Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals

At the moment, my life seems like one never-ending rehearsal of revolving shows, casts and production teams. I’ve just finished an excruciatingly painful week of rehearsals and run-throughs with what amounts to basically a 90-minute piece of fluff (High School Musical). The truly sad part of it all is that it isn’t in better shape, considering we started rehearsals in SEPTEMBER! Granted, there have been some breaks and it’s not like we rehearse everyday, but still, three months is an awfully long time for what amounts to a cheesy after school special. Hamlet it ain’t.

I might get busted on this one, but I think a lot of the blame goes to the rehearsal schedule. Of course, I should have spoken up. But hey, what can you do? I mean, 30 seconds of choreograph can potentially take half an hour to teach while a corresponding 30 seconds of dialogue may take five minutes. That’s a 6:1 ratio that wasn’t remotely reflected in the rehearsal breakdown. But then again, how many cast members have a nearly 2 hour commute each way to rehearsal? Anyone…anyone? No one? Well, me, for one. So I wasn’t exactly begging to have additional rehearsals added to the schedule. For perspective, Val schedules an hour or two of initial rehearsal time per ensemble number for our operas. Operas! And believe me, there ain’t a lot of full out dance breaks in Puccini.

A lot of the HSM “songs” - and I use the term loosely - straddle the line between requiring blocking and/or musical staging. Here’s where some major miscommunication took place. I really think we (the director and I) assumed the other was “blocking” certain numbers, so when we finally got to the run-throughs it was like, “Oh, I thought you were doing that?” Big time, “oops.” Anyway, it looks as though it will all work out.

This is the director’s first big show at the helm, so she seemed a bit stressed out when some dance numbers seemed a bit shaky. And by shaky, I mean fell apart completely. But, hell, It’s not uncommon for a Pineda Production to have its first full run-through on opening night. So compared to that, I guess we’re way ahead of the game. Wait until I decide to re-choreograph the entire opening number before the final run-through. Kidding - well, only half-kidding.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Rock Of Ages

Stupid, cheesy, campy, tacky and I loved it! Well, “love” may be too strong a word, but I am a child of the 80’s so I may have been seduced by an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. Then again, what else could I expect from a show based on the LA glam rock scene of the 80’s? I mean, come on, two of the biggest hits the year I graduated were “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses and “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard. ‘Nuf said?

I think a serious review of the show would be ridiculous. It’s pretty light on plot and costumes. I’ve literally never seen so many thong-ed, bare ass cheeks on a stage. And there’s plenty of “hang loose” arm waving, extended flicking tongues and androgynous bare torsos in leather vests. The show’s fun, extremely loud and the producers encourage drinking during the show. What else do you really need to know?

Friday, November 14, 2008

What's That Smell: The Music of Jacob Sterling

Imagine an extremely good SNL skit (you’d definitely have to go back to at least the Molly Shannon years) about a second-rate musical theatre composer presenting excerpts from his very questionable songbook. That basically sums up What's That Smell: The Music of Jacob Sterling in a nutshell. There’s definitely some great material, with surprisingly tuneful music disguising some of the best bad lyrics ever written. But like almost every good SNL skit, it ultimately doesn’t go much further than surface parody. I found my thoughts wandering at about the 50-minute mark (the show runs a sleek 70-ish minutes). And although thoroughly entertaining and fun, ultimately it left me wanting something more than surface laughs.

I know plenty of you will say, “Fausto, you’re such a typical theatre queen snob. What’s wrong with a show that just entertains? Do I have to be bludgeoned like a baby seal with important ‘messages’ and ‘meaning’ every time I go to the theatre?” Well, no. But shows like Title of Show and even Nunsense all have something else to say about human nature and life and still happen to be wet-your-pants funny.

