lies like truth

Baseball was clearly in the air at San Francisco Opera yesterday afternoon. Besides the fact that a few of the journalists present at the press briefing with Placido Domingo had just come from the ballpark where, among other things, they had heard the actress Zooey Deschanel sing “God Bless America,” there seemed little real reason for that to be the case.

Nevertheless, sports analogies flew backwards and forwards at the briefing like we were watching a commentary from the ballpark rather than listening to one of the world’s greatest living singers discussing opera.

At one point, Domingo compared the job of a tenor to that of a pitcher in a baseball game. At another, David Gockley spoke of the doubts that television executives had about airing professional sports on TV back in the day and compared it to the doubts that they have about putting opera on the small screen today. Domingo’s final statement went something like this: “My dream is that see the opening night of the season at San Francisco Opera or La Scala or The Met from their home.”

I know that Domingo is a sports fan and that SF Opera has enjoyed a partnership with the local ballpark over the past five years with its free outdoor simulcasts of productions beamed to audiences of more than 30,000 from the War Memorial Opera House. But the press event overemphasized the power of the Great Game a little too heavily for my taste.

The journalist Farhad Manjoo (one of my favorite commentators on new media and technology in general) has written a terrific piece in Slate about how the line between blog posts and articles is beginning to blur.

“The design shifts–with blogs looking more like magazines, and magazines looking more like blogs–aren’t just superficial. These changes in presentation are collapsing all distinctions between “blog posts” and “articles,” writes Manjoo. “What’s more, the lines are blurring–blog posts are looking more like articles, and articles are looking more like blog posts…So what’s the difference–what’s a blog post, what’s an article, and does it make any difference vis-à-vis how you navigate the Web?”

I’ve long maintained that the essential difference between a blog post and an article is that a blog post is a sort of fast riff on a subject that isn’t necessarily governed by the usual rules that govern traditional publishing such as word-lengths, multi-perspective reporting and deadlines. A blog post can be about anything. It can skim the surface or go deep depending on the preference of the author. There doesn’t even need to be a news peg. And bloggers, in the traditional view, are their own editors. They make up the rules and bear the full brunt of the fallout for what they write.

On the other hand, I’ve generally thought of articles as being pre-meditated, more carefully researched and fully reported pieces that appear in media outlets beyond my own self-published blog. I am always paid for articles I write, but I do not get paid for blogging. And there are always gatekeepers shaping my articles. Article ideas have to be approved by editors. The editors also contribute (sometimes heavily) to the final look and feel of the story. An article is a team effort whereas a blog post isn’t.

Manjoo’s piece is interesting because it makes explicit the changes that are occurring in the media industry now that blogs have become a core part of many traditional media outlets’ operations and blog-centric enterprises like Gawker turning profits. Gawker and entities like it are able to pay their bloggers salaries because blogs, particularly those about popular topics such as political and social gossip, cars, sex and sports are garnering so many millions of eyeballs which translates into advertising dollars.

As an arts blogger, I continue to maintain my own codes for what constitutes a blog post versus an article. But I do this partly out of financial necessity: until I can make a living from writing an arts blog, I can only devote so much time to researching and writing it. I also feel that the riffing, off-the-cuff nature of a blog post, is something to be prized. There’s room for both kinds of writing — the fast and dirty, and the slow and carefully researched — in the world of words.

I’ve a feeling that it won’t be long until my approach will seem super old-fashioned, though. Or maybe, because of the non-remuneratory nature of most arts blogs, the arts blogging world will stay behind other more wealthy areas of the blogging community. Those guys may well, as Manjoo’s story suggests, move to the magazine-like layouts and legions of editors of old-style publishing. That’ll be ironic.I wouldn’t be surprised if the arts blogging world doesn’t get there, at least for a long time. Which may be a good thing.

