Tonight the Canadian Opera Company announced their 2017-2018 season aka #coc1718, an event hosted by Brent Bambury in conversation with Johannes Debus & Alexander Neef. How novel to be permitted –nay encouraged– to tweet during the show about #coc1718.
As the shows were announced and we kept hearing Jane Archibald’s name announced in show after show, I wondered. And so the COC will now have an “Artist in Residence” for 2017-18, namely soprano Jane Archibald, coming on the heels of several wonderful recent portrayals with the COC, most recently in Ariodante. As this is the first time the COC undertakes this kind of thing, I suppose it begins with a season organized around her portrayals of several powerful roles:
As Konstanze in Mozart’s Abduction from the Seraglio, a new translation & production by Wajdi Mouawad, a co-production with Opera de Lyon
As Zdenka in Richard Strauss’s Arabella, a COC premiere, a co-production with Santa Fe & Minnesota Operas,
As the Nightingale in a revival of Robert Lepage’s The Nightingale and other short fables
But I can see other ways that an artist in residence might be put to use, mentoring the ensemble while contributing to the company as well as the community. We’re told that Archibald will do more than just these roles, including a concert in RBA, and who knows what other intriguing responsibilities might develop from this appointment.
It’s a wonderful idea!
Three other shows fill out the season:
Rigoletto, in the revival of the Christopher Alden production, this time starring Roland Wood Anna Christy, and Stephen Costello alternating with Joshua Guerrero as the Duke, conducted by Stephen Lord.
The Elixir of Love in a new production with a Canadian focus, both in its cast –Simone Osborne, Andrew Haji and Gordon Bintner—and its design concept, which we were told would be Canadian as well.
Anna Bolena, as we’ll see a revival of one of the Stephen Lawless productions of Donizetti’s Elizabethan trilogy, starring Sondra Radvanovsky in the title role.
The event was truly celebratory, from the opening number –a chorus from Abduction from the Seraglio—to three solo performances by former ensemble studio member Andrew Haji, plus current members Danika Lorèn and Emily D’Angelo, each singing an aria from one of the operas to be presented.
Members of the 2016/2017 COC Ensemble Studio. (back row, l-r) intern coach and pianist Stéphane Mayer, mezzo-soprano Megan Quick, mezzo-soprano Emily D’Angelo, soprano Samatha Pickett, baritone Bruno Roy, tenor Aaron Sheppard. (front row, l-r) soprano Danika Lorèn, mezzo-soprano Lauren Eberwein, intern coach and pianist Hyejin Kwon, tenor Charles Sy. Photo: Bronwen Sharp
To hear and see the Toronto Symphony Concert tonight was to be confronted with some ageless questions about age.
Mozart, that avatar of youthful brilliance, is indestructible, no matter how he’s played.
Don’t miss this opportunity to hear what the TSO really sound like. When they’re playing in gigantic Roy Thomson Hall (seating 2630) they’re impressive with fortissimos played with a big orchestra, but some of the subtleties of Mozart may tend to get lost in such a big space. It’s simple physics. If the same amount of sonic energy is being shared by 2600+ as well as all those walls and all that air, there’s no way it can be as loud as what you get, for example, hearing Mozart at the Four Seasons Centre (where we’ll have The Magic Flute later this month, shared among a mere 2071 patrons). Now imagine what you get when the TSO pump that same Mozartian sound out in Koerner Hall –their home away from home during the Mozart @261 Festival—for a mere 1135 patrons. That’s fewer than half the number you have at RTH.
No wonder they sound so good there, although the fabulous acoustic doesn’t hurt either. Don’t miss the opportunity to hear the TSO playing Mozart at this festival.
As we’re in the twilight of Peter Oundjian’s career with the TSO, it’s a good time to appreciate what he brings to the table.
He again acted the role of mentor, introducing a pair of young soloists to kick off a festival celebrating Mozart: the quintessential child prodigy.
First it was Kerson Leong, who has appeared with the TSO before, back to play the familiar C major Rondo for violin & orchestra K373.
Violinist Kerson Leong, conductor Peter Oundjian and the Toronto Symphony (photo: Jag Gundu)
I enjoyed watching the eye contact between soloist and conductor-mentor, Oundjian’s joy unmistakeable.
Pianist Leonid Nediak
Then we met young Leonid Nediak, who has one of the most unique set of mannerisms I can recall in a soloist, apparently very humble. He comes across as a brilliant nerd, leading me to wonder if Mozart had been born in our century whether he too would be a whiz at computer science & math: as Nediak is.
His playing is quite delightful, accurate, fluid, and with a deep well of charisma under the surface. Where his body language is understated, the playing is powerful and mature.
After the intermission we heard the TSO with Oundjian, showing us what the orchestra really sounds like in this lovely little hall. Oundjian used a baton for the two outer movements, a choice I’m guessing that has to do with his approach to the tempi. Whereas he’s consistent in the inner movements –the second languid, the third, very quick—and so prefers to conduct using his bare hands, in the outer movements, he needed the extra control that the baton affords. This was especially clear in the last movement, where the first subject was breath-takingly fast, while the second subject (either in its first utterance in major, or its last one in minor) was more wistful, and even introspective: but requiring a quick return to the faster tempo for the concluding bars. This alternation of tempi is a more romantic approach that’s possibly a bit out of fashion, but still quite beautiful to hear, and consistent with what I grew up with on records, thinking for example of conductors such as Karl Bohm or Herbert von Karajan.
For an encore Oundjian led the TSO in a slow reading of “Ave verum corpus” arranged for strings, which I quite loved, both because it reminds me of the fun I’ve had singing this with my church choir, and because for a moment I was put in mind of Stokowski and his arrangements. In so doing it was curious that we were looking both ahead – to the bright future of the talented young prodigies we heard—and back, to the earlier style of playing Mozart.
But it all works. Magnificent Mozart rules.
This program repeats Thursday January 12th while the festival continues with two other programs:
Emmanuel Ax plays concertos # 14 & 23, coupled with Symphony #33, conducted by Michael Francis, January 13 & 14
Conductor Bernard Labadie is joined by violinist Isabelle Faust for Mozart’s violin concerti #1 & 3, coupled with Symphony #38 on January 18 & 20
I’m viewing Danny and the Deep Blue Sea, the live show I saw previewed tonight, through the same lens through which I stared at La La Land last night. Yesterday was a big movie house full of people. Tonight was an immersive presentation of John Patrick Shanley’s play in a small room in a bar in downtown Toronto. Where LLL asked us whether art should care whether we reach the faces in the crowd, DDBS is right in those faces, who wouldn’t be there if they didn’t care. It’s very intimate.
