There's something about the new year that makes me itchy to get out of the house for some non-Christmas activities. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas. We decorate our house, pull out our substantial CD & DVD collection, decorate sugar cookies -- I even sang at Midnight Mass at our local church. I love Christmas. But just as the lifestyle industry can't wait to dispense with holiday recipes and "sparkling decorating tips" and start talking about diets, gym memberships, and comforting one-pot meals at the stroke of Jan. 1st, I similarly am eager to stretch out beyond Rankin-Bass specials and and innumerable versions of "The Christmas Song" for my cultural fix as New Year's approaches. And so, on Saturday, January 3, I organized my itinerary, loaded my car up with items appropriate to my different stops, and bade the guitarhero "see ya' later" shortly before noon.
My first stop was Samadhi Yoga for a prenatal yoga class, my first. While Samadhi is not a budget-friendly location ($17/drop-in class), it was paid for out of Christmas money I received for that specific purpose so it didn't feel so much like money out of my pocket. I hadn't attended a class in, oh, a very long time and my home practice has been negligible, so the class was still challenging despite not being ass-kicking. A couple of times when Warrior pose got uncomfortable and I found myself looking forward to moving out of it, I thought, "Dude, you might as well get used to discomfort and then some." Find ease in the pose, indeed.
From Samadhi, I went down to Twist & Shout on Colfax to sell some CDs. While I haven't gone into full-on nesting mode, I have started to de-clutter where posible and get together enough inventory to warrant holding a garage sale in the spring. But in the meantime, I hoped that Twist & Shout might be interested in some of the CDs that no longer interest me. They didn't take all of them (what? no love for Dionne Farris?) but I got enough back in cash to finance the rest of my afternoon. Next stop was the Tattered Cover next door to buy a new calendar for the kitchen -- we tend toward nature scenes, so I opted for one featuring pictures of the Colorado landscape taken by a well-known local photographer.
I don't think I had a very substantial breakfast that morning, so by 3:00 p.m. or so I was starving. Well, let's be honest, I was hungry during yoga class. (I'm hungry as I write this, having just eaten. I was hungry at 4:00 this morning. I. Am. Hungry.) It was the perfect opportunity to give the SAME Cafe a try. I first heard about the Cafe a few months ago on NPR's The Splendid Table and had added it to the list of things to do. SAME stands for So All May Eat, and is strategically located on East Colfax, probably the area of Denver most similar to Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood for its mix of clubs, bars, and shops peopled by young hipsters, transients, and everyone in between. The founders believe strongly that everyone has a right and should have access to healthy food regardless of their means. They aim to use organic and locally sourced ingredients whenever possible; portions are small but you may have as many servings as you like; and you pay what you can by slipping cash into a little envelope and putting it in the donation box when you're finished. If you can't pay you may volunteer for an hour or so, but I can't imagine that they'd refuse food to anyone for any reason. It all seems too good and idealistic to succeed, like the Amsterdam White Bicycle program back in the 1960s. I sincerely hope SAME Cafe doesn't suffer the same fate, but the owners claim to come out even at the end of each day, so perhaps there's hope after all.
The cold, damp weather made the Cafe particularly welcoming that day. I got myself a glass of iced tea and ordered up a cup of butternut squash soup, spinach and pear salad, and vegetarian pizza. I didn't linger over my lunch too long as I still had a couple stops left on my schedule, but I savored every bite of the homey and tasty meal, topped off by a frosted sugar cookie for dessert. As I noted above, I Am Hungry most of the time and probably could have eaten more, but since my cash was limited and I didn't want to be a complete mooch, I thought it best to quit before I was stuffed. So I moved along.
With barely 90 minutes to spare before closing time, I headed over to the Denver Art Museum for Free First Saturday admission. Because the parking garage was charging a flat rate higher than my cash on hand, I sought out meter-free parking a few blocks away -- it made me wish I'd known that in advance so I could have eaten more at the Cafe. Once inside the museum I headed straight for the temporary exhibits, of which I saw four. The disadvantage of having planned such a busy day meant that I felt rushed to consume as much art as possible -- to get the most bang for my non-existent buck if you will. The first exhibit I visited, The Art of Ernest l. Blumenschein , was the largest and would have benefitted from a more leisurely pace. I also apparently picked the wrong side of the room to start viewing the collection and ended up seeing the 66 works in reverse chronological order. I was immediately engaged in a short conversation with a woman who seemed eager to talk about what she'd just seen -- I think she compared Blumenschein to Thomas Hart Benton and also gave me a short history of artists' pigments. (Whether it was a function of the free admission, the cold and overcast day, or the late hour, the entire museum was packed. Conversations, intentional or overheard, were inevitable.) The enormous contemporary paintings by Daniel Richter left me relying a bit too much on the curator's descriptions to inform my own reactions to the work -- perhaps I could have understood it better had I seen it back in high school when I was still studying art history, but I'm not as smart now as I was then. The small gallery hosting a handful of abstract expressionist works by Clyfford Still functioned mainly as a teaser for the Still Museum set to open next year. And last but certainly not least, I caught the Houdon sculpture exhibit the day before it closed. The familiar medium of realistic, Enlightenment-era sculptures of mythological and towering historical figures, such as Voltaire and Washington, made this the most accessible collection for my harried mindset. I probably should have gone to the February First Saturday if only to give the Blumenschein another shot before it closed.
My very last stop was decidedly unlocal and non-cultural, but a co-worker had given me a Kohl's $10 coupon and I was in dire need of another pair of maternity pants (which are not as comfortable as you might think but are better than trying to wear your regular jeans with the help of a rubber band holding them closed). Luckily there was a nice pair of cords that fit well and were on sale to boot. Not a thrilling end to an otherwise varied and busy day, but considering that free time as I've known it will soon be a thing of the past, I have absolutely no complaints.
Showing posts with label recap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recap. Show all posts
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
recap of Feb. 10: New Play Summit
This recap of the New Play Summit and 365 Days/365 Plays at the DCPA on Feb. 10 is long overdue.
True to what the DCPA customer service rep had said when I called, I was able to snag a ticket to the 10:00 a.m. reading of A Visitor's Guide to Arivaca (Map Not to Scale) by showing up a few minutes beforehand. Because I then had to move my car into the pay lot (why pay $8 if there was no guarantee of a ticket?), I entered the packed theater a few minutes after the reading had begun. I recognized a few actors I'd seen in 1001 and King Lear, including Jeanine Serralles and Markus Potter, and wondered how many rehearsals for this they'd been able to squeeze in amid their busy performance schedule.