I am just about to go off the grid for a few days and am in a festive mood. So I thought I would regale my readers with some terrible jokes about choirs that I dug up on a whim while procrastinating on the Internet recently. I’ll be back in the blogging saddle next week sometime. For now, read these and be happy you’re not a chorister. Or if you are, be happy you have a sense of humor about it…

Q: Dad, why do the singers rock left and right while performing on stage?
A: Because, son, it is more difficult to hit a moving target.

Q: How many altos does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None. They can’t get up that high.

Q: Where’s a tenor’s resonance?
A: Where his brain should be.

Q: What do you call ten baritones at the bottom of the ocean?
A: A good start.

Q: What is the definition of a mezzo soprano?
A: Just an alto with a soprano’s attitude

Q: What’s the difference between a soprano and the PLO?
A: You can negotiate with the PLO.

Q: How do you tell if a bass is actually dead?
A: Hold out a check

Q: Why do high school choruses travel so often?
A: Keeps assassins guessing.

Q: What’s the definition of an optimist?
A: A choral director with a mortgage.

By far the best thing about attending We Players‘ production of Hamlet is the location. I am not sure how the small, non-profit theatre company managed to swing the insane logistics involved in undertaking such a project. But We is somehow pulling off a walk-through production of Shakespeare’s tragedy on The Rock through November 21st.

The use of the space is remarkable. The opening ghost scene takes place on the ramparts of the main block, with the audience watching from far below as Hamlet and his cohorts scamper about trying desperately to comprehend the sight of the Prince’s dead father, refracted eerily through the presence of several figures standing motionless in black jumpsuits and white head coverings. The Mousetrap scene takes place in a cell area, with the audience crammed behind bars while the scene change occurs in the walkway between the cells. And Claudius’ private confession of guilt in the chapel transpires in the mouth of a hidden tunnel close to a rusty mammoth water tower with a giddy view of the Golden Gate Bridge and city lights behind him.

If only the acting were on a par with the setting. The voluntary cast gives a great deal — they play with undeniable commitment and passion. But there is no subtlety or nuance in their performances. Obviously the acting has to be “large” in the opening outdoor scenes when the actors have to contend with ferry noise and other daytime distractions. But all the scenes, whether played indoors or outside, are communicated at such a fraught and feverish pitch that the play soon becomes exhausting and ultimately tedious to watch.

Still, simply getting a chance to experience parts of the island prison that members don’t ordinarily get to see makes this Hamlet a worthwhile adventure.

One of the key reasons that directors and producers choose to stage classic dramas written in a past era is for their function as prisms through which we can view the issues and challenges of our own time. Audiences in Shakespeare’s day were, in addition to having a rollicking good time, encouraged to see the parallels between, say, the trials of Henry IV and the tumultuous political and religious power tactics going on at the upper echelons of their country at that time.

I was thinking about this as I watched Mark Jackson’s mostly riveting adaptation of Friedrich Schiller’s Mary Stuart at Shotgun Players‘ Ashby Stage on Friday night. The drama has a lot of contemporary appeal because of its portrayal of the fraught relationship between two monarchs. One clearly has the upper hand from a power perspective (Queen Elizabeth I), and the other, Queen Mary of Scots, though suppliant, is a force in her own right for her ability to move men to undertake rash deeds on her behalf.

The American Conservatory Theater did the play not too long ago; there was a recent production from London’s Donmar Warehouse starring Janet McTeer and Harriet Walter which visited Broadway.

Unlike the McTeer/Walter version which I saw on Broadway and found to be dry and slow, Jackson’s production is thrilling. I loved the taut-lyrical text which balances a contemporary feel with a timeless lyricism, the simmering rage of the characters, the rigorous and compelling performances from all members of the cast — without exception — and moments of gravelly humor. The push-pull of the relationship between Beth Wilmurt as Queen Elizabeth and Stephanie Gularte as Mary — actresses who match pride with sensitivity — keeps us constantly engaged.

Where the production falls short for me is in the decision to bring out the contemporary political parallels in a way that’s way too obvious. The “surveillance chic” of the setting — an austere government screening facility with nondescriptly-painted, flimsy walls, a one-way viewing screen and video screens — puts the comparison between Renaissance England and modern America too much in our faces.

