Comedians love Conservative politicians like Harper & Ford. They’re perfect for the purveyors of satire & political comedy. And after the kind of week we’ve had in Scarborough I hope we can be forgiven for seeking out a good laugh, particularly in a topical reference.
But have no fear. Laughs were available aplenty in Scarborough, thanks to the return of the Guild Festival Theatre, the company using the grounds of the old Guild Inn.
Last year Artistic Director Sten Eirik launched GFT–their first season—with a nimble production of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard, exploiting the classical beauty of the theatre, complete with birdsong & fragrant breezes from the lake.
Ambitious as that was, this season Eirik and company are attempting something more elaborate, namely Clouds Over T.O. an original musical based on Aristophanes’ Clouds. Instead of romance, we’re in the realm of ideas and philosophy. Eirik is not only director but author of the book & song lyrics, working from a translation by Christopher Kelk, in collaboration with composers David Buchbinder and Adam Sakiyama.
The payoff arrives slowly, because there’s so much exposition at the top of the show, just to explain the premise. But once it’s established, the show gets funnier. In the second act the show hits its stride, achieving the biggest laughs of the night.
The performances were uniformly strong dramatically. Sam Moses is Dr B.S. Kroc, a modern-day version of Socrates, teaching us how to put a spin on things. Adrian Gorrissen is his chief pupil Fergus, a kind of modern everyman, and, as the guy who gets most of the funny lines, he delivers. Tyler Seguin was especially persuasive in his hip-hop incarnation of Ziggy-Zag, the musical highlight of the show.
Clouds Over T.O. presented by Guild Festival Theatre continues until August 12th. Be prepared to dress warmly, as the air from the bluffs cools things wonderfully well.
On the weekend I sampled some French culture, visiting the francophone town of Lafontaine Ontario for their Festival du Loup¸ followed by a visit to the nearby town of Midland and the Shrine to 17th Century Jesuit Martyrs.
Today I am thinking about my DVD of Lully’s opera Persée, both in context with Bastille Day –the day symbolizing the end of ostentatious displays of royal wealth—and the imminent premiere of Opera Atelier at Glimmerglass Festival later this week.
The DVD is from Opera Atelier’s production of a few years ago, but has a lot of resonance with their new production of Armide that i reviewed when it appeared in Toronto back in April.
Both operas are by Jean-Baptiste Lully, opera composer, ballet master and friend of Louis XIV
In other words, both operas blend singing and dance more fully than any other opera one could name and therefore a natural for Opera Atelier, who are as much a baroque ballet ensemble as an opera company
Two of the principals on the DVD of Persée will also appear in the Glimmerglass Armide namely Colin Ainsworth (Mercure the messenger god) and Curtis Sullivan (playing multiple roles, including a funny turn as one of the gorgons)
Persée includes some wonderful music, such as the scene where the young hero is equipped for his battle with the Medusa, or the hilarious encounter with the gorgons. Throughout we’re lulled by the sweet sound of Tafelmusik Orchestra and Chorus, authoritatively led by baroque scholar Hervé Niquet.
I bought this recording recently after seeing Armide. I looked online to see what was available by Lully from Opera Atelier (needing to hear that unique sound again): and was happy to see this DVD, from a production I thoroughly loved. It’s in the usual Opera Atelier style, which is to say, informed by scholarship about movement, costume & design, yet informed by modern values while remaining respectful of the original. For those fearful of Regietheater, director Marshall Pynkoski always works from the text, preserving the original sense even as he sometimes offers wonderfully original touches (as he did in his recent production of Don Giovanni).
It’s true that Opera Atelier’s Persée omits the Prologue (an allegorical discussion with Virtue and her attendants). I don’t miss it, both because the opera was unknown to me before i encountered their production, but also because they make something marvellous from the rest of the opera.
For anyone coming out of the Glimmerglass production of Armide and needing a fix of Lully via Opera Atelier, they may want to obtain the DVD of Persée.
Opera Atelier’s co-production of Armide with Glimmerglass opens July 21st, running until August 23rd. As a teaser, here’s a small sample of the fearsome (and silly) gorgons.
It’s hot in Ontario. But then again it’s hot everywhere nearby. New York? Hot. Quebec? Not precisely chilly. You get the picture.