And yet the big question I asked last night is the same one I’m asking today. Are happy endings possible? The heart sometimes opens up to the possibility, sometimes closes off, recoiling from our own dream.
The question carries different weight in this utterance. I am finding myself noticing that maybe everything artistic is a kind of proposition, a hypothesis. Sure, you thought Star Trek or Twilight or the Magic Flute were attempts to tell a story. But before any of that, they inoculate you, jabbing something into you that infects you with the possibility of something other than what is literally so. Yes we see spaceships or vampires or singers in these three examples, and if we stay with the story it’s because we buy its hypothesis, that those characters can hold our attention because they persuade us to see more than just actors or singers.
I went into a small room, then after I’d removed my coat, briefly retreated to the washroom to relieve myself. Upon my return, while I was still in the room, I wasn’t alone, because Bria McLaughlin was sitting in the middle of the room.
Where should I sit, I wondered? Bria is a lovely person of course, but no, this was not really Bria, but “Roberta” her character in Danny & the Deep Blue Sea. I was tempted for a moment to sit right in front of her. She’s very beautiful and I enjoy looking at beautiful people (don’t you?). But I also knew that I didn’t want to in any way make this immersive thing any harder by making eye contact with her. Every seat in this charming little room was a front-row seat, so I chose to sit behind her, which might make things easier. So I pulled out my phone and took some pictures. Because the show hadn’t started yet this was permitted, whereas it wouldn’t be once they were underway.
The place started to fill up somewhat.
And then Dylan Brenton came in: but no it wasn’t Dylan, it was “Danny”, his character. I glanced his way and again stayed away from eye contact, not sure exactly what the unspoken contract was about the show. I knew Danny to be a violent character from what I’ve read. If I made eye contact would I be in danger?
Yes I know that sounds silly. I asked this question only partly in jest. There’s something slightly dangerous and illicit about sitting in the front row and interacting with a show. I find it intoxicating, that sense of breaking the rules. I do it all the time when I can get away with it. It’s a great way to meet people you admire. But I wasn’t yet sure what our ground-rules were so I kept quiet and distant.
The show begins very quietly, gently. Danny talks to Roberta. At one point a guy sitting a bit to my left seems to get a rise out of Danny, who sounds as though he wants to hit him (hm… stronger language than that come to think of it. Hit him? Or smash his face in? something like that).
We’re in the cage with the lions. And need to be careful of getting scratched.
The play unfolds, and I’m struck as usual by questions of age. In opera we accept that the ages are miles away from what the storytelling requires. Juliette is supposed to be 12, Butterfly 15, and at the very least, Mimi is young enough to move a young man by her beauty: when she’s unconscious, so it’s not just for her ears and therefore it must be his true thought. Live spoken theatre doesn’t have the musical element to stylize and invite a huge imaginative leap. Dylan told me he’s 24 in his recent interview. I suspect Bria is roughly the same age because I think they were in the same year at Ryerson.
They are both younger than my kids (who are in their 30s). And they’re telling a story that must be told by people in their 20s. As I’ve noticed before –when thinking about my life, when talking to anyone about their life—the 20s is surely the toughest decade of a person’s life. Suddenly you have adult bodies and hormones and capabilities to procreate and fight and get drunk and kill yourself, but also, with the urgent need to figure out what you’re going to do with your life. Some do, some don’t. And that’s why being in your 20s is so hard. To portray this when you’re older so much is missing, lost in translation. Before a word is spoken their bodies make it 100% authentic.
Shanley’s language is very direct. I read the program note by director Tony Perpuse, which nails one of the keys of this play, both as an objective he aimed for, and as a reality brought home by Bria and Dylan in their performances: that we’re watching theatre representing the working class. I remember when I used to do construction, I dreamed of writing something authentic to capture work and workers, and it’s still a dream I haven’t managed. It’s tough enough if this writing is a novel, but in a theatre people will listen and critique actors, questioning the authenticity of that voice. And even if this feat is achieved, unless the listeners themselves are workers, it may be an unrecognizable idiom to the ear of those listeners.
And to add insult to injury actors need to turn off their powerful apparatus, namely their instrument. Actors build their bodies and especially their voices for Shakespeare or Sondheim: which doesn’t sound like the guy punching the clock or the lady on the assembly line.
There we were with Bria and Dylan, who started so softly. I leaned forward because my space was not being invaded, because the soft delivery invited me to pay attention, to hear them. They spoke to one another with the delicacy of any bar proposition, man and woman feeling each other out. Yes it builds, but it’s always scaled to the room.
But it’s a highly unlikely thing in some ways. Danny & Roberta, the two people who come together in this story are in their way just like the couple I saw in La la Land last night. We watch romance as they attempt to leap across a gap, to make contact and find a common language. It’s a painful story, but one of redemption and humanity. We are teased again and again, and it’s that same romantic question that is the feather tickling you, as we dare to ask and perhaps believe in the impossible dream of romance, a pair of abrasive people who rub and scratch against each other.
This was a preview. Danny & the Deep Blue Sea will be presented by Wolf Manor Collective in at least a couple of venues around Toronto over the next couple of weeks. For more information have a look at their website. For tickets click.
One part of the equation is us, the way we were different in 2016. And I suspect we’ll hear a great deal about how we have become different for 2017.
It’s not Singin’ in the Rain, the musical often cited as the best film musical ever made, one of the films that the cast reputedly watched in preparation for their work on this film, and suddenly with the passing of Debbie Reynolds, a work that feels as though it’s from another era, almost another planet.
The operative question in dreaming big is really the same question whether asked by a wide-eyed child or a cynic. “Are happy endings possible?”
Golden Globe nominee Damien Chazelle
The question was answered differently by the film-makers of 1952 than those of our current time, just as it’s answered differently by viewers of every era. For LLL that means writer-director Damien Chazelle and composer Justin Hurwitz.