I left the reading with mixed feelings about the play, which has already been workshopped in Tucson (American Theatre magazine's Dec. 2006 cover article covers it here). Having just finished The Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle, the territory felt familiar yet more distant. Whereas Boyle's novel focuses sharply on the personal experiences of four people to illustrate the issues/problems of illegal immigration, Evangeline Ordaz's play seemed more didactic. She has placed at the center of her story one Mexican couple attempting to cross the border south of Tucson, with the supporting characters all receiving plenty of stage time as well. On the one hand, Ordaz gives voice to the many sides of the debate, and is generally even-handed about it, but on the other I came away from the reading feeling like I'd heard from archetypes more than from individual characters.
Regardless, it's always a pleasure to see and hear good actors at work. Despite what had to have been limited time to prepare, the performances were superb across the board. Special recognition should go to William Hahn, whose first entrance as Eddie the stoned ranch hand had his castmates laughing and enjoying his performance as much as the official audience did.
At noon, a group of DCTC actors performed one of the 365 Days/365 Plays in the Bonfils lobby. These plays are more like play-lets, or tiny versions of plays that may someday grow and develop. This noon offering seemed to be part of the recurring Father Comes Home from the War theme that Parks has described in some article I read somewhere. (By the way, I added a link to the More Sites I Like section of this blog that will take you to 'today's play' on the TCG website.) It was short, spare, and left me with more questions than I had before it started -- who was the man posing for the portrait with what seemed to be the Father's family? Why does the injured Father end the scene by dancing? Ah well, such is cutting edge work.
After my side trip to the library, I returned to the Bonfils lobby briefly, wondering if I wanted to stick around until 3:00 to see another of the 365 Plays. When I realized that the New Play Summit panel discussion already in progress was also free, my decision was made for me. I had thought the panel would feature playwrights whose plays were being read over the course of the weekend, but Evangeline Ordaz and Jason Grote were the only playwrights whose works were being performed. The rest of the panel was made up of Octavio Solis, Thomas Gibbons, and Julie Myatt. As moderated by Kent Thompson, the discussion was already well underway, and the prevailing theme seemed to be views on writing characters from a background different than one's own. Again, it's always interesting and edifying to hear more about process and motivation from those who've been doing it for a while.
The next two 365 Plays followed the end of the panel discussion in fairly quick succession, even catching a few patrons unaware as they tried to make their way down the steps and past the performers. The real excitement of the inclusion of 365 Plays into the New Play Summit, for me at least, was watching art being presented in a space not designed for that specific purpose. I like the idea that theater can happen any time, anywhere, with the audience standing around the sides and even behind the action. There is value in that, I think, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of the 365 performances through the year to see how they handle the challenges.
True to what the DCPA customer service rep had said when I called, I was able to snag a ticket to the 10:00 a.m. reading of A Visitor's Guide to Arivaca (Map Not to Scale) by showing up a few minutes beforehand. Because I then had to move my car into the pay lot (why pay $8 if there was no guarantee of a ticket?), I entered the packed theater a few minutes after the reading had begun. I recognized a few actors I'd seen in 1001 and King Lear, including Jeanine Serralles and Markus Potter, and wondered how many rehearsals for this they'd been able to squeeze in amid their busy performance schedule.
I left the reading with mixed feelings about the play, which has already been workshopped in Tucson (American Theatre magazine's Dec. 2006 cover article covers it here). Having just finished The Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle, the territory felt familiar yet more distant. Whereas Boyle's novel focuses sharply on the personal experiences of four people to illustrate the issues/problems of illegal immigration, Evangeline Ordaz's play seemed more didactic. She has placed at the center of her story one Mexican couple attempting to cross the border south of Tucson, with the supporting characters all receiving plenty of stage time as well. On the one hand, Ordaz gives voice to the many sides of the debate, and is generally even-handed about it, but on the other I came away from the reading feeling like I'd heard from archetypes more than from individual characters.
Regardless, it's always a pleasure to see and hear good actors at work. Despite what had to have been limited time to prepare, the performances were superb across the board. Special recognition should go to William Hahn, whose first entrance as Eddie the stoned ranch hand had his castmates laughing and enjoying his performance as much as the official audience did.
At noon, a group of DCTC actors performed one of the 365 Days/365 Plays in the Bonfils lobby. These plays are more like play-lets, or tiny versions of plays that may someday grow and develop. This noon offering seemed to be part of the recurring Father Comes Home from the War theme that Parks has described in some article I read somewhere. (By the way, I added a link to the More Sites I Like section of this blog that will take you to 'today's play' on the TCG website.) It was short, spare, and left me with more questions than I had before it started -- who was the man posing for the portrait with what seemed to be the Father's family? Why does the injured Father end the scene by dancing? Ah well, such is cutting edge work.
After my side trip to the library, I returned to the Bonfils lobby briefly, wondering if I wanted to stick around until 3:00 to see another of the 365 Plays. When I realized that the New Play Summit panel discussion already in progress was also free, my decision was made for me. I had thought the panel would feature playwrights whose plays were being read over the course of the weekend, but Evangeline Ordaz and Jason Grote were the only playwrights whose works were being performed. The rest of the panel was made up of Octavio Solis, Thomas Gibbons, and Julie Myatt. As moderated by Kent Thompson, the discussion was already well underway, and the prevailing theme seemed to be views on writing characters from a background different than one's own. Again, it's always interesting and edifying to hear more about process and motivation from those who've been doing it for a while.
The next two 365 Plays followed the end of the panel discussion in fairly quick succession, even catching a few patrons unaware as they tried to make their way down the steps and past the performers. The real excitement of the inclusion of 365 Plays into the New Play Summit, for me at least, was watching art being presented in a space not designed for that specific purpose. I like the idea that theater can happen any time, anywhere, with the audience standing around the sides and even behind the action. There is value in that, I think, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of the 365 performances through the year to see how they handle the challenges.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
recap: Feb. 10 On the Road manuscript @ DPL
How is it possible that I've lived here for as long as I have but only found out last Saturday that, all this time, a Denver Public Library card could have been mine? Unbelievable. I had gotten back into the habit of going to the library a few years ago when we were still living in L.A. Although our neighborhood branch was small and was closed most evenings and Sundays, I had the entire Los Angeles Public Library catalogue at my disposal. And it's a big catalogue.
Having downsized library systems twice since moving to the Denver area -- once to the JeffCo library, and again to our current county -- imagine my amazement, my glee, when I found out on Saturday that a Denver Public Library card is the inalienable right of any and all Colorado residents. I felt almost as if I were Mary Lennox fitting key to lock and stepping into that walled garden for the first time. ("Might I... might I have a bit of stacks, sir?") What I love the most about libraries is that I can be as focused and research-driven as I want to be, or I can indulge in being able to indulge in whatever strikes my fancy. I currently have at home (from my local library) a book on bistro cooking and another on artisanal bread baking just cause they looked pretty, as well as season 2 of "Jeeves & Wooster." (If you're not familiar with the show, just think of Bertie Wooster as the anti-House.)
