live performance

Perfect Harmony

gwen — Tue, 09 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

New York, New York

At the start of Perfect Harmony, a narrator tells the audience that the Acafellas, an all-male acapella singing group, have won the last eighteen high school singing competitions. What’s more, we’re told that they were the inspiration for “that show.”

Like Glee, Perfect Harmony celebrates dorkiness, this time in an elite private high school. Five male songsters—two of them grandsons of the Acafellas’ founders—are itching for their nineteenth win. The obstacle? A girl group, once called The Ladies in Red and now dubbed Lady Treble.

On the surface, the boys pooh-pooh Lady Treble’s all-out effort to triumph. “Girl groups sound tinny,” says Lassiter A. Jayson III [Robbie Collier Sublett], the Acafellas’ ostensible leader, to his mates. “Boys have a biologically fuller sound,” Simon [David Barlow] agrees.

Not surprisingly, these fighting words cement the girls’ resolve to stop the boys in their tracks. But how best to do this? Leader Melody [Dana Acheson], is a squeaky clean “good girl” who wants to emphasize the wholesome—her favorite song is “My Life Goes On in an Endless Song/How Can I Keep from Singing”—while Meghan [Kelly McCreary] wants to sex things up. New costumes, a more contemporary play list, and some risqué dance moves will ensure a win, she argues. After all, she adds, no one wants to see girls dressed “as old-fashioned mummies.”

The three remaining group members—played with abundant humor by Faryl Amadeus, Marie-France Arcilla, and Kate Morgan Chadwick—have heretofore been more comfortable taking orders than making decisions. They’re torn. Should they listen to Melody, or should they follow Meghan’s lead and develop a routine that that is bolder, sassier, and less predictable?

Yes, both male and female characters are stock roles, the “types” found in every high school, everywhere. This is not a deterrent; in fact, this recognition is what makes the play so much fun. Indeed, while the story addresses something serious—the notion that winning trumps all—it uses fifteen song and dance numbers, all of them performed faultlessly, to touch on the importance of friendship, loyalty, group-cohesion, and the ways we undermine both others and ourselves.

In addition, the injection of Botox into the vocal chords of male tenors, making them like “big, husky soprano angels,” is subtlety derided. Likewise homophobia. When JB [Jarid Faubel], the groups’ most athletic and macho member, tells the others that he kissed a boy in summer camp, it opens the door to the homoeroticism that lurks in the group’s DNA. Later, it’s part of the impetus that allows Philip Fellows V [Kobi Libii] to come out. Philip’s father, Philip Fellows IV, was initially incensed, we’re told, but he’s gotten used to the idea and now fully supports his son. The Acafellas are similarly accepting.

It’s sweet.

Perfect Harmony is light fare, charming, witty, and entertaining. Collaboratively written by playwright Grosso and a group of actors who call themselves The Essentials, the 105-minute one-act was first mounted at the 2006 Fringe Festival and had an extensive New York City run in 2008. It’s now off Broadway, with a ten-member cast that rocks the house and is laugh-out-loud funny.

That said, Perfect Harmony probably won’t make you nostalgic for the trials and tribulations of high school, but it might just have you belting out a 1980s pop song as you boogie down 42nd Street after the final curtain.

Perfect Harmony is at the Acorn Theatre, 410 West 42nd Street, through November 13. Tickets cost $49.50 and are available through Telecharge, 212.239.6200.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, November 9th 2010

Le Tigre: On Tour

admin — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 19:00:00 +0000

Directed by Kerthy Fix

“What’s the status of Le Tigre?” an eager—albeit slightly angst-ridden—fan asks Kathleen Hanna during the Q&A session after the screening of Le Tigre: On Tour. I, too, had been wondering the same question—because this band, who has proven so formative to women young and old everywhere, seems to exist only in our collective lesbo-feminist consciousness at the moment. For myself, in particular, I was introduced to Le Tigre’s music a year before they performed their final show in NYC, on 18 September 2005, so I never had the opportunity to witness their awesomeness in concert. Their existence to me, in other words, was always to me like a memory, an extant pastness that is real but not actual in that particular moment. I think their existence, for me, is kind of like how people understand Jesus or Santa Claus: he’s touched their hearts, and therefore he’s real… at least they think he’s real, but they’ve never actually seen him.

Which is why this documentary is so utterly amazing: the film, comprised of compiled concert and backstage footage from their final tour for the album This Island in 2004, and including more recent interviews with the trio—Johanna Fateman and JD Samson, in addition to Kathleen Hanna—is essential to the band’s continued existence in our collective lesbo-feminist consciousness. Seeing footage of live performances made me dance in my seat, and it brought tears to my eyes, particularly during the scene in which Hanna turns to Samson and gives her an acknowledging look—the “this is it” moment—of it being the last performance (“Deceptacon”) of their final show.

Director Kerthy Fix did a brilliant job creating this documentary in a way that proves attractive to all audiences: her attention to the trio of characters, and their feminist, queer ethics that embody the desire that each person be her “own lost hero,” as Hanna professes, speaks to everyone who wants to cultivate themselves as strong, powerful, and unique individuals. The documentary-as-archive is so crucial not only to preserving the band’s music, but also Le Tigre as a seminal part of the riot grrl movement, which has been built by the enterprising musical endeavors of the band collectively and separately, as each has her own individual pursuits.