Going for a drive in the countryside might seem like a strange thing to do on a hot day. Curiously I’m starting to get accustomed to record breaking heat, and no longer cower in air conditioned spaces. Instead we enjoyed a day more or less at the mercy of the elements.
After a somewhat slow drive up the 400 to Barrie, and the exit for Elmvale (where the traffic improved substantially once we got through the heavy traffic after the exit), we came to Lafontaine Ontario, a charming little town with a decidedly francophone presence. Everywhere you turn, you hear not just accents, but conversations 100% in French.
Click for the animation on Lafontaine Festival du Loup webpage
The village of Lafontaine are celebrating their heritage this weekend, possibly because today is Bastille Day, in something called “Festival du Loup”, including live musical performances, history displayed in the parish hall to explore their heritage, and more.
We stopped for lunch at Wendy B’s, a terrific gourmet shop where you can sit & enjoy their wares. I had a cheesy meatloaf –stuffed with blue cheese—and gazpacho, wonderful on such a hot day.
Across the street from Wendy B’s is a gallery displaying works by Patrick DeCoste. He has a wonderful way with history and images suggesting history, seeming very apt to accompany the Festival.
After poking around on the beach for a bit (including a perfectly preserved crayfish skeleton) we were off to the main bit of French heritage in the area, namely the shrine to the 17th century Jesuit Martyrs in Midland, a site visited by John Paul II back in 1984. The grounds are extraordinarily beautiful.
A perfect counterpoint can be found in the Indian village alongside the shrine, preserving evidence of this early North American settlement, and the interaction between the native Wendat population & the Jesuit missionaries. One lasting legacy is the Christmas carol Canadian children sing, written in 1643 by Jean de Brébeuf.
And then we came home to Toronto.
By the way, the Festival du Loup continues Sunday in Lafontaine. The program can be seen here .
This isn’t one of those stories constructed using “emotion recollected in tranquility” (to use Woodsworth’s charming phrase). I am shaken by what I’ve seen, my hands still shaking a bit.
It’s almost 7:15 as I type this in Word (and will then upload it to the blog at some point). Sometime between 6 and 6:30 my ritual drive home was stopped by an incident in front of me. The slow-moving traffic had just passed Broadview, east-bound on Gerrard.
In front of me I watched a cyclist seeming to manoeuvre around the mirror sticking out of the side of a big truck. And strangely I watched his front wheel turn sideways. Did I see him bounce of the side of the truck? I was a few car-lengths back. I did see him pitch over the handlebars, landing on his head.
I moved the car slowly forward, then stopped the car still a car-length or so away. As I got out, a few people rushed past me to look. There was lots of bustle. For a second I was distressed to see the phone come out: for a voyeur to take an exploitive photo? But no, she was calling 9-1-1, and as I listened I could tell she knew what to say.
I relaxed somewhat, even as I looked in closer. As she described the cyclist, I saw that his eyes were wide open as if he were unconscious. There was blood and other wetness. Was he even alive? Yes, but…
I went back to the car, realizing we were all very vulnerable, particularly this unknown guerrilla cyclist, lying wounded on the asphalt. I pulled the car close enough that no one could possibly hit him going around me; but I was still 5 feet away.
Emergency vehicles soon arrived. First the EMS vehicle. Two calmly competent professionals came into the picture. As I looked down, the ambiguity of it bothered me, that he wasn’t moving, and maybe was in very bad shape.
One of the EMS people engaged with the cyclist and suddenly he came to life, clearly in shock, complaining and angry. He tried to get up, dizzy and bloody, trying to escape the freak show that, alas, he was starring in. All of our attention was unwanted. But he was very groggy.
The fire truck also arrived, followed by a police car. The additional bodies meant the cyclist could go on the board, once he’d been disentangled from the bike and his backpack. As I was nearest, I helped separate him from the bicycle, which he still clutched ferociously in one hand, as if it were his last dollar. He was simultaneously, so strong, so cranky, but so beautifully alive in all his messy glory.
The policeman said authoritatively “any witnesses?” No one replied and then I realized, that I was the witness.
We stepped aside while I gave him my statement. I was disturbed that I wasn’t really sure what I’d seen. In fact I’d been easily 3 car-lengths away. The narrow fore-shortened view from behind? I couldn’t tell, really, whether he hit the truck going by, or simply flipped due to the railway tracks. His front wheel did turn, that I know.
And he’d landed on his head.