I only found out about the availability of the DPL card while perusing the brochures at the Central Branch for possible free events. I had walked down from the Denver Center for the Performing Arts between New Play Summit events (recap to follow) to view the On the Road manuscript that went on display the first weekend of January. I wish I'd known in advance of all the activities that surrounded the opening of the exhibit, as it's one of the guitarhero's favorite books and it would have been great to hear some jazz for free, but let's be honest -- that was a snowy weekend and we weren't in the mood to go anywhere.
The exhibit itself is low-key: pretty much just the first 60 feet of that famous scroll, single-spaced, a little tattered around the edges, with some inscrutable editorial marks here and there. This not being the final, published draft, you can catch Allen Ginsburg playing himself in this version, before the name was changed. I think Sal makes it to Denver after about 15 feet of type, and to L.A. another 15 or so feet later. I do not recommend trying to actually read the book in this fashion, as I got a good crick in my neck after just a couple of minutes of leaning to the side over the low glass display case.
The walls of the gallery are hung with some period photos showing Denver in the 1940s through late 1960s, some shots of Kerouac and contemporaries, and a few placards that describe the historical context. Unless you're a die-hard student of the Beats, I don't know that the exhibit itself is worth a trip solely to view it (note that the second 60 feet will go on display Feb. 24). But if you're in the area or at the library for any number of other activities (some of which I've already started listing here), then it's just a very cool -- like, crazy, man! -- thing to see. Although the glass display case wasn't working for me, I think that Kerouac's desire to write uninterrupted resulted in the medium informing the message. Somehow, returning to my old paperback version, with its foreword, page turns, and paragraph indentations doesn't pack the same visceral punch as reading even a few lines of that fantastic, mad, caffeine- and Catholic guilt-fueled stream of consciousness. If I ever read On the Road again -- and I plan to -- I'll try to set aside a weekend with nothing else to do, and try to forget everything I learned in high school about looking for predominant themes and recurring motifs. Kerouac just wrote, so I should just read, my only knod to context some Charlie Parker playing in the background.
Crazy, man.
Having downsized library systems twice since moving to the Denver area -- once to the JeffCo library, and again to our current county -- imagine my amazement, my glee, when I found out on Saturday that a Denver Public Library card is the inalienable right of any and all Colorado residents. I felt almost as if I were Mary Lennox fitting key to lock and stepping into that walled garden for the first time. ("Might I... might I have a bit of stacks, sir?") What I love the most about libraries is that I can be as focused and research-driven as I want to be, or I can indulge in being able to indulge in whatever strikes my fancy. I currently have at home (from my local library) a book on bistro cooking and another on artisanal bread baking just cause they looked pretty, as well as season 2 of "Jeeves & Wooster." (If you're not familiar with the show, just think of Bertie Wooster as the anti-House.)
I only found out about the availability of the DPL card while perusing the brochures at the Central Branch for possible free events. I had walked down from the Denver Center for the Performing Arts between New Play Summit events (recap to follow) to view the On the Road manuscript that went on display the first weekend of January. I wish I'd known in advance of all the activities that surrounded the opening of the exhibit, as it's one of the guitarhero's favorite books and it would have been great to hear some jazz for free, but let's be honest -- that was a snowy weekend and we weren't in the mood to go anywhere.
The exhibit itself is low-key: pretty much just the first 60 feet of that famous scroll, single-spaced, a little tattered around the edges, with some inscrutable editorial marks here and there. This not being the final, published draft, you can catch Allen Ginsburg playing himself in this version, before the name was changed. I think Sal makes it to Denver after about 15 feet of type, and to L.A. another 15 or so feet later. I do not recommend trying to actually read the book in this fashion, as I got a good crick in my neck after just a couple of minutes of leaning to the side over the low glass display case.
The walls of the gallery are hung with some period photos showing Denver in the 1940s through late 1960s, some shots of Kerouac and contemporaries, and a few placards that describe the historical context. Unless you're a die-hard student of the Beats, I don't know that the exhibit itself is worth a trip solely to view it (note that the second 60 feet will go on display Feb. 24). But if you're in the area or at the library for any number of other activities (some of which I've already started listing here), then it's just a very cool -- like, crazy, man! -- thing to see. Although the glass display case wasn't working for me, I think that Kerouac's desire to write uninterrupted resulted in the medium informing the message. Somehow, returning to my old paperback version, with its foreword, page turns, and paragraph indentations doesn't pack the same visceral punch as reading even a few lines of that fantastic, mad, caffeine- and Catholic guilt-fueled stream of consciousness. If I ever read On the Road again -- and I plan to -- I'll try to set aside a weekend with nothing else to do, and try to forget everything I learned in high school about looking for predominant themes and recurring motifs. Kerouac just wrote, so I should just read, my only knod to context some Charlie Parker playing in the background.
Crazy, man.
Monday, February 12, 2007
recap of Feb. 9 yoga class @ Samadhi Center
Finally, yoga!
On Friday, Feb. 9, I attended a new class at Samadhi Center for Yoga that I learned about via their e-newsletter. In Fall 2005 I was much more diligent about trying to establish a yoga practice and was sampling some different studios around Denver, mainly taking advantage of the new student discounts that most studios offer. Samadhi offers an unlimited one-week pass for $20 (if I recall correctly) for new students, a great value even if you only attend two classes in that week.
But, as we all know, I am not in the market to pay for yoga classes these days as much as I'd like to, and I don't think I practiced at all in 2006 (The Year of the House). Even though I'm woefully out of shape, I made a special effort to attend this free introductory class at 7:15 on Friday -- yes, I am physically and mentally weak, but one thing I've always liked about Samadhi is the openness and support of the teachers and students. Samadhi may attract a largely young and attractive crowd, but I've seen people of all shapes, ages, and flexibilities there, not to mention more men and yogis of color than found at some other studios.
The new class is Shakti yoga taught by Lara Catone, and is being billed as a blending of vinyasa yoga and exploratory dance. (I couldn't find anything about it on the website, and I've deleted the e-newsletter already, so I hope I'm getting this right.) While the description of the dance component did make me think of "free form jazz exploration" for just a second, I also know that you only get out of exploration what you put into it. And God knows, we grown-ups only get so many opportunities a week to let our freak flags fly, so you need to take every chance you get.
The larger studio at Samadhi was packed by the time class started -- at least 35 people, maybe more. Lara led us through 90+ minutes of traditional asanas and sequences interspersed with guided explorations of the space around us, all set to a great mix of music. In all seriousness, it's a crime that most of us only use our bodies to sit, lie down, or walk, considering the range of motion available to the vast majority of us. Whereas on most Friday nights I just veg out in front of the TV, this was a fun way to get some exercise and do a bit of meditation but still feel like the weekend had arrived.
Om shanti shanti shantihi, indeed.
