Sue Katz: Consenting Adult

Last night I dreamed that I was dancing with Bruno Mars

Last night I dreamed that I was dancing with Bruno Mars. For real. I was at a live performance and he plucked me out of the crowd. The problem was that I can’t follow and so I immediately forced a switch. Bruno understood and surrendered the lead to me. The backup dancers dug it and joined the party. I felt the beat deep in my inner organs. Don’t care what others say about him, there I was dancing with the movement heir of Michael Jackson. For me, Bruno Mars can nod his head and I feel like I’m watching a genius (as he does in Lazy Song). Luckily, I was dancing with the pre-mustache pretty Bruno.

I woke up a happy woman. Until I remembered that I haven’t hardly danced a step for two years. Covid has reduced me to a dreamer: I want to return to being a doer.

Here's a video with a selection of clips of Bruno Mars dancing. Not the smoothest compilation, but gives good tidbit.

 

Film Review: Amazing Grace: Aretha Franklin

Do you want to take a break? Do you want music that lifts you up, talent that brings tears, and comfort all around.

Go see the movie of Aretha Franklin: Amazing Grace, made in 1972 when she was already a massive star. I fell in love with her brilliant, warm mentor James Cleveland and was moved by his Southern California Community Choir. Most of all, I was transfixed by Aretha Franklin's transcendent voice, which is a crucial part of the soundtrack of my life – and that of several generations.

The film was shot during the making of "Amazing Grace, which was both Aretha’s biggest selling album and – to this day – the best-selling live gospel album ever. Sydney Pollack, who was directing for Warner Brothers, made a terrible technical error, which left the audio out of sync. Producer Alan Elliott devoted decades to saving the film, but faced a lot of resistance, including from Aretha herself. A new technical fix and Aretha’s death allowed him to bring it to us now.

It is raw and real and sweaty and full of bloopers, such as the film crew stepping in front of the camera by accident or turning up behind Aretha messing with wires. Interesting guests dot the audience – from her father (oddly invited last minute) to Mick Jagger, hanging out in the back of the room. The vast majority of the audience is members of a Los Angeles Baptist church where they filmed over two nights.

It's simply wonderful. “Don’t bother with tissues. Bring a towel,” said The New York Times.

Confessions of a [email protected] Groupie

Confession time. I am a groupie. I cannot resist a [email protected] performance, even when it generally means driving 2+ hours to Northampton or, as was the case Tuesday night, all the way to Providence, RI, where they had been invited to the previously (to me) unknown Rhode Island College by the College's choir leader.

They gave a huge show, with two full halves, and the College Choir joining in for their signature song, Forever Young. To my mind, the College choir leader was trying to show them how a chorus can create an entire show full of costume changes, brilliant solos, strong group bonds, terrific staging, amazing conducting, all with a live band.

But during the intermission, in the line in the women’s bathroom (so much of my life has passed in such lines), I was behind one of the college girls who was about to perform with [email protected]. I asked her what she thought of the show so far and she squealed, “They’re so cute!” We’re talking here about people in their 70s and 80s and 90s, many of whom have been singing for half a century or more. Cute? Then someone asked her if she’d be on stage with them and she answered with a giggle, “Yes, of course. And they’re such a sweet little bunch.”

I’m afraid her condescension, her stark ageism, and her inability to recognize talent and professionalism right before her eyes kinda dulled the second half for me. [email protected] works their asses off to maintain the standards they have established in their 37 years of performing. They travel abroad. The 10-year-old documentary made of them is one of the 50 top docus of all time. They do new material constantly. What more does that little fool want?

Anyway, I’ve seen [email protected] at least dozen times and I will continue to be a devoted fan. I started out as a journalist reviewing them. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then I had to admit it. I hunger for my twice yearly dose of their talent and their community. I’m a groupie.

