to be Max Raab
Not many men can actually drape themselves on a piano and not look silly. It takes a certain body type, but even more so, it takes a sense of confidence to carry it off. Ah, to be Max Raab-- to be Max Raab means so many things. Like so many performers of the past, and ye t his own, very unique self, there is no one quite like him.
The Paramount Theater in Oakland, www.paramounttheatre.com/history.html an appropriate venue for a musician who plays music from the Art Deco period, was built in the '30's and restored to its original glory and is a sight in itself. Last night, though, it was filled with fans of a singer and orchestra that played big band music in German and English from days gone by. Appropriately, the fans, many of wh
om looked like this music could have been just a decade or so older than they, were dressed in everything from authentic period vintage, to costumes that appeared to be purchased November 1st, at half off the regular price. You know. Like in a bag. Like from Halloween. Like, yes, I can be snarky.
Even my outfit got its comment or two-- mine, well, I wear this stuff sometimes-- it is regular clothing for me. The dress was from the 50s, I believe, and Cuban heeled stockings were a modern take on a 40's theme, and the cashmere coat was what I put on when I am cold. And it is about 70 years old. And in perfect condition. The shoes-- second time around Ferragamo shoes are hard to date. The style just doesn't change. Who knows how old those are.
So, spangles and sequins abounded. As well as feathers in hats and in hair. Bad taste in vintage still looks like bad taste; but good taste in vintage can really rock. One lady, about my size, rocked it. An understated 40's suit in a rust with a cute hat that wasn't too out there. The right hair and the right shoes. Nicely done without going over the top. One young woman was stunning in her gown from the San Francisco Opera rummage sale (yes, Richard complimented her, and she couldn't help but tell us where she got it) and a simple up-do. Both women proving that you don't have to be tall and lithe to stand out of you have a bit of taste.
But my favorites were were the ladies who danced to these hits in their youth. I saw more than one who looked like they simply dug into the back of their closets and found the clothes they wore way back when. Vintage ladies wearing their own clothes.
The pre-show, though enlightening to watch, was only there because of one man and the orchestra who backed him up. Oh, to be Max Raab.
First impressions remind me of Fred Astair, after all, he is about the same size, has the lithe grace of a dancer and wears his clothes much the same. He has too, the manner of an introvert who is confident in his abilities and skill and in the skill of those extraordinary musicians who back him up.
So, Max can drape. And he can look both masculine and decorative as he drapes. He can also project both humility and confidence with his 3/4 stance at the microphone; his posture sharing the stage with the musicians who seem able to play any instrument they pick up.
The wry humor, the inexplicable pauses at which the audience laughs, though I doubt they know why, the raised eyebrow that sends the audience back into uncertain titters-- his comedic timing, with a deadpan face, is spot on.
But we come for the music. The Palast Orchestra, all men except for a strikingly lovely violinist, seem to be old school musicians who can pick up a variety of instruments and make them sing; some even show they can sing, themselves. The pleasant baritone and the amazing falsetto Max has trips through complicated lyrics with ease.
What a treat to watch for those two or so hours, a group with so much respect for each other and the music they play.
The Paramount Theater in Oakland, www.paramounttheatre.com/history.html an appropriate venue for a musician who plays music from the Art Deco period, was built in the '30's and restored to its original glory and is a sight in itself. Last night, though, it was filled with fans of a singer and orchestra that played big band music in German and English from days gone by. Appropriately, the fans, many of wh
om looked like this music could have been just a decade or so older than they, were dressed in everything from authentic period vintage, to costumes that appeared to be purchased November 1st, at half off the regular price. You know. Like in a bag. Like from Halloween. Like, yes, I can be snarky.
Even my outfit got its comment or two-- mine, well, I wear this stuff sometimes-- it is regular clothing for me. The dress was from the 50s, I believe, and Cuban heeled stockings were a modern take on a 40's theme, and the cashmere coat was what I put on when I am cold. And it is about 70 years old. And in perfect condition. The shoes-- second time around Ferragamo shoes are hard to date. The style just doesn't change. Who knows how old those are.
So, spangles and sequins abounded. As well as feathers in hats and in hair. Bad taste in vintage still looks like bad taste; but good taste in vintage can really rock. One lady, about my size, rocked it. An understated 40's suit in a rust with a cute hat that wasn't too out there. The right hair and the right shoes. Nicely done without going over the top. One young woman was stunning in her gown from the San Francisco Opera rummage sale (yes, Richard complimented her, and she couldn't help but tell us where she got it) and a simple up-do. Both women proving that you don't have to be tall and lithe to stand out of you have a bit of taste.
But my favorites were were the ladies who danced to these hits in their youth. I saw more than one who looked like they simply dug into the back of their closets and found the clothes they wore way back when. Vintage ladies wearing their own clothes.
The pre-show, though enlightening to watch, was only there because of one man and the orchestra who backed him up. Oh, to be Max Raab.
First impressions remind me of Fred Astair, after all, he is about the same size, has the lithe grace of a dancer and wears his clothes much the same. He has too, the manner of an introvert who is confident in his abilities and skill and in the skill of those extraordinary musicians who back him up.
So, Max can drape. And he can look both masculine and decorative as he drapes. He can also project both humility and confidence with his 3/4 stance at the microphone; his posture sharing the stage with the musicians who seem able to play any instrument they pick up.
The wry humor, the inexplicable pauses at which the audience laughs, though I doubt they know why, the raised eyebrow that sends the audience back into uncertain titters-- his comedic timing, with a deadpan face, is spot on.
But we come for the music. The Palast Orchestra, all men except for a strikingly lovely violinist, seem to be old school musicians who can pick up a variety of instruments and make them sing; some even show they can sing, themselves. The pleasant baritone and the amazing falsetto Max has trips through complicated lyrics with ease.
Click to viewWhat a treat to watch for those two or so hours, a group with so much respect for each other and the music they play.