Reba and Wicked
There was a time, as I'm sure you're tired of reading about, when I wanted to be an entertainer of some sort. Either a singer or an actor, it wouldn't have mattered which. Maybe a mix of the two. I have since given up any semblance of hope either of those is even possible for me. I've even come to terms with that decision.
And then August, 2009, happens: The release of a new Reba album and Wicked coming to Austin.
For anyone living under a rock, Reba McEntire is my all-time, hands-down, let's not even pretend to go there, favorite singer in the entire world. She has been for as long as I can remember.
Her latest album, Keep on Loving You, may be her best yet. It has a mix of what they call "pop country" and heavy-duty bring-a-tissue ballads, with some traditional tunes thrown in just to show you who can pull off the whole gamut. That's right, Reba can!
I think my favorite track on this album is "Over You", followed by "Just When I Thought I'd Stopped Loving You" -- both about as different in style as (forgive the horrible cliche) night is from day. They both deal with unresolved feelings, only the former admits head-on that there's no dealing, while the latter (as the title implies) has Reba thinking she's done, then something else happens and she's right back in it.
Reba has always had a talent for picking just the right songs to fit her voice and to showcase her immense talent. Somehow, she has outdone herself this time. As is to be expected, I have been playing this album at least once a day since I got it last week.
Yesterday afternoon, I saw the musical Wicked for the second time. The first was a few years ago when I went to visit lurawan in California. Our seats were so far back there was but one row behind us. The show was great, but we couldn't see much.
This time out, my seat was Orchestra level, in row Q, which is actually closer than it sounds. I could see faces without too much effort, but I was also far enough back that I could see what was going on.
For those rock-dwellers I referenced before, Wicked is a show loosely based on the book by Gregory Maguire, which is in turn taken from L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It is the story of what happened before Dorothy landed in Oz. What made the witch so Wicked? It pretty much turns the whole story on its ear.
I first learned of Wicked through, of all places, a music service called Launch. I used to listen to that quite a lot. As I rated songs it played for me, it started introducing me to new artists, some of whom I liked, some I didn't. (That's how I found Evanescence, of all bands.) It started sneaking in a song called "No One Mourns the Wicked" -- the first song from the show, and when I rated that one pretty high, it played more and more of the soundtrack. The moment it played "No Good Deed", I bought the soundtrack. I loved it. Like Phantom of the Opera, I had to see the show because of how much I loved the music.
Wicked is definitely in my top five musicals of all time, although admittedly my experience with musicals is limited compared to many people. I don't get out to see shows as much as I would like. (I may get season tickets for the Austin branch of Broadway Across America at some point in the future, but not this coming season. Of the three shows I really want to see, only one is included in the season pack.)
So, to tie this back to the opening... how do Reba and Wicked tie in with my own failed dream of being an entertainer? Well, it's like this:
I don't know that I have the words for this, but both of these have really moved me. For a true entertainer, this is the goal, and they succeeded in spades. It makes me wish I had that kind of power over people: To make them laugh or cry... just to feel something. I guess I'm lucky in that I think I somewhat do that on a limited scale with the murder mystery. My joke always seems to get the biggest laugh, and you have no idea how amazing that feels.
There are times, like when Reba puts out a new album or I see a show that really knocks my socks off, that I wish I hadn't given up my dreams. These times are generally short-lived, and I return to reality unscathed... but right now I think I'm in the middle of one of those times.
I'm probably not making a lick of sense. Such is the curse of also not being a writer.
I'll close here, stuck in my mire of wishes without drive. Wants without ambition. Knowing my dreams are probably within the realm of possibility but not having a willingness to put forth the work I know would be required to attain them.
Hey, it's worked for me so far. So what if I sometimes regret it, right?