Part of the power of experiencing a play like this is having to work to draw whatever conclusions you want about contemporary life. Jackson hands it all to us on a platter and leaves little to our imaginations.

It’s gotten to the point where hearing about how fed up people are about the decline of arts reviews in the press is becoming boring and not helpful in terms of finding a solution to replace the loss.

“I miss newspapers,” gripes Ron Evans in a recent blog post on the Arts Marketing Bog Salon. “No, I know we still have some daily, weekly, and other newspapers around the country (and my hat goes off to those still working in this field. I also miss hats). But the decline of arts journalism has been massive over the last few years. There are only a few newspapers left in the country that have dedicated arts reviewers/writers – writers who can be trusted to at least publicly declare that they continue to follow journalistic standards. And that’s sad. It’s sad, because nothing good has risen up to replace them.”

I heard a similar cri-de-coeur this morning in a phone interview with the head of a cabaret organization in New York, who blames the loss of media coverage as playing a major role in killing off cabaret as an art form and cabaret venues. And I feel like I hear or read similar complaints every day. 

People have been voicing such laments for about a decade now. Chafing at this point isn’t going to bring back full-time arts critics at all the newspapers. It won’t even bring back the newspapers. The fact is that the media landscape is irrevocably changing and we need to look to new alternatives for trusted, engaging writing and thinking about the arts. The blogosphere is full of people who aren’t trustworthy as commentators. But I don’t think it’ll be long before trustworthy commentators rise to the top. It just takes time and patience for this to happen.

I just got the following email from a friend about In the Red and Brown Water, the first part of The Brothers/Sisters Plays, a trilogy of dramas by Tarell Alvin McCraney (pictured). The trilogy is currently being rolled-out in three Bay Area theatres:

“By the by,” wrote my friend. “Have you seen In the Red and Brown Water at Marin Theatre Company? You should. It’s incredible.”

I’ve been hearing words like “amazing” and “incredible” applied not just to this play, but also to The Brothers Size, the middle play in the trilogy, which I caught last night at The Magic Theatre. The third play, Marcus: Or the Secret of Sweet, opens at ACT on October 29.

I’m sorry to say that I didn’t enjoy The Brothers Size at all.

I wonder if I needed to see the Marin play to appreciate the Magic one? I think not though, because I’ve heard that all the plays stand alone as individual units as well as a three-part whole. Plus, the issues I have with “the middle child” have little to do with thematic, narrative or character stuff that would only make sense when thought about in relation to the two plays that bookend this drama.

The play only lasts 90 minutes, but director Octavio Solis’ production plays itself out in one exhausting style: Loud. The Magic Theatre is an intimate space, but the three-strong ensemble felt the need to shout their way through the entire play. There is no quiet place to reflect on any of the action. I don’t appreciate McCraney’s conceit of having the characters announce their movements in the third person every now and again, as if reading the stage directions out loud (e.g. “Ogun Size Exits.”) What’s the point? The self-conscious technique  doesn’t to my mind reveal anything about the relationships between the characters or the deeper themes about brotherhood in the play. And the karaoke scene in which the brothers dance and sing to a cheesy Motown track (“Try a little Tenderness”) is simply embarrassing. Finally, I’m getting a little bored of dramas featuring people of color who are either on their way to prison, in prison or recently paroled from prison. Enough with the cliches.

I’d like to get over to Marin to see the first play in the cycle before it closes. But I’m not sure I’ll manage it. Perhaps at least I’ll get to ACT to see the end out.

I am impressed with the way in which the three companies are collaborating on this project. It’s a great way to get audiences connected to a bunch of theatres and introduce them to the work of a “hot” new playwright. And certainly, McCraney’s dramas seems to be touching audiences who’ve seen either or both of the first two plays thus far. Perhaps there’s something wrong with me?

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.