On Friday, Feb. 9, I attended a new class at Samadhi Center for Yoga that I learned about via their e-newsletter. In Fall 2005 I was much more diligent about trying to establish a yoga practice and was sampling some different studios around Denver, mainly taking advantage of the new student discounts that most studios offer. Samadhi offers an unlimited one-week pass for $20 (if I recall correctly) for new students, a great value even if you only attend two classes in that week.
But, as we all know, I am not in the market to pay for yoga classes these days as much as I'd like to, and I don't think I practiced at all in 2006 (The Year of the House). Even though I'm woefully out of shape, I made a special effort to attend this free introductory class at 7:15 on Friday -- yes, I am physically and mentally weak, but one thing I've always liked about Samadhi is the openness and support of the teachers and students. Samadhi may attract a largely young and attractive crowd, but I've seen people of all shapes, ages, and flexibilities there, not to mention more men and yogis of color than found at some other studios.
The new class is Shakti yoga taught by Lara Catone, and is being billed as a blending of vinyasa yoga and exploratory dance. (I couldn't find anything about it on the website, and I've deleted the e-newsletter already, so I hope I'm getting this right.) While the description of the dance component did make me think of "free form jazz exploration" for just a second, I also know that you only get out of exploration what you put into it. And God knows, we grown-ups only get so many opportunities a week to let our freak flags fly, so you need to take every chance you get.
The larger studio at Samadhi was packed by the time class started -- at least 35 people, maybe more. Lara led us through 90+ minutes of traditional asanas and sequences interspersed with guided explorations of the space around us, all set to a great mix of music. In all seriousness, it's a crime that most of us only use our bodies to sit, lie down, or walk, considering the range of motion available to the vast majority of us. Whereas on most Friday nights I just veg out in front of the TV, this was a fun way to get some exercise and do a bit of meditation but still feel like the weekend had arrived.
Om shanti shanti shantihi, indeed.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
recap of Jan. 24 King Lear
I consider myself fairly well-versed in Shakespeare's body of work -- more so than the average American, but perhaps less so than a lot of English majors. In school we read the basics: Romeo and Juliet in 9th grade, Macbeth in 10th, and Hamlet in 12th. I know enough to know that Sting took the line "...nothing like the sun" from a Shakespeare sonnet. Because of my family's involvement in theater, I've seen As You Like It and Much Ado About Nothing multiple times, and my Kenneth Branagh phase of the early 90s made me fall in love with Henry V (or "Hank Cinq" as I've heard it referred to).
I've seen mixed-bag productions in small theaters where the actors rush through their lines, I've seen surprisingly effective takes on what had become pedestrian, and I've seen top-knotch performances where every word and intention were crystal clear.
But somehow, with all of this education and exposure to theater, I had never seen nor read King Lear . I had tried once in junior high when our English teacher recommended we watch a made-for-TV version starring Laurence Olivier that was being broadcast. I made it as far as Cordelia's banishment before I bailed -- I may have been a 12-year-old geek, but even I had my limits.
The King Lear currently running at the Denver Center is probably as good as regional Shakespeare gets. As I mentioned above, I've seen some great productions, mostly at A Noise Within in Los Angeles, and I use that company as my benchmark. "Could the ANW crew have done that better?" When it comes to the actor playing Lear, Philip Pleasants, my answer is No. As well as -- perhaps. But better? It's hard to imagine that anyone could inhabit that role more fully than he does. His transformation made perfect sense, tragic and beautiful all at once, and I was surprised by what a witty fellow Lear could be through it all. Lear's death, coming as it does on the heels of his finally becoming fully alive for the first time, was moving without becoming maudlin. Pleasants also has played Scrooge here, and I told the guitarhero that we'll have to make a point of seeing any A Christmas Carol that he is in, if only to see him in a happy ending.
As for the rest of the production, I can say that it was very good overall, but I did feel myself at a loss because of not knowing the play going in. With Shakespeare, you sometimes don't know something is meant as a joke or a quip unless you already know the joke or quip. There were a few times when some of the audience (which filled over 80% of the house) reacted to a line that I completely missed. And I hate not knowing what's going on -- I'm smart and cultured after all, right?
Even so, there were other performances that I particularly liked, such as Mike Hartman as Gloucester, Markus Potter as Edgar (who lists an A Noise Within credit in his bio), John Hutton as Kent, and Remi Sandri as Cornwall. Rodney Hicks as Edmund was sexy and showy, but his musical theater background (ensemble in the original cast of Rent ) seemed a little too evident for this production.
As for the sisters -- those are tough roles, all three of them. I think that poor Cordelia can only pale next to her duplicitous siblings no matter who's playing her. Because most of the intrigue and plot twists depend on Regan and Goneril, I think my lack of familiarity with the play most impacts my view of those two performances. Sharon Washington as Goneril and Kathleen McCall as Regan were evil and scheming as required, but I'm just sorry that I don't know the roles better to have appreciated their performances more.
There were a few National Conservatory students in the cast, and their main duties seemed to consist of holding flaming torches while other cast members spoke. The two or three who did have lines, despite being talented and experienced students, still came off as novices among pros. A few women were cast as (male) soldiers, costumed in capes with their hair pulled back in manly ponytails. Even with their backs to my section of the audience, I was struck by how much the angle of one's head can betray femininity at the same time one is adopting a wide-shouldered, square-hipped stance. And after all is said and done, that's what I've learned from the great Shakespearean performances that I've seen -- don't ignore the details, for they are what transform the Bard's text into stories for a 21st century audience.
I've seen mixed-bag productions in small theaters where the actors rush through their lines, I've seen surprisingly effective takes on what had become pedestrian, and I've seen top-knotch performances where every word and intention were crystal clear.
But somehow, with all of this education and exposure to theater, I had never seen nor read King Lear . I had tried once in junior high when our English teacher recommended we watch a made-for-TV version starring Laurence Olivier that was being broadcast. I made it as far as Cordelia's banishment before I bailed -- I may have been a 12-year-old geek, but even I had my limits.
The King Lear currently running at the Denver Center is probably as good as regional Shakespeare gets. As I mentioned above, I've seen some great productions, mostly at A Noise Within in Los Angeles, and I use that company as my benchmark. "Could the ANW crew have done that better?" When it comes to the actor playing Lear, Philip Pleasants, my answer is No. As well as -- perhaps. But better? It's hard to imagine that anyone could inhabit that role more fully than he does. His transformation made perfect sense, tragic and beautiful all at once, and I was surprised by what a witty fellow Lear could be through it all. Lear's death, coming as it does on the heels of his finally becoming fully alive for the first time, was moving without becoming maudlin. Pleasants also has played Scrooge here, and I told the guitarhero that we'll have to make a point of seeing any A Christmas Carol that he is in, if only to see him in a happy ending.
