Great weekend
If this posts twice, I apologize and I'll go back and delete one. My client decided to start sputtering and complaining. Enclosed find thoughts on the touring production of Sweeney Todd, the Beatdowns Holiday extravaganza, Margot at the Wedding and the remake of Sleuth.
his could be our final dance
This could be our very last chance
Just the sound of your voice
Wherever I may be changes everything
And then the world's right with me
-The Pogues, "London Girl"
Someone nudged me to start cross posting anything I put in my (suffering, long-neglected) LJ, apologies to the two or three of you who are friends both places.
A. and I saw Sweeney Todd on Friday night at the Palace, which was fantastic. The staging mechanism of having the entire play now take place in Toby's mind as he's in an asylum, even down to death being equated with the white lab coats of doctors, worked like a charm, Toby and the two young lovers were all amazing, and everyone else was fine. The sound problems other friends of mine had were worked out by this date, so the vocals and instruments still had the transparency they needed even as they competed for the same physical space.
The look of the show almost had a German Expressionist vibe with harsh lines and long shards of light and minimal black and white, severe looking clothing, Sweeney Todd particularly dressed like a labor organizer. This staging, which I hadn't seen though I'd heard the cast recording, actually completely flipped my feelings about the show. In the videos I've seen (of the Len Cariou and Angela Lansbury original, the concert staging that showed on PBS a few years ago) and when I saw it done by the New York City Opera (very slightly rearranged for a different, larger orchestra and to eliminate most of the spoken dialogue) I always thought the first act was amazing and the second dragged a little. Here, with only a 10-piece (or less) band, the themes are more prominent, the lushness is gone and the second act's stacking of the earlier musical cues coming back darker and more twisted, and colliding like a massive car wreck made me shudder, it all fell into place, big and senseless and ugly and scouring. A. hadn't seen it performed on stage before and it was great seeing it through her eyes and also that she got to see it before the movie comes out, which I'm told cuts anything that needs the chorus (specifically the Ballad and the City on Fire number, I hear).
Then some fantastic long conversation and reacquainting myself with the inherent unfuckupable nature of the jukebox at the Char Bar where, within an hour and a half and without me having put in a dime, we heard "London Calling" and "A Pair of Brown Eyes" And "Dancing Machine" and "Moondance".
Saturday I saw Margot at the Wedding, the new movie by Noah Baumbach (Kicking and Screaming, The Squid and the Whale) and it's amazing but relentless. Everyone's a raw nerve, the movie's about a wedding and a reunion and the repeated ripping off of scabs not touched in a very, very long time. It's also about where we draw the line, what can be used in art and what can't, where fairness enters into that equation, how we see others clearly when we can't see ourselves the same way. No one's particularly likable and Nicole Kidman gives possibly the best performance I've ever seen her give while being so hard to watch I hid my eyes at points like it was a horror movie, until by the end you understand these people so completely from a few sketched scenes... I walked away in the rain with the movie still in my head, until I cleared my brain out with some Kenneth Anger shorts on DVD. That's right, Kenneth Anger's work was a restorative after this. Not for the faint of heart or for anyone who needs uplifted.
But on the uplifting tip, Saturday night's Beatdowns Holiday Extravaganza at Carabar outdid itself.
The True Moves, risen from the ashes of the Diverters (bassist John), Eric Wrong and the Do-Rights (Eric on lead vocals and guitar, Bob Starker on tenor sax and guitar), and Magic City (Nick Turkas on drums, Ann-ilucci on guitar and backing vocals). It's still early, this is about the third full show they've done, of which I've seen two, but I'm officially declaring them a force to be reckoned with. If you've ever liked the Cramps, James Chance, and the Sonics, they've tapped an extra-rich vein of that underground.
The songs aren't there yet, but they'll get there, and when Eric gets that smile like a cat that learned to pick the lock of a fish market's back door and howls "Gonna act real bad / Gonna dance real good!" over churning, choppy guitar chords, a rhythm section with the sideways swing of Morrison and Tucker, and '50s stripper sax, any lyrical polish is almost beside the point. Nick's drumming has gone from getting better every time to being perfectly in tune with what they're doing, primal and heavy handed and huge but not showy or overpowering, he's the rocket fuel in their tank. John's the optimized pistons funneling that fuel into forward motion. Ann's guitar, which I've loved since she was in Magic City, finally turns into exactly what you could always hear in the background; I think the song was called "Do You Love Me?" (not the Nick Cave tune, the best of their originals) and she plays this minimal surf-rock three or four note riff that starts tentative, feeling out the pitch, until by the end of the song every one of those notes is a hot nail through the cold you carried in with you, a shot of whiskey that rattles your nerves and won't let your ennui keep cobwebbing your brain, and her tone is epic, forceful, and filthy. Starker's more of a secret weapon than ever, because he knows exactly what the song needs and when to go big and classic but sneaks in little riffs and noise interludes that shade in the sound, particularly on the song I just mentioned where I caught a run of Eric Dolphy-ish note bending on the verses. Turn it UP!
