Text © Robert Barry Francos
I first heard about the big impending snowstorm of March 2, 2009, that was to hit New York City, when Donna Shewolf mentioned it on Facebook. I was in central Canada and checked into 1010wins.com.
My flight was set to fly out at 6:30 AM, land in Toronto, and then at noon head to LaGuardia (LGA), get there at 1:30, and head on home to Brooklyn by public transport. But the travel gods had other plans.
Before we left for the airport, I called Air Canada (AC) and said, “Hey, I’m already here, should we change the ticket, make life easier for both of us?” I was told no problem, the planes are both scheduled as On Time. When we got to the airport and I had to check in, I said again, “Hey, I’m already here, should we change the ticket, make life easier for both of us?” I was once again told no problem, the planes are both scheduled as On Time.
The plane to Toronto left 10 minutes late and arrived 5 minutes early. So far so good. Once through customs, I got to my gate with 15 minutes to spare. There is a Tim Horton’s close at the next gate down the terminal, and I remember I have a $2 coupon. I go get an X-Large French Vanilla coffee that ends up costing me 22 cents (Canadian).
By the time I got back to my gate 10 minutes later, I find the flight to LGA is cancelled. I called AC on a white courtesy phone and was rebooked to a 13:30 (1:30 PM). Standing on line at the courtesy desk to pick up my new boarding pass, I hear the people in front of me getting stand-by tickets to the same flight. Okay, I’m feelin’ lucky. At this point I called my partner back in Canada to fill her in, and then head to my gate waaaaaay on the other side of the terminal. But then again, I was in no rush.
Getting there in plenty of time, I relaxed, wrote a future blog (yes, I write them first long-hand many times), and waited. And waited. The board had a new time of 15:00. Then 15:30. I wrote a second blog. At 14:30, they announced we would be leaving earlier than expected so get ready to board. At 15:10, they gave our plane away to a flight going to Houston. At 15:20, they announced that the flight was cancelled.
As the moving sidewalks only seem to go to the gates, I walked all the way back to the white phones, just past the courtesy desk and placed my call to AC. They had nada; the next few flights were also cancelled, and the rest for the night were booked solid. What about a hotel voucher? Nope, seems as the delay is weather related, it is not AC’s responsibility (even though the only reason I was there was based on AC’s word in the first place). So, basically, they’re condemning me to sleep at the airport, where all chairs have arm rests and it is impossible to stretch out. Oops, sorry! Well, what about going to Newark rather than LGA? Oh, there’s one at 18:30! She puts me on that flight.
Back to the courtesy desk to pick up the new new boarding pass. The wait on the line was long, but what’s the rush, right? I finally get up the counter and find out that I’m listed as stand-by for the Newark flight. Day-am! The person at the counter informs me that there is an earlier flight to Newark that’s just as full, so she puts me on stand-by for both. My last chances.
The first one is scheduled for a 16:30 take-off, with a delay to 17:30. While I am waiting, and being a good boy, I’m thinking, “Please! Let me on the damn plane! I’ve been in this ferstinkiner airport since 11:00 AM! Please!”
The plane boards and my name is not called. So I walk over to the person at the gate podium and give him my ticket, saying, “I’m on stand-by. Is there any chance?” He checks the computer, and squeezes me on! It’s 17:30 but I’m finally on my way…
…To the tarmac, where we sit. “We’ll be taking off at 18:15.” “Wheels up at 19:00.” “After another 50 minutes, at 19:50, we’ll be going!” And we sit on the plane. They give us a small bag of fried corn nuts. And one of those small glasses of water (first class gets coffee). I’m hungry at this point.
While we sit, I start this blog, intermittently reading a book my partner lent me called Letters From the Sourdough Bagel. The assumption is that it’s a Jewish author, but ends up he’s a minister. With a title like Bagels yet; go figure. Still the book is full of short pieces that sound an awful lot like blogs.
At 19:45, we actually take off.
We are at the Newark terminal at 21:30, and the $15 bus to Manhattan comes at 21:45.
At 22:30, I’m at the 42 Street station near Bryant Park, with the train arriving at 22:40, and then proceeds to go local all through Manhattan and Brooklyn.
Home at 23:50, say hello to the cats, phone my partner to let her know I’m still alive, and grab a quick bite of tuna salad.