As for the rest of the production, I can say that it was very good overall, but I did feel myself at a loss because of not knowing the play going in. With Shakespeare, you sometimes don't know something is meant as a joke or a quip unless you already know the joke or quip. There were a few times when some of the audience (which filled over 80% of the house) reacted to a line that I completely missed. And I hate not knowing what's going on -- I'm smart and cultured after all, right?
Even so, there were other performances that I particularly liked, such as Mike Hartman as Gloucester, Markus Potter as Edgar (who lists an A Noise Within credit in his bio), John Hutton as Kent, and Remi Sandri as Cornwall. Rodney Hicks as Edmund was sexy and showy, but his musical theater background (ensemble in the original cast of Rent ) seemed a little too evident for this production.
As for the sisters -- those are tough roles, all three of them. I think that poor Cordelia can only pale next to her duplicitous siblings no matter who's playing her. Because most of the intrigue and plot twists depend on Regan and Goneril, I think my lack of familiarity with the play most impacts my view of those two performances. Sharon Washington as Goneril and Kathleen McCall as Regan were evil and scheming as required, but I'm just sorry that I don't know the roles better to have appreciated their performances more.
There were a few National Conservatory students in the cast, and their main duties seemed to consist of holding flaming torches while other cast members spoke. The two or three who did have lines, despite being talented and experienced students, still came off as novices among pros. A few women were cast as (male) soldiers, costumed in capes with their hair pulled back in manly ponytails. Even with their backs to my section of the audience, I was struck by how much the angle of one's head can betray femininity at the same time one is adopting a wide-shouldered, square-hipped stance. And after all is said and done, that's what I've learned from the great Shakespearean performances that I've seen -- don't ignore the details, for they are what transform the Bard's text into stories for a 21st century audience.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
recap of Jan. 22 1001 & Su Teatro rally
I ended up seeing 1001 at the Denver Center Theatre Company on Monday the 22nd, not Wednesday the 17th as originally planned. When I got to the Bonfils Theatre last week at about 4:45, expecting to find myself at the end of a line of people already getting tickets for 1001, I found that the performance that evening had been canceled, but that they were allowing those who'd turned up the chance to reserve a free ticket for any of the upcoming previews. So I picked Monday the 22nd, thinking that I stood the least chance of having any conflicting events on that day.
Well, I was only partly right about that. A couple of days later El Centro Su Teatro sent around its announcement about the City Council meeting on Monday. It's true, I have become so obsessed with free tickets (I believe one coworker called me a "theater whore") that I viewed this as a potential conflict.
No matter, I decided, I'll make it work. On Monday I left my office a few minutes early, lucked out with easy traffic, and actually ponied up the $8 to park in the DCPA lot. After picking up my 1001 ticket from will call, I immediately set out to hoof it from the DCPA to the Denver City & County building even though it was already 5:30 at that point. And hoof it I did, making up for at least a few days' worth of inactivity. Once I found the correct building, I was directed to go down the hall and up to the 4th floor by a guard who was just like Michael Jeter, except more so. By now it was just about 6:00, and I wondered if it was even really worth it, considering the curtain for the ticket I already held was at 6:30 and I still had to walk back. But what the hell, I was already there, so I followed Michael Jeter's directions.
Once I made it to the chambers, I learned that not only did I miss the vote on Su Teatro's new space, but there hadn't been much to miss. There were a lot of people just sort of hanging around in the hall and chambers, some hobknobbing and some who looked like they were still waiting for something to happen. Not wanting to approach just any Latino to ask "where's my free ticket at?" I lingered until I saw a young woman passing by holding a stack of flyers & vouchers for I Don't Have to Show You No Stinking Badges. She gave me one while she shrugged and said, "Yeah, it was really quick. They just voted and it passed." So there you have it. And I now have a voucher for any Thursday night performance for the production that opens Feb. 15. More to come on that one.
I walked into the Bonfils about about 10 minutes before curtain and immediately felt a sense of being back, similar to returning after a few years to the home of a close relative where you spent good times growing up. That sense of, "Oh yes, I know this place, I know these people. This is one place I can feel I belong." My breath came more easily, I felt my brow unfurrow slightly, and in the mirror lobby I looked more like... me. Cause after all, everyone is beautiful at the ballet...
I thought to myself, Man, it's been way too long since I've been to see a play.
The house was full, mostly with folks in their 50s and 60s -- not a full-on 'blue hair' audience, but more of a traditional subscription-type crowd.
You definitely either 1) trust your supporters, or 2) don't give a rat's ass what people think when you decide to program a world premiere such as 1001 in a city like Denver. It defies easy explanation; I think my attempts to tell people about it have sounded like this: "Well, um, it's based on Scheherazade's One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, and some it kind of takes place in that sort of mythical time. But then there's a modern couple living in New York, and their story kind of parallels it. And the stories kind of interweave and lead into one another. I mean, uh, an article I read kind of compared it to a webpage full of hyperlinks that take you to this story or that one, and they all relate on some level. And it's sort of like, uh, have you heard of magical realism? And it deals with 9/11 in a way but it's not heavy-handed. And an actor playing Osama bin Laden does Vincent Price's rap from 'Thriller,' and I totally laughed at that but I don't think the older people around me knew why. So it's kind of like that -- but you should totally go see it. I think you'd like it."
So now you don't need to ask me what 1001 is about because I just told you. It has some really beautiful moments, some jarring and surprising moments, a fantastic six-person cast, and a bitchin' DJ-as-sound board. You should go see it, especially if you don't see much theater and you're in that 20-45 year old age bracket that communicates a lot via e-mail and can recognize a Clash bassline when you hear it and have maybe even seen "Vertigo." I think you'd like it.
On Tuesday, I dropped a quick e-mail to Bret Saunders at KBCO, thinking that his is the perfect demographic for this production and maybe he'd mention the play at some point. On Wednesday my supervisor said, "Oh, someone on KBCO this morning was raving about that play you saw!" Turns out Bret read my e-mail on the air at about 8:30, so maybe I helped pay for my free ticket by getting a couple more butts in seats.
And the icing on this theatrical cake is that on Wednesday evening I got my own Q&A session with the playwright, Jason Grote. I had made his electronic acquaintance via the BCT Yahoo group for theater. So when the Denver Post published the article about 1001, I posted it to the group, and Jason and I e-mailed each other a couple of times about his plans to be here for the opening. He was completely gracious about offering to meet up for a cup of coffee when I told him of my plans to see King Lear on Wednesday, since he would be at the DCPA, too. So we met for about an hour. I followed my introduction by confessing that I hadn't realized how much he'd done until I read his full bio in the program; I knew wasn't a total neophyte, but I sort of thought of him as that playwright on BCT. Even so, this premiere at DCTC is still a big deal, which is why I was doubly impressed that he'd meet up with a local like me about whom he knew nothing. I got a chance to ask him a few questions about the play and how I thought some of the stories folded in on one another. I said that, especially having seen a very fluid performance, I wondered what the "Fuck you, Jason!" moments were that Ethan McSweeney, the director, had talked about in the Post article. While he didn't know of any specific moments, Jason said that he imagined they had to do with working out the tone and transitions, having had a few "Fuck you, Jason!" moments himself while writing the piece.