Here's one of my favorite clips:

 

 

Postmodern Jukebox Disappoints Bigtime

 

First let me declare that I love the Lowell Summer Music Series held outdoors at Boarding House Park, 40 French St. You come early to set up your chairs in a spot where you might be able to see well – the locals are permitted at 7:00am to set down blankets and chairs. Friday there were such torrential rains prior to the performance that when we got there only two hours early, we were able to snag a great location.

I’ve seen some great acts at this Lowell event – notably kd lang. And I was excited about seeing a Postmodern Jukebox concert, having only seen them on YouTube, which is where their founder, Scott Bradlee, made his mark. He’s taken to applying a 1940s styling to songs from many eras. When I think of Postmodern Jukebox I think of standards or songs that will become standards, such as “It’s All About the Bass.”

This concert however, was a major disappointment. The songs were unfamiliar, they had no beat, they all kinda mushed together. There were a series of attractive singers with various vocal tricks – one holds a very long note, another a very high note – but what were they singing? My bestie described them as “flattening down” every song. Not a single solitary song was danceable and I do know danceable. Moreover, outside venues like this always attract those irritating people who crowd the stage, blocking everyone else’s view with their wildly waving hands and the peculiar foot movements they themselves call dancing. The M.C. repeatedly invited people to just get up and dance and – as proof that there was no rhythm or pulse to their music – not a single person stood up.

Postmodern Jukebox has become a homogenous package of various touring groups all dressed up in 40s outfits and singing, well, singing porridge. I’ll just add that the tap dancer included in this cast was fun, but his spins left this audience member wishing he’d come take some West Coast Swing lessons.

E Tu, Bruno Mars?

In such hard times, we each indulge desperately in our treats. For me there are the rugalach from Sandy in CA – lovingly removed from the freezer, one each week; there are the new cupcakes which Jess sent in the mail from D.C.; and there is television. In these gloomy days, I have a heightened excitement about upcoming shows I think might make me forget for 30 or 60 minutes all the foul fumes hovering around me.

A couple of weeks ago I saw the announcement of a Bruno Mars special on CBS, Live from the Apollo. I’m a Mars geek, I admit it, and I’m not ashamed. Supposedly this show was going to be a greatest hits kinda thing. I knew better than to expect to hear my early hit faves (love the videos) from Doo-Wop and Holligans, like “The Lazy Song” and “Grenade.” But I did expect a good dose of 24K Magic, as the special was billed that way.

Instead I got an over-produced mix of Vegas flashing lights and faux-Broadway homogeneous melodies, seemingly choreographed by American Idol and using the screaming, screeching audience of Dancing with the Stars. I had cleared the living room. I was ready to dance. Instead I got seconds of a recognizable tune followed by soppy melodrama. The theme seemed to be: Look at Bruno! I’ve become a sex symbol.

Remember what a sweet thing Bruno was singing “Just the Way You Are?” Not in this show. It opens with him running around Harlem as if he was hearing about it for the first time, and blessing it with his presence. He caused girls, girls, girls to be all aflutter as he bopped down the street or leaned out of his car passing out free tickets to the Apollo. He said he had rented the hall, lined up the band and the backup, and was doing all the inviting. Amazing how he managed to fill the hall in gorgeous slender women in their 20s, all weepy with love, waving their hands in unison, and singing along to lyrics of songs I could not recognize. Oh, and then there was Mary, wearing her red dress, an older woman he met on her Harlem stoop whom the producers had placed alone in a box over stage right so that Bruno could patronize her with a love song.

He started out with his band on top of the marquee – the crowd down below was perfectly coordinated in their hand-waving – and then he moved inside. In one section he did an implicit turn as a wannabe Michael Jackson in a red sorta-Thriller-like jacket. He moved into a Motown-ish set: it was soothing at first but then song after song was arranged by someone with little to no courage or creativity. It was boring.

Worst of all, Bruno did gross exaggerated pelvic thrusts – ruining on the spot his rep as a cool dancer, while the young women screamed and hollered. Really? Who get the vapors over hyperbolic humping? When explaining to a friend why I was giving up an evening of West Coast Swing to stay home with a spliff and my 32” non-HD TV, I said that I considered Bruno the heir to Michael’s dance crown. I take it back.  