Here we can think, of course, of Kathleen Hanna’s previous band, Bikini Kill, as the foundational component of this movement. And, as we Bikini Kill fans know so well, there is a scarcity of Bikini Kill footage out there—they existed before the explosion of the Interwebs, of the social media sites and blogs—so having this documentary is a welcomed addition to the steadily growing archive of the feminist and riot grrl movements.

Kudos to Fix for providing feminists young and old with this filmic insight into the iconic band—from Hanna’s deadpan explication of dressing room snack items (i.e., a bowl of fruit fit for the pope) to Fateman’s detailed vitamin regimen and Samson’s coming to terms with her Casanova status—and their raw lyrics and hot dance moves (“West Side Story meets Jazzercise,” to be precise).

Le Tigre: On Tour does not yet have a distributor; indeed, it’s still in the processing stages, pre-color correx and sound fix. Hopefully, by the end of the year, this film will be picked up and shown in theatres across the world for all the Le Tigre fans who, like me, long to connect with the band that filled their hearts and heads with sweetness and light.

Written by: Marcie Bianco, June 17th 2010

See What I'm Saying: The Deaf Entertainers Documentary

admin — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Hilari Scarl

Worldplay

See What I'm Saying is an irreverent yet important introduction between Deaf performers and a mainstream hearing audience. The film, which is open captioned, follows a year in the lives of four performers who make up a cross-section of the Deaf community in terms of art form, race, gender, and sexuality. One performer identifies as hard of hearing rather than deaf, but wishes to be accepted as a part of Deaf culture.

Before I go on, a few definitions:

Deaf Culture: Deaf with a capital “D” means a specific reference to the largely American Sign Language (ASL) using community, and the media, theatre, comedy, music, history, and other aspects of any culture transmitted through language. Deaf with a lowercase “d” means the generic description for someone who can’t hear, whether they are a part of the Deaf community or not. The film goes a long way toward making this clearer, as well as succinctly demonstrating various different ways of communicating using speech and sign.

Open Captions: See What I'm Saying has the captions burned into the film itself, and there is no way to turn them off. Every print of the film in every cinema is captioned. The captions also include descriptions of incidental sounds and music, but are otherwise like watching a subtitled foreign film. This is a huge deal for a film on release at major cinemas. The film is also voice-interpreted where necessary, so there is a continuous signed, spoken, and captioned narrative.

Now, back to the review. The four performers featured are really engaging people. Bob Hilterman is an old school rocker who, Blues Brothers style, decides to get his former band back together for one last show. Everyone in the band is Deaf and all the guys are really funny, as is their repartee when they finally get together and start rehearsing again.

CJ Jones is a comedian with a level of success on the scale of, perhaps, Robin Williams, going by reactions of his fans when they spot him at Deaf events. His humour is a mix of storytelling, improvisation and observation, and he’s a comic actor as well. The film follows his well-deserved but not always fruitful attempts to break into mainstream comedy and television.

Robert DeMayo is an admirably centered person who can talk about his difficult past with honesty and understanding for people who’ve let him down. He’s an amazingly gifted storyteller and comic mime artist, and it’s a shame there wasn’t time to feature more of his work in the film. I could watch his stuff all day.

TL Forsberg is the youngest performer, the only woman, and also the only artist whose journey specifically relates to being accepted by the Deaf community, while the others are followed trying to achieve success with hearing audiences. This juxtaposition adds further depth to the audience’s understanding of the difficulties of "crossing over." In fact, any minority artist or from any underground art form could relate to the difficulties portrayed in See What I'm Saying.

Hilari Scarl, a hearing performer and director who worked as a voicing actor with the National Theatre of the Deaf (NTD), decided to make the film after noticing that once the tour was finished, she was getting work and her deaf colleagues just... weren’t. Scarl became passionate about this issue and used her considerable skills as a producer to make this happen. She does not come across as an outsider but, to this hearing reviewer in any case, as part of the scene. Her drive as a filmmaker was evident when I spoke to her, and she had a dedicated team of performers, promoters, volunteers and friends, as well as the financial backing of a few major corporations. It is her hope that these and other Deaf performers will receive the attention they clearly deserve.

Written by: Chella Quint, June 17th 2010

Endgame (04/13/2010)

admin — Tue, 18 May 2010 23:56:00 +0000

Steppenwolf Theater

Chicago, Illinois

The final stage of chess, the endgame, is a stage of the game in which few pieces are left on the board and pawns increase in significance. Endgames often center on trying to promote a pawn by moving it to the eighth rank. The king, typically sheltered from checkmate, changes into a strong piece that can be brought to the center of the board for attacks. In Samuel Beckett’s Endgame, four characters barely move in a box of a stage, rank is fluid, and no clear victory is assigned.

