four (me, Juan, Val and Trish) plus the always cheery Señor Chris and Mr. Dan held our last round of auditions and callbacks this past weekend in a marathon two-day session. 

I was actually surprised at the number of girls with serious dance training and not just eight years of jazz from Miss Nancy’s School of Dance* and Pageant Training (totally fictional, of course).  I say that now, after auditioning almost a decade’s worth of summer and community theatre shows where some girls list 5 years of jazz, 7 years of ballet and 6 years of tap training on their resume only to stare in horror when I ask them to chaine across the floor.  But that is a rant for another time. 

As always, there was no shortage of girls at the audition and we ended up with multiple choices for each role.  The boys? - not so much.  For those lucky enough to possess a penis, a role was virtually guaranteed due to the sheer number of male roles in the show. 

Unfortunately, Val’s plan to throw some gal’s into the ensemble in the Western scenes hit a slight snafu when she realized the script kept mentioning Polly as the only woman in the whole town.  Surely not a self-esteem builder for any young lady she might have chosen to add to these scenes.  And yes, Trish and I were aware of this fact when Val first brought the idea up, but knowing her mental state before the auditions (she’s currently also rehearsing two other shows), I thought it best she experience her own personal epiphany.  Besides, she was just so gung-ho about the idea, I couldn’t bear to be the one to burst her bubble. 

My favorite, and coincidentally most uncomfortable, audition moment occurred during the callbacks for Irene, the snobby socialite who eventually finds her inner Marilyn Monroe.  Señor Chris taught the girls a “sexy” chair dance to “Naughty Baby.”  Suffice it to say, I foresee some very lucrative careers ahead for some of these ladies at Flashdancers.

The offers have all gone out and we are now eagerly awaiting the inevitable angry, disappointed and/or tear-filled facebook statuses to follow.  It’s tough shattering the dreams of dozens of New Jersey teenagers. 

*Disclaimer:  Can you believe there is an actual Nancy’s School of Dance in D’Iberville, MS?!  I googled it out of curiosity shortly after completing this blog entry.  I’m sure the training there is impeccable.**

**Per my lawyer.  J 

Book of Mormon

Neil Simon Theatre

8pm performance, Thursday, April 17

Given the producers have pulled all existing discount codes, looks like BOM is going to be the hot ticket of the season.  Even at the preview performance Trish and I attended last week, the audience was sprinkled with celebrities - Penn & Teller, Joan Rivers (looking one face-lift away from Asian) and Mike Myers.  With lyrics like “F*ck you, God, in the c*nt,” these far left-of-center types seem to be the show’s target audience. 

But don’t let appearances fool you (one of the many themes the writers play with throughout the show).  Just when you think you’re in for an evening of Mormon-bashing, those wacky South Park guys turn the tables on us.  In the end, it seems the unifying power of religion - or at least a common belief and faith (I don’t want to give out any spoilers) - is what saves the day.

Don’t you worry, the Mormons don’t get off scot-free.  There are many playful digs at some of the religion’s more dubious beliefs - i.e. planetary afterlife, those mysterious gold plates - as well as some of its more random fundamental principals.  But there are also friendly digs at Spider-man and The Lion King and a hilarious homage to The King and I’s “Small House of Uncle Thomas” ballet.  In an interview, the composer (Robert Lopez of Avenue Q fame) says "We're basically riffing on The Music Man…where someone comes into a town with a lie to sell and changes the town and, actually, the lie turns out to be true in a way." 

Funny that the two South Park guys, who have never written a Broadway show, seem to have more respect and knowledge of Broadway’s history than some current “popular” composers.  It says a lot about the writers’ craft that the narrative structure of the show is clearly that of a traditional book musical, albeit sprinkled with profanity and R-rated humor.

Yes, it is difficult to sustain satire over a two-act musical, but for the most part the artistic team manages to keep things moving along.  The only two moments were the joke seemed to wear out its welcome were during “Scary Mormon Hell Dream” and “We Are Africa,” both of which go on at least a verse too long. 

In a completely random note, our former downstairs neighbor, Andrew Rannells, plays leading man Elder Price.  Seeing him in the hall I never realized how much he looks like a young Ryan Reynolds (with a bit of Jim Carey thrown in there as well) until I saw his smiling mug on a Broadway stage.  And oddly, even though I can sometimes hear full conversations through the floor of our current downstairs neighbor, I never heard a peep - singing or speaking - when Andrew lived downstairs. Weird. Sorry, I had a weird non-sequitur moment.