I thought I’d have one night off from misery, but I was wrong. I hold tRump responsible, of course, if not Putin.

[email protected]: The Chorus of Elders I Cannot Resist

Why do I go to every possible [email protected] choral concert year after year – even though it’s a two-hour drive each way? Because I am always moved to the point of crying multiple times (three times tonight) during the show; and because I experience joy when I see and hear them, something otherwise too much absent in my life. The chorus is made up of elders and is based in Northampton. Yesterday’s matinee was titled “Mash-Up” and featured collaborations.

First the bad news. Their first collaborators, the Brooklyn Youth Chorus Men’s Ensemble, proved to be the absolute antithesis of [email protected] The “men” were young teens. Their uptight control-freak conductor Kristopher Burke, his neon orange socks aside, took about a dozen lads, denied them of their right to smile, sway, or move their arms which were uniformly rigid at their sides. The guys were stripped of all personality and their music of all passion. Instead of even a hint of choreography, the kids stood in uniform stiffness. They were such a contrast to [email protected], who shake their aging tail feathers a good deal, that I felt they may have been invited to collaborate as a surreptitious means of exposing them to the possibilities of music to enrich and excite life. Free the “Men’s” Ensemble!

The good news is that [email protected]’s continuing work with inmates at prisons has produced enduring close relationships. See the clips below for two of their prison project performances. Several of the inmates (or former-inmates) have become integral add-ons to [email protected] Daniel McNair and Jesse Carrillo, two very different singers, created duets and confident solos and entered the fabric of this amazing group of elders.

The group’s standard encore performance is Dylan’s “Forever Young,” and this time the lead-off soloist was one of the young guys from this project. I weep at their rendition every time as I watch the [email protected] regulars age and become frail, even as they persist is creating gorgeous music. They are so professional in their work that when one singer collapsed on stage, three of the strongest got her up, moved her to a chair just off-stage, got her water and a blanket, and quickly returned to their places onstage to continue singing. It was the intersection of “the show must go on” and the culture of caring their amazing musical director Bob Cilman has created. The material they perform is full of social commentary, resistance, and hope, not the least member John Rinehart's heartbreaking rendition of "A Change is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke.

One postscript: [email protected]'s newest sponsor is NETA Medical Marijuana Dispensaries. When Bob announced this (and clearly it's a match made in heaven), the crowd cheered. He said, "I'm glad I live in this bubble!"

Check out the clips and the documentary listed below and share in the joy.

[email protected] Chorus performs "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan with soloists Elaine Fligman (RIP), Jack Schnepp, Lenny Fontaine (RIP), and Eileen Hall (RIP) in the prison scene from the film "[email protected]" now available on DVD and iTunes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ouyC24IFlo

[email protected] performs live with the Old Souls, an all-male inmate chorus at the Hampshire County Jail and House of Correction, on May 9, 2015 concert in the prison for inmates and staff, as part of The [email protected] Prison Project. Soloists are John Rinehart and Chris Barre. Filmed & Edited by Kazuhiko Iimura.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDz1KSiJ8QM

The documentary about [email protected]:

http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/young-at-heart/

 

[email protected]: Best Chorus Ever Celebrates 35 Years

My favorite chorus in the world, [email protected], opened their 35^th anniversary concert in their home base of Northampton, Massachusetts, with what I consider a political rock opera called “Welcome to Your Life!” The Director, Bob Cilman, a musical and social magician, describes this work-in-progress as “a musical theater piece with circus as its theme.” It is to underpin an upcoming 2018 collaboration with the Show Circus Studio of Easthampton, but really the concept of circus was not my dominant impression.