The Exceptionals were next, comprised of Jeff on drums, Matt on lead vocals and guitar and, um, I feel unbelievably terrible that I've forgotten her name on bass and backing vocals. Everything that's good about sugar-rush pop music from the '60s through the '80s with big hooks and funny lyrics and improbable falsetto and a groove you can do the swim, the march or the robot to, or just shake your hips (at one point a group of us were on the floor doing each of these dances simultaneously). Also props for their Christmas contribution a perfect cover of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas".
Celebrity Pilots came next and played great but I was admittedly more caught up in talking to my friends, I definitely intend to get and live with the record for a while though, because the writing and playing were both top notch, I blame a beer-addled attention span during their set, and enthusiasm at seeing people.
The Beatdowns closed the night, with the incomparable Tutti Jackson sitting in for the opener "Get Off My Roof", a Christmas rewrite of the Stones' "Get Off My Cloud", that Christmas song she sings with Ed, and a few other tunes, as well as Starker getting back on stage for the Sonics' "Santa Claus". The hilarious highlight of the set was a cover of "Christmas" from Tommy, including Ed Mann leaning into the mic screaming "Tommy Can You Hear Me? Tommy, can you HEAR ME?", and Mark Wyatt with his arms outstretched on the "See me, feel me, touch me, heal me" lines. Their own songs also great as ever, with a particularly fired-up "Drivin' Me Bad" and "Disconnected Girl". All in all, between the people and the music, probably the last night of local music I'll get to catch this year (I'm shooting for next Friday at Bobo and Boma for two decidedly different acts but have friends in from out of town I'm hanging with first, so I'll only make one if either, and also hopeful about maybe something the last weekend of the year, but that could also get shelved) reminded me of exactly what I love about this town and its music.
Today I got out and saw Sleuth, which isn't great but I enjoyed the time I spent with it. Not a patch on the original, but Pinter's usual wordplay of what we reveal in what we don't say and what we withhold in what we do is delivered with relish and enthusiasm by Caine and Jude Law. Branagh's got enough of a theater background that he doesn't overdirect the conversations, he trusts you to be entertained by the lines and the reading and he trusts the material and the actors. Where the original was more about class, this feels like the battle of the id and the ego, Jude Law's figure of passion that crumbles under scrutiny then lashes back and Caine's rational narcissist, with a side of sado-masochism that gets directly brough up and joked about but doesn't diminish the real erotic charge shooting back and forth between their two spikes.
And now, to hope this afternoon's nap hasn't completely shot any chances of my getting sleep tonight, big workday tomorrow. Love to all of you.
You look like the devil when you're crying
I'm so glad you feel so strong that way
Got a great big smile for everybody
And I'm so glad I met you here today
I'm so glad I met you here today
--The Deadstring Brothers, "You Look Like the Devil"
his could be our final dance
This could be our very last chance
Just the sound of your voice
Wherever I may be changes everything
And then the world's right with me
-The Pogues, "London Girl"
Someone nudged me to start cross posting anything I put in my (suffering, long-neglected) LJ, apologies to the two or three of you who are friends both places.
A. and I saw Sweeney Todd on Friday night at the Palace, which was fantastic. The staging mechanism of having the entire play now take place in Toby's mind as he's in an asylum, even down to death being equated with the white lab coats of doctors, worked like a charm, Toby and the two young lovers were all amazing, and everyone else was fine. The sound problems other friends of mine had were worked out by this date, so the vocals and instruments still had the transparency they needed even as they competed for the same physical space.
The look of the show almost had a German Expressionist vibe with harsh lines and long shards of light and minimal black and white, severe looking clothing, Sweeney Todd particularly dressed like a labor organizer. This staging, which I hadn't seen though I'd heard the cast recording, actually completely flipped my feelings about the show. In the videos I've seen (of the Len Cariou and Angela Lansbury original, the concert staging that showed on PBS a few years ago) and when I saw it done by the New York City Opera (very slightly rearranged for a different, larger orchestra and to eliminate most of the spoken dialogue) I always thought the first act was amazing and the second dragged a little. Here, with only a 10-piece (or less) band, the themes are more prominent, the lushness is gone and the second act's stacking of the earlier musical cues coming back darker and more twisted, and colliding like a massive car wreck made me shudder, it all fell into place, big and senseless and ugly and scouring. A. hadn't seen it performed on stage before and it was great seeing it through her eyes and also that she got to see it before the movie comes out, which I'm told cuts anything that needs the chorus (specifically the Ballad and the City on Fire number, I hear).
Then some fantastic long conversation and reacquainting myself with the inherent unfuckupable nature of the jukebox at the Char Bar where, within an hour and a half and without me having put in a dime, we heard "London Calling" and "A Pair of Brown Eyes" And "Dancing Machine" and "Moondance".
Saturday I saw Margot at the Wedding, the new movie by Noah Baumbach (Kicking and Screaming, The Squid and the Whale) and it's amazing but relentless. Everyone's a raw nerve, the movie's about a wedding and a reunion and the repeated ripping off of scabs not touched in a very, very long time. It's also about where we draw the line, what can be used in art and what can't, where fairness enters into that equation, how we see others clearly when we can't see ourselves the same way. No one's particularly likable and Nicole Kidman gives possibly the best performance I've ever seen her give while being so hard to watch I hid my eyes at points like it was a horror movie, until by the end you understand these people so completely from a few sketched scenes... I walked away in the rain with the movie still in my head, until I cleared my brain out with some Kenneth Anger shorts on DVD. That's right, Kenneth Anger's work was a restorative after this. Not for the faint of heart or for anyone who needs uplifted.