Oh yes, the policeman did his evangelical thing at that moment and I have to say, it was gently heroic. Quiet but firm he said “no helmet.”
And yes, I realized, there was all that wetness, blood and sweat all over the guy’s hair, particularly on the side of his head that he landed on. My first sad impression when his head was lifted was that his skull had been caved in a bit. At the very least he’d landed right on his head, even though his bicycle was moving in slow motion.
The policeman continued. “If he’d had a helmet he’d be in better shape… maybe he would have got up without any injury.” I was freaked out at what a little thing it is, the margin between that guy continuing his ride home, and the lengthy detour he’s taken to a hospital via the EMS vehicle. I’m hoping he’s okay. He was a strong man in excellent physical shape. And yet he was in shock, after having been unconscious.
Magic Helmet?
I was reminded of a phrase from What’s Opera, Doc, the old Bugs Bunny Cartoon where Elmer Fudd wants to Kill the Wabbit.
Bugs: Oh mighty warrior of great fighting stock Might I inquire to ask eh… what’s up doc? Elmer: I’m going to kill the wabbit! Bugs: O mighty warrior, ’twill be quite a task How will you do it, might I inquire to ask? E: I will do it with my spear and magic helmet. B: Spear and magic helmet? E: Spear and magic helmet. B: Magic helmet?
Nevermind Wagner or incantations. I was thinking that a helmet that can save a life is certainly magic. Any helmet for a cyclist in an accident is better than meeting the pavement with only hair and skin to protect your precious brains.
I am pretty sure this fellow will survive. He was saved largely by the excellent performance of the Toronto emergency staff (two wonderful EMS technicians, a policeman and policewoman, and four firemen). Perhaps the key in all this was an unknown bystander who took first aid training, the woman who came galloping in to phone 9-1-1, directing the swift emergency response. She definitely made a difference. I hope she knows that.
She’s my hero.
Too had that cyclist wasn’t wearing a helmet, though: magic or otherwise. Pardon me if i seem to be making light of things, mentioning Bugs Bunny. If you’re a cyclist wear a helmet, unless you really have magic, because when push comes to shove, we’re as fragile as little wabbits when we take a spill on the streetcar tracks.
Statistics can describe aspects of any art form. For example:
Guernica is 3.49 meters by 7.76 meters (more than 11 feet by over 25 feet)
Syberberg’s film Our Hitler is over 7 hours long.
Georgia O’Keefe lived close to 100 years
I picked examples of numbers that probably have been noticed before. The arts are sometimes uncomfortable about being measured. Some movements such as the Symbolists objected to science & positivism, fearing numbers and reductive thinking.
Opera is both an art form and a big business. The interface between creativity and the search for profit is sometimes a very troubled place, where ideals collide with harsh realities. For this reason artists hire specialists to promote their careers. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, as astute entrepreneurs spot the artists who can make them a buck, and then put them onstage.
I think the creation of opera may or may not benefit from the study of numbers; but the business of promoting and producing opera can’t ignore the evidence found in numbers.
Some countries clearly produce more opera than others. If you drill down (click on highlighted topics) you can, for example, see which cities produce the most operas. Toronto for instance is tied with Chicago (the second most prolific city in the USA) at 87 operas, based on the 2009-10 season.
I find these stats fascinating. For instance (quoting from operabase):
While I am a bit sad to see that Canada only has the one entry, it dawns on me that at least based on numbers, Toronto is arguably the next most important opera city in North America after New York. Of course Chicagoans might want to dispute that. But that’s one of the enjoyable side-effects of statistics, that they provoke discussion & argument.
Giuseppe Verdi
And then there are the stats about composers & popular operas. Mozart’s The Magic Flute is #1, followed by Verdi’s La Traviata. I feel some of the same pleasure reading these lists of composers & operas, as I do poring over box scores & batting averages on the sports pages. While one can’t capture the magic of baseball in those numbers, there’s much to be learned, even as each set of statistics raises a host of additional questions.
Popularity can’t be ignored in opera, given the expense of the form. When operas continue to draw audiences year after year, one has to consider the possibility that there’s a correlation between that popularity and something meaningful about the works themselves. Scholars share the symbolists’ fear of reductivism addressed above. Numbers seem too easy, and don’t reflect the subtlety of the works being studied.
Must it always be subtle, intangible, and irreducible? I don’t know. I would never mistake a box score for a ballgame. I simply find it a great way to read about the games I’ve missed and to ponder the ones I’ve seen.
