Ranting Details

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?!

Madge's Mid-Life Mania

Madonna may be almost fifty, but she wants you to know she’s still oozing sex.  She made a career on her sexually provocative image, and it isn't waning (much) with age.  Forget the fact that she’s got three pre-teens to tend to at home, when Madonna gets into the recording studio it’s all about using the dance floor as a metaphor for sexuality.  Need proof?  Check out her stellar new album, “Hard Candy,” in stores tomorrow.   

“See which flavor you like, and I’ll have it for you,” she coos on the opening track, “Candy Shop.”  After two moderately successful albums, the queen of pop is back with guns (and beats) blazing, teaming with the top hitmakers in what some may say is a desperate move to stay relevant.  Yet a few lines into the album, all sense of desperation goes out the window.  The truth of the matter is that Madonna does what she does well…and she knows it.  Regardless of how she may describe herself, she’s always been a commercial being, and she aims to please. 

By enlisting tried and true beatmakers like Pharell, Timbaland, and the go-to guy of the moment, Justin Timberlake, she ensures that she does.  These are acts that made careers out of Madonna’s impersonators.  Yet most of their collaborations find her vocals meeting with the space age blips and pulses (that are trademarks of the producers) more effortlessly than those who came before her; others may have done it first, but she’s going to do it better.  Even Timbaland’s loopy, repetitive beats, that left an imprint on many of the biggest hits of the past two years, seem revitalized here. 

Throughout the 12-tracks that make up “Hard Candy,” there’s hardly a moment to breath.  Hits come almost as rapidly as adopted babies fly into the arms of celebrities, but any subject matter that doesn’t have a place on the dance floor is left at home.  The most personal (and best track on the album) “Miles Away,” about the trials of existing in a long distance relationship, starts with the strums of an acoustic guitar but it doesn’t stay simple for long.  Scratching beats start to layer and you can practically see Madonna in a spotlight on a dance floor as she admits “You always have the biggest heart, when we’re 6000 miles apart.”  It may be about her husband Guy Ritchie, but as every pop star knows, you don’t make a hit by getting personal, you make a hit by staying universal.  It's a rare moment where the fatigue of dancing all night gives way to a true "Confession on a Dance Floor," before the synths rage back up and she reapplies her glitter in the bathroom. 

There’s nary a hint lyrically that Madonna worries about her place in the female pop genre that she practically created.  Closest is the defiant (with a hint of insecurity) “She’s Not Me,” about a woman who sees herself replaced in a relationship by someone who replicates everything from her hairstyle to her perfume.  As if to remind listeners of the most important aspect of the equation, Madonna repeats that  “She doesn’t have my name.”  True.  Britney, Christina, Rihanna…not exactly names you find in the Bible.

Gone are the days where Madonna tries to provoke with religious imagery, for now it seems there’s only room on the dance floor for her ego.  Fortunately she has the songs to back it up this time.  While there may be a few missteps (“Spanish Lessons” is a painful lesson in how to…speak Spanish), the album stays true to the refrain of one of the songs that promises, “On, and on, the beat goes.”  It’s a beat I will happily dance to and one that returns Madonna to the club-friendly music that helped shape her into the bodybuilder she is today.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?  DOES MADONNA NEED TO TONE DOWN THE SEXUALITY AS SHE GETS OLDER? 

Glassy Essence: Photo Fest (Part Two)

Here are some more of my favorites. 

Glassy Essence: Photo Fest (Part One)

I KNOW THAT THIS BLOG HAS TURNED INTO A DANCE PHOTO EXPLOSION RECENTLY, BUT I'VE BEEN SO CONSUMED WITH OTHER WORK THAT I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME TO WRITE RIGHT NOW!  SORRY!

After missing every blogger get together throughout the past year (due to being out of town or consumed by the insanity of life), I finally managed to make it to one last night, and oh what a get together it was!  Cedar Lake invited a group of 85 people (including a collection of fantastic dance bloggers) to be the first ever audience for their new "installation," Glassy Essence.

Along with the information about the performance that Cedar Lake sent out to us, they made sure to let us know that we were allowed to bring cameras and encouraged to photograph the show.  This is just one of many ways in which Glassy Essence is an atypical evening. 

