Ranting Details

So You Think You Can Judge People?

Every year there are a few tell-tale signs that summer has arrived; the subway ride to work suddenly feels like you are at the pit of the earth, everyone starts wearing the same popular sunglasses of the year, I start to have panic attacks and Mary Murphy pops out her pearly whites (aka huge veneers).

“So You Think You Can Dance” has resumed its monopoly on my summer TV experience in all of its tacky glory. The crown jewel of this guilty pleasure is Mary Murphy who gives Paula Abdul a run for her money in the “Who’s The Wackiest Judge in the Middle?” competition. While Paula claps like she’s a seal on heavy sedatives, Mary Murphy cackles like she’s a witch who couldn’t put down the laughing gas and I love every minute of it. I propose a celebrity death match between the two although the probability of either being able to do anything but clap with lazy eyes, spew rambling endearment or scream like there’s a porcupine under their butt is rather low. Some would argue that would be enough for them to each spontaneously combust after mere seconds. While Mary Murphy never ceases to bring some laughs, the show as a whole seems to become increasingly crueler as the seasons pass.

It’s no secret that cruelty creates enjoyable reality TV but sometimes it’s just amazing how far past the line the producers can go. Last year it was the belittling of ribbon dancer Anthony Johnson who went to NCSA with me, and this year the list seems to be rapidly increasing. Obesity, insanity and physical ailments are all ripe for exploitation. Going through the talent pool during the audition rounds of any of these shows is always tedious because they neglect showing the people whose talent passes them through in favor of people like this mask wearing golden tied “jump dancer.”

Even though I’ve lessened my TV viewing a considerable amount over the past year, I still hold a place for this guilty pleasure, which has welcomed itself back into our homes this week. If only we could fast forward through these boring audition episodes and get to the actual competition already. Hidden among the seizure paced editing I spotted former ABT dancer Danny Tidwell turning up a storm, which only makes me more curious to see how far he will get. He’s such a talented dancer in so many styles, I can’t imagine that he won’t be incredibly successful throughout the competition.

Mountains Help Heal the Mono.

(This giant bear is the first thing one sees upon exiting the plane. What would I do without beautiful Montana decoration? I'm thinking of getting a replica for my apartment just so I feel a little more at home.)

Making the decision to come home to Montana was something that I wrestled with for several weeks. Sitting on my couch day in and day out I kept hoping that I would wake up one morning with a miraculous amount of energy and step back to some sense of normalcy. With each passing day that hope began to look less and less likely as my body refused to show substantial improvement. It wasn’t until I was in a cab, riding up to see a show at the Met for the first time this season that I decided it was time to escape the city.

Within me there was something that was linking going home with defeat even though it really is anything but. My body has already been rather defeated for the past six weeks so making the decision to come home and rest shouldn’t have felt like anything but common sense. Being involved with a profession that keeps me so active on a regular basis has made this illness even more difficult to deal with and the inability to describe it is something that drives me crazy. Citing mere fatigue to a group of dancers performing at the Met doesn’t really register and I can’t blame them. We’re all tired all the time so what makes my illness any different? The best way I have been able to describe it is that my blood feels like it has been replaced with lead which is slowly leaking out of me. Some moments I get a surge of energy only to find the next minute I crave nothing but my pillow.

(The other beast of Montana, my dog Mazie grazes in a cow like stupor in my backyard. Grass?! What's that? Sitting out here certainly beats crawling out onto my fire escape for fresh air.)

All of this has brought up the interesting ideas of faith. People keep trying to reassure me that I will get better but when you are submerged within it, that outcome just seems intangible. Yet I have to keep having faith that things will improve and that this is happening for some reason larger than the surface. Even in the face of something vicious (which let’s face it, there are MUCH worse things in the world than having Epstein Barr) how do you maintain a positive mindset? It really involves a lot of mind over matter but with a somewhat diluted mind, this task has been extremely difficult for me.

“Living in the moment” is one of many clichéd phrases that has infiltrated the vocabulary of well-wishers everywhere but it is increasingly important to me. Sitting here in my bed in Montana I can’t help but wish that I had been able to come home a few weeks earlier, yet what good will that wishing do me? At the time I wasn’t emotionally or physically ready so I can’t get anything useful from wishing I had been. On top of wishing for changes in the past, I am constantly plagued by projecting to the future, which also does me no good at all. The most I can hope for each morning is a handful of good hours that will breed a more positive mind and body for the next day.