A plot synopsis would never be mistaken for an opera, although curiously, operatic scores are sometimes treated as though they’re sacred even though they’re just part of the recipe (but instead of “just add water” the missing ingredient is the performer).
Go read the operabase stats. Drill down. You won’t have all the answers, just a series of new questions.
There are at least a few names conspicuous for their absence. I won’t argue with those “modern day masters”, whoever they might be. Let me simply suggest a few more names. Here are ten names to consider. Whether any of them are pianists worthy to displace any of the ten from this other list, I leave to you.
Frederic Chopin: Maybe he’s not the greatest in history, but it seems reasonable to assume that he was a good pianist, when he was able to play most if not all of his own compositions: which aren’t exactly chopped liver.
Robert Schumann: again we’re speaking of a pianist who wrote challenging music. I won’t put Clara Schumann on this list, even though it may be that she was a better pianist than Robert. There are other great composers who were reputed to be fine pianists, such as Felix Mendelssohn and Georges Bizet who likely could make this list. But nevermind them, as the evidence is sketchy.
But chief among all these composers must surely be Franz Liszt, the prototype of the virtuoso. We can only speculate on his abilities from what he gave us in his transcriptions. But that’s already solid evidence of great technique, possibly the greatest pianist of all time, and strangely absent from the Limelight list.
By the same logic as #3, we’d have to also admit Ferrucio Busoni may have been an even more impressive pianist than Liszt, again considering the evidence of his transcriptions.
While he may not have been a successful concert pianist, Claude Debussy was one of a kind, a performer who played not only his own music but reductions of Wagner operas (where Debussy would also sing the vocal lines).
And while we’re talking about composers who were outside the usual concert realm, what about George Gershwin?
And here’s another pianist without a career as a concert pianist, namely Leonard Bernstein. Why be a pianist when you’re one of the greatest composers.
As we list pianist-composers (having mentioned Liszt, but also with Rachmaninoff at the top of Limelight’s list) we might have to include Sergei Prokofiev.
Dimitri Shostakovich? Another great composer who was a fabulous piano player
And there’s also Bela Bartok
And i left Gottschalk and Grainger off the list, even though i hear Gottschalk played like a god, and Grainger? i love his music.
Having looked at great composers of the last century, I will add a few great pianists from the last hundred years who somehow failed to get enough votes from the “Modern Masters”.
Daniel Barenboim
Solomon
Walter Gieseking
Leon Fleischer
Maurizio Pollini
Alexis Weissenberg
Lazar Berman
Martha Argerich
At what age does a piano player reach their peak? Whatever one understands by words such as “greatest pianist”, one has to admit that most abilities fade in time. Chess masters peak somewhere around 35 years of age. Given the physical component of pianism, it’s hard to believe that a great pianist plays better in their 60s than they played in their youth. While it’s certainly true that reputation gets you the opportunity to be heard, is the piano playing as good when one is aging? I’d have to think not, speaking as someone whose eyes can’t sight-read as well now as they once did, who doesn’t have the same stamina to sit at a piano that i once had.
I put that out there, completely fascinated by two young pianists. While reputation takes time to acquire, I am inclined to believe that maybe these two young pianists deserve to be considered among the greatest pianists currently playing on this planet, if not among the greatest ever. Each of them has taken an unorthodox approach to building fame.
The two? Valentina Lisitsa and Stewart Goodyear. Both are young.
Valentina Lisitsa has become known through performances on youtube. Look at this one for example, and notice her fluid technique. She has been gaining fame through youtube rather than the usual pathways for classical musicians. Her technique is so relaxed, she doesn’t seem to be working at all….wow(!)
Stewart Goodyear? I’ve been writing about him so much lately that I worry i am sounding like the proverbial broken record. He has the passion of Artur Schnabel, but without any of the wrong notes.
And of course there are other pianists coming up. In a NY Times article i cited a few weeks ago, Anthony Tommasini remarked that virtuosi are becoming a dime a dozen. Skillsets improve with each generation, so that perhaps brilliance is becoming so common that we don’t appreciate it anymore. Perhaps we’re blasé about talent.
If you were to ask a Canadian to name the best hockey film, they’d have a fairly short list to work with. Where baseball has generated a fairly long list of films, some sentimental, some colourful, portraying various aspects of that sport, hockey hasn’t been fully captured on film.