So I was a bit of a dork with my questions, and he was cool about it, and I came away from our meeting very appreciative of the opportunity to talk about the process with someone who really knows what he's doing. It made me feel again a little bit more like the me I hope to be.
Well, I was only partly right about that. A couple of days later El Centro Su Teatro sent around its announcement about the City Council meeting on Monday. It's true, I have become so obsessed with free tickets (I believe one coworker called me a "theater whore") that I viewed this as a potential conflict.
No matter, I decided, I'll make it work. On Monday I left my office a few minutes early, lucked out with easy traffic, and actually ponied up the $8 to park in the DCPA lot. After picking up my 1001 ticket from will call, I immediately set out to hoof it from the DCPA to the Denver City & County building even though it was already 5:30 at that point. And hoof it I did, making up for at least a few days' worth of inactivity. Once I found the correct building, I was directed to go down the hall and up to the 4th floor by a guard who was just like Michael Jeter, except more so. By now it was just about 6:00, and I wondered if it was even really worth it, considering the curtain for the ticket I already held was at 6:30 and I still had to walk back. But what the hell, I was already there, so I followed Michael Jeter's directions.
Once I made it to the chambers, I learned that not only did I miss the vote on Su Teatro's new space, but there hadn't been much to miss. There were a lot of people just sort of hanging around in the hall and chambers, some hobknobbing and some who looked like they were still waiting for something to happen. Not wanting to approach just any Latino to ask "where's my free ticket at?" I lingered until I saw a young woman passing by holding a stack of flyers & vouchers for I Don't Have to Show You No Stinking Badges. She gave me one while she shrugged and said, "Yeah, it was really quick. They just voted and it passed." So there you have it. And I now have a voucher for any Thursday night performance for the production that opens Feb. 15. More to come on that one.
I walked into the Bonfils about about 10 minutes before curtain and immediately felt a sense of being back, similar to returning after a few years to the home of a close relative where you spent good times growing up. That sense of, "Oh yes, I know this place, I know these people. This is one place I can feel I belong." My breath came more easily, I felt my brow unfurrow slightly, and in the mirror lobby I looked more like... me. Cause after all, everyone is beautiful at the ballet...
I thought to myself, Man, it's been way too long since I've been to see a play.
The house was full, mostly with folks in their 50s and 60s -- not a full-on 'blue hair' audience, but more of a traditional subscription-type crowd.
You definitely either 1) trust your supporters, or 2) don't give a rat's ass what people think when you decide to program a world premiere such as 1001 in a city like Denver. It defies easy explanation; I think my attempts to tell people about it have sounded like this: "Well, um, it's based on Scheherazade's One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, and some it kind of takes place in that sort of mythical time. But then there's a modern couple living in New York, and their story kind of parallels it. And the stories kind of interweave and lead into one another. I mean, uh, an article I read kind of compared it to a webpage full of hyperlinks that take you to this story or that one, and they all relate on some level. And it's sort of like, uh, have you heard of magical realism? And it deals with 9/11 in a way but it's not heavy-handed. And an actor playing Osama bin Laden does Vincent Price's rap from 'Thriller,' and I totally laughed at that but I don't think the older people around me knew why. So it's kind of like that -- but you should totally go see it. I think you'd like it."
So now you don't need to ask me what 1001 is about because I just told you. It has some really beautiful moments, some jarring and surprising moments, a fantastic six-person cast, and a bitchin' DJ-as-sound board. You should go see it, especially if you don't see much theater and you're in that 20-45 year old age bracket that communicates a lot via e-mail and can recognize a Clash bassline when you hear it and have maybe even seen "Vertigo." I think you'd like it.
On Tuesday, I dropped a quick e-mail to Bret Saunders at KBCO, thinking that his is the perfect demographic for this production and maybe he'd mention the play at some point. On Wednesday my supervisor said, "Oh, someone on KBCO this morning was raving about that play you saw!" Turns out Bret read my e-mail on the air at about 8:30, so maybe I helped pay for my free ticket by getting a couple more butts in seats.
And the icing on this theatrical cake is that on Wednesday evening I got my own Q&A session with the playwright, Jason Grote. I had made his electronic acquaintance via the BCT Yahoo group for theater. So when the Denver Post published the article about 1001, I posted it to the group, and Jason and I e-mailed each other a couple of times about his plans to be here for the opening. He was completely gracious about offering to meet up for a cup of coffee when I told him of my plans to see King Lear on Wednesday, since he would be at the DCPA, too. So we met for about an hour. I followed my introduction by confessing that I hadn't realized how much he'd done until I read his full bio in the program; I knew wasn't a total neophyte, but I sort of thought of him as that playwright on BCT. Even so, this premiere at DCTC is still a big deal, which is why I was doubly impressed that he'd meet up with a local like me about whom he knew nothing. I got a chance to ask him a few questions about the play and how I thought some of the stories folded in on one another. I said that, especially having seen a very fluid performance, I wondered what the "Fuck you, Jason!" moments were that Ethan McSweeney, the director, had talked about in the Post article. While he didn't know of any specific moments, Jason said that he imagined they had to do with working out the tone and transitions, having had a few "Fuck you, Jason!" moments himself while writing the piece.
So I was a bit of a dork with my questions, and he was cool about it, and I came away from our meeting very appreciative of the opportunity to talk about the process with someone who really knows what he's doing. It made me feel again a little bit more like the me I hope to be.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
recap of Jan. 12 Thomas Hampson master class
There's a part of me that really wants to title this post "Why Thomas Hampson Is My New Boyfriend." But I'll refrain from such schoolgirlish claims and try to be a grown-up (even though he really is my new boyfriend).
First of all, mad props to my supervisor who, when told on Thursday afternoon of the master class, said, "Oh, well you have to go," and I don't think she even follows classical music (nor do I think she knows about this blog, unless she's secretly tracking my internet history, in which case -- 'sup?). So I did end up taking Friday off, one of the best decisions I made all week.
When I walked into the recital hall at CU at 12:45, my first and recurring thought was, "I can't believe this place isn't already packed." And although more people came in before the class began, I still don't think there were more than 150 people in attendance: students (although certainly not every student in the CU voice program), faculty, a contingent of Ladies Who Lunch who were probably attending every MahlerFest event, and scattered "independents" like me. Mr. Hampson unassumingly entered the hall from the back of the house to no ovation, though he was greeted by long and enthusiastic applause after being introduced that he good-naturedly cut off with a gesture. We, being the good little musicians that we are, obliged subito.
I'm trying really hard to be mature as I write about this, but the giddy voice student in me is waving her hand for attention like Horshack on Red Bull and just needs to say this: Thomas Hampson is so my new boyfriend. OK, girl, just shake it off.
