Category Archives: theater

music, theater

newsicals

Signature Theater acquires $30K for new musicals.

The recipients of the “Next Generation” grants are composers in their 20s and 30s whom Signature identified as songwriters of considerable potential and who already have had their work produced or recorded. The three are: Adam Gwon, a composer-lyricist whose musical “Ordinary Days” receives a premiere this summer in Pennsylvania; Matt Conner, who set the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe to music in Signature’s 2006 premiere of “Nevermore”; and Gabriel Kahane, a composer whose “Craigslistlieder” is a song cycle he fashioned from classified ads on the Web site Craiglist.

Via Artsjournal.

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theater

good news Wednesday

I’m so happy to report that Traveling Jewish Theater in San Francisco has met its first benchmark fundraising goal of 100,000 in the month of June, that they needed in order to survive as a company. They need to raise another 50K by Sept. 30, as well, but they have definitely turned a corner.

Their ability to achieve this goal in this depressed economic time is extraordinary, and speaks to the strength of their audience base. More on their blog, Inside TJT.

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music, theater

Poetic Salon @ Theatre of NOTE, Tues July 8

Here’s the info for the reading I’m directing next Tuesday the 8th, of Ron Allen’s short play, x restrung cortex. Our first and only rehearsal is tomorrow, since the play is only 5 pages long. We’re doing something really fun and surreal with it – we’re staging the play three times in a row, interspersed with songs from Ron’s band, Code Zero.

*****

Poets and Predators, Ladies and Lovers,
Guitarists and Gentlemen, Singers and Seducers –

On Tuesday, July 8th, at 9:30 pm,
in the guts (or the bowels) of Hollywood,
on the corridor of Cahuenga,
remove your inhibitions and put on your fedoras for the

POETIC SALON
@ Theatre of NOTE

Password: “naked rodeo”
(no one gets in without the password)

presenting
X RESTRUNG CORTEX
a one-act play
written in the poetry of the liberated tongue
about nothing and tuxedos

by Ron Allen (playwright of this year’s EYE MOUTH GRAFFITI BODYSHOP at NOTE)
(mis)directed by Dara Weinberg
featuring actors Michelle Hilyard, Jo D. Jonz, Jemal MacNeil, and Wendi West

performing with live music by
CODE ZERO
a performance group, a band of poetic theory and magnetism:
a manifestation of that which comes before name and form:
a hyper-creative juggernaut, a point of origin
featuring musicians Randy Bellfield on drums, Tony Parker on bass, Cinjez on keyboard, Ron Bodhidharma Allen on vocals, and Sarah Cruse on vocals

Location:
Theatre of NOTE
1517 N. Cahuenga Blvd (between Hollywood and Sunset)

Date: Tuesday, July 8th

Time: 9:30 pm

Admission: Free (with the password)

Dress Code: Formal, sensual, and poetical. Please wear tuxedos, strapless dresses, high-heeled shoes, ties, bustiers, lace, paisley, and others clothes appropriate for a poetic salon.
If you’re going to wear flip-flops, please put on a lot of makeup, even if you’re a man (especially if you’re a man.)
Jeans are acceptable as long as they are so tight and so low-cut that nothing is left to the imagination.

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the chorus, theater, travel, writing

the end of the WCX

Day 24, Sun June 25
We wake up like we’re going to battle, and go to the theater. We barricade ourselves in Semele with water bottles and folding chairs, and prepare to rehearse. To repeat. To rejoice.

We rehearse for four and a half hours, with a crew of tried and true actors – AVW, BH, and MOH&H are all proudly represented – and two new to the Dara Experience. They jump in like champs. We learn music at breakneck speed. I have an hour left at the end of it to do the bad director’s version of talking them through the play. Enough is enough. I leave it. I go five minutes overtime, which I am still vaguely ashamed of.

We eat pizza and spinach. We put bags of ice and frozen corn on our heads. We walk over the stage to the one restroom. Chris works music in the piano nook behind the stage while I take actors outside to talk over their parts – the Messenger, Oedipus, Medea. We make strong choices. We do shortcut staging. We decide. Directing in the fast lane.

We do the reading with a small but intense audience – some old HW friends, my designer cohort of Dan and Erin, a director from my freelance AD world, actor friends, and, just like with the cast, two who have never seen my work before.