When we walked in, the gorgeous theater space had been cleared of the usual bleachers and instead had a large table in the center, a wall with blocks reaching out of it, and curtains with images projected on them lining the walls.  As the lights went down, the cameras came out, and the dancers devoured every inch of the space thanks in part to inventive contraptions and scenery which helped them explore the vertical space the high ceiling has to offer. 

The 40-minute show was such a visual wonderland that I hardly removed my camera from my face at all.  I guess I'll have to return, sans camera, to experience it all again.  Check out Oberon's Grove for an in-depth review of the evening!  It was a pleasure to finally meet so many fellow bloggers! 

'Passing' Awesome

I’ve never been a religious person, but color me converted, because I’m subscribing to a new religion: Stewism. All memories of those other one-name musical wonders go out the door the moment Stew takes center stage in the mesmerizing new musical "Passing Strange," currently playing at the Belasco Theater.

Even after rave reviews by some of the most prestigious press, I was more than a little skeptical to journey to the forgotten theater that lies east of Times Square. Perhaps it was the ad campaign, or just musical overload after the past few months, but I had every intention of letting it fall by the wayside. Fortunately, my friend persuaded me to see it.

From the moment I entered the theater and saw a square of instruments set up on stage, facing center, I knew things were going to be different. A curly haired man strutted out, gave a rock-star nod to the audience and sat down at his keyboard to initiate the journey. Seven actors and four musicians soon followed and my mind was blown.

Stew, a heavyset man with chunky frame glasses and a head as smooth as his guitar, situated himself behind a podium and opened up a red book to tell us a story. It's not often that a narrator makes an appearance in a Broadway musical, and as Stew introduced us to a slew of characters (who we can only assume make up his own real-life history) it became clear that it was just the first of what would be many unique devices.

After a short introduction, that pumps guitars and drums through the speaker system with the ferocity of a U2 concert, we are dropped into Los Angeles, as a stubborn boy (known only as "Youth") argues with his mother about going to church. She finally convinces him and he begins his journey to find the ever-elusive being: himself.

As the seven actors rotate in and out of different characters, the bare-bones set (consisting only of chairs, a few tables, and a back wall with as many lights as Times Square) transports us from Los Angeles, to Amsterdam, to Berlin, and back again. The actors, who immerse themselves (using a variety of accents, but more importantly, emotions) as fully as I've ever seen on a Broadway stage, construct a world around the "Youth" that further helps (and muddies) his quest for his place in the grand scheme of things.

(Stew gets the crowd going at the end of the show.)

Stripped away of all Broadway razzle-dazzle, the focus is left on human emotions and interactions that define who we are. As the Youth journeys across continents, we watch as he passes himself off as one thing or another, trying on different cultures like they are shirts at the Gap.

A constant refrain pokes its head into each section of the show, "Is it alright?" The question (one that is almost impossible to answer with assurance) pushes the Youth away from those he loves; he's afraid of comfort and stagnation, and he immerses himself in his songwriting. He seeks catharsis through art, but ultimately misses out on true connections with those around him because of it.  This climaxes in a "conversation" between Stew and the Youth about art's place in the world that ranks as one of the most effective (and basic) pieces of staging in recent memory; it is one of many riveting moments in the evening.   

To pinpoint the moments of brilliance in this show is almost as difficult as the boy's journey to find himself. Stew has written a score that brings true rock music to Broadway, filled with metaphoric lyrics that give insight into human interactions as well as push the plot forward.  He has talent as a writer for cutting directly to the core of emotion. The layers he builds in songs often have a more conventional musical theater narrative existing with an abstract rock lyric delivered by the narrator; the effect is euphoric. More amazingly, as the book writer he presents a series of vignettes that never seem choppy, but instead capture the uncertainty of life and the questions of existence that consume so many youths.

Led by the brilliant Daniel Breaker as "Youth," all of the actors have been directed to straddle the line of classical acting and musical theater projection with finesse. They deliver Stew's words in a way that is poignant but never preachy.

"Passing Strange" has the incentive of being taken in three forms. There are those in the audience, so taken with the visceral experience of the music that they can't resist moving their head in response to the beat. Then there are those who may find the music too loud, but the emotional chords just right. Last, there are those like me, who combine the two and leave feeling as if they've witnessed something truly unique.

I don't mean to imply that the show redefines perfection. Stretches in the second act (while the "Youth" lives in Berlin) can meander a little, but it's a small price to pay for the brilliance that pads the lag. Ideally the creators would condense the show to one-act and not interrupt the characters' journey for an intermission. Yet these are minor qualms for a show that is as thought provoking as it is loud.