The Steppenwolf’s production of Beckett’s revered theatrical work is effective in its simplicity, with a set both barren and elegant, an accurate replication of the canonical script, and talented actors. More engaging than the previous staging of Endgame that I have seen—at a theater that shall remain unnamed, seeing that I fell asleep—this production benefits from strong performances, although on occasion these same performances might overshadow the deft minimalism of the text. Some of the lines, particularly early on, seem rushed, or perhaps I just require a more studied pace for thorough digestion.

The measured observations of the last half are a closer match to my understanding of Beckett. William Peterson’s Hamm is very active for a paraplegic: the audience is less likely to keep his imminent end in mind. He is regally seated on artfully makeshift throne, meticulously shifted to the center of the stage through his berating of his manservant, Clov. Hamm’s parents emerge from his and her trash cans to deliver nostalgic fugues. Particular kudos go to Martha Lavey for her poignant portrayal of Nell. Ian Barford plays Clov, and it is consistent with political readings of Beckett that a servant moves things forward. Clov’s moments of subversion contribute significantly to the work’s humor—light moments in a relentlessly bleak world. At one point Clov admonishes his master for having caused a woman to die of darkness. Endgame suggests the same end awaits us all.

Endgame plays at the Steppenwolf through June 6. David Sedaris is appearing for eight performances from June 8-13. Bruce Norris’s A Parallelogram premieres July 1 and runs through Sunday, August 29.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, May 18th 2010

Joe Frank (03/13/2010)

admin — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Steppenwolf Theater

Chicago, Illinois

To presume to review Joe Frank is somewhat to akin to being a happy floating paramecium—although I do tend to fancy myself more of a sleek euglena, and in reality might more resemble an amorphous and permeable amoeba—to be such a creature, swimming giddily or cluelessly drifting in a little globule of ooze, and to attempt to gaze up through the tensile surface of the liquid from beneath, through the intervening air, up through the lenses of the microscope in their black enamel encasement, although such microscopes may be but a relic of my youth, and then attempt to gaze into the infinite void of the black, empty iris of the scientist that evaluates you.

The Guardian UK has stated without hyperbole that "Joe Frank is by far the most brilliant comic in America... [He] has created a series of dead-pan radio monologues so sharp and intelligent that during the quiet bits you can almost hear God taking notes." On Saturday, March 13, Frank performed the monologue “An Ordinary Man” at Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theater. I feel privileged to have been in the audience, to have experienced evidence that the source of all those hours of amazing interwoven words, ironic and passionate, diffident and incisive—all originated from one individual human being. I have listened to the eponymous one-hour broadcasts on the local public radio station for years. This particular piece is typical. The characters range from one true loves to bar room declaimers, hitchhikers performing sociological research, and drenched ex-wives. Amidst such a dense wave of information, wordplay, and fulsome darkness pierced by the absurd, themes can only be described in such broad terms as ‘meaning,’ ‘alienation,’ and ‘life.’

To listen to Joe Frank is to engage in a sublime existential voyeurism, but even that seems too clichéd, too puerile, too superficial, too glib a description, to be an accurate appraisal of the artiste. The word artiste, is, of course, itself, too odiously pretentious a word to be contained in this review, one that the performer himself would wisely excise or assign only to a pathetic, broken, character, a poseur, a person of lost hope who nonetheless persists, a person that we all have been. Perhaps an ordinary man.

Unfortunately, there are no upcoming performances by Joe Frank to recommend, but his recordings can be heard on public radio stations throughout the United States. Scheduled plays at the Steppenwolf this season include The Brother/Sister Plays, Adore, A Parallelogram, and Endgame, all fitting accompaniments to “Just An Ordinary Man” in a season in which the theater examines the contrasts between the public and private self.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, April 21st 2010

Kaija Saariaho and the International Contemporary Ensemble (11/19/2009)

admin — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Museum of Contemporary Art

Chicago, Illinois

In the LeGuin novel The Left Hand of Darkness a character notes the dearth of female composers. Thus, I was delighted to learn of the music of Kaija Saariaho. The International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE) performed four works by Finn composer Kaija Saariaho—Brad Lubman conducting—at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

The Chicago MCA’s stage is generally a sure bet for an engaging or entertaining evening. Earlier this year I enjoyed the Hypocrites’ enthusiastic (albeit not entirely coherent) interpretation of Frankenstein, and other events have included Butoh set to Elvis, an Italian woman painting on the side of a live mare, a synchronized British insult troupe, and exquisitely formed performers executing German philosophy as verbal jujitsu.

The opening selection was “Terrestre” (2002), a flute-intensive chamber piece further enlivened by energetic percussive elements characteristic of the composer. Claire Chase’s flute solo garnered sincere and sustained applause. The composition’s inspiration is the poems of Saint-John Perse, a collection entitled Oiseaux (Birds) in particular, and perhaps it is a risk of reading the program notes, but it seemed inevitable that the flute’s song echo some ornithological element, reeds weaving amidst the percussion. “Six Japanese Gardens” followed, a sole percussionist incorporating electronic waves, as well as sampled natural sounds, song, and percussion recorded in Japan.

