Ta-ran-ta-ra, Ta-ran-ta-ra OR the sound of my slowly dying artistic soul

Well, Pirates has come and gone - four shows with four different combinations of leading players.  All things considered, the shows came off quite well.  Unfortunately, we didn’t get the audience turn out we were hoping for, though the smaller audiences were surprisingly vocal and enthusiastic.

Sadly, like rehearsals, the performances were marred by a fair amount of line flubs and outright omissions (other than the official cuts we made during rehearsals).  I’d say the average line accuracy rate was about 75% - which, if we were going by school grading, isn’t horrible.  Though I don’t know many students who would be bragging about a “C.”  Hell, I’m usually suspicious of any restaurant in the city that gets even a “B” rating.

There was some exceptional singing, though, and it was a pleasure to hear many of our younger performers finally take center stage after years of paying their dues in the chorus.  

And our hard-working ensemble deserves some love, too.  They filled four shows with unflagging energy and enthusiasm that almost made up for some of the butchered dialogue.

The bottom line, I guess, is that audiences enjoyed the shows and for the most part, actors covered flubs well enough that the audiences were oblivious.  It would be an interesting experiment to use English supertitles for English shows (like they do at the Met) so that the cast would be forced to at least make an effort at accuracy.

I sound like such a negative Nellie, don’t I?  Don’t get me wrong, I want the kids to have a good show and have enthusiastic audience responses.  But at the same time, if students continually receive critical accolades from audiences for their semi-improvised, unprepared performances, why would a student bother to strive to do any better? 

I guess I take things too personally.  I should just stop worrying about it because the undue stress and aggravation just wears away at my already dying artistic soul. 

Or maybe it’s time to retire.  Or find different students.  Or just have a stiff drink.

Rehearsal hell

My inner monologue (minus the heels)
after this weekend's rehearsals.

Good thing I was able to cram in some quality drinking time before the weekend, because Pirates hell began Friday night with rehearsals for our Young Artists’ production.  Thankfully, I was spared the longer rehearsal period because Juan and Val opted to take the lead on this production.  I needed some much-deserved R&R after idiotically volunteering to direct and choreograph both of last season’s operas, La Traviata and The Bat.  It seemed like a fun idea at the time - at least until around the fifth or sixth weekend of reverse commuting to NJ for rehearsals.  Will I ever learn?  I doubt it.

For this highly abridged version of Pirates of Penzance, I was relegated to accompanying and conducting the “orchestra” - that is, if you consider an out-of-tune piano and a violin an “orchestra.”  But we sounded lovely anyway, thank you very much.  Remember, it’s about quality, dear readers, not quantity.



You’d think the weekend before opening - not to mention after several weeks of rehearsals - the cast would at least have a perfunctory knowledge of the script and score.  I thought wrong.  I won’t name names in order to protect the ignorant, um, I mean innocent, but this has got to be the worst prepared cast we’ve had in the history of our ten-plus years of producing opera. 

Rehearsals started in October.  How is it possible not to know your lines and music after two months of rehearsal?  Even worse, then have the nerve to giggle about it onstage while giving us a half-assed apology.  Back in ancient times, when I was performing in regional summer stock, we would mount five full-length shows in six weeks.  Granted, some of the shows sucked, but we at least knew our lines and blocking.



Maybe I’m being a bit harsh, but then I think of our Major General.  She learned all her lines plus an extremely difficult patter song in two weeks (the original actor dropped out of the show unexpectedly).

Sometimes I get the feeling our kids - not all, but some - don’t really care about the show.  They just want to be front and center.  They want the accolades but don’t want to put in the effort to earn them.  To those few, I say “good luck” with that philosophy in the real world.  To the rest, I say “thank you” for putting up with the posers and for having to sit through our yelling and screaming and scolding.



And people wonder why we’re always so irritable right before a show opens.

Rant over - until next rehearsal.

The Bat flies away and a western town is born

Despite two pathetically bad final dress rehearsals, one for each of the casts, the weekend performances of The Bat were surprisingly quite good.  Although I’d never want the opera company to present a bad show, it would perhaps teach the kids a lesson if their inconsistent commitment and sometimes lazy work ethic wasn’t rewarded with a great performance.  I know what you’re thinking - damn, Fausto, that’s some harsh shit.  Maybe.  But talk to me after you've had to re-block the same scene five times because no one bothered to write down their blocking. 