The best hockey films?
Slap Shot, possibly Paul Newman’s best film, even if the way hockey gets represented isn’t terribly accurate. Yes I love the Hanson brothers, yes I delight in the profanity that’s woven throughout, but that’s not really what hockey looks like, fun as the film is.
The Mighty Ducks franchise made lots of money for Disney. And if you believe that’s what hockey is, perhaps I should introduce you to their talking animals, Mickey & Goofy, who can teach you a great deal about zoology.
Face-Off uses hockey as a backdrop, a romance rather than a hockey movie.
Miracle On Ice is a TV movie telling the story of the American victory in the 1960 Olympics. I had to look it up (wikipedia), which tells you how memorable it was.
But now there’s a new champ in town. Move over Slap Shot. I saw Goon today, never doubting for a moment I’d love this movie. Like Slap Shot there’s so much profanity in this film that it almost needs a special category all its own. When I said there’s a new champ in town I meant to allude to its subject because Goon is really a movie about one aspect of hockey, namely the fighter: the goon.
Written by Jay Baruchel & Evan Goldberg (adapted from the book Goon: The True Story of an Unlikely Journey into Minor League Hockey by Adam Frattasio & Doug Smith), directed by Michael Dowse (who also directed Fubar II) it’s a film as blunt as its title, yet full of surprises.
Goon uses music of surprising sophistication. While most of the score is rock music, at times we’re treated to different passages from Puccini’s opera Turandot, and not just the famous tune that ends with a hero defiantly shouting “vincero” (or “I shall win”).
The title character is one of the sweetest characters you’ll ever meet, even though he has the ability to knock you silly: when he isn’t doing the honourable thing.
Goon tells a series of interconnected stories against a backdrop of a very cynical industry, namely hockey. Our goon is Doug Glatt, portrayed by Seann William Scott, a man with no illusions about his abilities (he can barely skate), particularly in comparison to his brother (a doctor). Doug, who is an up and coming young fighter at the beginning of his career, is juxtaposed against a veteran at the end of his career, namely Ross Rhea, in a wonderful portrayal from Liev Schreiber, including something like a Newfoundland accent.
This is not a film for children, unless you’re okay with exposing them to sex, drugs and more blood than a butcher shop on a busy day. It’s grotesque, which is precisely why it’s so gloriously good.
To begin the voyage through Stewart Goodyear’s set on Marquis of the complete Piano Sonatas of Beethoven, I took two CDs, and listened to each one multiple times. While I seem to be jumping in at either end (CD #1 and CD #9) they represent a kind of logical place to start:
CD #9 includes the epic Hammerklavier sonata, Op 106 (sonata #29), that gave me my first introduction to Goodyear on youtube.
CD #1 contains the three sonatas Op 2, or in other words Beethoven’s first three
In each case there’s an opportunity to compare, both to the internet recordings and to live performances I heard in the “Beethoven Marathon”.
Performance can be understood as a kind of research. When you do something on a stage, on your toes, with your fingers at a keyboard, you are making propositions, and testing hypotheses. While the hypothetical element isn’t a scientific theory, one puts a particular reading—such as an interpretation of a piano sonata—to a test every time one sits down to play. One is especially aware of the hypothetical aspect when one encounters a performer going in a new direction with a well-known piece. The ears and eyes of an audience who think they know a particular composition may resist and may simply not understand.
Listening to Goodyear I feel certain that his mind embraces Beethoven with a calm clarity that lays the music bare before him, taking in not only the shapes of musical phrases, but an understanding of how to sound notes. He is different from what I have encountered before. Playing passages quickly may at first seem to be a virtuosic device, when one has always heard a piece slower. But I have discovered that by playing passages quickly one may discern the sense of the whole. This was my surprised discovery listening to the final movement of sonata #29.
I grew up listening to Schnabel. Then came Ashkenazy’s performance on Decca. I found Schnabel at times percussive, prone to occasional wrong notes, yet coming from a place that seemed inspired and driven by vision: which justifies the wrong notes and the occasional harsh attack. That sense of an inspire romantic is a 20th century tradition, whereby we smile and indulge wrong notes. Ashkenazy seemed so much warmer & more precise, but not as fast & furious as Schnabel. The newer recording of Ashkenazy (in the 1970s?) far surpasses the mono sound for Schnabel
Goodyear gives us the speed & ferocity of Schnabel, with note-perfect precision, and still better sonics. It should be more newsworthy. Why don’t people talk about this? But I guess Beethoven isn’t on MTV and Goodyear doesn’t have a reality TV show.