To me, each and every selection was a rebellious finger to the present political climate. After all, they started with “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” (performed by Norman Moreau) before pointing out the “Lies” (Eileen Litke). They moved through a paranoid “Somebody’s Watching Me” (Andy Walsh) and “Life During Wartime” (Anita Shumway). The 14-song set culminated in a magnificent rendition by soloist John Rinehart of Sam Cooke’s “Change is Gonna Come,” a song Cooke wrote after he and his entourage were turned away from a whites only motel in Louisiana. It became a civil rights anthem.

For the second set, the chorus changed out of its white shirts, black ties and pants, and black fedoras, for more elegant and sparkly individual black outfits. They sang of Cinco de Mayo, of mothers – joined by two talented daughters, and finished, as always, with the ever-moving “Forever Young.”

The chorus members, most of whom were born in the 1920s and 1930s, stand on that stage from start to finish for the show. When they exit, it is clear than many have mobility limitations and need canes or walkers. A couple of male soloists in their 90s had to be assisted to the microphone, but once there, every singer stood tall and confident, and generally had a bit of a dance while performing. The live band is fantabulous and clearly shares a powerful and affectionate connection with the singers.

It took us three full hours to drive from Boston to Northampton in relentless rain and wretched Friday traffic to be in time for the show. We didn’t get there in time to take up our dinner reservation, but thankfully they sold buttered popcorn at intermission. By luck, I was seated next to a charming stranger who is connected to the Chorus and is a stranger no more. This new buddy added another layer of pleasure to an incredibly joyful experience of [email protected] I always leave their show with the regret that, while I can dance, I ain’t much of a singer, so I can’t join the chorus.

[email protected] covers a remarkable range of songs – from Bruce Springsteen to the Rolling Stones to Buffalo Springfield to Radiohead. No song is too edgy or too difficult for Cilman’s demanding direction. They also welcome collaborations with a twist, whether with No Theater, breakdancers, a young salsa troupe, or people who are incarcerated at the prisons where [email protected] works to bring music to those who most need it.

During the second set, Bob Cilman tearfully spoke of his mother who, at 98, decided that her home town wasn’t hip enough and came to Northampton to live. At 99, she was in the audience. He announced that they were planning a show – the theater is already booked – for her 100^th birthday. I wept – we all did. It is the same day as the birthday of my dear friend, Barry, with whom I’ve been following this Chorus since the early 2000s. We’ll be there.

All photos by Barry Hock

Here is a clip of [email protected] performing on Ellen:

And here is the trailer for the fabulous documentary about them made a few years ago:

Gladys Knight – I’m Missing the Pips (Concert Review)

I saw Gladys’ solo act last night in the City Hall auditorium in a former industrial town called Lynn about 23 miles away from where I live. Born in 1944, Gladys is now 72 – three years older than me. She looked (from the excellent seats we snuck into once the lights went down) like someone in her 40s or early 50s – cool haircut, bling-decorated blue gauzy pants outfit, and high heels that she surely wanted to kick off at her first opportunity. It was those heels that bothered me the whole 96 minutes (no intermission) that she was onstage. I kept thinking that wearing them at this point in her life for every show was just about too great a price for any woman. What, after all, is the point of becoming an elder (she has sixteen grandchildren and six great-grandchildren) if you can’t rock elasticized pants, upholstered shoes, and braless / spanx-less outfits? Or am I projecting?

Gladys Knight has had four husbands, but the most wrenching separation for me as a fan was when she left the Pips to go solo in 1987. In the early 1970s I was lucky enough to see them live several times. I realize now that for me, the Pips (made up of her brother Merald "Bubba" Knight and her cousins Edward Patten and William Guest) were the key to my love of the act. I saw them about the time they were wrapping up with Motown ("If I Were Your Woman" and "Neither One of Us - Wants to Be the First to Say Goodbye”) and moving over to Buddha Records ("Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me" and “Midnight Train to Georgia"). I didn’t just love the Pips: I wanted to be a Pip. I wanted to wear those matching suits and do those smooth moves. (See clip below.)

