Ranting Details

Get Your RANTING WEAR!

It's that time again!  Time for me to plug the RANTING WEAR SHOP!  Stop by and pick up your Ranting Details, or BIP/BON shirts today! 

(Faithful blog reader Barbara has hers...get yours today!)

Lazy Post Of The Day: Ummm...

After months of hearing about her from my friends, and watching her be ridiculous on YouTube, I finally had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Natalie Weiss at "Glory Days" last Sunday afternoon.  She's a beauty in person, but my god does she just turn into something else entirely on stage?!  This clip, which my friend Andrew just posted, takes her talent to a whole different level.  Beautiful. 

M&M Take Manhattan

Michael Lowney and I tried to start a jump-roping club on the first grade playground at Paxson Elementary.  We were going to charge people some exorbitant fee (was it $25?) to basically stand by us and whip a rope around their heads during recess.  Needless to say...it didn't take off.  But a few of our far fetched dreams from first grade are becoming a reality.  Sixteen years after we first met, Michael is moving to the playground known as New York City. 

It's literally impossible for me to remember how we became best friends; we just were.  I was a bowl-cut sporting transplant from Los Angeles, and he was a Missoulian from down the block who rocked a lisp as confidently as I walked around in bright purple Converse. The universe decided that was a brilliant combination and before I knew it we were locker buddies.  Soon after, our collaborations began. 

It started as an afternoon playing “Aladdin” with our friend Libby Zinke.  She would soon get the boot, but for the time being she was the Jasmine to my Aladdin; Michael played Raja… the tiger.  (I swear I wasn't the bossy one.)  Yet regardless of what role we were playing, something just felt right. 

Paxson Elementary was good to us, but after a year it was time for my family to move out of the school district and Michael and I were torn apart.  Somehow, the change of schools did nothing but bring our friendship closer together. 

Weekends were no longer Saturday and Sunday, but MattMichael Theater days.  The doorbell would ring, and we would fly down the basement stairs.  Blankets became wings that we duct-taped to the ceiling and the boom box was our portable orchestra pit.  The space may have been small, but to Michael and me we were already on Broadway.  From that point on, New York seemed inevitable. 

The years passed, and furniture that once supported our bodies began to creak.  Walls closed in around us like a taut Chinese finger trap and our voices couldn’t sing the parts quite like they used to.  The MattMichael Theater shut its doors on the eve of our thirteenth birthdays.  Until then life had been a constant creative exploration and as the self-consciousness that comes with puberty suddenly cradled us in its arm, we looked at each other and questioned what was next. 

Fortunately, there was a video camera nearby.  Our microscopic theater suddenly opened up and we could run around the neighborhood creating soap operas or murder mysteries that kept our creative energy going.  We got less greedy about the parts, and even let in a few other friends to help balance the raging testosterone “films.” 

Before I knew it, North Carolina School of the Arts beckoned and the change of schools was a bit wider than a school district.  As Southern humidity replaced dry Montana, it became apparent that nothing would ever replace Michael.  Not being able to experience high school with him was painful, but any moment I returned home it was as if I’d just waved goodbye the night before.  Before long, high school was over and Michael moved on to Michigan as I made a home for myself in New York. 

Ann Arbor became a welcome respite from the draining pace of the city.  From my very first visit three years ago, I felt like an adopted member of the class.  So as I sat in the audience at yesterday’s University of Michigan Senior Musical Theater Showcase (with all of New York’s agents in attendance) I was a bit emotional.

(Michael (sitting on the floor) with members of the UMich class of '08.)

All of my friends have evolved so much in the past three years.  Timid was never a word I associated with them, but they took the stage yesterday with such confidence and grace that it made their past selves look timid in comparison.  Standing in the center was Michael, my first grade buddy.  The jeans were tighter, the muscles bigger, and the lisp was no more, but to me he was the same person he was sixteen years ago: a person that inspires me.   