I was hoping that he'd open the master class with a solo of his own, much like my alma mater's most famous alumna did at the master class she gave when I was still a student (after the applause died down, she just said, "Next!" with a gleam in her eye only a spinto would dare). Alas, he didn't sing, only spoke. Well, that's not exactly true, since he sang along with some students or offered up a phrase here or there to illustrate a point.
But what a speaker he is. A couple of times he said, Don't get me started on the Kindertotenlieder or I'll be here all week. To which my response is, Just name the date and I'll be there. Thomas Hampson posesses all of the qualities a modern American opera singer should have. He carries himself as the trained stage actor he is while being completely accessible and bien dans sa peau. He can swoon when describing the poety in one measure of Mahler's orchestrations one minute and later coach the pianist to bring out more inner harmonies because "that's where the sex is." He can go off on a tangent by saying, "I'm sorry, but this currently accepted interpretation we have of 'Ich grolle nicht' is bullshit!" and go on to explain why without feeling he has to apologize for either assuming that everyone in the room is familiar with the song or for the vulgarity. (He had warned us early on that he has the mouth of a sailor at times, yet another reason he's my... well, you know.) Put together with his intelligence, good looks, and beautiful instrument, he is quite simply the Complete Package.
But what about the class, you ask? Well, there is no way that I can adequately relate all that happened or was said, so rather than continue in paragraph form, I'm switching to bullet copy, roughly organized according to the song under discussion. (All songs composed by Mahler, natch, and all singers and pianists were CU students.)
1. Erinnerung sung by a 20-year-old baritone
First of all, mad props to my supervisor who, when told on Thursday afternoon of the master class, said, "Oh, well you have to go," and I don't think she even follows classical music (nor do I think she knows about this blog, unless she's secretly tracking my internet history, in which case -- 'sup?). So I did end up taking Friday off, one of the best decisions I made all week.
When I walked into the recital hall at CU at 12:45, my first and recurring thought was, "I can't believe this place isn't already packed." And although more people came in before the class began, I still don't think there were more than 150 people in attendance: students (although certainly not every student in the CU voice program), faculty, a contingent of Ladies Who Lunch who were probably attending every MahlerFest event, and scattered "independents" like me. Mr. Hampson unassumingly entered the hall from the back of the house to no ovation, though he was greeted by long and enthusiastic applause after being introduced that he good-naturedly cut off with a gesture. We, being the good little musicians that we are, obliged subito.
I'm trying really hard to be mature as I write about this, but the giddy voice student in me is waving her hand for attention like Horshack on Red Bull and just needs to say this: Thomas Hampson is so my new boyfriend. OK, girl, just shake it off.
I was hoping that he'd open the master class with a solo of his own, much like my alma mater's most famous alumna did at the master class she gave when I was still a student (after the applause died down, she just said, "Next!" with a gleam in her eye only a spinto would dare). Alas, he didn't sing, only spoke. Well, that's not exactly true, since he sang along with some students or offered up a phrase here or there to illustrate a point.
But what a speaker he is. A couple of times he said, Don't get me started on the Kindertotenlieder or I'll be here all week. To which my response is, Just name the date and I'll be there. Thomas Hampson posesses all of the qualities a modern American opera singer should have. He carries himself as the trained stage actor he is while being completely accessible and bien dans sa peau. He can swoon when describing the poety in one measure of Mahler's orchestrations one minute and later coach the pianist to bring out more inner harmonies because "that's where the sex is." He can go off on a tangent by saying, "I'm sorry, but this currently accepted interpretation we have of 'Ich grolle nicht' is bullshit!" and go on to explain why without feeling he has to apologize for either assuming that everyone in the room is familiar with the song or for the vulgarity. (He had warned us early on that he has the mouth of a sailor at times, yet another reason he's my... well, you know.) Put together with his intelligence, good looks, and beautiful instrument, he is quite simply the Complete Package.
But what about the class, you ask? Well, there is no way that I can adequately relate all that happened or was said, so rather than continue in paragraph form, I'm switching to bullet copy, roughly organized according to the song under discussion. (All songs composed by Mahler, natch, and all singers and pianists were CU students.)
1. Erinnerung sung by a 20-year-old baritone
- The text is about love's torment, but the kind that "hurts so good." Made me reflect on the fact that as a 20-year-old, I would've just nodded my head if asked, "Do you know what I mean when I say that?" but wouldn't have really known what I was talking about. Let's just say that 10 or 15 (or more) years later, I have gained new insight. Some songs just weren't meant for the young 'uns.
- The pianist's job is to play the heartbeat in the music, not to accompany the singer.
- Hear the phrase before you sing or play it, then make audible what you hear.
- Think upbow with the phrase, not downbow, both in terms of how you're using your body and how you're breathing.
2. Liebst du um Schonheit sung by a 24-year-old baritone
- To Hampson, this singer seemed to be getting wrapped up in the meaning of the text almost too much, and warned him against making it too personal, which pushes the audience away. Bring the audience to you instead. Our job is not to re-live emotion, but to re-create it for the audience. It reminded me some of the little bit of the Meisner acting technique that I've studied, in which your first job is to stay constantly in the moment with your partner and not get wrapped up in your own emotion. (You might describe Meisner as the "anti-Method.")
- Hampson had this singer work with his physicality through the use of gestures ("pretend you're an alte rebbe with your hands") and through taking steps backward while singing. The point of stepping backward is that it forces you to center and balance your spine, bringing everything else into alignment, and counters the tendency to hunch forward. Hampson's understanding of what he called Anatomy 101 and its impact on singing was on full display. He contends that "there's nothing 'relaxed' in singing, least of all the jaw."
- "When I need more energy or I need help, I move backward."
3. Nun will die Sonn' so hell aufgen sung by a 35-year-old baritone, an age Hampson called "the birth of a baritone's life"
- Here beginneth the Kindertotenlieder lecture series, for which Hampson apologized to the singer for taking up so much of his stage time by talking. But trust me, the audience was eating it up with a spoon.
- To the pianist: "Try not to be musical... play it as polyphony... make it more ambivalent." Hampson's point was that nature is ambivalent, nature doesn't care about humans but that we project emotion onto nature. But the sun rises each day regardless of the death of children, and the pianist must reflect that ambivalence of nature and not get too musical (read: emotional).
- To the singer: "You don't have the right to question the mysteries (of life), but you do have the right to understand them."
- "Profound things may be slow, but very rarely are slow things profound... Don't be slow."
4. Das irdische Leben sung by a 22-year-old mezzo-soprano
- Again, there was physical work with walking backward to find better balance in the body.