This City Hall auditorium is Lynn’s main venue and it resembles a 1950s high school auditorium, complete with perfectly functional bathrooms that seem scaled down to say 2/3 the size of today’s stalls and bathroom fixtures. Worked for me. The audience seats were simple but more comfortable than most movie houses. The staff and volunteers were proud, chatty, and excited to be hosting big stars. The sound system was cranked up to an unfortunately murky level and the speakers seemed unable to handle the high level of reverb. I love supporting regional performance and theatre venues, but it’s hard to admire a singer whose sound is being muddied.

Her performance was more Broadway-diva than Rock-&-Roll Hall of Fame. It was all about her astonishing pipes and the fact that, without the slightest doubt, she still has it. She did Streisand and her four young backup singers did a set of Prince. She did a lot of diva covers, numbers from musicals and whatnot, and only a few of her hits from the days of the Pips. For those following her career all along, that was fine I’m sure. For someone like me who stopped buying her LPs when she and the Pips parted, it was not exactly what I was hoping for.

Her patter between songs was long and canned, full of homilies that were vaguely spiritual and perhaps reflecting her 1997 conversion from Baptist to Mormon. There was little spontaneity, although there were two raw moments. She made a quick, quiet side comment about missing the Pips. (Me too!) And she made an uncharacteristically snide remark about Marvin Gaye stealing “Heard it Through the Grapevine” from her. Her 1967 version was Motown’s best-selling single in Motown history up to that point, but when they released Gaye’s recording the following year, it became a much bigger hit. (Apparently, though, he had recorded it before her but Motown released hers first.) Gladys Knight did go on to talk about Marvin’s genius and all.

The crowd was my age, her age, and mixed Black and white. I expected that people would be dancing in the aisles, but in fact that only happened on her last song, when she told us to stand up and party.

Watching her all made up and perfect and thin and gorgeous and singing all around the stage at 72, my overwhelming feeling was gratitude that I was no longer ambitious and that being beautiful was never for a moment a goal I set for myself. The flawed sound system did not stop her fans from being amazed at her vocal longevity. And she herself reminded us, from start to finish, perhaps a dozen times, that she is an elder, that she is old, and that aging is her dominant present reality. I could relate.

 

Four Nights in the Berkshires – June/July 2015

New England offers many groovy summer destinations, but few places in the world concentrate so many top-notch cultural opportunities as the Berkshires. These include the internationally-famous classical music festival at Tanglewood; perhaps the country’s most interesting dance village, Jacob’s Pillow (vintage photo on left); arts festivals, theaters, and dead writers/artists homes. And the landscape is phenomenal. You can get to the Berkshires from Boston in two to three hours. I love vacations I can drive to, but still feel that I’ve entered new ether. The Berkshires is creative and visual catnip, with its well-preserved old homes, dazzling landscaping everywhere, broad emerald lawns, rivers, and lakes. Just driving around the well-kept roads (compared to Boston’s pock-marked streets) is a vacation in and of itself.

This report covers a four-night stay in the Berkshires and gives you the flavor, if not a blueprint, of how to experience cultural immersion without exhaustion. I tried to include one daytime and one evening experience each day, with a few food and accommodation tips as well.

Monday, June 29
Despite the 10-mile backup on the Mass Pike due to road works that delay me by an hour or so, and a GPS that seems to believe that the longest possible route is the only choice, I arrive at my Airbnb condo in Housatonic with delight at how spacious, modern, handsome, and comfortable it is. If you’re headed this way and you’re looking for a two-bedroom rental, I recommend Alicia’s place. Check it out here.

I cruise to the nearby working class town of Great Barrington only to find my favorite second-hand and vintage stores are no more. I window-shop past a real estate office and even go scope out a couple of nearby, affordable ($200,000-ish) riverside condos. I skip the Monterey (nearby and fancy) listings that all hover close to $2 million. I return to Housatonic, stopping for dinner at the Brick House Pub (don’t miss the seductive sweet potato fries.)