One of the recurring images in the film that is introduced by a song but also touched upon repeatedly in the art direction is the idea of faces in the crowd. It will be a matter of discussion as to whether one creates art with that audience in mind or not, as one character more or less says it doesn’t matter whether there’s an audience. LLL offers answers. Sometimes we’re looking at individuals in a crowd, camera dollying along to see each person in a traffic jam complete with a snippet of the music in each little micro-world. Sometimes we’re looking out through the eyes of the performer or barista at the listeners who may or may not be attentive, may or may not care what’s being done. There’s a wall that we see at one point painted with those faces, that will later be overlaid by a huge close-up image of one of the leads who has become a big star: but to tell you more would be a spoiler, so I will try to avoid giving too much away. The plot is built around this ongoing conversation, where each is changed / helped by the other person in seeing past their ideals and finding a new way.
The first musical number signals a very specialized understanding of what music is for and what it signifies. We’re on a jammed freeway in Los Angeles, bumper to bumper and stopped dead. The impossible happens, which in a musical isn’t so unexpected. When you’re stuck in traffic it may already feel like a miracle just getting to your destination. Setting aside diegetic performance, those moments when someone is portraying a live performance of some sort (whether it’s whistling softly to themself or playing an instrument), it’s already miraculous that people sing and dance on film, whether or not instruments are available to make music.
That miracle is the signal in LLL. But this time it’s very much in your face. I know that I was taken aback because it seemed unmotivated. Why would a bunch of people just start singing? And then it came to me that these people –some thin some not so thin and even some actually fat like real people—were expressing their fantasies & their dreams, while acting out in this dream factory, which is how we understand L.A. Stuck on a highway in Los Angeles, going nowhere while trying to get somewhere, the number makes perfect sense. And so the music in this film works that way, signalling a very different discourse. The traditional understanding of musical numbers is that they’re extensions of what’s already happening, so that we sing or dance when words are no longer enough, as we expand the verbal conversation via the emotions available via movement and song. This is a bit different, a more radical understanding. Yes there are characters in the film playing musicians, and so for them the regular diegetic performance of music isn’t an expression of fantasy. But nonetheless we get several moments when the music is taking us out of normal reality into dream / fantasy space. It’s been done before –thinking for example of the “gotta dance” number in Singin’ in the Rain —but usually there are big signals that we’re in a dream space. For LLL it’s simply the music.
Speaking of miracles, Emma Stone & Ryan Gosling surmount the big hurdle: that we can accept them singing and dancing, even watching Gosling play the piano. As this is their third pairing, I can’t help wondering if we’ve seen the birth of a new Fred & Ginger, especially if studios decide that we need these uplifting stories to distract us from the misery of our lives. Yet a big part of the drama is built around the difference between their approaches. Where Gosling seems smooth and confident, Stone’s presentation has a method-acting authenticity to it, often a small squeaky voice (so different from the triple-threat girls with whom she lives & parties) that in spite of itself and in wonderful contrast feels so genuine. As the key scene unfolds, when her audition has to find its way, she finds her voice and sings with a bigger sound and greater confidence.
The last huge sequence of the film offers an answer to that big question about happy endings. I may see it again in a theatre, but when it’s available to me at home I know I’ll be seeing it again and again, thinking about that eternal question.
People may think they know you. They can have expectations of you, and be surprised when you don’t behave in the usual way. I don’t like being boxed in, stereotyped by old friends who think they know me better than myself.
If a musical score could talk, I wonder if it might express similar resentments. We come to an understanding of a composer (or playwright or poet for that matter) with each new acquaintance with their work, and start to develop expectations. We may think we know their compositional habits, procedures, tendencies. When we can’t reconcile something anomalous –that is, something outside our prediction of what’s next—do we make the effort to expand our understanding of the composer, or do we shoe-horn this divergence into the old template?
I’m thinking such thoughts after spending the last couple of weeks listening to Barbara Hannigan sing Erik Satie, on the CD Socrate, her recent collaboration with Reinbert de Leeuw.
Reinbert de Leeuw and Barbara Hannigan
If ever there were a composer I wanted to treat as a friend, it’s Erik Satie, an artist who defies easy classification. Do we know him and his music? He might be the most easily approachable composer in history, in his refusal to write music of virtuosic difficulty. Anyone can play his piano music. That fact is already reason for further exploration.
Satie is something of an outlier, having avoided the usual pedagogy and education (at least in his youth) and creative pathways. This already suggests his scores might be unconventional if not actually iconoclastic. But where his lifelong friend Debussy was more vocal and angry about his relationship to the establishment, Satie usually took a softer gentler and more whimsical path. He could draw and this shows his sense of humour. I can’t help wondering what he was like as a man, as a drinking buddy, as someone to hang out with.
If kneeling at the altar of benevolent prankster saints is your thing,
A Mammal’s Notebook needs to be on your bookshelf.
All that is a necessary preamble for me before I dare to speak of Hannigan’s collaboration with de Leeuw. I think one can see three different aspects of Satie the composer on their recording.
We begin with two set of three songs, namely
Trois Mélodies (Les anges, Elégie and Sylvie)
Trois Autre Mélodies (Chanson, Chanson médiévale, Les fleurs)
The titles of the sets is remarkably apt, considering how little there is in the score, other than the melodies. Yes we do associate Satie with minimalism, these songs seem to remind us, as the pianist is given next to nothing to play. In other words we’re not in the tradition of Schubert or Schumann, where the pianist’s role is challenging, where there may be an introduction to set a mood. While Satie’s pianistic skills (or lack of same) have been captured in biographies, the elusive part is how he felt about virtuosity and how he understood music as a result. Not only is there no evidence that he would ever want to play more elaborately, but he pioneered a radically original approach. The piano plays soft chords to frame the melody but rarely calling attention to itself. De Leeuw’s supportive playing is among the most self-effacing piano I’ve ever encountered yet rock solid in support of Hannigan.
Their rapport is unmistakable.
Hannigan sings with phenomenal accuracy, a purity of tone reminding me of the ink pen drawings of the composer. The CD itself is decorated with one of them, which i think was originally sent in a latter to Jean Cocteau, in 1917.
The CD on my desk, the drawing on the CD
Is this the authentic appropriate way to sing? We can’t really say. There isn’t a comparable tradition with these songs, as there is for the romantic song composers. I believe these works are like a new continent to be explored and perhaps interpreted. But I have no reason to deconstruct Hannigan’s approach, other than to marvel at her perfection.
The second of three aspects of Satie can be glimpsed in “Hymne”. We know only indirectly of Satie’s connection with the metaphysical subculture of Paris. In Joscelyn Godwin’s 1996 book Music and the Occult Satie is singled out as the single most esoteric composer, narrowly edging out his friend and co-conspirator Claude Debussy.