I take the actors outside and remind them, in Prof. Martin’s words, that “the chorus exists because people come in groups.” We sing a song to warm-up and for sound check – we have a real hard-core audio engineer recording us – and we launch ahead. I babble at the audience about the chorus, about larger political and social movements, vs. the heroic individual characters. I make no sense. I sit down. They begin.

The reading is lovely. Everything works, as we knew it would. The actors deliver something with all the intensity I could have desired. I am beside myself with joy with the transitions from the Wasps to the Persians to the Wasps/Persians mash-up choruses. The world is real. One chorus is bleeding into another.

The audience begins the discussion, afterwards, by saying “Have you thought about masks?” and continue to generously share staging ideas with me. I realize to what extent I’ve separated myself from directing, because I haven’t thought about it at all. An hour of feedback later, all the comments have been positive. They like the music, they like the tone, they like the poetry – they spent the reading imagining it as a live production.

They suggest, without any prompting from me, that characters go into / come out of the chorus, that the ensemble all learn all the lines, and that this production be driven by the chorus. I have managed to get this idea which is stuck in my head, and stick it in some other people’s heads. I’ve created something which can stand for itself. I know that there’s no way I could have done it without Chris. The music is what makes this special. I’ve gotten the text to a good level, but his work is what makes mine work.

It’s over. We put the chairs back, lock the space, and go home. We talk as if the words were going to expire at midnight. We’re both very proud. It couldn’t have gone better, in either of our dreams, although I’m sure Chris wishes we’d been able to secure a piano without a malignant G sharp key, or else that he had written that note into less of the music. But things like that aren’t worth even remembering, in the face of this – a triumph.

“Good show.”
“Good show.”

Day 25, Mon June 26
The day after. The meaning of fatigue. We teach three hours of chorus workshops, polishing the work the students have done for their final showcase. We drive to check out a house for Chris’s brother in Eagle Rock. Back to H-W to record Chris for the showcase (since he won’t be there).

And then, since this entire trip began with a beach, looking over the Pacific from Seattle, we defy traffic and drive from the 101, over Topanga Canyon, up PCH to Zuma. Chris runs on the beach while I sit, freezing, wrapped in a towel, and feeling the first terrible sensations of post-opening maudlinity. I miss the play already. We swim in raging waves, and the waters knock me out of feeling any kind of sorry, or anything but good.

Then, trying to give Chris as much Los Angeles as he can handle in his last hours, I take the winding, wealth-track boulevard of Sunset all the way back from the coast, through the Palisades, through the Strip, through Hollywood to Los Feliz, and we stop at Zankou Chicken. I tell him that if he were Ben Affleck, or Mark Wahlberg, or (better yet) Vin Diesel on a bad day, he would dispatch his personal assistant for half a chicken.

The moment we get into the house I crash so hard I’m still falling. No one told me that writing would be harder than directing – and feel better – and hurt more – all at once. I’ve never been this tired. It has nothing to do with how little sleep my body has gotten, and everything to do with the release of tension of this reading being over. I can’t be awake.

Day 26, Tuesday, June 27
Somehow I wake up, and drive Chris to the airport this morning. The last song that his IPod shuffled into our consciousness was Rush’s “Fly By Night.”

“Fly by night, away from here
Change my life again…”

I drove away from the airport, feeling, again, like I had beaten the universe at its own game of chess. Who gets to be me, and do the things I do? Who gets to write a new chorus play-with-music while traveling from Vancouver to Los Angeles? I sang the songs from 13 CHORUS as I drove back to H-W, for another scene study meeting. Chris texted me from the security line that he’d just realized what he wished he’d played differently in the Overture. We both have the show stuck in our heads.

The rest of this week has been full of catching up on things that were shelved for the WCX – things like family, friends, finances, work. Every time I open something I think I couldn’t possibly be more broke than the last time, but this is a record. Perhaps I should say “broken.” I feel like half a person, or a quarter. I don’t know what to do with myself.

On Wednesday I had dinner with Ethan and Veronica, two friends and audience members from Sunday, to hear more of their thoughts on the script. It overwhelms me, and makes me grateful, how strong the response has been. E&V push me on the narrative structure, on the difference between TO DIE IN ATHENS (an Oedipus-based story) and 13 WAYS OF LOOKING AT THE CHORUS (a chorus-based story.) I realize I have work to do. I have to contact thirteen translators, or else decide I’m going to re-translate all these works myself.