Saariaho was in attendance and answered questions from the audience mid-show prior to the intermission. One listener inquired on how the various elements were interwoven in the immediately previous piece, speculating that it must have been quite demanding to combine so many technical elements. The conductor immediately diminished such concerns: “He has a foot petal.” Another audience member recollected that a visiting Finnish conductor once reminisced that he and Saariaho gave a concert to an audience of two, one member of which was his mother. The composer conceded that this was indeed the case, and that her zeal to bring experimental music to new audiences once led to a performance in a kindergarten, and that on another occasion an orchestra was engaged for an event that they entirely forgot to publicize. But the arts persist.

“Solar” was the final piece performed, but no less engaging than the three previous. A high volume set of notes quickly bifurcates and then trifurcates and then again. Subsequent layers of sound soothed, but come back to the main theme, departing to return in a way that seemed almost flirtatious, but more vital. I look forward to further discovery of Kaija Saariaho’s music as well as performances by ICE.

ICE appears with the John Jaspere Company in “Truth, Revised Histories, Wishful thinking, and Flat Out Lies” at the Museum of Contemporary Art April 9 – 11, 2010

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, January 30th 2010

Renaissance: Song of Scheherazade Live

admin — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 23:57:00 +0000

By Renaissance

Cherry Red Films

Renaissance is a notable 1970s folk rock band that developed a large fan base by having symphonic rock instrumentals contrasted by haunting female vocals and whimsical, intelligent lyrics. Renaissance: Song of Scheherazade Live includes video from the band’s performances at Capital Theatre in 1976 and their 1979 performance at Convention Hall. A great fuss was made when Cherry Red announced their release of Renaissance's concert footage. Between 1976 and 1983, Renaissance was in its prime output stage, so fans were excited by the idea of getting to experience the band’s concert during this pivotal point of development. However, it seems all of the enthusiasm was for naught.

The quality of the DVD itself is questionable and has received a great deal of well deserved criticism for the poor quality of the video. Though black and white footage has the potential to be beautiful in its own way, we get grainy, smoky, and at times completely indiscernible images of the concerts. (The menu is hideous, and is, ironically enough, created from a screen capture of the contained footage.) The camerawork is monotonous and rather random at times. Many of the shots were terribly framed. Random microphones and the movements of another band member obstruct the view of Annie Haslam when she sings or speaks. The majority of the shots consist of a rather unusual close up of the talented female lead, where she spends the great deal of time with her eyes closed.

The condition of the audio on this DVD also suffers. Haslma’s beautiful voice is lost within the background crackling, microphone interference, and temperamental volume. Rather than complement her voice, the audio makes the accompanying instruments sound like a swathe of annoying background noise.

The performance itself is passable if you concentrate on the insider dialogue between Haslam, other band members, and the audience. This is something that is truly priceless from the stance of a Renaissance fan, something you could not obtain anywhere else. However, these snippets of conversation between musical numbers were about the only thing I found even remotely entertaining on this DVD.

Unfortunately, the poor quality interferes with the ability to truly enjoy the works of what is arguably one of the most influential folk rock bands of the twentieth century. Though there must be some sort of legitimate reason why the film could not be better restored, I think it is a disappointment to say the least.

All and all, Renaissance: Song of Scheherazade Live is worth the money if you are an avid collector of the band’s works. If not, I suggest you stay away.

Written by: Jacquelyn White, September 24th 2009

Crazy Enough (6/12/2009)

admin — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 17:12:00 +0000

Portland Center Stage

Portland, Oregon

Her mother tried to poison her with turquoise "chicken noodle" soup, she tried to become a "dick whisperer" at age twelve, and she was addicted to heroin by age twenty-one. Is Storm Large "Crazy Enough?"

Decide for yourself before this show ends August 16, or spend the rest of the summer regretting that you missed her. Large, who starred on CBS's Rockstar: Supernova in 2006 and whose band Storm and the Balls had a Top 10 hit with "Ladylike" that same year, lets everything hang out in this one-woman show—including her boobs, which she refers to as a "$4,000 growth spurt."

She is agonizingly honest about life with a mentally ill mother and a geographically and emotionally distant father; about trying to find love through nasty sex with much older men; about what it felt like to get addicted to heroin and go through withdrawal on her bathroom floor—think feeling like your skin is being scraped by a cheese grater as you watch her perform. All the while growing up, she's also terrified of becoming "crazy" like her mom. But in the end, her message is one of enormous strength—one that I believe is reaffirming for girls and women of all ages. She's six feet tall, sexually omnivorous (Large's preference to the noun "bisexual"), and yes, (Susan) Storm Large is her real name! If you don't like it, too fucking bad for you.

Despite having a voice like gorgeous dynamite, Large was told by mostly male record talent scouts that she was "too aggressive," "too old" at age twenty-seven, but did she mind giving them a blow job while she was there?

This incredible performance will make you fucking pissed off, might very well make you cry, and will definitely make you roar with laughter—who else can pull off singing a song about an eight-mile-wide vagina? If you don't live close to Portland, Oregon, you should definitely check out the play's soundtrack. Just don't start humming it at work.