Coupled with sonata #29 is one of my favourites, namely #28. The Marathon had me looking for compositional parallels, thinking about how Beethoven takes up recurring ideas in subsequent compositions. When one listens to #s 28 & 29 together over and over as I have, one starts to see patterns. The choices of keys –so unorthodox for both sonatas—are particularly intriguing when one looks at the two works as part of one larger compositional journey, as one sees in the Marathon. Consider:
One sonata is in A, one is in B-flat.
The 2nd movement of #28 in A is in F: normally a key one would encounter in a sonata in B-flat.
The third movement of #29 is in F-sharp minor, the relative minor to A.
The introduction of the last movement of #29, beginning on F as one might expect segues boldly into loud crashing chords in A that strongly resemble the end of sonata #28.
And everywhere, phrases that answer one another. While it isn’t all contra-puntal, the writing is very dense.
Need I add that Goodyear plays both 28 & 29 with great clarity, at times with a muscular attack reminding me of Schnabel, but crisp and clean.
And then there are the first sonatas on CD #1. But Goodyear brings the same muscular clarity to bear on the early works.
The drama of the F minor sonata Op 2 #1 is infused with Sturm und Drang, a melodrama of great contrasts, very disciplined in its attire. There’s sentiment without sentimentality. Sonata #2 in A opens and closes with fast moving passages leaping up and down the keyboard, with understated drama in the inner movements.
And then comes Op 2 #3 in C, one of the highlights of the live performances of the Marathon. I remembered my sense that Goodyear could see deeply into the heart of the music, in the balance (or is it an emotional symmetry?) one feels in his reading. All four movements are marvellous, but the inner two are particularly fine. The slow movement is one of those delicate explorations of passion that we see in the early sonatas. The scherzo reminds me of the vaudeville show I saw yesterday, the voices dancing up and down the keys resembling –or inciting—a strong sense of hilarity, as if one were listening to laughter. And the closing movement is a liberating exercise in speed and delicacy.
I won’t stop listening to those two CDs (particularly when some passages continue to echo inside my head: a good thing). Now it’s time to hear more of the set.
It’s July in Toronto, which means it’s time for the Fringe Festival, the grand-daddy of them all.
Whether we’re talking about Summmerworks, Rhubarb, The Fringe, or one of the others (forgotten by my heat-addled brain) the premise is largely the same (with a few variations that matter more to participants than to the audience in my opinion). Sharing is the key, as several productions share the venues & the revenues generated by such a festival. They’re constrained by the rules to employ limited lighting & design, moving in and out quickly so that several shows can share the space each day.
The dream is alive. Producers & performers alike come to The Fringe in hopes that their short play might use this wonderful showcase as a springboard to various scenarios of bigger and better. How else to explain the incongruities one sometimes encounters, of tiny companies, the usual short plays (as stipulated by The Fringe’s rules), and amazing talent? The reason The Fringe is a can’t-miss proposition for an audience is the opportunity to see these shows in tiny venues, so close to the performers that you can hear them think.
Every year there are a few shows that get extra attention for reasons I don’t pretend to know. It’s word of mouth, whatever that really means. That’s how I heard about The Wakowski Bros: A Canadian Vaudeville, which was my first show of the 2012 Fringe. I was intrigued. Vaudeville? It’s a subject that fascinates me (Canadian or otherwise) and the venue is ridiculously convenient for me.
I was also drawn to Wakowski Bros because it’s directed by Alex Fallis, a Toronto theatre artist I’ve known for a very long time.
…the man who wrote book, music & lyrics for The Wakowski Bros: A Canadian Vaudeville
The funny thing about Wakowski Bros is how it’s simultaneously several things all at the same time, conflating its subject and style into one elegant package. It uses a vaudevillian delivery to explore something of the history of the form, even as it also tells a story about brothers (an irresistible topic for anyone like me who has a brother). The writing is a dazzling bit of meta-theatre, situating us in a performance that explores performance. We’re watching a vaudeville show about vaudeville, complete with bad jokes, sentimental songs, physical gags and a paper thin artifice. Although the tunes are original, written & composed by Wesley J Colford (who wrote book, music & lyrics), they have the disarming ability to make you think you’re hearing an old tune from bygone years.