A few minutes into the program, Michael took the stage with two other friends of mine, Derek Krantz, and Garen McRoberts for the fantastic number “Leading Men Don’t Dance.”  Sitting beside my sister, I could feel both of us reminiscing about the gangly, clumsy Michael from the basement.  Effortless notes escaped from his mouth, and I watched as all of the agents around me scanned his headshot and resume.  The number progressed and he delivered the line: “What do you think we are, the corps de ballet?”  His eyes caught mine for a moment and I thought to myself, “My god, we’re here.”  I can’t help but wonder- is it time to start the jump rope club again?

(Trying to look glam with the beauties Lauren, Jess and Michael, after the show yesterday.)

BKLYN (Not that crappy musical)

SORRY FOR THE ABUNDANCE OF PHOTO-HEAVY POSTS RECENTLY.  I'VE BEEN SO BUSY WORKING ON OTHER WRITING PROJECTS THAT I HAVEN'T HAD MUCH TIME!  RANTING IS COMING SOON! 

I'm lucky to have a pool of wonderful people in my life who are experts in the various fields I'm interested in.  My wealth of writer friends are always good for a quick proofread, and the talented photographers who I spend some time with can always direct me to a new magical button to improve my photos.  So when Timur proposed a photo adventure a few weeks ago, I was game.  Here are the results! 

(Tricky bastards!  Trying to get me to jump up and grab the twinkle lights...and cut my hands up.)

(Maybe they should add some tight rope walkers?)

(What is behind this magical door?  Siegfried and Roy?  Bernadette Peters?  Peanut Butter Puffins?  All of the above?!)

(A note to the owner of this gorgeous building overlooking the water: I hate you.  Kisses.)

(Ranting Details headquarters?)

(Timur gives me a lesson while people scream obscenities at the Popemobile across the water.  Seriously.  We just happened to walk around in Brooklyn the day the Pope was getting whisked away.  People weren't so much "screaming" as they were frantically waving scarves.)

(The Pope made the sky neon blue.)

(Branch vs. sky. Who wins?!)

Glassy Essence: Photo Fest (Part Three)

Cedar Lake's performances of Glassy Essence may be over, but the photo fest continues!  Here are the last shots I took at the dress rehearsal.

(Fellow "Wingers" Kristin Sloan and David Hallberg observe the show.)

All photos © Matthew Murphy

Lazy Post Of The Day: As If You Needed ANOTHER Reason

It's no secret that I absolutely love the new musical In the Heights.  The show, which chronicles the lives of a group of Washington Heights residents over the course of a 4-day summer heatwave, is the most fun I've had at a new musical in recent memory. 

Sure, the story is a glossy portrayal of a gritty neighborhood, but the music is infectious, and the cast blows the roof off the theater with each successive number.  Since I've been sick I've had many conversations about how companies and shows can use the internet to market themselves in a creative way; what we have here is perhaps my favorite example of creative, and just plain adorable marketing using the power of YouTube.

(The writer and star of the show, Linn Manuel-Miranda, pulls out some vintage footage from his childhood.  OH MY GOD.  AMAZING.)

(Have you seen "High School Musical 2," and Zac Efron's incredible ridiculous power solo "Bet On It"?  Here is Linn Manuel-Miranda's version.  I love him even more now.) 

Does something like this turn you on to see the show?  Or does it make you run for the next show of Phantom?  Did you NEED another reason to grab a ticket?   

Not Too Feisty

(Sisters.)

You know something is wrong when one of the most exciting moments at a concert is the revelation that you look like Ira Glass.  So describes the evening I spent watching indie songstress Feist at New York City’s Hammerstein Ballroom. 

Ever since I stumbled upon Feist’s CD “Let It Die” three years ago, I can’t seem to get enough of the Canadian chanteuse.  Not even a fraught over article for an upcoming issue of Movmnt profiling the director of her videos, Patrick Daughters, or his overplayed Apple-endorsed clip for “1,2,3,4” could put a dent in my love.  So when I snatched up a trio of tickets and headed to the concert with Abby Ras and David, I expected to be wowed. 

In many ways, I was.  Feist’s voice has a way of escaping from her body directly to your ears; so clear that it cuts through the crowd like an indie angel descended from the heavens with the sole purpose of singing.  There’s barely a hint of vibrato, and more power than would be estimated from her frail body. 