I could go on and tell you how funny and awesome the show is, but the ridiculously glowing reviews from every major news outlet this morning pretty much say it all.  The first paragraph of the New York Times review is a PR person's wet dream come true:

This is to all the doubters and deniers out there, the ones who say that heaven on Broadway does not exist, that it’s only some myth our ancestors dreamed up. I am here to report that a newborn, old-fashioned, pleasure-giving musical has arrived at the Eugene O’Neill Theater, the kind our grandparents told us left them walking on air if not on water. So hie thee hence, nonbelievers (and believers too), to “The Book of Mormon,” and feast upon its sweetness.

If you haven’t purchased a ticket, don’t bother, it’s going to be sold out for quite a long time.  I honestly haven't laughed or enjoyed myself so much since, well, Priscilla. With that in mind, the spring Broadway season is shaping up to be a good one.   

<--- Andrew Rannells - love child of Jim Carey and Ryan Reynolds???

I guess New York has turned me into a judgemental...

jaded, nasty queen - sigh.  Though I'm no stranger to the raised eyebrow and "oh, gurl" attitude of the urban gay set, I've always thought of myself as generally a nice person.  Well, I guess we all have our moments and mine happened last night at Kathy Griffin Wants A Tony. 

As I climbed over dozens of knees to get to my prime front mezzanine center seat, I notice the gentlemen next to me flashing a big, goofy smile. Out of the corner of my eye I see him continually glancing over at me, checking me out, and I immediately go into avoidance mode - picking through my bag, pretending to read texts on my phone, folding and re-folding my coat - but to no avail. "Hi there. How are you?" Ugh. Why do I always end up next to some creepy old queen trying to pick me up? "Fine, thank you" I politely answer and then pretend to be engrossed in my Playbill. "So where are you from?" Can he not read my very blatant signals? "Astoria," I meekly smile. But I've clearly just opened the door and he extends his hand, "Well, nice to meet you, I'm Paul." OK, enough already. I just came out tonight to hear some Kathy trash talk. I do not want to go on a first date with the lonely guy next to me.  I politely take his hand and answer, "I'm Fausto." Now leave me alone.  "God bless," he says. What!?!?

That's the weirdest pick-up line I've ever heard. I shyly ask, "Where are you from?" "Abilene, Texas. It's my first time in New York City and I'm with my wife and daughter." He gestures to the tween next to him and then to a solid, but pleasant looking woman with big, southern blond hair in the next seat.  She smiles and waves.

Oops. Have I become so self-absorbed and arrogant to think the only reason someone might start a conversation with me is because they are so dazzled by my good looks that they can't help but hit on me? I guess so. This excited tourist was just trying to make friendly southern small talk and I assumed he was some lonely looser at the Kathy Griffin show.

My Gaydar needs a definitely tune up. Anyway, after we got our little misunderstanding cleared up we spent the next ten minutes gossiping like long last girlfriends.  He warned that I shouldn't bother seeing Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo - even with Robin Williams - because it was just awful and full of profanity. I asked him if he knew that every other word Kathy says is "fuck"? We're definitely besty's for life now.

As for Kathy, she was a hot mess - in a good way. She was wound tight like a crack whore on an all-night bender, skipping from pop culture topic to pop culture topic, often interrupting her own story to follow some unrelated tangent and then asking the audience to remind her to get back to the original story. The audience obliged, of course, randomly yelling out names and topics to get the comedienne back on track. The free-for-all atmosphere continued for two intermissionless hours.

For Kathy fans, or Kath-eters as we have now been dubbed, it was a night of outrageous fun. For Kathy haters, well, I'll just quote the great one herself and tell you to go "suck it."

Kathy's hilarious bio.

Kathy Griffin wants a Tony
Monday, March 14, 8pm performance
Belasco Theatre

Poor Spidey

I’ve only been casually commenting on Spider-man’s continuing production traumas since every major news outlet seems to think it’s headline news.  Imagine TV production meetings all over the country - “Shall we lead off with Iraq, labor strife in Wisconsin or Spider-man?” 

Not that I’m complaining.  How often does Broadway get regular national coverage?  But it seems everyone is obsessed with Bono and Taymor’s vanity project.  Would a $65 million dollar revival of Hello, Dolly! starring Christine Ebersole warrant the same press attention?  “Christine, who?” you ask.  Methinks not.

What I do find somewhat heartening is that finally, after months of previews and painfully bad reviews, the production team is finally deciding to stop this run-away train before it careens into bankruptcy (again).  What have they been doing the last 100 preview performances (I viewed performance #4)?  Well,

apparently not much. 