It still stuns me that almost 1/6th of my year has already been devoured with activity that can at best be described as severely limited. When I am healthy again I feel like I will have a much fresher perspective on living in the moment and I am eager to put that to use. When will that time come? I have no idea but until it does I am going to do my best to enjoy the open sky and fresh air of Montana while continuing on my music, movies and books rampage.

(I encountered this lovely sight yesterday while taking a walk around the University of Montana. More bears!!!!)

Backstage with Buddha.

Last week I made the decision that despite my emotion over not being a part of (at least) the first half of the season at ABT I needed to go up to the Met. I knew it would be a hard evening seeing all of my friends dancing and my dressing room spot as bare as the day I first moved into it, but it was also something that I had to get out of my system. Suddenly all of my friends that had been able to come to visit were consumed performing 8 shows a week and I wanted to show some support despite being sidelined. "La Bayadere" has never been one of my favorite ballets but sometimes those are the ones I get some of my favorite pictures during. It was also the very first ballet I ever performed with ABT and listening to the music at the beginning of the ballet brought back vivid flashbacks of my first time marching out onto the stage in my warrior costume. Had I been performing it this time, I would have done several other parts (including Fakirs) but no one can rock the wig quite like Blaine can so perhaps it's best that I didn't even try. It's amazing how much things can change in a few seasons and my Met row is a perfect example. Between promotions and people leaving, the six of us have dwindled to four and now three with my absence. Some of my favorite times of the year come sitting on the row with those boys between rehearsals and shows, so checking in was a must.

(Craig looks a little "peaked" (as one staffer described my appearance when I first got sick) as he prepares for his return to stage as the wild and crazy lead Fakir. Even though he has left my row for the soloist room, he assured me he still visits.)

(Meanwhile, Grant makes sure to avoid ever looking "peaked" by getting his beauty rest in the lounge. PHOTO BY ARRON SCOTT.)

(Blaine stepped away from the row for a minute to perfect his hair. What a masterpiece it is! It's kind of a cross between Cher and something out of the Flinstones. The combo equals heaven, obviously.)

(Who knew that it could get any better? As soon as he donned the mesh loin cloth body suit he had taken his look to Bjork red carpet fashion perfection.)

(After killing enough time in the dressing rooms, I thought I should go check out the events going on on stage and I found...)

(Jared, going for a more "restrained" look as he shoots the camera a stern gaze. Perhaps he is angry that he doesn't get a fun wig? Maybe he is hiding it underneath that helmet.)

(Before I was able to check on Jared's hair it was already "places!)

(And in the blink of an eye (although I'm sure the corps girls don't agree about that) the show was over. PHOTO BY ARRON SCOTT.)

A Little Word Vomit…

(This picture has nothing to do with the poem below. Took it in Central Park a few weeks ago on one of the first truly "springy" days. Speaking of the poem below, if anyone has some constructive criticism I am more than happy to hear it. Poetry isn't exactly what I excel at but still fun to play around with.)

He sits. A statue
without any of the emblazoned glory,
only the stony gaze
devoid of an iris
yet full of an unrivaled emotion.

Craning his neck,
a mere impossibility.
His view plastered on the
world right in front of him
with the narrow confines of
a search light that can’t search.

Perched in seclusion;
the ornamentation of a building
which no one notices
as they go about their lives
scattered on the crowded streets below.

A few crane their heads
to shield their eyes from the sun
and catch his jovial stance,
stagnant
but for the play
between shadows. His outline illuminated
by the light
that threatens
but never manages to melt
his concrete position.
Soon as they’ve caught him
their motion careens
forward
as he waits for the next onlooker
to remind him of his place.

So he’ll remain.
Unable to move his weighted legs
anchored in the monotony
as the birds perch around him
then coast to the humans below;
A constant reminder of
transcending earth and sky.

Finding Some Clippage.

In the past few days I have devoted a little bit of time to searching the hidden depths of YouTube for choreography of interest.  Every search I go on leads me back to my love for Jiri Kylian.  His choreography has such a fun weight to the movement but at the same time a fluidity that never makes it seem heavy.  One of the very first performances I saw ABT do as a young adult was of "Petite Mort" several City Centers ago while I was in Studio Company.  I had seen many performances by the company as a kid but this is where my opinion really started to take shape.  Not only did the dancers of the company dance it beautifully but the piece itself was simply breathtaking and unlike anything I had ever seen.  Lucky for everyone reading, there is a clip on YouTube of the final seven minutes of the piece.  Please take the time to watch Netherlands Dance Theater performing this, it's well worth it. 