Lorretta Bailey stole the show (as she said she would)
Sometimes Fringe shows become big hits, and are given extended runs, often in extended versions. It may be that Colford’s play can work in a longer version, but I am especially impressed at how powerfully it works in the short time-slot of a Fringe show. The ending surprised me –something like a discordant cadence—until I recognize that the last moments are likely Colford’s (or Fallis’s) way of showing us which of this play’s several threads is truly paramount (between comedy & music for their own sake, the history of vaudeville and the story of the brothers). Derek Scott and Duff MacDonald are wonderful brothers, although the show is stolen by Loretta Bailey as Caitlyn Rose McLean.
The Wakowski Bros continues at the St Vladimir’s Theatre (thankfully an air-conditioned venue), 620 Spadina Ave until July 15th.
Canada became a country July 1st 1867: one hundred forty-five years ago. July 1st is a day to count one’s blessings, to celebrate a compassionate and gentle country, a haven for so many wonderful people, among them great artists.
I’m thinking of such things as I ponder two extraordinary Canadians: one from the last century, the other from our own.
I grew up hearing about the brilliance of Glenn Gould. In fact I found that while some of his performances were excellent, others were quirky and even disturbing. What I admired was his refusal to sound like anyone else, to behave like anyone else, or to really care very much about everyone else. He is truly an iconoclast, unfettered by the usual procedures or conventions of his instrument. And as a result he went far outside the usual limits & boundaries of the piano, becoming a kind of larger-than-life spokesperson for music and for the arts in Canada. Because he’s so well known –and well documented—I leave it to you to confirm this for yourself rather than waste space on someone so firmly established in the Canadian musical imagination.
The other Canadian is Stewart Goodyear. To be honest I’ve been obsessing about him. He’s been coming into conversations that have little to do with Beethoven or pianism, because again, Goodyear is not following the usual rulebook.
Last month I heard a portion of Goodyear’s Beethoven Marathon, a performance of all 32 sonatas in a day, an undertaking denigrated as an attempt to attract attention. While the concerts did deserve attention –especially considering the pianist’s remarkable approach—they fit nicely into the tradition of piano virtuosity. But the Marathon was a happening, going far beyond what I’d expected. Accompanying the performances were a series of poetic commentaries every bit as unique & witty as the writing we came to expect from Gould. You can see Goodyear’s liner notes here.
I believe Goodyear deserves the kind of worldwide attention that Gould received half a century before, as much of an original thinker, as daring in his interpretations, and yes, at least as fine a pianist. Gould attracted the spotlight with his daring reading of Bach’s Goldberg Variations more than half a century ago, in 1955. I don’t know whether Goodyear can have the same impact when part of Gould’s impact was upon a public who by and large didn’t know those variations that put Gould on the map, and came to be smitten with the composition as much as with the playing. At least some of Beethoven’s sonatas are among the best known compositions for the piano.
Yet from what I’ve heard so far, the young pianist is every bit as original as the one who came before.
I’ve obtained Goodyear’s new release of all 32 piano sonatas on the Marquis label, available online as well as in record stores. I will be writing about them in more detail in coming weeks. Based on what I heard in the live concert, where the young pianist had every note in his head, and a clear interpretive vision unlike anyone out there, and what I’ve heard of the CDs, Goodyear could change the way we hear Beethoven.
But have no fear. Laughs were available aplenty in Scarborough, thanks to the return of the Guild Festival Theatre, the company using the grounds of the old Guild Inn.
The performances were uniformly strong dramatically. Sam Moses is Dr B.S. Kroc, a modern-day version of Socrates, teaching us how to put a spin on things. Adrian Gorrissen is his chief pupil Fergus, a kind of modern everyman, and, as the guy who gets most of the funny lines, he delivers. Tyler Seguin was especially persuasive in his hip-hop incarnation of Ziggy-Zag, the musical highlight of the show.
But now there’s a new champ in town. Move over Slap Shot. I saw Goon today, never doubting for a moment I’d love this movie. Like Slap Shot there’s so much profanity in this film that it almost needs a special category all its own. When I said there’s a new champ in town I meant to allude to its subject because Goon is really a movie about one aspect of hockey, namely the fighter: the goon.
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