The ambiguity of these harmonies that refuse to concern themselves with the old idea of “resolution” can also be heard in “Hymne”, another work alluding to rites and rituals for a spirituality that is not documented as a religion. When we speak of mystery it is in that old sense of the unfathomable, as in the broad discursive area we sometimes lump together under the heading of “the occult”. While Hannigan sings this without undue forward impulse, corresponding to the score’s instruction (“CALME et DOUX” or in other words “calmly and sweetly”), I wonder if this was originally conceived as a bigger ritual, considering that at the bottom of the page it speaks of “avec adjonction d’un choeur de femmes à l’unisson”. But for this version (with piano, unlike the later elaboration with orchestra) the communication is through the intimate voice of a soloist.
While Hannigan sings a text we’re in an elevated realm of meaning that’s more like a prayer or incantation, although decoding the implications of the text at this point is difficult. We can glimpse something larger than life, and more than a little pompous. Lyrics and more can be found (click) here.
The third guise in which Satie appears is in some ways the most elusive & mysterious, and gives the CD its title. Here’s how the liner notes describe it:
From the following year he was in contact with Tristan Tzara, the initiator of the Dada movement. He became acquainted with other Dada artists such as Francis Picabia, André Derain, Marcel Duchamp,, Jean Hugo and Man Ray. Also in 1919 he composed Socrate, a score he told his artist friends he intended to be white, lucid, transparent and even, in the extreme, fragile, echoing the philosopher’s understanding of our common human fate. To be in the right mood for this composition he ate only white food.
Here the correspondence between Satie’s objectives and Hannigan’s voice seems especially apt. The vocalism is clean, pristine even. De Leeuw’s pianism is especially transparent in the three movements of Socrate.
I continue to listen to this CD as I ponder Satie’s mysteries.
I said a festive goodbye to 2016 with the help of the last Pirates of Penzance of the year from Toronto Operetta Theatre (TOT). They’re taking a well-deserved break for the holiday (and Happy New Year to you too), before resuming their run on Friday-Saturday-Sunday January 6-7-8.
This Gilbert and Sullivan operetta is one of those indestructible pieces that can be done in a myriad of ways. The TOT approach emphasizes musical virtues while offering a faithful reading of the text as we saw today: to the delight of the audience.
Tenor Colin Ainsworth
We saw the latest stage in the development of Colin Ainsworth. The Canadian Opera Company gave him the small comic role of Bardolfo in their recent Falstaff, a completely new direction from anything I’d seen him do, and so it wasn’t a surprise to see how well the comedy worked for him playing Frederic. Ainsworth still has that sparkling diction and lovely voice we know from his Opera Atelier appearances, but was given some genuine schtick to play as well.
Vania Lizbeth Chan was every bit his equal, a sparkling Mabel with so much coloratura to offer in “Poor wandering one” that her cadenzas wandered off into the world of Lakme, brilliantly sung. Curtis Sullivan, whom we’ve seen opposite Ainsworth in several Opera Atelier shows, was the very model of a modern opera baritone, as Major-General Stanley. When it was time for the obligatory political commentary TOT didn’t hesitate to hand the opportunity to Sullivan for a hilarious final verse of the famous tune. Nicholas Borg as The Pirate King and Austin Larusson as Sergeant of Police sang beautifully.
Derek Bate led the TOT orchestra, a taut clear reading of this familiar score. I wonder if it’s Bate’s adaptation, as the TOT orchestra is eleven players.
The TOT will be back February 25th for “Orlovsky’s Mardi Gras Ball“, a Masquerade including three course dinner, Die Fledermaus in concert, dancing and a silent auction.
This morning in the shower contemplating the meaning of life, I saw a solution to an old problem.
The Book of Revelation confused me (and I suspect I’m not alone) in seeming to suggest that The Apocalypse could simultaneously offer the last big war, and a thousand years of peace, a little bit of paradise mixed with a sprinkling of hellfire and damnation signaling the end of everything. Or were those prophets just covering their butts like good astrologers or weather forecasters, being deliberately vague while hedging their bets? 40% chance of rain, with 10% chance of brimstone and fire?
It struck me that convergence opens doors, creates opportunities, and in so doing may seem to be like the asymptote or the defining condition for both the worst and best of possible worlds. With rapid change there are winners and losers, and we’re living in a world of such intimate communication that we’ll hear from both groups, if we care to listen.
It hit me that Donald Trump is very much like a crossover artist. Excellent in his world of BS and bluster, in reality TV, he came to politics the way Aretha Franklin came to “Nessun dorma” or Jose Carreras came to Broadway musicals. They –Donald, Aretha, Jose or anyone else crossing over—might be good in their old field, but in crossing over we don’t hold them to the usual criteria.
Only the opera world (and I struggle to keep a straight face as I say this) objects to Aretha singing out of tune or departing from the original text
I don’t think Broadway did object to Jose’s performance, but he was very much a fish out of water
And now only those sticklers who actually worry about the usual qualifications of a POTUS have concerns about Donald.
The phrase we keep hearing is “post-truth”. Fake news has depressed the press. But as a blogger, I must speak of convergence again, that any idiot—me included—can write an opera review or offer their opinions on politics. We are not so much post truth as post credentials, because disciplinary boundaries have vanished. Anyone can write, anyone can sing, anyone can run for political office, and the crazy thing is, that so many people seem to prefer inexpert incompetents over genuine virtuosi. Al Gore was a smooth pro as a politician but perhaps the electorate wanted someone less perfect and more human; enter GWB. Obama gave several of the best speeches I’ve ever heard. I cried when his 2009 inauguration alluded indirectly to the Great Depression, citing one of my absolute favourite songs.
Obama said:
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week, or last month, or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America. (for full address )
Never mind post-truth, when truth isn’t what it used to be. If a virtuoso plays a brilliant piece and nobody notices, is there brilliance? We live in a post-virtuoso age. Convergence means anyone can do anything. Youtube is jammed with brilliant performances that can all be had for free. Labour prices are likely to go down in the USA, between Trump’s cabinet appointments and his love for outsourcing. Convergence’s economic correlative is the interchangeable parts of the world economy, starring third world workers paid next to nothing. It’s nothing new of course, but the one fascinating development is the huge throng of voters supporting Trump who are likely to be the very people to be in trouble.