Of course, I’m also generalizing.  Several cast members consistently arrived at rehearsals prepared and committed to the process.  But how do you convince young performers that their work outside of the rehearsal hall is so vital to the success of a performance when they’ve seemingly put on a successful performance without this “vital” preparation?  I always find myself telling a cast, “Think of how much better the show would have been if you’d put in more effort during rehearsals.”  This never works.  All they remember is the enthusiastic audience ovation and a sea of smiling faces, most of whom are family and friends.  I know, still harsh, but I just keeping it real.

Or maybe my standards are too high?  I know most of these kids aren’t looking to become Broadway stars.  They just want to have some fun with their friends while padding their college applications.  I get it - sort of.  Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t understand why you’d bother committing to something - be it theatre or a sport or even knitting - and not strive to do your best.  Granted, I was a total nerd in high school, so maybe I just don’t understand the psychology of the “average” teenager because I never was one.

Oh well, maybe things will change next year.  And maybe the Mets will win the World Series.  And yes, Fausto actually just made a sports analogy!  So I guess anything is possible.

It’s now become a tradition to spend the day after the last opera performance building the sets for the upcoming summer season.  Tired and grumpy, Val and I hauled our asses out of bed early Sunday morning and headed to the Home Depot for paint and supplies before heading over to the theatre.  With a McDonald's breakfast wreaking havoc on my digestive system (but totally worth it), I began to transform the side stages into a dingy old west hotel room and the stage door of an old theatre for our Center Stage production of Crazy for You.

I don’t purport to be a scenic painter, but I did a pretty damn good job, thank you very much.  My only regret is agreeing to paint a faux brick effect on one of the side stages.  It looks fantastic, but took hours to complete.  There better be a lot of scenes taking place on that side stage.  I'm just sayin'. 

To save some money, not to mention hours of construction time, we decided to re-purpose the rolling flats from CDC's last production, Gypsy.  Just a fresh coat of paint and few cosmetic touches and violà - instant western town. 

Bats and sailors

The Pineda Lyric Young Artist production of The Bat opens next weekend.  Unfortunately, there's this little interruption called "Memorial Day" that occurs right in the midst of our tech week.  Don't get me wrong, I fully support our troops - I've dated both a Marine and a Navy man, thank you very much - but the break in the tech week schedule means Tuesday night's rehearsal - our first day back from a long weekend break - will be a guaranteed disaster.  Why?  Having worked with teenagers in shows for almost 10 years now, I have learned one thing:  unless forced or threatened, most student actors will do minimal, if any, prep work outside of the rehearsal hall.  Sure, there are the unusual students who will show up at each rehearsal off book and ready to go, but my decade of practical experience tells me not to hold my breath.

So after yesterday's run-through, which was preceded by three straight days of rehearsal, I had what I refer to as my "Juan moment."  Let me explain.  My brother, Juan (see sidebar on left), who teaches and directs students all the time, has - how shall I put it? - a bit of temper.  At around 2 or 3 days prior to tech week of any show, prompted by a missed cue, a botched entrance, the fiftieth repetition of the same stage direction or by a noisy ensemble backstage, Juan will inevitably lose his cool and go totally ape-shit on the cast.  It's actually quite scary but almost always warranted.  His face will get red, his neck will tense up and his voice will reach the decibel levels of a tornado siren. 

Though my "Juan moment" is usually prompted by a similar situation, I have the opposite reaction.  I become unusually calm, but with the sarcastic bite that only a gay man or a Real Housewife can muster.  And through a carefully worded, completely manipulative speech, I lay a massive guilt trip on the cast that would make any Jewish grandmother proud. 

So after yesterday's listless run-through, chock full of botched lines, forgotten blocking and just plain un-focused and careless execution, I gave my speech.  I immediately know my words have hit the bull's eye when I look down and see 20 pairs of puppy dog eyes looking up at me, hurt and surprised - as if they had expected me to praise their lackluster work.

Of course, I have to remind myself these are teenagers.  I mean, was I actually ever that studious and responsible when I was 15?  You bet your ass I was!  Hello, I used to lock myself in the piano room and practice 6 hours a day (not exaggerating - 2 hours before school, 4 hours after) and still maintained a straight "A" average.  Oh well, I was also considered a nerd to most of my peers.  It's a trade off.