But the feedback continues to be good. Even our audio engineer has emailed me to tell me that he’s loved working on the tape.

Today I had lunch with my parents (a good reminder that I do have a life outside of the theater, and people who love me no matter what) and went back to the high school to polish the chorus showcase scene. They are the best class I’ve ever had. I think the way that Chris and I got to be working on chorus scenes and the play at the same time really paid off.

I also returned Phil W’s drum to him, and managed to get a ticket coming off of the Cahuenga offramp. Thanks, LA. I’ve only been in Los Angeles a week…it reminds me why this town and I don’t really mix any more. Traffic school again, I suppose.

But for now, I’m here – house-sitting in Pasadena with two dogs, working on a grant for the Convergence, turning in job applications (I’m hoping to work for the DNC / for Obama’s campaign for the summer) and reeling from the many things that have happened, all at once. I’m making plans to see all the friends I’ve missed for this past year. I’m looking forward to working on a political campaign, and gaining, at least for some time, some life experience unrelated to the stage or the chorus. I know it won’t be long before I come back to it – in fact, I know I won’t leave it at all. It’ll be in my mind all the time.

“Change my life again,” indeed. My year of freelance assistant directing is over. My life of writing (playwriting, poetry, and others) is beginning.

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theater

Liz Lerman critical response

Ethan shared this with me – it’s an interesting rubric for how to moderate discussion of a work in progress. I don’t know if I will use it or not – it depends on how many people stick around for the discussion, it may not be necessary.

I realized in reading through the script yesterday that there are a lot of deaths and a lot of endings – it’s kind of like Matrix 3 in that way. I expect that to be among the feedback – not knowing when it’s over, not knowing if it’s over, which is frequently a problem I had when directing.

Liz Lerman Critical Response

The responsibilities of the responders are twofold: 1) not to bring their own agenda to work they are responding to and 2) have a desire for the artist to do her/his best work. Responders are attempting to help the artist create her/his piece, not to create their own. It is important for responders, as hard as this may be, to not bring their own bias and expectations to the process.

The responsibility of the artist is to be honest and open. The artist needs to be in a place where they can question their own work in a somewhat public environment. Also, it is the motivation and meaning of the creator that is the basis on which feedback is given, so the artist should be very clear about her/his intent.

PROCESS STEPS

1. Affirmation and Observation
Responders give the artist either positive feedback about the work or moments that affected them. People want to hear that what they have just completed has meaning. The artist must work to really hear the comments. Responders need to try to make the palette of responses as wide as possible. Be specific and expansive in the use of vocabulary about the work.

2. Artist Questions Responders
Artist has the time to ask the viewers questions about the work. Be specific; nothing is too insignificant. The more the artist clarifies what s/he is working on, the more meaningful becomes the dialogue.

3. Responders Question Artist
Responders ask neutral questions of the artist about the work. It is very important not to be judgmental in the phrasing of the questions. This is a chance for the responders to help the artist step back and analyze the work. If given the chance, most criticisms can be stated or explored in this step in a neutral fashion.

4. Criticisms and Opinions
If there is a criticism that can’t be stated in the form of a neutral question, responders can express opinions about the work to the artist after they have asked permission of the artist. The artist is allowed to refuse at any time. The opinions should be positive criticism, based on problem-solving techniques. It may seem redundant to ask permission for every single criticism, but it is very important. This gives the artist control of this very sensitive step and creates a dialogue, albeit a very basic one.

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the chorus, theater

“today is gonna be the day…”

of the TO DIE IN ATHENS reading, this evening.

There are a lot of firsts here for me. I’ve had a lot of choruses in my life, but the music for this production is at a new level. The MOH&H music came close, but that was all improvised, so it wasn’t possible to have singing or the level of melodic specificity we do now. I’ve also never really strung sections from so many different Greek plays together in one spiderweb. And it’s the first time in a long time that a text I’m responsible for adapting is going semi-public. And it’s full-length. Although I am directing this reading, I see my contribution to this play as much more playwright than director. If I had been able to find someone else to direct it, I would have – and I’ll try to do that next time.

We have been working on this text, and this music, in one way or another, since February. I guess I’ve been on the script since November. This is the seventh draft, but only the 2nd to make it to a reading.

But I’ve been on the chorus since 1998. So, in that sense, ten years.