This might be paradise if you’re a rich man, or hell if you’re a working stiff. There are huge opportunities and huge risks, all in the same moment. Some are swimming for their lives to reach a land of plenty, others (me?) maybe don’t properly assess the risks and/or bonanzas ahead.
But let me say first, Schubert is not usually understood as any sort of mystery, and maybe that’s a problem. When I open my Schubert impromptus or sonatas, having heard others play these pieces, I might think I know how they’re supposed to sound. Conventional wisdom..! But it can be a trap if it means that everyone approaches a text the same way.
So let me go back in time, several months in fact.
When I first started listening to Janina Fialkowska’s recent ATMA recording of Franz Schubert piano music, I was taken aback in the first half-minute of listening, puzzled in fact. I listened to the CD –comprised of a piano sonata and four impromptus—at least five times in the summer before setting it aside. The playing is phenomenally accurate, and at times dazzling for its virtuosity. I was puzzled, though, so I put it aside. I didn’t realize how I could write about it, as I was trying to reconcile the excellent playing with the puzzling readings.
I was unwilling and unable to review it, because of misgivings that began in that first half minute. I was listening to music that I thought I knew, music that I have been playing on the piano since my teens. The music on the CD was played really well, so I couldn’t simply complain that it was flouting the usual. The traditional way it’s played? it sounds a lot like what it’s understood to be: transitional music leading us to the German romantics (Schumann, Mendelssohn, and eventually Wagner). We have been told that Schubert is full of songs and melodies, offering us an alternative to the composers employing counterpoint such as Bach, Mozart, Haydn & Beethoven, to name its most famous exponents, leading us in a kind of alternative path to melodists such as Tchaikovsky, Mahler and Shostakovich. No wonder he was at times under-estimated, given that a set of assumptions verging on stereotypes underlie the reception of his music: assumptions brought to bear on performances and interpretations.
So here’s the thing, when I went looking for something to help me understand and defend what had initially bothered me about the CD I found something, and it’s not just relevant but indeed, subversive of that conventional wisdom. Schubert’s grandfather was a Moravian, from a part of central Europe that is part of Bohemia. I had originally thought to call this piece “Schubert’s Moravian Rhapsody” and then decided to follow my first impulse, even if I might attract a readership who’d be wondering when the guitars start and whether Freddy Mercury is the natural heir to Schubert.
Haha as if I could be so lucky.
But I mention Moravia & Bohemia in the interest of shining a slightly different light on Schubert, particularly after my weeks pondering Fialkowska’s CD. Now I’m feeling something more like elation, having clicked into a whole new way of understanding her CD, after following up on a hunch in my online reading about Schubert’s background and his music.
If one wants to make Schubert part of the irresistible evolution of German music, the unstoppable steam-roller driven by Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and eventually Wagner, one tends to respond to his affinities to that style, while ignoring the anomalies. This is a bit like doing research where you ignore any evidence that won’t support your conclusion (and please note, I believe performance is a genuine kind of research, as interpretations are propositions). And so his symphonies –which are marvelous – are seen through that lens, as are his piano sonatas, quartets, and songs. The quirky music that doesn’t match the role Franz is asked to play, indeed forced to follow because it’s in the script? They don’t get programmed quite so often, because indeed, maybe they don’t make as much sense, as part of the irresistible tide of German music.
Now of course, if one embraces his ethnicity? That’s a different story.
Now I will push pause on that discussion, while sidling up to Fialkowska, who may think I owe her a big apology for beginning this review with so much apparent negativity. I bow to her in all respect for a CD of some brilliance, bordering on genius. I think she might read this and think I’m full of crap because I don’t believe she came at Schubert with any of these assumptions. Nope. She’s playing this music, reading it according to her creative instincts and her taste, not by some sort of treatise. This is me deconstructing / analyzing my first response, trying to understand my initial misgivings, that have given way to huge admiration. And what’s more, I am thinking about how this approach might be exported to other Schubert works, not just piano but large scale pieces. But perhaps first I should talk about what Fialkowska played on her CD.
Pianist Janina Fialkowska
When I began with this CD, I listened to the opening movement of the Sonata in E-flat, aka D. 568, and then put it aside, perplexed. I remember thinking of Jan Lisiecki, but unable to make sense of the association at the time. I’d dismissed the thought because I figured I’d connected a pair of Canadians of Slavic origin, and nothing more. But later, I recognized something in her playing that resembled his playing. They both play a bit fast and loose with tempo, as an expressive device. This isn’t rare, but I think the way they do it is connected through that Slavic heritage, a refusal to be quite so Germanic. It’s not uncommon to encounter such liberties in a performance of Chopin, but much more unlikely when it’s Schumann or Beethoven: two composers I’ve heard played by Lisiecki.
I may seem to be off on a colossal tangent, but it’s just that I more than got over my initial misgivings, and went from being perturbed at what I originally felt Fialkowska was doing to Schubert, to being intrigued at a doorway she opened. Maybe we need to look a bit closer at the music of Schubert, especially as far as rigid assumptions about how he should be played. Perhaps Schubert has some unexplored affinities with Chopin that deserve a fuller airing. I’d love to hear more from her in this vein.
The CD offers four impromptus op 142, that are the less – often programmed ones: which means, the ones that don’t quite conform to the usual understanding of Schubert. These are the ones that are more ethnic, more quirky, at least in Fialkowska’s interpretation. But I was particularly blown away by her insights with that E-flat major sonata, bringing out a whole new flavour of Schubert that I’ve never encountered before.
I will be watching to see what she does in future, as I suspect there’s more to come.
It was a year when the Pollyanna sentiment seemed to be in the ascendancy.
Trudeau beat Harper. I can’t help wondering, would that have been the case if the Paris attacks had come just a few weeks earlier, possibly dampening our enthusiasm and our willingness to open our hearts?
Merkel –who welcomes refugees–rather than Trump –who would slam the door– was Time Magazine’s person of the year. Here’s hoping that it isn’t Trump in 2016, because you know what that’s likely to mean in an election year (gulp!).
Refugees have been a big news item in Canada, where the prevailing impulse is welcome & assistance. I’m proud of my country.
What a difference a year makes.
If “the Pollyanna sentiment seemed to be in the ascendancy” now i wonder if she is ready for the glue-factory, past her best-by date, out of touch. And so, while I continue to emulate her principles, best understood via the maxim “if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all,” it rings hollow right now. Yes i can avoid being mean or destructive, but as I look back I can’t help wondering, is my ability to be appreciative altered by my own mood? I have more enjoyment of a good dinner if I sit down hungry rather than sated & full from a recent meal. Events in November left me with less of an appetite for living, less interest in having fun, as though I misplaced my sense of humour. Lately I have become unaccustomed to the sound of my own laughter.