Hopefully, last night's rehearsal was just a case of early summer-itis.  Until then, I'll enjoy the sights of the city this holiday weekend.  And by sights I mean sailors.  Yes, it's Fleet Week!  The annual event that literally brings boatloads of men in tight white pants to the center of the universe, New York City.  A gay man certainly had to have come up with the idea.  I'll sadly miss part of the weekend festivities as Trish and I will be heading to Baltimore to celebrate a friend's Birthday (report to follow), but I'll be back on Sunday night to leer at our brave men in uniform.

Happy Memorial Day weekend!

Spider-man 2.0 and wedding shenanigans

I'm so excited I could wet myself.  Tomorrow Trish and I are seeing the third preview of the newly "revised" Spider-man.  I know, it pretty much sucked the first time we caught it during its first week of previews (the longest preview period in Broadway history, about 180 performances) way back in December.  But TDF offered tickets to the re-opening about a month ago and I pounced on 'em like a bear at a leather vest convention.  If you didn't get that metaphor, don't worry, it obviously wasn't aimed at you. 

Can a completely new artistic team (director, book writer and choreographer) fix a 70 million dollar musical train wreck in three weeks?  We shall see.  I sort of hope it's amazing, only because I feel bad for that cast.  On the other hand, I do enjoy a venti cup of steaming hot schadenfreude (with a slice of that luscious fat-free banana chocolate chip coffee cake!). 

In the meantime, it's off to the wilds of suburban Jersey for more The Bat rehearsals with the young 'ens. 

Oh, and I almost forgot about Trish's latest exciting news.  One of her best male friends, of whom she's had quite a - how shall I put it? - emotional past, just asked her to be his best (wo)man at his wedding this August.  That's like leaving Charlie Sheen unattended on a beach of crack sand.  No good can come of it! 

I can already picture the ceremony in my mind's one-brow-raised eye - bride on the left, Trish on the right and groom in the middle - awkward.  I suggest the preist cut "If anyone here can show just cause as to why these two may not be joined in Holy Matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace" because he just may get a few "hold up"'s from the congregation.  Can't wait for the big day!

The reviews...err...review, is in!

Congrats to the cast of La Traviata for their glowing review in the Westfield Leader.

And here are a couple of photos:

 Flora (Jessica Renfro) and her boys

Flora (Renfro) and Violetta (Michelle Trovato) laughing it up

The party's over...

The cast party’s over and the soprano’s dead - again.  The last performance of La Traviata went off pretty much without a hitch.  The production itself was one of our strongest in years, with top-notch singers and musicians, good production values and more rehearsal time than usual.  Unfortunately, with the economy tanking and donations and funding nearly non-existent, we’ve been stretched thin.  The four of us (me, Trish, Juan and Val) seem to be pushing a boulder up Mount Everest.  To have me (the director) also doubling as stage crew, stage manager and prop master; Val (the producer) doubling as the box office, costumer and lighting designer; Trish taking care of wigs & costumes plus random administrative tasks and Juan handling every other backstage element while also performing a role in the opera - it’s just ridiculous.  Trust me, it’s not like we love doing everything ourselves, but that topiary won’t move itself into place.  And no one’s storming the theatre insisting on volunteering to help backstage either, so what's a lowly non-profit to do? 

A “mom-and-pop” operation isn’t quite as fun or quaint when you’re bordering on “grandma-and-grandpa” territory.  Yes, I exaggerate, but there’s a big difference between 30 and 40 years old when you’re dragging around set pieces and hanging backdrops.  At 30, it’s bohemian, at 40, it’s … well … hard work.  I woke up this morning unable to bend at the waist.  Yes, I actually threw my back out last night at strike!  Depressing? - Yes, but maybe it’s time to let the young-ins take over the heavy lifting (if we could find any that would back away from center stage). 

With Traviata over, at least I can temporarily enjoy the “freedom” of only having to work at my day job.  Yeah, right.  Now I have my nights “free” to get CDC’s - that's Cranford Dramatic Club, not the Center for Disease Control - new website up and running by Thanksgiving, publish and update both mine and Trish’s new websites and figure out what the heck Mrs. Claus is going to sing at this year’s holiday concert. 

The countdown begins...

How’s this for comedy? - Friday night’s final dress rehearsal of La Traviata will be the first and only time the full cast will ever run the show together before opening night on Saturday.  I know, hilarious.  I’d be crying if it wasn’t so ridiculous. 