The show’s got plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, but if not for TDF, I’m not sure I would have paid full price to see the show. Part of the problem is that the best parody song is performed first, setting the audience up with extremely high expectations. None of the songs that follow quite measures up to the delicious “oh-no-she-didn’t” reaction that the first song elicits. I mean, how do you top a song called “He Died Inside Me” (no pun intended) written for the title character of a fictional musical adaptation of Private Benjamin? That’s pretty genius. The 9/11 section (though we are now years removed from the event) still made me squirm just a little. On paper, the premise sounds good - musical reminiscences of what people were doing when they heard the news. And the situation - a gal who is embarrassed to admit that on that fateful day she was getting breast enlargements - seems ripe for comedic development. But somehow the moment doesn’t quite hit the mark.

David Pittu embodies the over-the-top flamboyance of the title character. He’s self-assured, yet completely ignorant of how ludicrous most of his ideas are. He truly believes he’s the next Sondheim. Luckily for audiences everywhere, his every near brush with success is thankfully thwarted by ever more outrageous circumstances. His complete ignorance about his limited talent immediately endears us to him.

Peter Bartlett plays loveable Leonard Swagg, the host of Leonard Swagg’s CLOT (Composers and Lyricists of Tomorrow). Swagg is the apparent love child of James Lipton and Nathan Lane accept that Bartlett imbues him with a warmth and wide-eyed adoration of his guest that Lipton and Lane could never duplicate.

Unfortunately, loveable characters can’t sustain the entire evening. The one joke conceit, though original and extremely funny at times, simply can’t sustain an entire evening. Cheap tickets are available, so I would recommend it if you aren’t paying full price.

Semi-celebrity sighting: Marc Shaiman, composer of Hairspray sitting two rows behind us.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Merry Widow is finally over and I can start getting six hours of sleep a night instead of four. Yeah! Performances were well-received and the houses, though not sold out, were full. Our Widow, Christina Rohm, pretty much kicked everyone’s ass on the stage. She sang gorgeously and was the only one of the “professional” singers that gave a full, sincere character portrayal. Not that I’m dumping on the other leads, but she was the only one who seemed to back up an over-the-top comedic performance with real emotional honesty - not an easy task given our admittedly skimpy rehearsal schedule. Carmen’s coming up in four months and already the phone’s ringing like crazy for tickets. What’s up with that? I guess sex and murder really do speak to the American public, at least in NJ. Hmmm, what does that say about Jersey?

Driving back from High School Musical rehearsal last night, I realized that my commute back and forth to the theatre was nearly equal to the length of the actual rehearsal time. I thought to myself, “Am I just a dedicated artist, committed to enriching our young people through the arts, or just plain stupid?” And no need to comment, it was rhetorical. I know what most of you jaded biyatches are going to say anyway.

Speaking of HSM, it’s hard to believe that we’ve been rehearsing for nearly 3 months and we’re still behind with staging and music. Who would have thought that a ninety-minute piece of substandard (though I have to admit there are some insanely catchy tunes) music theatre could take so long to get on its feet? We still have a couple of weeks, so I’m staying positive.

I know my last couple of blog entries have been bitch and moan sessions, but my schedule does lighten up a little - very little - now that Widow’s dead and buried. But now comes the dreaded (cue ominous underscoring) Holiday Season!! Eeeeeek!!! Sitting at the Outback Steakhouse Sunday night (yeah, classy, I know) after we - meaning the Pineda’s and a handful of loyal opera company folk (thanks Glasser-Bakers, Loves and Chris Grimm) - struck the Widow set, we heard the familiar jingle of sleigh bells and a sickly-sweet, generic soprano start singing, “…have yourself a merry little etc.…” I threw up a little in my mouth. And bloomin’ onion does not go down well the second time. I mean, really?! It’s the first week of November! Can we at least get through the horror of Thanksgiving first? I ended up getting pounded with Holiday Spirit the next night, too, having been stuck running a rehearsal for the Caroling company I’ve worked with for the past several years. Nothing like two hours of non-stop a capella Christmas Caroling to bring out the Scrooge in you.