Tuesday, June 30
BERKSHIRE CANOE TOURS
I start the cloudy day on the Housatonic River with Hilary Bashara of Berkshire Canoe Tours. My podiatrist had recommended her. Hilary is gregarious, knowledgeable, and besotted with the Housatonic River, which she’s lived close to her entire life. Bring a hat and sunglasses and she’ll supply you with a kayak or canoe and escort you through this exquisite part of the river. The water is like a mirror and because it is late June after a rainstorm, the banks are a palate of greens dotted with copious wildflowers. Hilary can spot turtles from across the water; she can name every bird and tell you how they organize their lives; and she knows more about beavers than beavers themselves. This is a unique Berkshires opportunity, and, rain or shine, it’s the perfect day-time foreplay to an evening of music, theater, or dance.

SHAKESPEARE AND CO
There are a ton of wonderful theatres to visit in the Berkshires area, but the one I try never to miss is Shakespeare and Co in Lenox. Like their famous cousins - Jacob’s Pillow and Tanglewood – this company sits on a large campus with multiple buildings and provides both performance and educational programs, as well as Intensives for professional actors. Founded in 1978 by Tina Packer, they now have over 30 staff, 150 artists, and serve 60,000 theatre-goers every year. Their robust youth educational effort includes kids known to the juvenile justice system.

Tonight I’m seeing their Henry V, in which eight talented actors play all the roles of Henry V in a style this company calls “bare Bard” – no scenery or elaborate sets. The director Jenna Ware’s staging is impressively rich considering that she only employs chairs, cloths, chests, and the actors’ costumes on an otherwise empty stage. From that she creates a fire, a fence, gallows, and a castle. Henry V is about war and class, and about how marriage between enemy aristocratic families is used as political glue.

In an interesting twist from Shakespeare’s day when men used to play all roles, here we have women playing men’s roles. The intimacy of the small theatre amplifies the emotional impact of this Henry V, not the least the scene of a gallows hanging that delivers a disturbing jolt to the audience.

The rest of this year’s season at Shakespeare and Co is varied, for not only do they mount Shakespearean plays and other classic work, they also present contemporary works with social relevance for a casual and hip audience.

Wednesday, July 1
ARROWHEAD
Many writers’ homes have been turned into museums in the Berkshires, an area so naturally beautiful that it attracts bundles of creative people. Edith Wharton’s home, The Mount, is perhaps the best known author’s residence. But Herman Melville’s home, Arrowhead, in Pittsfield is truly a gem. The hourly tours are full of the inside dope on the life of Melville.

My erudite tour guide, Barbara, outlines Melville’s lifelong connection to the Pittsfield area and then hones in on the 13 years of 1850-1863 – before and in the early years of the Civil War – that Melville spent in this fairly simple farm house. Melville built a piazza (porch) on the north side for its view of Monument Mountain. The house was originally built on 150 acres in the 1780s and has been in the hands of the Historical Society for 40 years, serving about 5,000 visitors each season, according to Peter Bergman, head of their public relations, and a writer himself.

Using a quill pen, Melville finished Moby Dick and several other books in his study by keeping to a strict writing schedule, but was never able to make a living from his writing. Despite financial help from his father-in-law, a Revolutionary patriot and the Chief Justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court, Melville had to leave the Berkshires for a Customs House job in NYC. (His friend and mentor Nathaniel Hawthorne also did a stint in a Customs House.)

Of the four children he had with his wife Lizzie, Melville outlived both sons, and only one daughter married and had children. He turned the details of his life experience into literature and, for his readers, a visit to his home gives added layers to his work.

TAFT FARMS
A girl has got to eat and luckily Taft Farms is just down the road in Great Barrington. Founded in 1961, it has remained a Tawczynski family endeavor for generations. Besides its totally fresh-from-the-earth fruits and vegs, they have a bakery that is scandalously fabulous. I started with the most perfect biscuits (no sugar), scones (just like the best in the UK), baguettes (took my taste buds to France), mac & cheese (hard not to overeat), but most of all, the most scrumptious rhubarb and strawberry pie.