Photo by Owen Carey via Flickr

Written by: M.L. Madison, July 9th 2009

A Night of Shorts (06/05/2009)

admin — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 08:55:00 +0000

The WorkShop Theatre

New York, New York

The Wellesley Project’s inaugural show, A Night of Shorts, brought six single-scene dramatic performances and two choreographed pieces to the WorkShop Theatre for a short-run at the beginning of June. While home for the Project is New York City, its namesake—Wellesley College—figures as the catalyzing spirit behind the Project’s conception. Its founders, Caitlin Graham and Janice Yang, envisioned the Project as an artistic medium for women to pursue opportunities in both theater and production. In addition to a handful of other women writers, the two composed two individual pieces for the show. While topically disparate in scope, the show consisted of a medley of performances that all focused thematically on the issue of relationships, which explored both the sexual and the platonic.

Both in spirit and in conceptualization, A Night of Shorts is bold and eclectic. The second performance, “The Tracks are Electrified,” by Jane Miller, is undeniably the most captivating short of shorts. In this piece, Miller contemplates how the concepts of trust and love function in a relationship. A young couple—Rosy (Allison Whittinghill) and Max (Rocio Mendez)—find themselves debating the relationality of the two concepts: are trust and love mutually exclusive, or inextricably connected? Can you claim to love someone fully, entirely, while simultaneously maintaining that you can never trust that person entirely? This is Max’s position, whereas Rosy advocates that one cannot exist without the other. And, can a relationship survive between two people who abide such contrasting ethics? The two actors create a superb dynamic of play and intellectual tension that renders every moment of dialogue overfull of emotional intensity.

The other standout performances included the two choreographed numbers, both of which were directed by Erin Porvaznika, who also directed “The Tracks.” Set to Nina Simone’s “I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl” and Frank Sinatra’s “How About You?,” respectively, both pieces evoked the utopian feel of the mid-twentieth century. The routines were lighthearted and fun, and, frankly, sexy—that is, if one finds a handful of women dancing together sexy.

Beyond these three performances, however, the show exhibited moments of unevenness and inconsistency, particularly in execution. Some technical devices, such as having a character share a dialogue with another character seated in the audience, seem devoid of formal or thematic significance to the development of the plot. Other pieces at times tended towards a type of gratuitousness that came across as sophomoric; for instance, the protagonist of “Wine Diatribe” takes off her clothes while flirting with someone—perhaps the audience? or, an imaginary character in the audience?—offstage. She seems to get herself off more than anything else (particularly when she crudely wonders if all lesbians imagine licking their mothers’ pussies). The performance is poorly acted and executed, and, as a result, it just does not come together cogently in the end.

That being said, A Night of Shorts was, in short, quite entertaining and quite a laudable feat for an inaugural show. Perhaps it was just feeling the magical potential of being in a theatre, perhaps it was the feeling of anticipation that precipitates the unknowability of the series of performances that awaits the audience, but there was some thing, some quality, that was simply wonderful to witness unfold as the audience member is beckoned into an idyllic Wellesleyian world.

Written by: Marcie Bianco, June 27th 2009

Let Me Down Easy (4/28/2009)

admin — Thu, 21 May 2009 23:52:00 +0000

Zach Theatre

Austin, Texas

If you're squeamish, like I am, on the topics of death, dying, and illness, you shouldn't let that stop you from experiencing Anna Deavere Smith's Let Me Down Easy. However, you might not want to see it during a global health scare. On April 28, one of the first days of the swine flu panic, Smith's documentary production, in which she single-handedly portrays a slew of people who face death in some way, resonated a bit too robustly.

Austin's Zach Theatre is the show's last regional stop before Broadway, and, according dramaturg Gideon Lester, Smith has reshaped and refocused her masses of material—monologues gleaned from interviews she conducted with hundreds of people—since the play's 2008 opening in New Haven. In Austin, Smith began with energy and humor, portraying choreographer Elizabeth Streb as she re-enacted a flubbed dance effect in which she accidentally set herself on fire.

Next, Smith became cyclist Lance Armstrong, slouching on a sofa and discussing his bought with cancer and his competitive streak, as well as his lack of familiarity with her genre: "I gotta tell ya, I never seen a play, for starters." This kind of hilarious, self-conscious meta-commentary came up again in a couple of interludes in which Smith portrayed New Yorker theatre critic John Lahr grappling with the concept for the play.

After a series of characters whose claim to the "death" theme is that they willingly put themselves in danger of it—rodeo bull rider, boxer—Smith turned to the topics of illness, being a patient, and health care. It was at this point that Smith seemed to disappear, her physical presence taking a backseat to the language and manner of the material. A sixteen year-old girl with leukemia discussed her illness alongside her mother, who groped her memory in an attempt to pinpoint exactly when something went wrong. A monologue in the character of Philip Pizzo, the dean of the Stanford University School of Medicine, got a forceful round of applause after he identified the U.S. health care system as "broken" and in desperate need of a change from market-driven to government run.