The second clip I found is from the piece "Falling Angels" which I had the pleasure of seeing while I was in Amsterdam.  This piece for eight women was created in 1989 yet still looks powerful and new today.  The clip below only shows a hint of the power that this piece contains as the drumming and the movement escalate to a euphoric state through the progression of the short ballet.  The unpredictability of this piece is stunning as well.  During the various peel offs of sharp movments you can't tell who is going to move next or if they will even continue with the same pattern.  It is more proof of my love of incredible unison movment and these women look beautiful doing it. 

110 at 54.

I have a confession to make, and it may seem sacrilegious putting it on (blog) paper but I just don't LOVE old musicals. Sure, I grew up watching the MGM classics and have a certain sentimental value associated with many of them but since I have lived in New York I haven't seen many revivals of older material that seemed to infuse it with the modern twist needed to connect to an audience. Preserving, honoring and respecting the creations of the past is incredibly important but most pre-70's musicals end up leaving me a bit cold.

Last night when my friend Lauren accompanied me to Studio 54 to see the new revival of "110 in the Shade," I fully expected to leave unsatisfied. Deep in the back of my head I hoped that Audra McDonald would be able to carry the evening but never did I expect her to deliver quite as beautifully as she did from the moment she took the stage.

"110" is the story of Lizzie, a woman living with her father and two brothers, whose love life is as dry as the rainless countryside they inhabit. Shortly after the show begins, a rainmaker (unfortunately named Starbuck(s)) arrives in town and promises rain for which Lizzie's father promptly pays $100 despite the advice of his sons. Complications ensue and Lizzie is urged to change who she is in order to overcome her "plain" appearance and bag a guy.

No one in their right mind is going to believe that Audra McDonald is "plain" in any sense but I found that she perfectly turned this to her benefit rather than seeming miscast. It all becomes a lesson in something being a self-fulfilling prophecy when people drill a certain trait in. The more she is told she is "plain" the more she believes it, therefore becoming it despite every natural inclination to be extraordinary.

From the moment she takes the stage, McDonald uses every bit of her being to create a perfectly rounded character. She never JUST acts or JUST sings a moment; she seamlessly embodies the heartbroken Lizzie with a downtrodden passion in every silent moment or perfectly sung note. Instead of doing one thing well, she just exists on stage as Lizzie for two hours slowly building the character from beginning to end. In the middle of the first act she sits at a picnic and is told by one of her brothers that she is "nothing but plain" and "not beautiful," as the other brother and father do their best to overrule his opinion. This was the scene for me where Audra McDonald cemented her place in my heart with her incredible stillness and the torment in her eyes as the words hit her like soggy bricks. Sitting with her father and stunned into the reality that she is "plain" she then begins the act one closer "Old Maid." The fear of being alone is something that most people can associate with but as the tears streamed down her face, it has never felt more real.

Even though we had planned to discuss other things during the intermission, all Lauren and I could manage to get out were sentence fragments in awe of Audra. The second act finds Lizzie finding companionship in Starbuck who finally makes her believe she is beautiful and suddenly she transforms before our eyes. She literally and figuratively lets her hair down getting laughs and compassion from the audience with every breath. Her performance fully accomplishes showing the importance of belief in what you are, translating to who you are seen as. Every moment of her performance is thrilling and she is truly one of the greatest musical theater stars I have ever seen.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the entire production, which isn't helped by the fact that the show is fairly uneven. Most of McDonald's numbers are gorgeous character songs and then suddenly we are subjected to bizarre musical theater schlock. "The Rain Song," which includes many routine musical theater dance moves or "Little Red Hat" which seems like a cut number from "Oklahoma" keep this from being an all around great evening. However, the cast is generally solid and John Cullum makes a trusting and sensitive impression as Lizzie's father. No performance makes the audience react quite like the actual rain that pours down in the finale that had them clapping louder than ever. Sometimes I don't understand audiences, they're like puppies that pee on the floor when you hold out a biscuit.

Some may question why a musical such as this is still being produced. With so many (more) classic musicals out there, do we really need a production of "110 in the Shade?" As long as Audra McDonald is involved, absolutely.

RANDOM FIND of the Day. 5/22/07. GUSHING.

Today while I was killing time searching YouTube I came across this video my best friend since 1st grade, Michael Lowney.  Soon to be a senior at University of Michigan, I am constantly in awe of Michael's talent and can't really believe he is about to graduate in less than a year.  Having never experienced parenthood, this is about the closest thing I can associate with it after growing up performing in my basement together.  Without Michael as my constant companion in putting on endless productions as children, I know I wouldn't be where I am today.  If you have a few minutes, please check out the video of him singing William Finn's "Venice" from Elegies: A Song Cycle.  Every time he sings "Venice," I melt.  Beautiful.  The video gets less shakey after the first 15 seconds.