Her powerful instrument was on full display from the moment she appeared behind a screen, straight hair tossing as gently as the white fringe that covered her dress.  A powerful, amped-up rendition of one of my favorite songs, “When I Was a Young Girl,” got things going and for a while it was smooth sailing.  Backed by a small (but loud) band of trumpeters, guitarists, a pianist and a drummer (I’ll get to the overhead projectionists later), she plowed through a collection of her up-tempo numbers in an effort to get the packed ballroom going; it was a feat she never fully accomplished.

(Shadow Feist.)

Sure, there was the occasional romping womanager (woman who behaves like a drunk teenager) who bounced across the front of the balcony.  But she seemed like a lone cheerleader hyped up on Red Bull in a sea full of people who had been slipped ruffies.  Mid-way through the hour-and-a-half set, Feist descended into song after song chronicling heartbreak of the most wrist-cutting degree.  In a venue a quarter of the size (or on my headphones) these songs would have been revealing and poetic meditations delivered by a skilled vocalist; in the cavernous Hammerstein Ballroom they were swallowed whole. 

Perhaps most at blame for the uneven, and ultimately forgettable, evening was the venue of choice.  Feist is an artist who has passed from indie to mainstream and is therefore capable of filling larger venues, but it doesn’t mean she should.  The production of the show was so desperate to maintain its low-budget quirkiness that the enormous crowd of people seemed like a contradiction to the material being presented.

(David was jealous that I found my look alike, so he posed with Matt McConaughey.)

(Abby was even more jealous, so she posed with Mary-Louise Parker.  This picture is 100% real.  Not a bit of Photoshopping.  Abby is just...)

Guitars rotated in and out of Feist’s skilled hands, but one thing remained constant: the only occasionally charming use of an overhead projector as the main design element.  Taken straight from a third grade classroom, the projector screamed hipster-chic, and often required three or four people to operate it.  Fireworks, toe-tapping legs, or feces colored waves filled a small square of light projected on the back wall but only added to the list of things that seemed out of place in the space. 

A few high-octane songs crept into the last half of the set (a rollicking cover of Nina Simone’s “Sea Lion Woman” woke the crowd up) but as she closed the show with a trio of ballads I couldn’t help but feel a tad disappointed. 

Making our way out of the theater, Abby, David and I bemoaned the late start and recounted our disappointment at the unmemorable show.  Standing on the subway platform, I turned around to see my twin Ira Glass staring back at me from an ad for “This American Life.”  Perhaps I shall begin a career posing in subway stations next to the ads.  If I put on Feist’s album, I might be twice as lively as the concert.

(Check out a video of the proceedings above!)

Lazy Post Of The Day: Pinkberry Hilarity

I don't know why I find this video of Jeffery Self's so hilarious, but I thought I'd share it with everyone.  Perhaps it is the great timing between the two combined with the music which puts a smile on my face.  Whatever it is, Pinkberry sure has a way of polarizing its patrons.  Check out the short clip above.   

Time For Glamour

I was 99% positive that my date was Glinda.  With words like “big,” “pink,” and “train” being thrown around on the phone to describe an outfit, my mind came to the conclusion that it was either the good witch or some demonic Elle Woods.  So you can imagine my surprise when I showed up at the State Theater for the New York City Ballet Gala to find my date, principal dancer Sterling Hyltin, not floating down from the heavens in a bubble, but standing, looking beautiful, in a simple pink chiffon Chanel dress. 

By the time I arrived (shortly before the 7 o’ clock curtain) the blustery day had relieved us of its rain, but gusts of wind were still blasting in an effort to destroy the glamorous outfits of the night.  Chiffon and wind don’t mix well, so we opted for a low-key entrance through the stage door instead of walking the red carpet with celebrities like Ethan Hawke, Bernadette Peters, and Lauren Bacall. 

As we made our way up to the promenade, which had been decorated in the colors of a bumblebee, with large firework piñatas sculptures dangling above our heads, we began the true craft of the night: social interaction.  Ballet events always end up being a real life six-degrees of separation game, and chances were that if I turned my head and didn’t know someone, Sterling did.  Old classmates from NCSA, SAB or my college program (LEAP) wandered over to say hello and before we knew it, it was time for the Jerome Robbins Celebration to begin. 