Anyway, a busy week continues with weekend HSM rehearsals and a list of shows we (the Pineda's!) must go see. And I don’t mean the NYC variety (although Trish and I are seeing What’s That Smell tonight), but the do-your-penance variety. One necessary evil of having so many talented students spread out over many different schools is that you can’t discriminate as to which productions you’re going to see. If you make it to one school’s production, you have to at least make an effort to go to see all the other ones. Of course, it doesn’t help that schools seem to schedule all their shows on the same two weekends! So it looks like it’ll be Museum at Westfield High on Saturday and Forum at Somerset County on Sunday afternoon. Peace out, homies.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Crazy-ass Week

What a crazy-ass weekend. It started off last Thursday with High School Musical rehearsal and ended Monday with a hellish late night bus ride back from a Merry Widow sitzprobe. I take that back, the crazy-ass weekend didn’t really end officially until after Trish and I voted Tuesday night after work. No, wait, I take it back again, I guess it didn’t really end until after Obama’s speech later that night. Oh, wait, I forgot about yesterday’s first dress rehearsal for Merry Widow. And I have to head back out to NJ right after work today for the final dress. So actually, my crazy-ass weekend hasn’t ended at all and has sort of turned into a crazy-ass week. No, I take that back, too, it’s actually turned into a crazy-ass month. Oy!

Adding to the weekend merriment was my cousin, Al, and his new girlfriend Bridget. He was here to run the NYC marathon. So on top of commuting back and forth to NJ for rehearsals, we had to entertain and host out of town relatives and try not to look like raving lunatics in front of his new gf. I think for the most part we succeeded on the latter, but Sunday’s post-marathon dinner in Long Island definitely did not help our cause. More on that one later.

After work on Friday, Trish and I planned on going back into the city for an evening of Halloween freak watching with Al since Bridget didn’t arrive until Saturday afternoon. Alas, witches and vampires were not in the cards for us this year. Upon arrival from the airport, Al promptly crashed on the couch complaining of general sluggishness. We settled for Brazilian and Thai take-out (yeah, weird combo) and watching movies in the comfort of our living room. We were hoping Al hadn’t been infected by the bug that Trish had passed on to the rest of the Pineda clan earlier in the week - definitely not a good thing if you’re planning on running 26 miles the next day. Case in point, I felt like shit Thursday night after rehearsal so I took some cold medicine that totally knocked me out. I then ended up sleeping through my alarm clock and getting to work late. Not 10 minutes late, not half an hour late, not even an hour late, but THREE hours late. Luckily (or sadly), no one seemed to notice until I called in. Oh well, who needs self-esteem anyway?

Early Saturday afternoon I headed to NJ for a nasty five-hour Widow rehearsal. I won’t even go into the agony of it all except to say that we had to finish blocking the show that day, meaning all of Act III. I left Trish in the city to cousin-sit because in addition to Al and his gf, our cousin Rosanna and her bf, Jamie, flew in from Michigan, and another cousin, Margot, and her husband, Jim, drove in from Long Island. I love my family dearly, but the idea of spending the entire day traipsing around the city with them sounded like torture. Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely people, but walking around midtown Manhattan on a weekend afternoon with six people in tow is like me trying to squeeze into a pair of speedos - it’s possible, but not pretty. Apparently, there was some minor restaurant trauma because the group decided to stray from Margot’s Nazi itinerary and not go to the village for dinner. A table for seven at a nice restaurant in midtown on a Saturday night without a reservation? - good luck. (I was going to throw in another speedo analogy here, but I’m sure you’re still recovering from the horrific image conjured by that last one.) Well, I guess luck was on their side because they ended up at some great Cuban place knocking back Sangrias, while I, on the other hand, settled for dried out steak-um strips at a diner on scenic route 22.

weekend festivities continue under "Crazy-ass Week Part Deux"

Crazy-ass Week Part Deux

Cut to marathon Sunday. Happily, Trish and I didn’t have to wake up at 5:00am to get Al on the shuttle bus to the starting line. That’s what girlfriends are for. Instead, we agreed to meet at a more civilized 11:30am on the Queen’s side of the 59th Street Bridge (a.k.a. mile marker 15). If you’ve never attended the NYC marathon in person, you really can’t get the full emotional impact of those thousands of runners from around the world being cheered on by several thousand more spectators for the entire length of the 26.2 mile course. I, of course, joke about watching the “cripples get over the bridge.” But in actuality, it’s just my pathetically cynical way of hiding the fact that watching the handicapped runners go by actually makes me weep like a 12-year-old girl at a Jonas’ Brothers concert.

