Archives for 2010

I’ve devoted several episodes of VoiceBox, the weekly public radio series on KALW 91.7 FM all about the human voice which I host and produce, to the subject of voice therapy. But all the conversation about nodes on the vocal folds, dealing with fatigue by maintaining good airflow and how voice changes with age didn’t hit home until I visited the University of California at San Francisco’s Voice and Swallowing Center yesterday for a consultation with vocal therapist Sarah Schneider (whose been my guest on VoiceBox three times to date) and otolaryngologist, Dr. Mark Courey.

I think it behooves all singers, whether they have voice issues or not, to get their vocal folds checked out at least once in their singing careers. Because all the apparatus involved with singing is internal, it really helps to be able to see first-hand with your own eyes how the mechanisms actually work.

In my consultation, Sarah felt my adam’s apple and throat muscles, photographed my profile while I read out a “phonetically balanced” passage (ie one where the sentences are chosen so that the various segmental phonemes of English are represented in accordance with their frequency of occurrence) and, best of all, performed a videostroboscopy on my vocal chords while I sang various parts of the major scale to different vowel sounds.

It was absolutely fascinating (and mildly shocking) to see my vocal folds opening and closing like the mouth of some ancient sea creature grazing for plankton on the ocean floor. I learned a lot about how the voice works and have a better grasp of the issues that I face with my voice at the moment.

The session ended with a consultation with Dr. Courey. I don’t think I will ever view the activity of singing in the same way again.

A few months ago, following a trip out to Orinda to see G B Shaw’s Mrs Warren’s Profession at the California Shakespeare Theatre‘s Bruns Amphitheatre, I wrote a snarky blogpost about how I felt the location’s souped-up, shiny new ticket office, concession stand, toilets and landscaping spoiled the rustic feel of the lovely outdoor venue.

I now owe California Shakespeare Theatre an apology for being so rude about its face-lift.

What I failed to see on that visit to the theatre was that the upgrades aren’t merely all about making cosmetic changes to please the subscribers.

On a trip over this past weekend to see Jonathan Moscone’s production of Much Ado About Nothing (which is excellent by the way owing in large part to the spunky tug-of-love between Andy Murray’s Benedick and Dominique Lozano’s Beatrice, though the decision to turn Don John into a campy clown is an odd one) I was given a short tour of the backstage renovations at the Bruns Amphitheatre by the organization’s managing director, Susie Falk.

Susie took me to areas of the property which are hidden from audience members’ view. It was only when I glimpsed the contented cast members lounging on comfy sofas in a clean, dry, warm and well-lit green room, and costume staff happily applying straightening irons to wigs in an airy costume space, that I realized how much of an improvement to the lives of Cal Shakes’ actors and staff the upgrades make.

In the past, the behind the scenes areas were dark, damp, cramped and cold. The production team members suffered unduly for their art.

The theatre still has some way to go in its improvement plans and I wish them every success in raising the necessary funds to create a new lighting and sound booth which complies to code and various other key projects.

As a theatre critic, I generally have a policy that if I find myself feeling negative about the work of a single company over several shows, I’ll give seeing productions by that company a break and then go back and check another show out after some time has elapsed. This helps to “reset the clock” so to speak. There’s no point in harping on over and over again about how terrible one organization’s work is. That gets dispiriting and discouraging for readers and writer alike. It tends to annoy the artists too. 

In the case of the American Conservatory Theatre, I’ve kept going to shows, even though I’ve mostly been disappointed. The reason for this is that the company is the Bay Area’s flagship theatre organization and therefore deserves to be be under closer scrutiny than other organizations in the region.

So it was with some trepidation that I took myself off to see Scapin at ACT over the weekend. Directed, co-adapted and starring Bill Irwin, I guessed that the production had to have some merit to it.

But given ACT’s reputation for hashing up the output of artists who otherwise are known for making terrific work (e.g. the ill-advised Tosca Project collaboration with the San Francisco Ballet and John Doyle’s tiresome production of The Caucasian Chalk Circle) I wasn’t convinced that even the brilliant Bill Irwin could escape the clutches of the Geary Stage unscathed.