That said, I’m tired, but not as stressed out as usual.  Tonight is the sitzprobe followed by three run-throughs and then (insert bombastic trumpet fanfare here) opening night!  We’re actually in pretty good shape except for a couple of scenes that haven’t gotten much stage time.  I just have to keep reminding myself that in the past there are always at least a few scenes left to block when we hit tech week - not so this time.  We’ve actually hit every scene at least once.  I know, that’s not exactly something to brag about, but I think that’s actually a Pineda record for preparedness.

I cannot even begin to explain the rehearsal schedule nightmare this show turned out to be.  Val, of course, was the one banging her head on the coffee table trying to make everyone’s crazy schedules coalesce.  But it’s a common opera producer’s dilemma - do you hire the tried and true talent so busy flying back and forth from gig to gig that they can barely make rehearsals or do you go with unknown singers and hope to discover the next “big thing.”  Regardless, come Sunday night, I’m sure you can find her washing down prozac appetizers with red wine spritzers at the cast party.

Opera singers are all crazy.  I should know, having started out as one.  But working with young, professional singers on a regular basis as a director has only proven the statement as fact.  Okay, maybe I'm being a little harsh, but being on the other side of the table has certainly provided me with the skill set and experience to rival any psychiatric residency program.  I think all opera singers (and actors in general) should have to direct at least a couple of productions before being granted their respective degree or union affiliation. 

Directing is equal parts therapist, baby-sitter, cheerleader and politician.  Anyone who says it's all about creating art is full of shit and is probably a terrible director.  I'd equate directing a cast to adopting a bunch of grown children incessantly asking, "Who do you love best?" while singing high C's at you.  Yes, it's also the process of creating a thematic and visual unity, creating clarity and truth from outrageous stories and coaxing real and grounded performances often out of thin air.  But if you can provide just the right combination of ego-stroking, manipulation, compromise and honest criticism, the performances always seem to fall into place.  

Why the pointed rant?  I guess I'm just stressed out with all the rehearsals for La Traviata.  It's been a somewhat harrowing enterprise, given the fact we won't see a full cast until probably the first run through.  I was also the bad guy this weekend, having to cut dancers out of a number not because they couldn't execute the combination, but because I had to own up to the fact that my choreography just didn't work in the scene.  Now I know how a Broadway composer must feel when he's told he needs to cut his favorite song because it just doesn't move the plot along.  

Okay, enough of the self-pitying crap.  I will now official suck it up and stop whining.  Only two more rehearsals and then - gasp - TECH WEEK!  Did I mention this cast is going to sound amazing?  It's officially my last night off until we close the show.  I will now watch some TV and do absolutely nothing for the next few hours.

Can't touch this...

This has been the week from hell. I’m sure I probably say that about every tech week, but it really is the only phrase that adequately describes the pain. It started on Memorial Day. Yes, the day you’re supposed to be barbecuing, relaxing and getting wasted on cheap boxed wine. Instead, the Pineda clan was up at the crack of ass (well, 9-ish, but it was a holiday, people!) loading foam pillars and fake palm trees into the mini-van. By 11:00 am we were painting, ironing, screwing (and not the good kind) and sweating it out in the CDC theater.

Thankfully, we were out of that mold spore incubator by around 9:00 pm. So I attempted to catch the midnight bus back to the city. Well, after waiting about forty minutes - including a covert restroom break through the cracked car door (desperate times call for desperate measures), it was obvious the bus was not coming. Why does NJ Transit even bother publishing a schedule? Since I only had nasty, paint splattered clothing with me, my only option was to catch the 6:00 am train to the city, then subway it home to Astoria where I’d have to shower, change into work clothes, turn around and head straight back to the city for work.

Oh, but I left out the best part of the story. Thinking I could just buy a cheap work outfit in Jersey (affording myself a couple more hours of precious sleep), Val, Trish and I high-tailed it Target fifteen minutes before it was due to close. But in my haste, I picked up the wrong pair of pants from the pile I had tried on in the dressing room. When I got back to Juan and Val’s, I realized I bought slacks two sizes too large. There was no way I was going into work looking like an MC Hammer “Can’t Touch This” back-up dancer in huge, gray pinstriped parachute pants. They were that large. And belting them only emphasized the poofiness - not to mention that weird overhang of material at the waist.