The voice with the greatest clarity, for me, was Kiersta Kurtz-Burke, a physician at Charity Hospital in New Orleans, a public hospital where nurses and doctors cared for patients without electricity, relief, or adequate food for nearly a week post-Katrina, even after private hospitals had been evacuated. As Kurtz-Burke, Smith explained the realization, from the perspective of a "privileged" person, that the patients knew long before she did that their government would not make rescuing them a priority. "That was the first time in my life I've ever been abandoned by my government," she said. But for the low-income patients, those who have been given "the shit end of the stick" their whole lives, the neglect wasn't a surprise. Wham.

Smith ended the play with treatments of death itself. As a Brahmin-accented reverend, she discussed the important of closure for the living: "I insist that you see the box go down into the ground." As Trudy Howell, an orphanage director in Johannesburg, she explained the heart-wrenchingly practical process of helping children with AIDS accept their own deaths. To end the play, Smith became a Tibetan monk with a swift image: the just-dead as a cup of tea turned upside down. The liquid poured out. Silence ensued. The lights went out. Fin.

Written by: Jonelle Seitz, May 21st 2009

Loney Dear (4/5/2009)

admin — Thu, 14 May 2009 00:09:00 +0000

Lille Vega

Copenhagen, Denmark

It is so ridiculously obvious why the kids are flipping out about this impressively under-the-radar Nordic crooner. It doesn’t matter if gnat-attention-span hipsters can’t name his influences, the history that brought us to now. It doesn’t matter if they forget the album tomorrow (though it’s clearly their loss). What does matter is when amazing music comes forth. What matters is keeping it in our hearts once the fair-weather fans have moved onto the next big college radio hit.

When I was coming up, Polyvinyl was a key player among emo purveyors. These days, the nice Illinois-based label folk have expanded to include distant cousins of the much-co-opted genre. Loney Dear, alternately known as Swedish multi-instrumental Emil Svanängen, plays a strange mix of heartfelt crooning and synth. On Dear John, his second major U.S. release, following Sub Pop-released 2007 Loney, Noir, Loney Dear is in top recorded form.

In person, Loney Dear is a more handsome, thinner, sufficiently Aryan Perez Hilton, thankfully also missing the boorish manners and cum jokes. Lille Vega—conjoined twin of the larger Vega next door—is not a hidden club with no sign, for in a city the size of Copenhagen, that doesn’t usually work for very long when everyone who is anyone knows everyone else. Despite being along one of the city’s main drags, Vega brings some of the best shows in town. I flashed my passport and was in the door, camera tucked in back pocket of my partner’s not-so-skinny jeans. My partner and I did not wear the requisite faux Keffiyehs and high tops, but thankfully my man was on hand to translate the bands’ Swedish mumblings between songs.

Opener Marching Band—whose MySpace made me a believer before they took the stage—stole the show as duo Erik Sunbring and Jacob Lind had turned quintet with a backing band for the affair. Bearing no resemblance to kids in matching uniforms who like to feel each other up at sleep away camp, the two did make a visually unlikely pair. Erik, in a sports jacket and tight pants, bounced to his own music on one side of the stage. With shoulder-length hair grazing the top of his wolf-emblazoned brown sweatshirt, Jacob did his own whistling while vigorously tapping various sound machines.

As they packed up after an incredibly short set, the room filled up in anticipation of the headliner. There are two ways this can go, I thought, for it is what I always think. The band will either mimic their own album with eerie precision, or the man about to take the stage will in no way resemble the crooner on the CD. The latter isn’t generally a problem for me, since why show up to hear the same tracks you have at home? Live versions are passed via bootleg for a reason. And yet, if it were ever possible to mangle a live performance of one of the year’s most celebrated releases, I believe it happened before my eyes.

Loney Dear, much as I hate to admit it, was a disjointed, confusing mess. Svanängen staggered onto the stage as the volume was cranked so high that even the most seasoned concert-goer began stuffing plugs into their ears. Perhaps I should not blame Svanängen as much as the folks in the sound booth. Has your face ever vibrated, independent of your body, from being too close to an amp? Have you ever felt as though your teeth and brain might shake loose and end up lying next to the empty Tuborg bottles at your feet? When an acoustic song began, I sat down on a bench to try to calm my nerves, frazzled by the shift in sound, praying this coherence was not temporary. But after one verse, the bass and pounding drums rejoined, and any semblance of listenable music was gone. Unless you’re following the Dead in a van, one should never feel as though being high for a concert would make it a better experience. If I smoked, I’ve have sought refuge in the lobby’s eight-dollar-a-pack machine.

It didn’t help that the only female among the ten-plus men that took the stage all evening was relegated to playing a tambourine and, occasionally, hitting a cymbal. “They can’t even give her a full drum set? All she can do is play the theme from Shaft.” To make things worse for our lone lady musician, by song two, the crazed Loney Dear front man had stolen her tambourine and would pound on her keyboard from his upside-down vantage point while she was forced to merely stand there and watch. I get that the dude is a “multi-instrumentalist,” but could he try to focus instead of meandering around, stealing the other kids’ toys? Straining to hear vocals behind the deafening bass, I could barely make out the album’s best track, “Airport Surroundings.” My head was starting to hurt. Badly.