This is closer – every production gets closer – to what it should be, what it can be. I know it’s about the process, not about the destination. But it’s hard not to feel blisteringly excited about giving the chorus its music back. Its legs.

There are no professional destinations for this yet – and the translators’ rights muddle would be something else, if we were to try to really stage it. I don’t know what the next step is. I don’t care. It’s been a battle, and an honor, to try to get it this far. There will be another step, that’s for sure, but I won’t know that till after tonight. Chris keeps saying “When we record the album…”

“You go with head held high.” – the chorus, to Antigone.

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the chorus, theater

WCX, day 23

Day 23, Sat June 22
The day before the TO DIE IN ATHENS reading. Casting is finally completed, the script is done, the music is done. The work we have to do now is about stitching the quilt together.

Chris and I go to the theater and continue working through the rest of the show, stopping for every little thing that doesn’t make sense to us – every note, every stage direction, every transition. Hours. Some minor frustrations: a piano with sticky keys, a melody we thought we knew that we don’t, a section which, in retrospect, perhaps I could have cut. But we make it through. We psych ourselves out and get ready to start again.

When it’s done, we start the show again from the beginning – with me reading all the lines, and him playing all the music. I find myself getting overwhelmed by the language and actually acting, more than I have in years – trying to throw myself into Oedipus, Medea, and the others. I overdo it and have to pull back – I don’t have the vocal training to read, at full energy, and sing, for this long. But I wish I could. We stop a few times but not much.
Even with some stop-and-start it’s under an hour twenty.

Notes session and we’re done. We leave the theater after what feels like a lifetime. We are both exhausted, like running a marathon twice in a day. The show I was supposed to see this evening is sold out – the party I was supposed to go to is nearly over and miles away. No brain for anything else. We make it to the grocery store to buy food for the actors for tomorrow, and that’s it.

Collapse. Well deserved. Our of our hands.

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LYDIA nominations

LYDIA, the show I assisted on in Denver, just got five Henry Award nominations (Colorado Theatre Guild) – for actress (both Onahoua and Stephanie), Ensemble Performance, New Play, Production, and Direction.

As long as we’re keeping score, SAGN at Portland Center Stage got Drammies for choreography, lighting, and set.

Some nice recognition for two really good productions.

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the chorus, theater

WCX, day 22

Day 22, Fri 6/21
I did finish the rewrite of TO DIE IN ATHENS last night. This draft of the script is done. Chris and I both go straight to our computers in the morning. The backlog of work at this stage of the game is enormous – notation, rewrites, last-minute casting changes. I send out so many emails this morning I start to feel like the post office. There isn’t enough time, even with Hermione’s Time-Turner, which I broke when I dropped it in the garbage disposal.

Today is the first TO DIE IN ATHENS singing rehearsal, with Gabby and Phil C. It’s such a relief to hear actors’ voices on these words, words that have heard no voices except mine since Indianapolis. That work is followed by scene study, followed by 2 solid hours of working through the script fine-tuning details: transitions, intros, recitative sections. The music is going to be so gorgeous. It all seems to be working, so far.

“So far it’s working out,
Everything’s different now
So far…”
– Buckcherry

A side note: in directing this realistic scene, I find myself using less blocking than ever before in my life. I am content to let the actors wander wherever they want. All I care about is whether their choices seem motivated. And they do, putting on their military jackets and 50s-era dresses for the first time. The costumes constrain them beautifully. They seem much more wound up.

We work until the evening. We watch an improvised Jane Austen show at Impro Theater, with my friend Michelle in the cast, along with all the HW students. It’s delicious and extremely refined longform improv. On the way home, CF says improv might be the purest form of acting – all impulse. I say I want an improv company to be part of my theater collective, along with dance and everything. He says that concert dance is the one art form he doesn’t see merging with theater. We talk about symbiotic art. The chorus is an example of it.

The chorus doesn’t make sense, isolated from its co-symbiotes (word? not a word?) of music, dance (I guess I should say “movement”), meter, rhythm, of collective speaking and acting, of multiple actors.
Poetry is untranslateable. The language, the original beauty of it, is lost to us. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try to give the chorus back what it’s missing.

Cindy emails me an article about choruses when I get home, so depressing to me I don’t even want to link to it – another person who has cast the chorus as a single individual, and doesn’t know what their dramatic function is.

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