I’m feeling restless, so I decide to put up this blog at 3:00 AM, even though I’m tired. And after I’m done, it’s to bed, perchance to dream…the rest is silence…until 8:00 AM when I have to wake up and start my day.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Musings During A 3-Hour Layover And 3 Flights
Text and photos © Robert Barry Francos
Morally, why is it more than twice as expensive to fly from New York to Toronto one way as it is from New York to Mexico City with a return trip?
It is taking me three flights to get to my destination, including one going 400 miles in the opposite direction.
I really, truly enjoy puddle-jumper planes that seat 24 passengers or less. True the luggage space is smaller, but, but usually the legroom is larger; seems an even compromise.
The person who designed the luggage on wheels deserves some kind of medal or statue. Not that mine has one, though. It keeps me “honest” and from over-packing, though. I always feel better when I travel with carryon, especially on international trips where I don’t have to wait on line at customs and also wait for luggage. It always feels like some kind of “coup”, in a Native American / First Nations sense of the word.
What is the point of having monitors blaring some news channel in the waiting areas, other than the airline getting subsidized by said news channel? Just makes rude, loud people on cell phones that much louder to talk over them.
I’ve never ridden one of those intra-terminal golf cart vehicles that take people from gate to gate, but they look like fun.
Morally, why is it more than twice as expensive to fly from New York to Toronto one way as it is from New York to Mexico City with a return trip? Why do most airports that have moving walkways usually only have them going in one direction; aren’t there people needing to go both ways? Also, if one is on a moving sidewalk and no desire to walk it, please stand to the right so that other can.
The prices for food near the gates…WHAT?!
I saw a couple of those card inserts they put in publications for subscriptions on the floor by the gate for MAD magazine; it made me smile.
I understand the desire to chew gum when in an airplane to ease ear pressure, but I do not understand the desire to snap it when there is someone strapped into a seat next to you less than a foot away.
One of my favorite things about waiting at the gate to fly to Montreal is the higher possibility of hearing Yiddish spoken.
Reading the Globe and Mail or New York Times is challenging when sitting in an airplane seat, especially if you are not on the aisle, and extra-especially if the person in front of you pushes their chair into a reclining position. This is also true if one is using a laptop.
Television programs still show people saying hello and goodbye at the gate, which was an impossibility even before 9/11. This makes it difficult to meet friends during long layovers because it means yet another trip through the screening.
Air Canada used to give away earphones like they were M&Ms, but now they charge $3. Instead, on the first flight I turned the “personal TV” to Family Guy because I know them well enough that I don’t need the sound to laugh at the lines (which is like the time…). On the second leg, I did the same with The Big Bang Theory (Sheldon has the best t-shirts, but that’s for another musings blog). The last leg, which was the longest, I watched RocknRolla which did not seem to have as much action as Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, so I ended up watching most of it in double speed; then I watched a documentary about silent film comedies, which seemed appropriate without headsets.
I have had a number of fun conversations with row mates on planes, but on the first leg of this particular journey, the person was kind of rude. She literally slammed down the armrest and then hogged all of it; she held up a book so I could not see out the window, though it was pretty obvious I was trying to do so; she was texting and then phoning as soon as we grounded, before docking (a no-no); though I said hello and goodbye, she never even looked in my direction as acknowledgement. I respect not wanting to talk, but even some kind of look to concede someone else is there seemed out of the question. As she was in her early ‘20s, maybe she will learn eventually.
While there is still a bit of distance to walk in the Toronto airport from the international area to the domestic side, it is still way better than it used to be where one had to take a long walk, an intra-airport shuttle bus, and then another long walk, which took a long time. Thanks for finishing the construction!
Customs was a snap! Basically the guy asked me the purpose of my visit, and one other question. After a 20 minute wait to get to the desk, I’m through in less than 1 minute.
The woman at the airline gate checking tickets looks a lot like Janeane Garofalo.
A pilot is sitting in front of me in the waiting area reading a travel guide to Cuba, something one is not likely to see at a US airport.
Except for the bilingual signs, Toronto’s airport feels the same as any in New York.
On the second flight, I sat next to a fiddle player who put the instrument into the overhead. She looks like someone I know named Melissa R-. While wanting to sleep more than talk, she informs me that she fiddles for fun and does not record. She has a cold I come to learn; fiddlesticks, I hope I don’t catch anything.
Woman in front of me is speed reading the thick Slumdog Millionaire novel, Evelyn Woods style, with her finger swishing over each page. Though a short flight, she is about a quarter of the way through the book. No matter how much one retains, how does one absorb and think about what one is reading?
Only about a 20 minute wait between the second and third flight, and the sun is setting. My left tush is sore, and I am only about half way through my travels.