I will admit that my partner and I exchanged nods before exiting the building, long before anyone else had considered doing the same. Danes are a reserved bunch, and I saw no disgruntled stares as many stayed to hear the band finish. I wondered how they really felt as I breathed in the cool spring air, away from the shaky mania of the club. My headache started to lift; safely on the streets, not a moment too soon.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 13th 2009

Circle of Water Life Suite (2/27/2009)

admin — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 16:50:00 +0000

Shedd Aquarium

Chicago, Illinois

There was a sparrow lose in Kovler Family hall. "Excuse me," I sotto-vocced to a worker. "Are you aware that there is a sparrow loose in here?" She nodded. "It's been here since five." The feathers fluttered overhead. It did not chirp, nor did it crap on the carp of bronze, or the verdigrised octopi that hold the chandeliers' lamps to their chains.

Although the interloper did not follow us into the hall and improvise, the scheduled singing was splendid, particularly 21st Century Sharecropper's Blues—"Give me my money. Give me back my mind." Consuming culture recalibrates. Also, beforehand concertgoers can wander through the exhibit tanks to admire reef species, languid arms of kelp, hungry sea anemones, a range of liquid habitats. Plastic frogs and sea horses six feet long menace overhead, aquatic pinatas. An informative display contains dozens of invasive species. I once saw two score lampreys stuck to a sturgeon. More recently, a Chicago poet and I established how much is marketing: if we renamed the Asian Carp "Osakan Jadefish" and sold it for $17.50 a pound, we might create an insatiable demand.

The second concert in the series Circle of Life Suite was written expressly for the Shedd Aquarium by Chicago Sinfonietta's principal violist Reneé Baker. Featuring the Mantra Blue Free Orchestra, also directed by Baker, selections performed included the third and final movement from Ulysses Kay's Choral Triptych, "Alleluia" featuring the Chicago Community Chorus. The mission of the Community Chorus is to include all, and I experienced a moment of delusion that I might sing, but then they opened their mouths and vocalized. Slightly better odds than my ballet career, perhaps, but I have been asked not to sing when they roll out the office birthday sheetcake. Handel's "Water Music," "Caravan" by Duke Ellington, and other selections by Satie, Gershwin, and Sondheim were played. "Send in the Clowns" was stricken from the program, Baker explained, due to their inability to find a clown.

Apparently the Conductor also possesses a profound fear of fish: the Shedd provided a fish-free visual montage—lizards, frogs, birds, and assorted amphibians flew by. To me, the moments of personal digression are a positive in any performance, an additional facet of context. The music chosen is eclectic and accessible, the amenities adequate, and the species, charming. Recommended.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, April 12th 2009

Strange Interlude: The Neo-Futurists (03/06/2009)

admin — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 17:01:00 +0000

The Goodman Theatre

Chicago, Illinois

What is a reviewer to think as she is sitting and watching a production: austere set, minimal furniture, iconic ghost image of a handsome soldier in a size usually used to honor Mao, selected text excerpts in bright blue type sans serif typeface and what is the significance of the serif is it phallic?—the viewer, sitting and waiting and watching the production?

Oh so outré, so unconventional, so smashing of convention, oh yes, so smashingly surreal and unconventional and aren't we clever that we “get it” ha ha ha oh yes insert droll laughter here, as the considerably older and more affluent than your typical NeoFuturist audience, watch, with commendable endurance, a nine act, five hour Pulitzer-Prize winning drama. The reviewer, thirty-nine, kindly described as zaftig, of indeterminate blended innocuous Central and Northern-European extraction, experiencing the assorted deleterious effects of gravity and disappointment and an excess of bittersweet chocolate, attends with a companion, who later opines: "When he was molesting the Cabbage Patch doll, I had tears running down my face."

To see a NeoFuturist production is to expect the unexpected. This experimental theater group has been active in Chicago since 1988, staging new plays in addition to its consistent feature "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind," a performance of thirty plays in sixty minutes. Their aesthetic and philosophy include elements of Futurist action, Dadaist invocation of chance, reflexive surreality, and aspirations to timeliness and social relevance.

Strange Interlude tells the story of Nina Leeds, a woman whose three lovers define her life with an intricate and twisted web that entangles her as she spins it. This particular production included the best symbolic rendering of an abortion I have ever seen on stage: Nina ends a pregnancy when her mother-in-law removes a helium-inflated red balloon from beneath her powder-blue cardigan, holds its mouth open so that the leaking gas squeaks pitiably, and then releases the balloon so that it jets to land on stage right in a tragicomic trajectory. While funny, it also effectively communicates the nature of the procedure: not evil, but sad. The script includes an astute monologue by the heroine in which she explains why it should be "God the Mother." It is consistent with the entire Neo experience that as the first intermission began, someone shouted from the balcony, "Why are you doing this to this play? This is not O'Neill! This is a travesty!" Myself and another friend had the automatic assumption that the impassioned cry came from a planted company member. The world should contain more such travesties.