Even having to stop by my apartment in Astoria first, I actually made it to work on time, though I was dragging big time at the office. However, instead of having the luxury of heading home for a nice nap after work, I went straight to Port Authority to catch the bus back to NJ for our first tech rehearsal. Crazy, much? The things we do for our opera kids!

Anyway, I’ve been going to work and then heading to NJ for rehearsals every night this week. Suffice it to say, I’m f*cking tired! And the kids wonder why we’re so irritable when they haven’t memorized a quarter page of dialogue. Commuting four hours to find that your time has been totally wasted on unprepared performers isn’t exactly soothing on the nerves.

I know I shouldn’t be so hard on the kids and they’re just teenagers (or younger), but God forbid one of them decides to learn all their lines before the first performance. I mean, we’ve only been rehearsing for six weeks! No wonder I’m prematurely graying. Speaking of which, Trish looked at me the other day and audibly gasped. I thought maybe I was bleeding or that some huge carnivorous animal was stalking me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh my God, you need to dye your hair!”

Thanks, Trish!

Anyway, tonight is opening night. I don’t want to jinx it, but doesn’t the saying go, “Bad dress rehearsal, good performance”? If so, this show is going to be spectacular.

Anchor's Aweigh

Summer in the city is officially here. The boys are back in town! Yup, it’s Fleet Week in NYC and you know what that means. Cute young things in tight, white uniforms whip-lashing to check out “all them tall buildings” in Times Square (for best effect, try reading that last sentence again but with a southern or western accent where the quotes are). I’m thinking of it as a warm-up for Pineda Conservatory’s upcoming production of On The Town and an excuse to do some in depth character “research” - wink, wink. Who doesn’t like a man in uniform? Am I right ladies? Gimme’ a holla! Whoah, excuse me, I totally ghetto-ed out there for a second. Anyway, I love this time of year because the skyscraper-lined streets haven’t yet turned into asphalt ovens and everyone is just plain giddy that winter is finally over. And did I mention the sailors?

I must have a late dose of Spring fever as well, because this morning I realized I completely forgot to go to a rehearsal last Wednesday night. And it wasn’t just some random rehearsal, it was our final run-through of The Magic Flute before next week’s tech. Oops. Oh well, sometimes sh*t happens. I must really be out of it, because I’ve never just plain forget about a rehearsal. Yes, I’ve been known to bull-sh*t some lame last minute excuse in the past (haven’t we all?) but I honestly just forgot. Early onset of senility? Whatev’s. Only four days to tech week.

Crazy-ass Week

What a crazy-ass weekend. It started off last Thursday with High School Musical rehearsal and ended Monday with a hellish late night bus ride back from a Merry Widow sitzprobe. I take that back, the crazy-ass weekend didn’t really end officially until after Trish and I voted Tuesday night after work. No, wait, I take it back again, I guess it didn’t really end until after Obama’s speech later that night. Oh, wait, I forgot about yesterday’s first dress rehearsal for Merry Widow. And I have to head back out to NJ right after work today for the final dress. So actually, my crazy-ass weekend hasn’t ended at all and has sort of turned into a crazy-ass week. No, I take that back, too, it’s actually turned into a crazy-ass month. Oy!

Adding to the weekend merriment was my cousin, Al, and his new girlfriend Bridget. He was here to run the NYC marathon. So on top of commuting back and forth to NJ for rehearsals, we had to entertain and host out of town relatives and try not to look like raving lunatics in front of his new gf. I think for the most part we succeeded on the latter, but Sunday’s post-marathon dinner in Long Island definitely did not help our cause. More on that one later.

After work on Friday, Trish and I planned on going back into the city for an evening of Halloween freak watching with Al since Bridget didn’t arrive until Saturday afternoon. Alas, witches and vampires were not in the cards for us this year. Upon arrival from the airport, Al promptly crashed on the couch complaining of general sluggishness. We settled for Brazilian and Thai take-out (yeah, weird combo) and watching movies in the comfort of our living room. We were hoping Al hadn’t been infected by the bug that Trish had passed on to the rest of the Pineda clan earlier in the week - definitely not a good thing if you’re planning on running 26 miles the next day. Case in point, I felt like shit Thursday night after rehearsal so I took some cold medicine that totally knocked me out. I then ended up sleeping through my alarm clock and getting to work late. Not 10 minutes late, not half an hour late, not even an hour late, but THREE hours late. Luckily (or sadly), no one seemed to notice until I called in. Oh well, who needs self-esteem anyway?