- As a mezzo whose technique has never been as good as this student's, I must say that I was impressed with her. But Hampson pointed out that she may eventually find herself more comfortable in a soprano fach, as her upper range was stronger than her middle and lower. He told her, "your idea of singing is stronger than your understanding of your body," and then reprimanded everyone in the audience who thought s/he could have a professional career without working out regularly.
One overriding point made with all the singers is that we must constantly strive for a balance between the physical, the emotional (including all the components in playing a role), and the spiritual. A singer is only as good as her/his weakest moment in maintaining that balance. Which reminds me -- I better start practicing again.
Oh, and one more thing: Thomas Hampson is totally my new boyfriend.
Monday, January 15, 2007
recap of Jan. 10 Broomfield: Early New Mexican Folk Songs
I attended my first free event of 2007 on Wednesday the 10th (no, I didn't make it to 365 Days/365 Plays last week as I'd planned), the first concert in the CU in Broomfield series: Early New Mexican Folk Songs presented by Brenda M. Romero. As the Chair of Musicology at CU and a native of New Mexico, Dr. Romero was able to introduce each song with some historical background and comments on the style of the music.
Despite how relatively close I live to the Broomfield Auditorium, I arrived late. My drive home from work had taken 95 minutes -- mind you, in clear, dry, accident-free conditions -- bringing my grand total for time spent in my car that day to 2 hours 45 minutes. I walked into the house ready to break something or someone; even the good radio stations sound old after that much time spent in traffic. With only minutes to go before the concert was to begin, I decided I wasn't going to let the The Man keep me down, so I quickly ate a PB&J and jumped back in my car.
I could hear an a cappella solo as I entered the auditorium, Dr. Romero's first number, "Bandita sea Diós!" She was gradually joined on stage over the course of the next couple of songs by guitarist Steve Mullins, cellist Carmen Olguín-Taylor, and violinist Alejandro Gómez-Guíllen, each of whom were given the spotlight to perform a solo at different points in the concert.
The first half of the program focused on Spanish songs that had been handed down over the centuries in New Mexico. Dr. Romero described the performance of folk songs in isolated villages essentially as a "private tradition" up until the mid-20th century, in some cases resulting in the preservation of ancient Iberian lyrics and musical forms. This fact was borne out over the weekend when I was watching a PBS program on Alan Lomax in which an old Spanish woman was filmed trying to remember all the words to "Gerineldo," a ballad that Romero also performed.
The PBS connection worked backward in time as well during Romero's comments in the second half regarding inditas. Translated as a diminutive of "Indian woman," indita is now also a term applied to a song form that developed in New Mexico around the same time as the corrido, about which I had just happened to watch a different PBS program the previous weekend. The indita is considered to be more feminine and less agressive, but still concerned mainly with serious subjects and arising out of a troubadour tradition.
Romero apologized early in the concert for her energy level, explaining that she had just returned from research in Colombia the day before and the quartet had really only that day to rehearse. They did seem to have their heads deep in their sheet music for most of the concert, which Romero attributed to their classical approach and which was most notable by its absence in moments when they relied more on eye contact to stay together, such as when providing hand clap percussion during Mullins's muscular flamenco solo. Romero's singing voice is a folk voice, well-suited to the repertoire and on best display when the ensemble worked together more as a folk group. In fact, my favorite part of the 90-minute concert occurred after I thought the whole thing was already over. After performing the final number printed in the program, the ensemble took their bows and left the stage as the audience of about 100+ applauded. I was pulling my gloves on in the lobby when I heard more applause and the beginning of the encores. And this is where the folk sensibility took over, as these were numbers they apparently hadn't had a chance to rehearse yet. Having to rely more on eye contact and a sense of exploring the music together, the players were able to relax and actually started to swing (if that's possible with folk music). I didn't catch the titles of the songs, but in the last one I thought I caught a refrain of "suspirando por tu amor." Now I don't speak Spanish, having done the practical thing as a girl growing up 1980s Los Angeles by studying French for four years, but that seems to be a damn romantic thing to say to someone.
All in all, the best 90 minutes I spent that day.
Despite how relatively close I live to the Broomfield Auditorium, I arrived late. My drive home from work had taken 95 minutes -- mind you, in clear, dry, accident-free conditions -- bringing my grand total for time spent in my car that day to 2 hours 45 minutes. I walked into the house ready to break something or someone; even the good radio stations sound old after that much time spent in traffic. With only minutes to go before the concert was to begin, I decided I wasn't going to let the The Man keep me down, so I quickly ate a PB&J and jumped back in my car.
I could hear an a cappella solo as I entered the auditorium, Dr. Romero's first number, "Bandita sea Diós!" She was gradually joined on stage over the course of the next couple of songs by guitarist Steve Mullins, cellist Carmen Olguín-Taylor, and violinist Alejandro Gómez-Guíllen, each of whom were given the spotlight to perform a solo at different points in the concert.
The first half of the program focused on Spanish songs that had been handed down over the centuries in New Mexico. Dr. Romero described the performance of folk songs in isolated villages essentially as a "private tradition" up until the mid-20th century, in some cases resulting in the preservation of ancient Iberian lyrics and musical forms. This fact was borne out over the weekend when I was watching a PBS program on Alan Lomax in which an old Spanish woman was filmed trying to remember all the words to "Gerineldo," a ballad that Romero also performed.
The PBS connection worked backward in time as well during Romero's comments in the second half regarding inditas. Translated as a diminutive of "Indian woman," indita is now also a term applied to a song form that developed in New Mexico around the same time as the corrido, about which I had just happened to watch a different PBS program the previous weekend. The indita is considered to be more feminine and less agressive, but still concerned mainly with serious subjects and arising out of a troubadour tradition.
Romero apologized early in the concert for her energy level, explaining that she had just returned from research in Colombia the day before and the quartet had really only that day to rehearse. They did seem to have their heads deep in their sheet music for most of the concert, which Romero attributed to their classical approach and which was most notable by its absence in moments when they relied more on eye contact to stay together, such as when providing hand clap percussion during Mullins's muscular flamenco solo. Romero's singing voice is a folk voice, well-suited to the repertoire and on best display when the ensemble worked together more as a folk group. In fact, my favorite part of the 90-minute concert occurred after I thought the whole thing was already over. After performing the final number printed in the program, the ensemble took their bows and left the stage as the audience of about 100+ applauded. I was pulling my gloves on in the lobby when I heard more applause and the beginning of the encores. And this is where the folk sensibility took over, as these were numbers they apparently hadn't had a chance to rehearse yet. Having to rely more on eye contact and a sense of exploring the music together, the players were able to relax and actually started to swing (if that's possible with folk music). I didn't catch the titles of the songs, but in the last one I thought I caught a refrain of "suspirando por tu amor." Now I don't speak Spanish, having done the practical thing as a girl growing up 1980s Los Angeles by studying French for four years, but that seems to be a damn romantic thing to say to someone.
All in all, the best 90 minutes I spent that day.
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