After a couple of missed “where-are-you?” calls, we finally hooked up with Bridget under the Queensborough Plaza subway station. We then waited patiently behind the throng of spectators pressed up against the barricades, looking for our chance to pounce on any unsupervised front row real estate. Finally some unwary German tourist accidentally took half a step backward and we made our move - you snooze, you loose. After insinuating ourselves in front of the stunned German, we hunkered down to wait for Al to run past. He was obviously not trying to break any world records, because he arrived well after his projected time. His modeling and smooch session with Bridget at the mile marker didn’t help him out with the clock either. But hell, we were just happy he was still standing considering he had just run the Chicago marathon three weeks ago and was complaining about how tired he was after walking three blocks to his hotel just 24 hours earlier.

Since standing still and watching athletes push themselves to their physical limits is actually quite tiring (and it was friggin’ cold out), we decided to screw Al and get some food instead of trekking to the Upper East Side for more cheering. I mean, there were thousands of other people to encourage him along the route, right? Why use up all our valuable relaxation time? - so selfish. Anyway, after warming up and grabbing some food at the Time Warner Center’s Whole Foods, we headed to the 26 mile marker for the final push to the finish. This is always my favorite marathon viewing spot because the runners either look crazy-happy being so close to the end, or look like they are going to die. Either way, it’s always a good time. It’s also a good spot to yell out runners’ names and confuse they hell out of them and probably fuck up their concentration really close to the finish line. Hilarious. And before you get all, “Fausto, you’re so mean” and shit, the runners voluntarily sprawl their names on their t-shirts. If you don’t want me (or the thousands of others screaming out names) to fuck with you, don’t wear your name across your chest in 5-inch high letters. Anyway, Al breezed by us a few minutes later than expected - probably because he was so busy texting us through the whole race.

After another frigid wait on Central Park West, we finally met Al almost an hour after he actually finished the race. Turns out getting your belongings and finding your loved ones is a pretty difficult task with over 30,000 runners. Some of which, according to Al, were dropping like flies around him after crossing the finish line. We walked (Al limped) toward his hotel and then Trish and I headed home to get ready for the after-marathon dinner at Margot’s place on Long Island. Again, let me preface this by saying that I love my cousins. But it was sort of a pain in the ass to drive an hour into Long Island to eat dinner and then just turn around and come back, especially with a tired and hobbled marathoner in the back seat. But family is family and I’m sure we’ll eventually have to ask them for some horrible favor that they’ll now be forced to return. We did score on the food front with lots of tasty Filipino leftovers to take home with us, so the evening wasn’t a complete wash-out. We also had the pleasure of skirting around some dirty family laundry so as not to scare the bejesus out of innocent family-dinner-first-timer, Bridget. She’ll be entangled in the Pimentel-Pineda web of intrigue, lies and uncomfortable family secrets soon enough. Girl, get out while you still can. We finally got home well after midnight after dropping Al and Bridget off in the city. Even we’re (make that “I’m”) not mean enough to make someone wait for an N train at midnight on a Sunday.

Continued under “Crazy-ass Week Part Trois

Crazy-ass Week Part Trois

Monday morning at the office was painful. I was late again (although only 20 minutes this time and not 3 hours) because I just couldn’t force myself out of bed. But somehow I made it through the day and hopped on the 5:30pm bus to NJ for our Merry Widow sitzprobe. Work on Tuesday was torturous since I hadn’t gotten home from rehearsal until well after midnight the evening before. But at least I managed to get there on time. Since I was extremely excited to Barack the vote that night, I got through the day on sheer adrenaline (and diet coke).

I highly doubt a more historic election will happen again in my lifetime. The energy and anticipation was palpable on the streets, especially in Times Square (where I work). I giant TV screen was set up smack dab in the middle of it and throngs of people were just watching and waiting. In anticipation of long lines at the polls, Trish and I headed to our voting site as soon as I got home from work. I know New York is waiting for new voting machine technology to be perfected before replacing the old voting machines, but come on. Those huge hunks of gray steel are positively ghetto. They could at least throw on a coat of paint or change those moldy curtains. The old voting booths remind me of a cross between those huge old computers from the 1970’s (you know, the ones that used to take up a whole room) and a peep booth at an adult video store - not that I’ve had any experience with those, of course.