Early Saturday afternoon I headed to NJ for a nasty five-hour Widow rehearsal. I won’t even go into the agony of it all except to say that we had to finish blocking the show that day, meaning all of Act III. I left Trish in the city to cousin-sit because in addition to Al and his gf, our cousin Rosanna and her bf, Jamie, flew in from Michigan, and another cousin, Margot, and her husband, Jim, drove in from Long Island. I love my family dearly, but the idea of spending the entire day traipsing around the city with them sounded like torture. Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely people, but walking around midtown Manhattan on a weekend afternoon with six people in tow is like me trying to squeeze into a pair of speedos - it’s possible, but not pretty. Apparently, there was some minor restaurant trauma because the group decided to stray from Margot’s Nazi itinerary and not go to the village for dinner. A table for seven at a nice restaurant in midtown on a Saturday night without a reservation? - good luck. (I was going to throw in another speedo analogy here, but I’m sure you’re still recovering from the horrific image conjured by that last one.) Well, I guess luck was on their side because they ended up at some great Cuban place knocking back Sangrias, while I, on the other hand, settled for dried out steak-um strips at a diner on scenic route 22.

weekend festivities continue under "Crazy-ass Week Part Deux"

Crazy-ass Week Part Trois

Monday morning at the office was painful. I was late again (although only 20 minutes this time and not 3 hours) because I just couldn’t force myself out of bed. But somehow I made it through the day and hopped on the 5:30pm bus to NJ for our Merry Widow sitzprobe. Work on Tuesday was torturous since I hadn’t gotten home from rehearsal until well after midnight the evening before. But at least I managed to get there on time. Since I was extremely excited to Barack the vote that night, I got through the day on sheer adrenaline (and diet coke).

I highly doubt a more historic election will happen again in my lifetime. The energy and anticipation was palpable on the streets, especially in Times Square (where I work). I giant TV screen was set up smack dab in the middle of it and throngs of people were just watching and waiting. In anticipation of long lines at the polls, Trish and I headed to our voting site as soon as I got home from work. I know New York is waiting for new voting machine technology to be perfected before replacing the old voting machines, but come on. Those huge hunks of gray steel are positively ghetto. They could at least throw on a coat of paint or change those moldy curtains. The old voting booths remind me of a cross between those huge old computers from the 1970’s (you know, the ones that used to take up a whole room) and a peep booth at an adult video store - not that I’ve had any experience with those, of course.

I just want to say how proud I am of our country’s choice. It almost makes up for the fact that Bush was voted into office two terms in a row. Almost. Unfortunately, I feel like Obama is in a no-win situation. Intellectually, people know that he can’t change the country overnight, but Americans are emotional and fickle. Can they wait a couple years to see his policies start to take effect or will they have the unrealistic expectation that the economy will turn itself around instantaneously? I guess we can only wait and see. Whatever happens, I’m glad that all Americans, not only the rich, white ones, are finally starting to take ownership of their voting rights as citizens. Let’s hope that in four years, we haven’t returned to our old, apathetic selves. But enough politics, let’s get back to me, me, me!

I was a hot mess at work again on Wednesday morning. I thought I’d finally get a full night’s sleep, but I just couldn’t stop watching the election results. I got so swept up in the emotion and momentum of the election that I inevitably stayed up for Obama’s acceptance speech and didn’t get to bed until well after midnight. So once again I had to rely on a steady stream of diet coke and tootsie rolls to get me from 9 to 5. As has become an almost daily ritual, I boarded a NJ Transit bus after work and headed to the first dress rehearsal of Widow. I can’t honestly tell you how the run went because my back was to the stage the whole time. I’m playing in the pit, supplementing the orchestra on the piano. I can, however, tell you that the cast doesn’t know their lines. That much was clear even without seeing their faces. Some of the “acting” on stage was embarrassingly amateurish. Of course, some of the blame does fall squarely on Juan and me, but come on, people! We can’t memorize your lines for you. The show opens in three days and you’re still stumbling over dialogue? That’s just plain sad. Anyway, I was just too tired to even take notes. But regardless, the show looks and sounds lovely. The audience will just have to grit their teeth through the book scenes. They should be used to it anyway if they attend opera with any regularity.