But on the uplifting tip, Saturday night's Beatdowns Holiday Extravaganza at Carabar outdid itself.
The True Moves, risen from the ashes of the Diverters (bassist John), Eric Wrong and the Do-Rights (Eric on lead vocals and guitar, Bob Starker on tenor sax and guitar), and Magic City (Nick Turkas on drums, Ann-ilucci on guitar and backing vocals). It's still early, this is about the third full show they've done, of which I've seen two, but I'm officially declaring them a force to be reckoned with. If you've ever liked the Cramps, James Chance, and the Sonics, they've tapped an extra-rich vein of that underground.
The songs aren't there yet, but they'll get there, and when Eric gets that smile like a cat that learned to pick the lock of a fish market's back door and howls "Gonna act real bad / Gonna dance real good!" over churning, choppy guitar chords, a rhythm section with the sideways swing of Morrison and Tucker, and '50s stripper sax, any lyrical polish is almost beside the point. Nick's drumming has gone from getting better every time to being perfectly in tune with what they're doing, primal and heavy handed and huge but not showy or overpowering, he's the rocket fuel in their tank. John's the optimized pistons funneling that fuel into forward motion. Ann's guitar, which I've loved since she was in Magic City, finally turns into exactly what you could always hear in the background; I think the song was called "Do You Love Me?" (not the Nick Cave tune, the best of their originals) and she plays this minimal surf-rock three or four note riff that starts tentative, feeling out the pitch, until by the end of the song every one of those notes is a hot nail through the cold you carried in with you, a shot of whiskey that rattles your nerves and won't let your ennui keep cobwebbing your brain, and her tone is epic, forceful, and filthy. Starker's more of a secret weapon than ever, because he knows exactly what the song needs and when to go big and classic but sneaks in little riffs and noise interludes that shade in the sound, particularly on the song I just mentioned where I caught a run of Eric Dolphy-ish note bending on the verses. Turn it UP!
The Exceptionals were next, comprised of Jeff on drums, Matt on lead vocals and guitar and, um, I feel unbelievably terrible that I've forgotten her name on bass and backing vocals. Everything that's good about sugar-rush pop music from the '60s through the '80s with big hooks and funny lyrics and improbable falsetto and a groove you can do the swim, the march or the robot to, or just shake your hips (at one point a group of us were on the floor doing each of these dances simultaneously). Also props for their Christmas contribution a perfect cover of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas".
Celebrity Pilots came next and played great but I was admittedly more caught up in talking to my friends, I definitely intend to get and live with the record for a while though, because the writing and playing were both top notch, I blame a beer-addled attention span during their set, and enthusiasm at seeing people.
The Beatdowns closed the night, with the incomparable Tutti Jackson sitting in for the opener "Get Off My Roof", a Christmas rewrite of the Stones' "Get Off My Cloud", that Christmas song she sings with Ed, and a few other tunes, as well as Starker getting back on stage for the Sonics' "Santa Claus". The hilarious highlight of the set was a cover of "Christmas" from Tommy, including Ed Mann leaning into the mic screaming "Tommy Can You Hear Me? Tommy, can you HEAR ME?", and Mark Wyatt with his arms outstretched on the "See me, feel me, touch me, heal me" lines. Their own songs also great as ever, with a particularly fired-up "Drivin' Me Bad" and "Disconnected Girl". All in all, between the people and the music, probably the last night of local music I'll get to catch this year (I'm shooting for next Friday at Bobo and Boma for two decidedly different acts but have friends in from out of town I'm hanging with first, so I'll only make one if either, and also hopeful about maybe something the last weekend of the year, but that could also get shelved) reminded me of exactly what I love about this town and its music.
Today I got out and saw Sleuth, which isn't great but I enjoyed the time I spent with it. Not a patch on the original, but Pinter's usual wordplay of what we reveal in what we don't say and what we withhold in what we do is delivered with relish and enthusiasm by Caine and Jude Law. Branagh's got enough of a theater background that he doesn't overdirect the conversations, he trusts you to be entertained by the lines and the reading and he trusts the material and the actors. Where the original was more about class, this feels like the battle of the id and the ego, Jude Law's figure of passion that crumbles under scrutiny then lashes back and Caine's rational narcissist, with a side of sado-masochism that gets directly brough up and joked about but doesn't diminish the real erotic charge shooting back and forth between their two spikes.
And now, to hope this afternoon's nap hasn't completely shot any chances of my getting sleep tonight, big workday tomorrow. Love to all of you.
You look like the devil when you're crying
I'm so glad you feel so strong that way
Got a great big smile for everybody
And I'm so glad I met you here today
I'm so glad I met you here today
--The Deadstring Brothers, "You Look Like the Devil"