And so, that’s my subtext as I look back at 2016. Is it the reason that the first half of a year shone so hopefully? studded with highlights.
1211 – (left to right) Jacqueline Woodley as the Forest Bird (background) with Stefan Vinke as Siegfried and Wolfgang Ablinger-Sperrhacke as Mime Director François Girard, Set and Costume Designer Michael Levine, (Photo: Michael Cooper)
The single best vocal performance of the year blew me away in the first month of the year, as Stefan Vinke impressed on his very first page, emphatically singing the high C that no Siegfried ever sings. His marathon heroics were accompanied in the first two acts by Wolfgang Ablinger-Speerhacke, one of the finest singing actors seen in these parts as Mime, and then –once he’s been killed off—replaced by the dramatic sound of Christine Goerke’s Brunnhilde. Little did I know that the magic of this Siegfried, not just the singing but the majestic COC Orchestra spurred on by conductor Johannes Debus, wouldn’t be equalled in 2016.
The earlier part of the year also included the most ambitious and original moments, all before the end of February, as art transcended its usual disciplinary boundaries:
Joel Ivany’s original take on the Mozart Requiem with the Toronto Symphony, soloists and the joint efforts of the Elmer Iseler Singers & Amadeus Choir, prepared by Lydia Adams, all under the leadership of Bernard Labadie, who was returning from a hiatus due to significant health issues.
Going Home Star, Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s bold contribution to Truth & Reconciliation, a ballet about the residential schools with a brilliant score by Christos Hatzis
Betroffenheit, from Kidd Pivot, as much a work that felt like therapy as art.
The year started to tank with the whole Melanson affair, an omen for what has been a post-factual year. I suppose –as a liberal—I should admit that it’s a knife that cuts in both directions. Justin & Sophie Trudeau have been encased in a magical halo of admiration for months, a halo that’s beginning to slip off as the cognitive dissonance builds. The question of whether Melanson was doing a good job leading the TSO was perhaps secondary to the issue of optics in the fund-raising world, just as optics led to Melanson’s cancellation of Valentina Lisitsa’s performance with the TSO. Is it ironic or apt that they would both exit the same way? which is to say, due to circumstances having nothing to do with their ability to do their jobs. She plays the piano well but that was secondary, in light of her tweets. And as far as I could tell, the TSO was in the midst of a resurgence that, hopefully, can continue without the big guy, given that many of his initiatives –the TSO Sunday night radio show, the commissions of Canadian composers to celebrate the Sesquicentennial in 2017, the films with live accompaniment—continue.
I won’t mention the things or the people that disappointed, although I want to properly nod at the other great moments of 2016:
Flitting through Fledermaus
Opera 5’s Die Fledermaus was the single most enjoyable night of theatre I saw all year. From the inclusiveness of Jennifer Nichols’ choreography –with bodies of every shape & size and no one left behind—to the boldness of Aria Umezawa’s Brechtian adaptation including aerials, burlesque and drag, and not to forget the free beer, this was simply a brilliant undertaking.
Against the Grain didn’t disappoint, whether in A Little too Cozy or the highlight of the autumn, Ayre, allowing me to be uplifted in spite of myself.
Lucio Silla was an unexpected joy from Opera Atelier, just as we’d been promised. How wonderful to discover a new work!
Sondra Radvanovsky’s Norma was unforgettable, surrounded by a brilliant team especially tenor Russell Thomas (also wonderful in Carmen in the spring) and conductor Stephen Lord.
Tapestry Music Theatre had a banner year, but I was most impressed by Rocking Horse Winner, in an adaptation by Anna Chatteron (libretto) and Gareth Williams (music ) starring Asitha Tennekoon & Carla Huhtanen, and yes, the inspired set, designed by Camellia Koo.
And it seemed that I couldn’t get enough of Ariodante, loving the COC Orchestra & chorus, Johannes Debus & Sylvain Bergeron so eloquent in the pit, the puppetry and dance, and the singing of Ambur Braid, Alice Coote, Owen McCausland, Jane Archibald and Varduhi Abrahamyan.
MVP (most valuable player)?
Toronto continues to lean heavily upon a few key players, in the literal sense when we include Jonathan Crow with the TSO, or behind the scenes (thinking especially of the TSO’s logistical wizard Chris Walroth), people who ensure that we’re always entertained and edified, such as Johannes Debus with the COC Orchestra, their chorus under Sandra Horst; Opera Atelier’s music director David Fallis who also leads the Toronto Consort; and Guillermo Silva-Marin of Opera in Concert, Toronto Operetta Theatre and Summer Opera Lyric Theatre, notable for the commission of Isis & Osiris by Peter Togni. And there are lots of others I could name who wear multiple hats, doing brilliant work with companies big and small.
Director Joel Ivany
When you consider Joel Ivany’s work on the COC’s Carmen in the spring and Toronto Summer Music’s Rape of Lucretia, alongside his Against the Grain brilliance with A Little too Cozy and Ayre, without even mentioning his exploratory work out in Banff that likely will be seen here before too long, I’d have to call Ivany the MVP of the past season.
Dylan Brenton is one of the founding members of Wolf Manor Theatre Collective, their Artistic Director and a member of the Ensemble.
Here’s how the WMTC describe themselves & their mission:
Wolf Manor Theatre Collective are a Toronto based theatre production company, formed by professional & emerging Canadian Artists. The company is built on the grounds of professionalism and ambition cultivated among young artists. Our interest is in exploring theatrical work which stimulate a diverse audience through stylized takes on classical text, explorative contemporary work and newly devised theatre. All our work is conceived by a small ensemble, in simple and creative design. Our goal is to cultivate theatre of such fluent construction that it may be relocated from space to space; allowing for presentations in diverse venues and touring productions. Our emphasis on accessibility seeks to create an engaging theatrical experience for non- conventional or new theatre goers, particularly high school students. In addition to full scale productions, the company also engages in youth outreach, offering workshops for adolescents and young adults interested in professional careers in the arts. Wolf Manor are seeking to contribute to the growing need for inclusion, diversity and opportunity in the Canadian performance industry.