Photo courtesy of Eric Y. Exit

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, April 1st 2009

Ani DiFranco (03/18/2009)

admin — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 16:55:00 +0000

Club Cinema

Pompano Beach, Florida

At the Ani DiFranco concert in Pompano Beach, FL, a woman next to me hadn’t heard Red Letter Year. But she wouldn’t have missed the show: “If it’s Ani, then I’m there.”

I confess. I’m the same. I don’t have the new album. But it’s Ani. So I was there.

Allie Evans, who works on Ani’s tours, talked about the audience response: “The economy may not be strong... yet people are excited [when they see the show].” It’s more than the music. It’s connection she has with community. Evans also noted the diverse ages of the audiences: “It used to be only college kids, now there are young people with their parents... and fans who have been with Ani for twenty years.”

Twenty years already? If you’ve listened to Ani for awhile, then it’s hard not to feel older at this concert. Yet it’s true, there are all ages. Women with gray hair, and women born in the nineties wearing turned-up collars like its the ‘80s.

I heard another woman at the concert, Ximena, say to her boyfriend: “Baby, there are a lot of guys here!” There were quite a number of men. A white-haired man wore a t-shirt with the words: Ani Fucking DiFranco. Ximena gave an enthusiastic review of the new album: “It’s different... slower, but inspiring. With every album, I learn more about her. She shows evolution. This new album has the political angst, but there’s also a happiness, a glow, an aura.”

Less angst. Would I like this Ani?

I had listened to her since college, related to her songs about politics, art, love, breakups. Two years ago, Ani became a mother. For the first time, I felt shut out of her experience because I don’t think I want children. Would I be able to relate to her music in the same way?

Toshi Reagon opened for Ani by playing acoustic guitar and singing about mountaintops. She brought us to summits with her resounding voice. However, halfway through a song, she directly addressed some loud patrons by the bar at the back of the club. The interruption was slightly disconcerting for those of us who had been listening to her, yet it was powerful to see Reagon use this moment to talk about respect and community building. She left a lasting impression.

DiFranco’s first song was the classic “Anticipate.” Allison Miller was on drums, and Todd Sickafoose was on upright bass. They played from Red Letter Year, as well as older songs like “Dilate,” “Both Hands,” and “Every State Line.”

If you’re an Ani fan, you don’t need to know every song to get something out of them. “The little folk singer” tells stories in her lyrics about New Orleans, President Obama’s election, and women “connected to everything.” She also spoke about her daughter learning to say “cookie” and “book,” and noted that “some blame my happiness on the baby, but I think it’s my four year love.” This was the perfect introduction to “Present/Infant,” a song from the new album.

Ani is happy, but she stayed honest. No elixirs, no get-happy-quick schemes. She has changed, yet what is best about her hasn't. She is not done exploring and questioning the world around her. She is not done learning about herself.

We listened to sixteen songs during her main set, and three during an encore, so the concert ticket holds its value. But the value of this concert is worth more than money.

If it’s Ani, then you should be there.

Written by: Andrea Dulanto, March 31st 2009

Homens ao Mar (Sea Plays) (1/28/2009)

admin — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 23:07:00 +0000

The Goodman Theatre

Chicago, Illinois

Companhia Triptal's staging of O'Neill's Sea Plays refuses a fourth wall through three sets and forced-march participation, a “Blue Waterman Group,” perhaps. There was a risk of getting damp, but the audience was not pelted with salt pork. The plays are set on the S. S. Glencairn, a cargo freighter packed with dynamite heading from Baltimore to Britain. Viewers gather in the Owen Theatre and first hear intermittent singing, one presumes sea chanties—fifteen men on a dead man's chest, a yo ho ho and a bottle of rum—except in Portuguese.

Supertitles were not provided, but a synopsis was. A storm gathers, and a door swings open and shut to reveal assorted sailors in the deluge, swinging ropes, water sprayed from a hose. The captain emerges once the storm dies down and beckons you on stage. Men in navy stocking caps—the mates—guide the crowd into formation. A risk of innovation is the possibility of literally "losing" the audience—in this case, not by a stage in a maze, but by the challenge of having people gather, standing, in one end of the performance space, so that many simply cannot see the actors. (And a couple of the ones that took their shirts off by the third act were worth seeing.) An alternative performance panel convened at the Experimental Station last year, and one participant observed, "If the audience leaves, the play is pretty much over." Correspondingly, if the audience cannot view the show...

Fortunately, that was a non-issue for the final portion of the performance. Another reviewer described the actors as "terrifying." This may have been the case for In the Zone, but the themes of Bound East for Cardiff—friendship and loss, power and want—permit a more nuanced range to manifest. As I left, a personage two seats to my left, apparently associated with the theater, held forth on how well the actors conveyed the content, and I agree, but was forced to consider the extent to which art can provide people with windows into the lives of others, a class tourism that works in both directions. Apparently the Dynasty TV series was wildly popular across the globe. In this case, we viewed a story regarding hungry men doing dirty, hard, dangerous work and then left the theatre—innovatively—through a conventionally off-limits backstage concrete corridor. The refreshment counter had closed, so wine and chocolate were no longer available.

Photo Courtesy of Companhia Triptal

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, February 17th 2009