JACOB’S PILLOW
Jacob’s Pillow is, for me, the jewel in the crown of the Berkshires. As a dance center, it is unique and exhilarating. There are three main performance areas, all of which I will enjoy today and tomorrow.

The biggest theater space is the Ted Shawn Theatre, named after the founder and continuing inspiration for Jacob’s Pillow. Dance companies the world over aspire to be invited to this premiere venue. Tonight I see the incomparable tap company Dorrance Dance with Toshi Reagon and her BIGLovely band in a collaboration called The Blues Project. In fact, I saw this show in Boston some months ago and when Dorrance announced that she would be performing at Jacob’s Pillow, I decided that I would follow her to the Berkshires.

Prior to the show, a Jacob’s Pillow resident scholar, Suzanne Carbonneau, gives a riveting pre-performance lecture. (This is a regular JP tradition and service.) Michelle Dorrance is credited with the rebirth of tap dance popularity in what the lecturer says is its second golden age. Its heyday was during the 1920s and 30s. “Tap,” Carbonneau tells us, “is the danced blues… It’s the encounter of African and European cultures… The history of tap is the history of America.”

The Blues Project (photo: Morah Geist) bears that out. A truly diverse range of bodies, ages, ethnicities, races, talents, and backgrounds makes the combination of this extraordinary dance company with this magic jazz band especially exciting. The works involve changing combinations of dancers in choreography, interspersed with improvised solos. The sublime moment comes when Dorrance and Reagon form a duet, with Reagon singing “I can’t stop myself from falling down.”

The company injects lindy hop, hip hop, acrobatics, and jazz into tap, holding it all together with an attitude that is full of rhythm and of admiration between the band and the dancers. Although the performance seems both shorter and slightly less intense than their Boston debut of this work, there are few dance companies that can match their sensational work in The Blues Project.


Thursday, July 2, 2015
HOUSATONIC RIVER WALK
Housatonic River Walk in Great Barrington is just a few lovely blocks of a wooden path created and maintained by 2,300 local volunteers with the permission of home and property owners. It's a lovely day for a stroll and I do love rivers, having grown up in a town formed by three of them.

This civic effort is one of many attempts to deal with the contamination of the Housatonic by the General Electric company which dumped PCBs into the water. When this crime came to light, it seems to have infuriated the entire Berkshires population. It’s been mentioned to me every time the river is referenced.

JACOB’S PILLOW
I am back to Jacob’s Pillow for three different activities. First I take the tour of the huge campus that is offered twice weekly by one of the 33 interns accepted to the program this summer. (There are 25 full-time staff.) This young woman tells the story of Ted Shawn’s marriage and dance collaboration with Ruth St. Denis. Oddly enough, she understates that “the marriage did not work out,” and moves to describe Shawn’s most famous dance creation, Ted Shawn and His Men Dancers, who performed across the country ostensibly as a way to make dance okay for guys. The surviving footage and photos show a highly homoerotic choreography and in fact Shawn went on to have two long relationships with men, first with a company member and later with a stage manager.

I am bothered by the de-gaying of Jacob’s Pillow throughout my time there this year. Even when they announce the annual Out Weekend (July 4th), they do it without saying any of the queer words. LGBTQ people think of Jacob’s Pillow as a gay venue and I see many gay people at all the performances. The reluctance to speak with candor about Shawn and about the Out Weekend, which is really the high point of the season with a gala party and all, is perplexing.

I also cannot help noticing that anyone with a microphone – those introducing, lecturing, guiding, announcing – are all white, the majority women. For arguably one of the most important dance institutions in the country, that’s a missed opportunity. American dance, of course, owes a great deal to African-American performers, choreographers, and musicians.

The second of the three performance venues is Inside/Out, a floor with no walls or roof, perched atop a hill where dance students perform. Imagine a rough amphitheater. The performances are free and it is always standing-room-only. Tonight I see two dance troops from Williams College who drum and stomp their way into the audience’s heart with their African- influenced repertoire.