But the mercurial theatre artistic managed extremely well, pulling off a show that is as slick and smart as the title character of Moliere’s comedy.

The best thing about ACT’s Scapin is how Irwin improves the game of all of ACT’s actors. Every single member of the cast (bar one, who is in a small role that isn’t well-suited for her) acted better than I have ever seen them act. Who knew that Jud Williford was such a consummate clown? He is so funny and physically lithe in the role of Scapin’s sidekick Sylvestre that he almost steals the limelight from Irwin himself. The production made me truly understand what a terrific actor Williford is.

The strong sense of ensemble, the Vaudeville-inspired physical poetry of the piece, the ribald sense of humor, the salty-smart adaptation and the witty piano and drum live musical score made for the most engaging home-grown evening I have spent to date at the Geary Theatre. This Scapin is even on a par with some of the captivating imports that ACT has brought in in recent years such as CanStage’s The Overcoat and Kneehigh Theatre’s Brief Encounter. Let’s hope that more ACT-generated shows can match the strength of Scapin in future.

1. More opera websites should provide information about their choruses. Notices about auditions and lists of singers don’t provide enough detail about how these important musical organizations work. I’d like to see opera websites publishing information about the history and development of their choruses, important milestones in their pasts, production photos, information about life backstage for chorus members and what it’s like to audition and rehearse with an opera chorus. I say this because I just recorded a VoiceBox show last night on the subject of opera choruses with the San Francisco Opera‘s wonderful music director, Ian Robertson, and was dismayed to find so little information available on the Web on the subject. There isn’t even a Wikipedia entry for opera chorus.

2. I’m excited to hear about the new Emmy Award-winning documentary about the choral arts in Minnesota, Never Stop Singing (screenshot above). Seems like getting hold of a copy of the documentary might be tricky however, owing, of all ridiculous things, to the unions behind the orchestras that appear in the film backing up the singers. The documentary’s website says: “Notice to viewers: We are unable to offer DVDs for sale to the general public, due to the contractural agreements with the professional orchestras that appear in the program. However, DVDs are available to Minnesota choral conductors and libraries at no cost.” I wonder if people outside of Minnesota can see the film? I certainly hope so.

I dropped in to a bar on Polk Street last night when the weekly pub quiz was in full flight. I’ve played a couple of quizzes in bars in my time, but it wasn’t until I experienced this is as a sort of semi-player, semi-viewer, that I really got to appreciate how lively these kinds of events are from a cultural perspective.

My friends and I arrived at Blur Bar too late to actually participate in the establishment’s “Trivia Night” as an official team. Nevertheless, we hung out, drank and answered the questions anyway. Here’s what I appreciated about the event:

1. Coming up with a catchy name for your team requires creative effort. “Hardly Strictly Geniuses” (named after the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival happening in Golden Gate Park this weekend) was my favorite of last’s night’s selection.

2. People in the same team often synchronize outfits. The members of one team were all wearing blue t-shirts, which I thought was a nice touch.

3. The questions are challenging and you have to pool all your resources as a team to figure the answers out. I led my friends astray by naming the daffodil as the totem that St. David used to lead his Welsh troops, when in fact it was the leek. I should have engaged them in a discussion about it instead of cockily thinking I had the right answer.

4. The rounds are separated by fabulously cheesy pop music. There is lots of time for relaxation, drinking and chatter.

5. The event inspires strangers to talk to each other in a much more engaged way because everyone has the trivia challenge in common. I heard several conversations along the lines of “did you get the answer to question 5? That was hard” going on around me.

6. Pub quiz culture refreshingly inspires an honor code. I only once saw an iPhone in use. That was when my friend decided to do an image search for Etta James during the picture round. His excuse was that we weren’t participating officially.

I was chatting with the executive director of a prominent music ensemble over coffee the other day. Her group often performs concert programs in Berkeley but, unusually, no East Bay performances were scheduled for the ensemble’s recent program of concerts.