I had the pleasure of working with Dylan a few years ago while he was still at Ryerson Theatre School. A graduate of RTS and The Academy of Dramatic Combat, he’s also trained with Shakespeare in the Ruff’s Guerilla Ruffian Squad. Originally from St. John’s, Newfoundland, he’s been involved in over 80 productions over the past 10 years. Select tv credits: Black Sky Leader, The Expanse, (SyFy); Harris, 12 Monkeys, (SyFy); Select Theatre: Macbeth, Macbeth (WMTC); Claudio, Much Ado About Nothing (Perchance Theatre); Mr. Hyde, Jekyll & Hyde (Echo Productions).
As Dylan prepares for the title role in Danny & the Deep Blue Sea with WMTC, I seized the opportunity to ask him some questions to find out more about him and the project.
1-Are you more like your father or your mother?
There really seems to come a point in your life where you realize, or maybe decide, if you are or not your parents. I think that right now I am smack dead in the center of this. I got a lot from both of my parents, and they would say I got the worst from each of them. e.g. I got mom’s teeth and dad’s forehead.
I think in reality, I have taken the most from my father. He’s a teacher, an actor, a writer and realistically just a very spiritual person. He thinks very deeply about a lot of things and doesn’t hesitate to share an unpopular opinion, as for him, it is quite calculated. I’ve recently found myself doing a lot more of that than before. The biggest thing about us: we’re big. Big men, big voices, big personalities. We’re crude and boisterous, spastic and excitable. He is a very affectionate man, something you do not see a lot of in his generation. His desire to show and accept love is something that I’m finding more and more in myself. I have watched his personality change a lot over the years and now I’m seeing me behave in irrational, hot headed and emotional ways such as he did in previous years. He’s a Buddhist now and this has really changed how he behaves.
As for my mother, we share some things as well, our love of fun, charity unto others, a taste for designer (John Fluevog) shoes and nice restaurants, among many other things. But she has many qualities that amaze me: patience, tolerance, forgiveness and subtlety. This is how she puts up with the four ridiculous men in her life: myself, my brother, my father and my grandfather. All of which she supports unquestionably.
Dylan Brenton (photo: Pierre Gautreau)
2-What is the best thing or worst thing about what you do?
The absolute best thing about what I do is that I have no idea what I do yet. I’ve tried on a number of hats already over the years. I act primarily, produce out of necessity, I direct out of curiosity, I am lured towards becoming a fight director and have budding interests throughout the whole industry. My ego occasionally allows me to refer to things as being my ‘work’ or ‘style’ or (this is the real kicker) ‘aesthetic.’ Realistically, I’m only now just starting to understand what I like. The best thing I can do is try to create a body of work out of things I like. What I like the most is people, the human spirit and human interaction. So I guess my real answer is: the people. I have had the privilege to be taught, mentored by, work with, employee, mentor and teach a lot of incredible people. I would like to think that everyone I’ve shared experiences with are people that I look up to, I feel like I have been surrounded by people so easy to admire.
All I have ever sought after is to be a consistently bettering version of myself that pulls my work to the level my colleagues deserve. In turn, I think this, in a non-competitive way, allows everyone to be everyone’s role model. If we take turns being leaders, being led, setting examples and then following better ones, we all get to grow towards a more universally realized level excellence. This for me, means constantly elevating the standard of work ethic, play, creativity, honesty, focus and professionalism. If we strive to be our best and respect each other, others strive to be their best and demonstrate the same respect. It’s a strange circular way of thinking, but it fuels artistry and encourages growth for the whole community.
The worst part: Crippling self doubt and recurring imposter syndrome. Yeah, that sucks.
3-Who do you like to listen to or watch?
Right now I’m listening to a lot of hip-hop, both new and old, a lot of neo-soul, a lot of hardcore and punk again and topping it off with a healthy portion of Jimi Hendrix and Leonard Cohen. I also guiltily listen to a lot of terrible early 2000’s ‘emo-pop-punk-whatever-we-call-it’. The simplest way for me to understand how my taste in music changes on the daily, is that what I’m drawn to is passionate and intense. I like thick aggressive beats, with spitfire flow. I love fast guitar riffs with crunchy gain and crowds screaming lyrics. I admire mind opening sounds under imagery packed poetry.
Kurt Cobain nailed it when he said “Punk rock should mean freedom, liking and accepting anything that you like. Playing whatever you want. As sloppy as you want. As long as it’s good and it has passion.”
4-What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
Patience. I am 24. Twenty Four. You’d think I was branded with an expiry date with how unnecessarily manic and spontaneously flurried I behave. Ask my partner, it very reasonably drives her crazy that I’m constantly buzzing to get something done the second I think about it – at all costs. Mid conversation, I will rocket into stupid frenzies about an idea for a new play or a cocktail I want to build. I want everything right away. Don’t get me wrong I procrastinate everything, but when I have an idea I will throw myself at it instantly. It’s an expensive habit.
5-When you’re just relaxing and not working what is your favourite thing to do?
When I do rest, I rest hard. I have been known to watch a full season of a show I followed in the past in a day. Family comes first, so I’m all about doing absolutely nothing all day when my partner gets a day off too. I’ve become a hobbyist bartender, with quite an eclectic cabinet at home, so that’s a way I love to kill time. I’ve recently started picking up board games, which is super new for me, and love the social interaction of playing a bunch of new games.
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Five more about the upcoming project
1-Please talk about Wolf Manor Theatre Collective.
Wolf Manor is the manifestation of what I love doing. Surrounding myself with minds and talents different and greater than my own in order to, as a unit, generate exciting theatre work. We originally focused exclusively on Shakespeare and newly written work, basing our brand around very intimate productions, set in uniquely developed worlds using a small number of actors and storytellers. Our debut production, CAESAR, used only 5 actors to play the 40+ roles and had the artists build the soundscape and music for the show together, the show was directed such that it used everything the space (Abrams Studio theatre) could offer, but could be brought to any space and still make sense. To date all the Wolf Manor shows have never contained more than 9 performers, even while staging Shakespearean epics. Over the first 5 productions, the collection of artists has grown immensely, while only a few core member have been involved with everything. The notion of our collective is that any past show member is always contributing to the growth and can always ask about coming on board to offer skills, test new skills or shadow and learn. We consider every show to be a new iteration of the collective, a new way of showcasing the specific flavor that is a Wolf Manor show. The idea of a collective for me is something greater than the sum of its parts. We celebrate the artist and the unified minds and work of every person involved in the show. For this reason we have been lucky to work with some incredible people and call some outstanding professionals part of our family. As is the case in this industry, this means, those wonderful people are going to get a lot of different opportunities. Roles and tasks among people in the company switch around depending on who’s available to do what and what people want to work on or enjoy doing. This year is about to be a big year for us. We’re doing 4 full shows. As a result, there’s a huge need to refine and structure. A lot has been learned and a fair share of luck and generosity has come our way. Moving forward we want to continue solidifying what Wolf Manor does and how we operate. The style of the shows keeps evolving, but with the same core focus – physical creation of new worlds to explore radical stories. The biggest thing for us is to listen to the shifts in our industry and implement our voice in the making of change. Moving forward we hope to use our style and our work to cultivate new worlds, tell new stories and represent new voices.