(Hanging out on the promenade with the bees.)

One of the best parts about watching a gala from the front of the house is that all of the dancers who aren’t performing are seated together.  Bundled in the back of the orchestra behind the donors and celebrities, is where you’ll find the real critics/cheering squad.  I was happy to be part of the crowd last night, sandwiched between Sterling and Gonzola Garcia, with my friends Erin Baiano, Julio Bragado-Young and David surrounding me.  It was great to have so much love and support around me, because ballet only becomes harder for me to watch as the months progress. 

Even though I’m taking barre again, it’s a long way from the peak shape I was in a year ago.  Watching all of my childhood friends up on stage last night was difficult, but I was proud of them nonetheless.  Each section of The Four Seasons (which would be a great addition to the ABT rep) brought a new friendly face, and I am always amazed to see how much they have grown since our days at SAB. 

Sara Mearns phrased her “Spring” solo exquisitely, finding ways to stretch out the music that made it seem as pliable as her body.  The word “luscious” has been used to describe her too many times to count, but there’s a reason…it’s true.  In addition to Mearns, Ashley Bouder, Adrian Danchig-Warig, and Tyler Angle (in a debut as “Summer”) danced with confidence and technical prowess that was just developing when we were students together. 

Closing the program was Robbins’ famous “West Side Story Suite,” which I had never seen before.  The cast all danced beautifully (and I was especially proud of Robbie Fairchild and Gina Pazcoguin in their roles as Tony and Anita, respectively) but I wasn’t as crazy about the ballet as I expected to be.  There’s no denying that Robbins’ way of blending the street movement of the gangs with classical technique is genius, and his musicality always manages to have a hint of surprise.  But as a condensed ballet I found that the story didn’t make much of an impact.  There’s little development of the relationship between Tony and Maria (who hardly appears in the ballet at all) so the emotional pull of a song like “Somewhere” is lessened.  As the curtain came down it made me eager to see the full-scale Broadway revival next year.

(Erin and I (with firework growing out of my hair) glam in front of the lens for a change.)

Dancers began to filter out of the theater and I took a deep breath to prepare for the gala dinner that was only minutes away.  It had been a while since I sat at a table full of donors, so when Sterling and I arrived at ours to see that we were separated, I felt my Epstein brain give a desperate gasp; I wouldn’t be able to sit back and let Sterling be the center of attention at the table, I’d have to hold my own.  What followed was a pleasant dinner highlighted by a lively debate (translated by Sterling) between an older man and himself about why ABT “has been so bad in the past two years.” 

Once I had devoured enough cherry pie to keep my mouth shut during his "debate," I excused myself and proceeded to say hello to all of my friends who were scattered about the promenade.  Everyone seemed both excited and terrified at the demanding schedule the Robbins Celebration entails, and it wasn’t long before most of the dancers started to excuse themselves from the festivities in order to get some much needed sleep.  I made my way out the stage door, gift bag in hand, and hailed a cab to whisk me away from the “dance belt” and back downtown.  Emotions swelled through me as the night ended, but I took comfort in knowing that I had the most beautiful date of the evening… who only resembled Glinda in spirit.

(Two lovely ladies: Gina and Erin.)

(Showing off the new outfits.)

(She had to get photographed by the press since we missed the red carpet.)

Things That Make Me Go Ewww

There I was, spending a nice Monday night shopping for Wizard of Oz memorabilia spring cleaning supplies in KMart, when all of a sudden I made a wrong turn.  Paper towels no longer lined the aisles, instead there was an assortment of rainbow colored cereal boxes bombarding my senses.  Now, I was all for the sugary cereals when I was a kid but these take it to another level.  How delicious disgusting can they get?!  I'm surprised they don't have Cinnabon cereal with icing to pour onto it. 

(Not gonna lie...I almost bought this one.)

(Not gonna lie...Eggo cereal makes me PIMM (puke in my mouth).)

(Not gonna lie...EWWWWW.)

What happened to good old fashioned Cookie Crisp?!