I asked her why. Her answer surprised me:

“People in Berkeley like old music and new music but nothing in between.”

I know that there are lots of early and contemporary music fans in the East Bay. But it seems odd to me that the ensemble, which has an international reputation, couldn’t find enough of an audience for a program that features the “in between” repertoire in Berkeley. I’m curious to know if other groups presenting work around the Bay would agree…?

P.S. I, for one, would have gladly made the trip across the Bay to hear the concert as the San Francisco date didn’t work with my schedule. And I know from talking to music lovers around here that many San Francisco people prefer attending concerts in Berkeley venues than in San Francisco because they like the venues better.

San Francisco Opera‘s latest Opera at the Ballpark simulcast was, by most standards, an unparalleled success. 32,000 people — a record attendance in the five years that the company has mounted the program — flocked to AT&T Park to picnic and watch a live broadcast of SF Opera’s current production of Aida last Friday night.

As usual I very much enjoyed the event. (What’s there not to like about lying on the softest, cleanest grass in the world on a warm evening with friends, a bottle of wine, good cheese and bread and performances by some of the world’s top opera singers?) But the choice of opera left much to be desired.

Opera broadcasts are very unforgiving on performers’ physiques and SF Opera picked the one production in its season that has probably the most uncomely cast of all. Dolora Zajick is an incredible singer. And from a distance at the opera house itself, you can almost believe that she’s the teenage daughter of an Egyptian king. But up close when viewed on a screen, the fifty-something star simply doesn’t pull it off.

And the gaudy costumes and sets designed by Zandra Rhodes make everyone on stage without exception look like escapees from the Trannyshack pageant that also happened to be going on in San Francisco on Friday night. The low-cut square neckline of Marcello Giodarni’s costume as Radames was particularly unkind to the tenor’s generous thicket of chest hair.

A populist opera like Aida is probably the best choice for the ballpark event. But I think something stylistically lighter from the current season featuring more photogenic performers, such as The Marriage of Figaro starring the gorgeous Danielle de Niese and Ellie Dehn, would have been a better choice.

Still, once the stage darkened in the final scene, leaving Aida and Radames together to lament their untombely deaths, I couldn’t help but be moved. The garish set designs faded away and the singers lost us in Verdi’s climactic, soulful music. There was a full moon over the Ballpark that night. I will never forget it.

Days like I had on Saturday remind me of the sheer joy of living in this part of the world. There is no other place quite like it for off-the-radar cultural encounters and non-everyday experiences.

It all started at House of Air, a new trampolining park at Crissy Field. The company launched less than two weeks ago and I when I showed up, was packed mostly with children bouncing up and down to their heart’s content. In addition to keeping kids occupied, House of Air trains athletes to do aerial stunts on skis, snowboards and skateboards and accommodates adults too. The company allows people to team up and play bouncy versions of basketball and dodgeball — something that organizations might enjoy the novelty of when they go there for corporate meetings and events. One of these days, I might hit up one of HOA’s trampolining exercise classes which happens every morning at 7am. Trampolining is, somewhat surprisingly, very good exercise: I jumped for about 20 minutes and was completely exhausted by the time I staggered off to switch out of the special jumping booties I’d been lent and back into my sandals.

The day unfurled with an afternoon spent at the Polk Street Blues Festival. The event was bustling in the early afternoon with bands crafts merchants and food and beverage sellers all keeping people entertained. I was particularly impressed by the gravely voice of a female vocalist in a soul band and another ensemble’s crack harmonica player, who was just 12 years old and blew a mean harp.

Then I went to The Balclutha, an antique cargo vessel docked at Hyde Street Pier, for a concert featuring two important local chantey groups. Spent a merry couple of hours listening to old sea ballads and work songs performed by the Barbary Ghost trio and Salty Walt and the Rattlin Ratlines as well as exploring the bowels of the remarkable ship. A full moon was out, which made for an even more beautiful experience.

The adventure culminated with jazz at Ana Mandara, a lovely Vietnamese restaurant and lounge in Fisherman’s Wharf. Bassist Gary Brown, pianist Peter Horvath and their guests provided the perfect landing to a day that started up in the air.