2- Please describe Danny & the Deep Blue Sea
Danny & The Deep Blue Sea tells a story about two volatile people who meet at a bar. She is there to escape the confines of her bedroom and he to avoid another fight on the streets. The two beat each other down, expose every raw nerve to one another and when the dust settles demonstrate immense need for the other’s help.
This play has sat in Bria McLaughlin’s and my brains since theatre school. Diana Reis gave us the second scene as part of a scene study class and we both fell so in love with what the script let us play with. We’ve been promising ever since we would do this play, and this season it felt right with what WMTC wanted to do. This play spoke to me specifically this year because it is about love amidst violence and the extremeness of the human experience.
Bria McLaughlin & Dylan Brenton (photo: Tony Perpuse)
The idea of need and deserving has fuelled the whole season of programming. This show opens the season because there is something so guttural, base and immediate about everything the two characters do to one another, I would like to think in our exploration of human needs this season each show takes a look at it from different levels of stakes, status and consequence, but everything lands on the question of what we need from and why we need others. As for casting, I see a lot of myself in the role, so it’s been one I wanted to tackle for awhile, I am fascinated by violence and violent behaviours. I think Danny comes from a world I recognize. I know this guy, I saw him on the subway a few nights back, I saw him at the punk show I was just at. Hell, I may have been him at a few punk shows in the past. He’s a congregation of unsettled energy which finds release in aggressive physical bursts.
3-Who’s involved in your production?
This is easily the smallest iteration of the collective to date. As of right now, there are only 4 of us working directly on the show, but with a lot of outside assistance that have started entering the room and helping from afar.
I am in the show, producing the show and handling the marketing right now, but getting lots of help from many friends on this one!
The real heart of the show is the work of Bria McLaughlin, she acts opposite me and holy hell, does she deliver something amazing. This woman has been on fire ever since we’ve graduated, doing an amazing show at YPT, which toured to MTL and taking other great shows to Winnipeg, and just crushing it in Filament Incubators ‘Swan’ by Aaron Jan. This girl is actually FIRE. She is a force to be reckoned with and brings next level emotional availability, physical willingness, intellectual dissection and rugged honesty to everything she does.
Bria McLaughlin is Roberta in Danny & the Deep Blue Sea by John Patrick Shanley (photo: Tony Perpuse)
We have been super lucky to find Anthony Perpuse to kick it in the director’s seat, though he rarely seems to sit down. This script was a matter of Bria and I loving the show and approaching a director with the same fire we had. We couldn’t have landed with a better match of three artists between Bria, Tony and Myself. Anthony has been more of a coach from the very get go, so engaged, so on his feet during the whole process. It’s like he’s in every scene with us to spur along the next line, help us rile up the following attack, and forcing us to breathe into the moments of extreme defeat or absolute beauty. We’ve been kept delightfully on our toes, but have become unbelievably specific in our work. He has really torn us away from the biggest pitfall of the play: sitting in sappy emotional inactive yelling. I would say both myself and Bria have found some of our best work through this process and cannot wait to shake some ground with our take on the roles.
Rounding up our rehearsal team right now is Julie Foster, our life saving SM. Julie doesn’t actually step into the room with us until December 28th, but we are so excited to have her on board! She seems exceptionally organized and fuelled by a lot of the same heart that we do. She’s going to be a killer presence in the room!
Amongst our group, we think we’re bringing the story to life in its best incarnation. We are playing with some new things – Tony has brought in a lot of hip-hop influence and I have played with a lot of hardcore music to build a really raw version of Danny. Also, we’re doing the show right on the floor of the bars, not using the stages. It’s going to be more immersive than we expected. Advanced apologies if I spill my beer on anyone!
At the end of it all, this story is incredible on its own and we want to do it service. These characters are walking open wounds, who both try to find ways to climb inside one another. This has been a great challenge for Bria and me as actors, being that raw and immediately available. We’re just excited to throw it into some of our spaces now, and with the help of our technicians find something vicious and beautiful in every room we play this beast for!
4- The play is subtitled “An Apache Dance”. There are lots of examples on youtube.
Please discuss the ways in which this play connects to that style of dance, with its ritualized violence.
This subtitle is ideal for this play, and the most popular videos of the dance style have been a huge influence in some of our talks about the play. I like to think of the Parisian Apache dance as a cross between swing dancing and a mosh pit. It’s insane to watch a woman be thrown to the floor and whipped around so aggressively, what’s more fascinating is that she keeps getting back up and going for more. It would seem like a moth to the flame level of danger, but there’s a huge twist in this. The woman is the dominant and in control partner. She lures the male into the dance and proceeds to manipulate all the apparent abuse she endures. She pushes the male to take the dance further and intensify the violence, but all on her terms. Without spoiling any of the script or story itself, this behaviour plays right into how these two behave, and looks at how they have lived their whole lives, walking themselves into danger as a best means to control the chaos. Danny feels free in beating people up, Roberta feels power in making people react. These two were bound to cross paths, but no one can ever be sure who has who by the throat.
5-Is there a teacher or an influence you’d care to name that you especially admire?
I don’t like listing just one person, honestly. There has been a lot of amazing professionals generous enough to share their wisdom with me. I owe a lot of respect to a lot of people. In the end I admire everyone and measure myself by the company I keep. The biggest influence in my whole life right now is my partner, Tessa, for having the patience due endure my rehearsals at the house, my manic behaviours and my irrational stress. She’s the real star of the show.
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Danny and the Deep Blue Sea opens Wolf Manor Theatre Collective’s 2017 season January 13th at the Imperial Pub. For ticket information click here.
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