It's not often that Broadway musicals leave you with much to discuss these days. Even for that reason alone, "Passing Strange" is worth seeing. First rule of Stewism? Not buying a ticket is a sin.

IN THE STUDIO: "Tacaca" 2

Here's the second batch of photos from Marcelo Gomes' world premiere ballet, "Tacaca," debuting tomorrow night at the Youth America Grand Prix Gala!  A huge merde to Marcelo, Sarwannee Tanatanit, and Blaine Hoven for tomorrow night! 

IN THE STUDIO: Meeting "Tacaca"

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR THE WONDERFUL SUPPORT ON MY LAST POST!!! IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME!

Wednesday was one of the busiest days I've had in the past year.  I managed to make time for all three of my passions: writing, dancing, and dolphin training photography. Even though my backpack made me feel like I was carrying a full-grown person on my shoulders, I was limber enough to sneak around the studio and capture some pictures from Marcelo Gomes' new piece, "Tacaca." 

The piece marks Marcelo's New York choreographic debut and will be performed on Monday night at the Youth America Grand Prix Gala.  Be sure to grab a ticket if you can get your hands on one! 

With such gorgeous subjects as Sarwanee Tanatanit (her hair!) and Blaine Hoven, it's hard to go wrong.  Many more pictures to come!!! 

All photos © Matthew Murphy 2008.

Announcement

I've known about this for two months now, but I feel as if it's the right time to discuss a major life change. 

38-4-34.    Even a year away couldn’t make me forget that combination.  For four years I
used it two or three times a day to open my locker at ABT.  In that time I had five or six other locks that I lost and forgot, but this one touched my hands so many times that the numbers were as ingrained as my own birthday. 

Each time I opened it I would be surprised at the remnants of days passed that I’d left to collect at the bottom: energy bars, old water-bottles, a pair of tights I’d been looking for for weeks.  All things that built up to create a mountainous grab-bag of dancer memorabilia.  They are all things that are now covered in dust. 

When I opened the metal door five days ago, I felt like I’d time traveled back to my old life.  Only this time I hadn’t come to collect my things at the end of a workday, I’d come to collect my things for the last time.  At the end of July, I will be removed from the roster of ABT.

It was this week a year ago that I found out I had Epstein Barr Virus (EBV).  Never in my wildest nightmare would I have imagined it progressing to this stage.  As I looked into the pile at the bottom of the locker I noticed a pair of red booties, once vibrant, now covered in a thick coating of dust.  On the top shelf: a pair of half-sewn pointe shoes from my last day of rehearsal when I was learning the role of Bottom in The Dream.

For a moment I questioned if these items were indeed mine.  I don’t feel like the same person I was a year ago; I’m not the same person I was a year ago.  When asked what I do for a living, my once solid stock answer of “dancer,” now catches in my chest, unsure of its ability to make an appearance to the world.   

The backpack I was carrying was proof of that professional change.  What was once a dance bag now housed a set of dance clothes to take barre, a camera to photograph my friend’s rehearsal, and a computer to work on magazine articles afterward.  I feel more like a writer and a photographer at the moment than I do a dancer, and I ask myself how I can own that title if I’m not actively engaged in the profession. 

Yet looking in the bag as it sat beside my locker, I realized how I am not defined by what my profession is, but by how I handle myself through everyday life.  The three letters “ABT” may have been replaced by “EBV,” but I know that neither define who I am.  At the moment I’m not dancing, but I am still a dancer in my soul and I can’t wait to be back performing again. 

With the absence of ABT, in many ways, I will be the most lost I’ve ever been.  But as is typical with the universe, it has mysterious ways of teaching us lessons.  EBV has informed my spirit in a way that I never would have thought possible a year ago; it has grounded me and taught me about what I want in life.  Every change it has initiated has been more drastic than I ever could have anticipated, but I’m still soldiering on and defining myself by my strength of character and not by my profession for the first time in my life.  No choice but to brush off the dust and start anew...I'm sure it won't be the last time.   

Here’s a toast to the future and whatever it holds in store. 

Lazy Post Of The Day: SURPRISE!

Big thanks to Justin Peck for ruining the remainder of my productive time for life.  He introduced me to Hulu today.  Damn him. 

I love Kristin Wiig.  That's all.