Last night at the Berkeley Symphony, I was chatting to a patron about my new role as the organization’s resident dramaturg. He said: “Gosh, that means you won’t be able to write about the orchestra anymore,” in concerned terms.

Well obviously I won’t be able to write about the orchestra anymore. But his comment seems totally beside the point. In my twice monthly column about culture for the New York Times / Bay Citizen, I have to cover all the arts, and classical music is one of many fields to write about. If I ever did get to write about the Berkeley Symphony, it might be once every couple of years, if that, as the region is so rich with classical music material to cover. So it’s not like the orchestra would be losing out on any big media coups there.

I’m guessing — and hoping — that the Berkeley Symphony will gain a lot more from having me teach classes, organize interesting pre-concert programming and find other creative ways of connecting audiences to the music than it would by having me scribble an occasional half-baked commentary about its concerts here on my blog.

It’s an interesting experiment at any rate and I applaud the orchestra for going in this direction. We’ll see what happens.

A great playwright is like a puppet master: He or she subtly pulls the strings of character and action to make life seem larger than it is in reality. Ideally, he or she resides in the shadows and the puppet/play itself takes center stage.

Compulsion by Rinne Groff, which is currently receiving its world premiere at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre in a production starring Mandy Patinkin as an obsessed and egomaniacal writer and directed by Oskar Eustis of The Public Theatre, features puppets created by Matt Acheson and delicately manipulated by Emily DeCola, Daniel Fay and Eric Wright. It’s a chewy, sinuous, contemplative piece about the tension between the self and the community, personal and social politics and the commercialism that often gets caught up even the most heartfelt of artistic endeavors. But the dramatist, though ambitious, gets her dramaturgical strings tangled.

The various strands of Groff’s real-life historical content (to do with Anne Frank, the circumstances surrounding the adaptation of her famous Diary, the life of the writer Meyer Levin and the Leopold and Loeb murder case) all feel jumbled and like they should exist in separate plays, rather than feeling part of one work. The puppet metaphor doesn’t feel well-integrated into the storytelling, the material is repetitive at times (there’s only so much listening to a writer rant about his right to tell Anne Frank’s story as a Jew that I can take) and I found that I didn’t much care about the characters by the end of the play.

This is a shame as the acting from the three-strong cast, which features Hannah Cabell and Matte Osian alongside the excellently verkakte Patinkin, is sensitive and engrossing. There’s a gorgeous fragility to the way in which the puppeteers manipulate their marionettes. And the pacing of the action by Eustis is mostly electric.

Yet I felt disappointed. The play, with its magical realism mixed with Arthur Miller-like naturalism reminds me of Paula Vogel’s lovely puppet play The Long Christmas Ride Home. But it lacks the same authenticity and clever meshing of ideas.

…Why isn’t it ever any good?

A few days ago, the rules that govern the selecting of repertoire for an orchestral season came up for discussion at a dinner party with a couple of friends, one of whom happens to be the music director of a symphony orchestra.

When the idea of performing the music of Mahler came up, the conductor looked horrified. “I would never program Mahler in this town!” she said.

The reason for this comment wasn’t to do with the fact that she doesn’t like Mahler’s music. Quite the opposite: She loves the composer’s works. But because a conductor in the same region is particularly known for his Mahler concerts and recordings, she balks at the idea of attempting the same repertoire.

It makes sense for a conductor to cleave their own path and champion composers’ with whom they feel a particular affinity. And daring to program pieces that are considered to be the “territory” of another local maestro may be inviting harsh criticism.

But on the other hand, there’s part of me that thinks that my friend should go ahead and schedule Mahler if she wants to. It’s not like the other conductor owns the composer’s works. And I think my friend’s take on his music would be very different to her colleague’s. Why not show some chutzpah and do it?

Audiences might respond warmly to the challenge and critics will at least have something to chew on. I doubt that it would amount to professional suicide. And it might make Mahler — that most gutsy of composers — proud.