I just want to say how proud I am of our country’s choice. It almost makes up for the fact that Bush was voted into office two terms in a row. Almost. Unfortunately, I feel like Obama is in a no-win situation. Intellectually, people know that he can’t change the country overnight, but Americans are emotional and fickle. Can they wait a couple years to see his policies start to take effect or will they have the unrealistic expectation that the economy will turn itself around instantaneously? I guess we can only wait and see. Whatever happens, I’m glad that all Americans, not only the rich, white ones, are finally starting to take ownership of their voting rights as citizens. Let’s hope that in four years, we haven’t returned to our old, apathetic selves. But enough politics, let’s get back to me, me, me!

I was a hot mess at work again on Wednesday morning. I thought I’d finally get a full night’s sleep, but I just couldn’t stop watching the election results. I got so swept up in the emotion and momentum of the election that I inevitably stayed up for Obama’s acceptance speech and didn’t get to bed until well after midnight. So once again I had to rely on a steady stream of diet coke and tootsie rolls to get me from 9 to 5. As has become an almost daily ritual, I boarded a NJ Transit bus after work and headed to the first dress rehearsal of Widow. I can’t honestly tell you how the run went because my back was to the stage the whole time. I’m playing in the pit, supplementing the orchestra on the piano. I can, however, tell you that the cast doesn’t know their lines. That much was clear even without seeing their faces. Some of the “acting” on stage was embarrassingly amateurish. Of course, some of the blame does fall squarely on Juan and me, but come on, people! We can’t memorize your lines for you. The show opens in three days and you’re still stumbling over dialogue? That’s just plain sad. Anyway, I was just too tired to even take notes. But regardless, the show looks and sounds lovely. The audience will just have to grit their teeth through the book scenes. They should be used to it anyway if they attend opera with any regularity.

It looks like sleep just isn’t in the cards for me, at least until around mid-December. I ended up missing the last bus back to NYC by five minutes. Damn NJ Transit for actually running on time! Again, home after midnight and my alarm set to go off way too early Thursday morning for work. The rest of the week's schedule? - Thursday: work then NJ for final dress, Friday: work then NJ to finish building set, Saturday: set up for champagne event and opening night, Sunday: reception, closing performance and strike. Then Monday we start all over again with High School Musical. Yeah!

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Merry Widow Sitzprobe

I know, sounds like a nasty alien abduction story. But for those of you opera performers in ‘da house, you’ll know the term refers to the first orchestra run-through with the singers, minus blocking. It’s basically a chance to get accustomed to the orchestrations without being encumbered by blocking, costumes or annoying directors yelling at you. In some instances, it’s also a chance for the conductor to say, “Count, you friggin’ &%$*# singer! There are 20 other musicians here and I can’t read your mind. Watch me!” Except it comes out like, “It’s OK, we’ll try to follow you.”

Yesterday’s sitz was actually pretty tame compared to some past seasons. We’ve finally got a core set of musicians that play with us on a regular basis as well as some veteran Pineda Lyric performers. For this show, I’m playing the piano in the pit to supplement a smaller chamber group. We’re trying to save some bucks so we can splurge on a larger orchestra for Carmen next spring. I was worried that I’d be laying clunkers all over the place, but since I’m not doubling any other orchestral parts most of the time, the score is way simpler to play. I won’t actually have to practice. Don’t tell Mark.

Thankfully, tonight is a day off. But the hell of tech week begins again on Wednesday with the first dress rehearsal. Yippee! I just have to keep telling myself to make it through Sunday evening’s load out. Then it’s time to start stressing out over the opening of High School Musical in December. And then Carmen, and then Beauty and The Beast, and then Summer Conservatory and then…it never ends, does it?
"I'd rather be nine people's favorite thing thana hundred people's ninth favorite thing."

Jeff Bowen, Lyrics "[Title of Show]"