I’m glad Bono recognizes that a complete overhaul is in order, but at least half of the show’s problems lie in the monotonous, un-theatrical score.  I’m a U2 fan, but Bono and the Edge need to go take a class at BMI.  Pop hooks and poetic cliché do not a musical score make.  At the very least, theatre songs need to illuminate character or move plot along.  Most of Spider-man’s score does neither.

Today’s press release, on the other hand, is a master class in spin.  So carefully worded as not to offend or accuse anybody.  Surprisingly, I’ve worked with the new director, Philip William McKinley, years ago in - brace yourselves - Fort Atkinson, Wisconsin at the Fireside Dinner Theatre.  He directed the original holiday revue “Christmas All Over the World.”  And yes, it was as cheesy as at sounds.  I actually don’t remember much about him except that he employed a lot of hydraulic lifts and spinning turntables.  He seems a good a choice as any. 

Though I wasn’t interested in seeing the show again, now I think I’ll have to buy a ticket if only to tell my grand-nieces or nephews that I saw the infamous Spider-man post- and pre- Taymor. 

"It's raining...

men, Hallelujah!" - so goes the opening number of Broadway's Priscilla Queen of the Desert (seriously, imagine the bloody mess if it actually did start raining men).  Trish raved about seeing the London production last year and the chat boards - when not obsessively ranting about Spider-man - are all hearts and flowers about the first few previews.  With the promise of fabulous costumes, disco music and enough washboard abs for a year's worth of laundry, I couldn't resist buying tickets (on discount, of course) to the fourth NY preview. 

Yes, it's a jukebox musical and doesn't purport to be anything more than campy fun, but the book, characters and music are miles above the tedious Mamma Mia! which I found to be as delightful as receiving a colonoscopy in a third world country by a first year medical student.  I'm no drag queen (though I'm sure I'd be fabulous) and I might be biased toward the gay-bashing storyline, but I found the conflicts and relationships in Priscilla much more realistic than the I-used-to-be-a-slut-and-have-no-idea-who-got-me-pregnant-and-I-don't-care-because-now-I-live-a-dream-life-on-a-Greek-Island plot of Mamma Mia! 

I was slightly disappointed with the lackluster choreography.  I realize that the incredible costumes and headpieces probably hinder mobility, but I expect more than Las Vegas prancing even from a drag show.  This is a BROADWAY drag show, bitches! 

The three female divas do vocal justice to the classic disco hits and some numbers are integrated more successfully than others, but it's really about the familiarity factor of the songs and the amazing costumes (and that bus!).  I think the only mis-step is the overly long "fast forward" version of the nightclub act the trio performs at the casino.  It's based on a single sight gag that overstays it's welcome after about its third repetition.  

Will Swenson (Tick), whom I usually adore and who in real life is attached to my straight crush, Audra, seems unsure whether to embrace the full feminine qualities of his character or play it straight.  This may, of course, be his actual character choice, but it reads like he's still in rehearsals and trying different approaches even though he's been playing the character for months (since the pre-Broadway engagement in Toronto).  He needs someone (i.e. the director) to tell him his choice is not working. 

Though Tony Sheldon (Bernadette) doesn't get the last bow, he should.  His character grounds the show and is the only actor who seems to get the right balance between campy humor and honest characterization.  The audience genuinely roots for him.  Swenson's father-son story line doesn't really get humming until his arrival at the casino and that doesn't happen until the last 15 minutes of the show.  Beef up Tick's story line or give Sheldon the final bow.

Nick Adams (Felicia) is stunning to look at and his gym membership is worth every penny he pays for it.  But here he's merely eye candy.  His full out camp performance is entertaining enough but is all surface bitchiness.  This was a missed opportunity to add some real emotional depth (see Guy Pearce in the movie) to the flamboyant surroundings. 

I'm sure I'll be back often if just to experience the natural high one can only attain from the sublime combination of Gloria Gaynor, feathers and g-strings.  Only I'll be sitting at least nine or ten rows back since our fourth row orchestra seats were just a bit too close for the very high stage.  Fine, of course, if your health insurance covers chiropractic visits.

Best overheard audience comment at intermission: "Is he [Nick Adams] really singing Sempre Libera?  If he is, he's really good."  Of course, watching the show it is painfully obvious he's lip-synching to a recording of the aria.  I think the full orchestral accompaniment and high "E" give it away. 

Thursday, March 3, Palace Theatre
8pm performance

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