Ballooooooons!

ALL PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARRON SCOTT
The Met Gala may have happened over a week ago but what better way to enjoy it than retrospective blog style?!
(The theme of this years party was balloons!!!! I could pretend it has some meaning about our hidden desires to take flight yet that we must remain rooted and surrounded by other people (just read the Fountainhead, can't help it) but I think in the end it just means BALLOONS!)

(Craig stumbles into the party in the midst of his whilrwind soloist promotional tour. This face perfectly exemplifies Craig's spirit to me. Wait until you see how it can transform in the next post.)

(When I first saw this picture I was sure that Blaine was grabbing Melanie's boob but in fact they're just dancing? Since I wasn't there, I can't be sure. Hmmm...frisky behavior alert!)

(The beautiful couple shows off their never faltering fashion sense and lovely curly hair which I'm jealous of.)

(Even while everyone is decked out in the tent, there's another tent preparing to feed the hungry mouths.)

(LIke these lovely corps dancers hanging out with the wonderful new apprentices Isabella Boylston and Eric Tamm. It looks like Isabella possibly fell over/into the frame and assumed this sexy pose...love her.)

(Marcelo and Clinton chat it up in the big tent. Let's just hope they were staying away from work talk! No ballet master lingo allowed in the balloon room. That's the new "no sex in the champagne room." )

(It's all smiles from Sarah Lane and Nicola Curry as the night draws to an end. But the balloons still loom in the background. I wonder if anyone grabbed a handful and floated away through the New York City skyline?)

I Can Be Spontaneous. Once.

I wouldn't consider myself a spontaneous person. Over the past month, that little spontaneity I have has dwindled to deciding whether to put cheese in my eggs rather than eating them plain; truly remarkable decisions. Yesterday afternoon I felt like I was in a bit of rut so getting out of the apartment was the only choice I had. After scanning the movie listings online I settled on the choice of "Once," a new independent "musical" currently playing at Landmark Sunshine.

The preview had left me fairly ambivalent about my feelings towards what I was about to see but all of that quickly disappeared. From the moment the movie began I knew I was in for something different. Set in Dublin, the story follows a heartbroken guitar playing street singer (played by musician Glen Hansard) who meets a young Czech woman on the street one day. Others pass by and drop money in his case but she stops to ask him silly questions and eventually asks him to fix her vacuum, which is his day job. Sound silly on paper? It did to me too but the way the story unfolds is unlike any that I've ever seen. There is a simpleness to the filmmaking that feels a bit like it’s a homemade documentary following the creative process and bond that these two characters will undergo together.

This isn't a musical in the sense that they stop and sing character driven songs while vendors on the street dance with jazz hands behind them. Instead it uses the music of these two musicians to tell the various emotions overwhelming their lives at the moment. On the day that they first meet, the woman takes him into a piano shop where they promptly sit down and share some music with each other. The interaction slowly builds and he teaches her the accompaniment to one of his songs, which they sing until it swells through the store and they are elevated to an almost trancelike state of understanding. The two musicians in this movie have incredible talent and listening to him sing (most easily comparable to Damien Rice but with more strength) really helps carry the movie.

It isn't a sweeping love story like I would normally expect but because of that it becomes so much more touching. There is an awkwardness to their relationship that dissipates as soon as they begin playing music together. It's a simple testament to the power that a person can have on you to create and step forward. This chance meeting becomes the impetus for change that they both needed in their personal and artistic lives but without any of the overwrought emotion usually attached to a movie. I would highly recommend this movie for it's simplicity and the music which carries the film and transports the audience along with it as the characters are transported to different places in their lives. The singer's answer to everything is a routine "cool" which is exactly what was going through my head as I left the theater.

The First Met Blog Story ‘07.

ALL PHOTOGRAPHY BY ARRON SCOTT

(Please imagine the crazy stylings of Lang Lang playing throughout this post.)






(Lang Lang played so frenetically that he made Sascha and Stella materialize out of thin air. Magic fingers.)

(The dancers piled in the wings and worried that he would play so fast Sascha and Stella would spontaneously combust.)

(Cory, on the other hand, was relaxed grooming his mustache and cheekbones in the dressing room.)

(The other three suitors were less confident because they didn't have kilts. So nervous in fact that blogger refused to post their picture vertically! The only cure for their nerves would be the gala party to come...)