The third venue is the Doris Duke Theatre, smaller but more modern than the Ted Shawn theatre. Companies that are on their way up the professional ladder appear here. Tonight I see the L.A. troupe Bodytraffic, after a pre-performance discussion by Resident Scholar Maura Keefe. She outlines the four pieces by separate choreographers that comprise their program.

Although co-directed by Lillian Barbeito and Tina Finkelman Berkett, only the latter is present and dancing with the company. Berkett is, in fact, such an extraordinarily accomplished dancer, that she outshines the rest of her company. The men who work with her are more prominently featured than the women in Bodytraffic (photo credit: Christopher Duggan). However, since Berkett appears in all four pieces, it is hard to take one’s eyes off of her. Following the program, there is a charming Q&A with Berkett, moderated by Keefe. One of the dancers has Barbeito on his phone on Skype listening in right off-stage.

Jacob’s Pillow has a magnificent line-up of companies throughout the summer, and no visit to the Berkshires should skip the campus, with its worn wooden structures and sense of neighborhood. There is a pub, a restaurant, an ice-cream vendor. There is a photographic gallery and a dance archive. There is a dance school, including classes open to the community. There is space for top professionals to have artistic retreats to work out new choreography – filling the gap created by New York’s wildly expensive rehearsal space. There are places to picnic and people watch, with a break to check out the cool stuff in their store. Ain’t nothing like it nowhere.

Friday, July 3, 2015
I only have time to pack up, clean up, and lock up in the morning. I feel reluctant to leave the Berkshires for the city. To compensate myself, I make a pit stop at Tafts Farm. I've ordered a pie to take home. And some biscuits. And some mac and cheese. For days, back in Boston, I will have taste bud reminders of four days and nights well-spent in the Berkshires.

What I Saw on Eurovision

When I lived in London I had a Eurovision party every year. For you Americans who don’t know, the Eurovision Song Contest is a cheesy pop music competition that takes up a lot of oxygen each year. Its most famous winners were Abba in 1974 (for Sweden). Their “Waterloo” really was the quintessential Eurovision finger-snapper. Julio Iglesias (Spain) and Celine Dion (Switzerland) were the other two names that are still remembered. Last night I was able to follow it via livestream.

This year featured a mighty cold-war battle between good and evil and I was cheering for the good. Austria’s entry was Conchita Wurst, a queer bearded beauty in a ball gown. She sang “Rise Like a Phoenix” with some strong and appealing pipes and, on every level, gave the best performance. She also represented the forces of progress, saying after accepting the trophy, “I felt like tonight Europe showed that we are a community of respect and tolerance.” People around the world knitted and wore beards in solidarity, including the official representative from Austria. Here’s Conchita's performance.
 

And here’s an interview with her in which she discusses her sense of identification – not as a trans person, as many assumed, but as a drag artist:
 

Hungary’s singer, András Kállay-Saunders, on the other hand, wrote a song about child abuse and domestic violence, with a couple of dancers acting out the violence behind him as he sang. Eurovision was a truly unsettling setting for such a thing. It should have come with a trigger warning for all the women trying to have their usual Eurovision night of silly ironic cheer. It was disturbing. I’ll skip the video, even though he meant well.

The evil I referred to earlier was Russia. Every time their strange act got some points (the voting is largely political and each country awards the big points to their patrons and allies), there was an uncharacteristic but massive booing from the crowd. Russia was represented by twin sisters Anastasia and Maria Tolmachevy, former Junior Eurovision winners. At 17, one can’t really blame them for the bizarre staging. They started out attached by pony-tail hairpieces, then sprung free only to land on either side of a see-saw. Pathetic, yes. But clearly the audience wasn’t pissed off at them, but rather at Putin. Eurovision is Europe’s campest annual event and there were apparently a lot of gay audience members feeling out of sorts with Russia. Here's their video, but I wouldn't bother.
 

Finally, in order not to end on a downer, my honorable mention goes to Denmark’s Basim, whose danceable “Cliché Love Song” was all very Bruno Mars, without Bruno or his choreography.