It looks like sleep just isn’t in the cards for me, at least until around mid-December. I ended up missing the last bus back to NYC by five minutes. Damn NJ Transit for actually running on time! Again, home after midnight and my alarm set to go off way too early Thursday morning for work. The rest of the week's schedule? - Thursday: work then NJ for final dress, Friday: work then NJ to finish building set, Saturday: set up for champagne event and opening night, Sunday: reception, closing performance and strike. Then Monday we start all over again with High School Musical. Yeah!

Merry Widow Sitzprobe

I know, sounds like a nasty alien abduction story. But for those of you opera performers in ‘da house, you’ll know the term refers to the first orchestra run-through with the singers, minus blocking. It’s basically a chance to get accustomed to the orchestrations without being encumbered by blocking, costumes or annoying directors yelling at you. In some instances, it’s also a chance for the conductor to say, “Count, you friggin’ &%$*# singer! There are 20 other musicians here and I can’t read your mind. Watch me!” Except it comes out like, “It’s OK, we’ll try to follow you.”

Yesterday’s sitz was actually pretty tame compared to some past seasons. We’ve finally got a core set of musicians that play with us on a regular basis as well as some veteran Pineda Lyric performers. For this show, I’m playing the piano in the pit to supplement a smaller chamber group. We’re trying to save some bucks so we can splurge on a larger orchestra for Carmen next spring. I was worried that I’d be laying clunkers all over the place, but since I’m not doubling any other orchestral parts most of the time, the score is way simpler to play. I won’t actually have to practice. Don’t tell Mark.

Thankfully, tonight is a day off. But the hell of tech week begins again on Wednesday with the first dress rehearsal. Yippee! I just have to keep telling myself to make it through Sunday evening’s load out. Then it’s time to start stressing out over the opening of High School Musical in December. And then Carmen, and then Beauty and The Beast, and then Summer Conservatory and then…it never ends, does it?

Do we never learn?

We’ve screwed ourselves again. We (the Pineda foursome, of course) have scheduled a fundraising concert for Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church smack dab in the midst of rehearsals for two other productions, High School Musical and The Merry Widow. Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal. We’d just trot out our standard dog and pony show and add some spiced up banter. But no, we’ve promised them a theme concert. Namely, a best of Broadway concert spanning the last fifty years to commemorate the Church’s fiftieth anniversary. Clever, huh? I mean, a Church is celebrating its existence with an art form that was basically created by a group it denounces as sinners and sodomites (I’m talking about the gays, for those who didn’t get my subtle clue). Well, it’s not like the Catholic Church is exactly a stranger to hypocrisy. Anyway, back to topic. I know what you’re thinking, “A concert of Broadway hits doesn’t sound that difficult to pull off.” Well you'd be wrong. First off, we are expecting an audience of mainly senior citizens, so nothing too pop or unfamiliar. Then we have to make sure we evenly represent the decades following 1958. FYI, the bulk of Rodgers & Hammerstein was composed before 1960. And don’t even get me started on the barren wasteland that was Broadway in the 1990’s. Then throw in the fact that we won’t get to rehearse until probably the day before since our calendars are full of rehearsals for other shows. It’s going to be a hot mess.

I wasn’t even worried until just yesterday. I decided to get a head start and begin memorizing the “easy” stuff, the stuff I thought I already knew. Turns out I don’t really know the classics all that well. I mean, everyone knows “Some Enchanted Evening,” right? Go ahead, try singing it. I’ll wait. . . OK, did it go something like “Some enchanted evening, you me see a stranger, la, la, la, la, la, la…” pathetically trailing off into nonsense syllables? Exactly! Everyone thinks they know the classics, but turns out everyone knows the first lines of the classics. And damn, those classics all have, like, four verses.

To please the senior masses, against our wills we’ve included some totally cheese ball songs. Val refused to sing “People” (“I don’t want to be compared to Babs!”) so to compromise, had to bite the bullet and take on “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.” It gets better. Since she took it for the team on that one, I volunteered to sing two of musical theater’s all time cheese-tastic classics, “Memory” and “Send in the Clowns.” Hell has just frozen over. Oh well, it all benefits the opera company so I guess we’ll just have to suck it up. Hopefully, no one we know will come hear us. So keep it on the DL.