For the last flight, I’m at the window seat for row 19. Only there is no window at this seat; there is one behind me and in front, but not next to me. As if that wasn’t claustrophobic enough, I’m sitting next to a “gentleman” who is not only hogging the armrest, but his elbow is sticking into my ribs. Plus, he's a wide sitter, so his knee is pressing mine. I do not like this guy. He is on his way to a biotech conference to make a presentation, so he should be smart enough to know better. By the time this flight is over, odds are I will be pushing back.
I love the free newspapers. Today I’ve read The Globe and Mail, The National Post, and the Ottawa Citizen. The big stories seem to be the economy and about a Saskatoon ex-tribal leader who, after being admonished by a judge for his remarks, was then found not guilty of public antiemetic remarks (basically, he publicly claimed that if Hitler didn’t do such a good job, the Jews would have taken over).
In just a little over a month, planes have crashed into the Hudson and a house near Buffalo, and yet, I feel no fear about flying, even during turbulence.
Was just about to nap, when the infant in the seat directly in front of mine starting wailing, and yet I find this less annoying than listening to someone on a cell phone; perhaps because the caller chooses to be disruptive, and baby is just being itself.
Took 35 minutes for the guy next to me to retreat (somewhat) to his side. I guess I could have asked him to move, but despite being from New York, I’m not that aggressive. Maybe I just work better as passive aggressive? As all this was settling down, he suddenly flips up the armrest that separates us. If he asked, I wouldn’t have cared, actually, but he didn’t ask, he just assumed. Wonder how he is with people who work for him?
Someone close ordered some Pringles. What do people see in them? They are so much more bland compared to Wise, Kerrs, or Utz. Never been much of a Lay’s man (yes, I can eat just one), but I still prefer them over Pringles.
Left my apartment at 7:30 AM, and it is almost 9 PM, with at least a half hour to go to landing. I am tired, Jack!
Landed 15 minutes late, but considering I took three flights and was able to meet with each of them and get here this close to being on-time, I am happy.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Meeting Philippe Petite, 1976
Text © Robert Barry Francos
Images from Internet
When Man on Wire won the Academy Awards for Best Documentary on February 22, 2009, I immediately had to smile, having interacted with the film’s subject Philippe Petite. It was during the summer of 1976, known then simply as “The Bicentennial.”
I watched the Twin Towers go up. Being a new teen, its rise seemed to go on and on. One building went faster than the other, but with the impatience of youth, time seemed to be passing very slowly as it kept going up and up and up. Finally, the huge antenna was placed.
In 1974, Petite became infamous when he and others illegally set up cables, and he walked across the quarter mile high gap between the buildings a number of times.
Even in the early days before 24/7 360 surveillance in the name of freedom, it seems hard to believe that this group could physically set it all up without the knowledge of, if not the city government, than at least the building management (e.g., he had fake ID), who probably saw it as positive PR when there had been so much negative press about what many considered an eyesore to the skyline. Why else would they leave Petite’s autograph on the building’s corner, clearly visible from the roof viewing walkway, right until the attacks 28 years later?
In 1976, I found myself unemployed from the Brooklyn movie theater I had started working the same year as Petite’s Tower walk. My pal Dennis Concepcion, whom I had recently met at Queens College (which I had recently started attending) said he would put in a good word at his place of employment, part of the Baskin-Robbins franchise. This particular one was on Seventh Avenue South, between Bleecker Street and Christopher Street, nearly directly across from Sheridan Square.
It truly was a fun place to work, especially in that hot summer. Our hands would freeze while bodies stayed hot standing next to the refrigerator motors. Unlike most franchises that adhere to strict rules about dress, size of portions, and inventory, this particular franchise was run very loose. If people were nasty to us, we would give them less of a scoop that those we liked, especially it if was Rocky Road, which was particularly brutal to scoop.
For example, there was this guy who came in regularly who looked very Madison Avenue with his suit, glasses, and attaché case. A really friendly person, he mentioned that the next day was his 10th anniversary. I told him if they both came in the next day, I would gladly give them a gratis anniversary cone. He came in the next days with another man who was dressed the exact same way: even their hairstyles and ties matched. He introduced the man as his 10-year partner. “Oh!” I said, and gave them both their promised cones. As I smiled and handed it over, he said, “You seem surprised. Does this bother you?” I truthfully answered, yes I was surprised (considering how “straight” he looked), but no I was not in the least bothered. We chatted a while, and he continued to come back every day (and it was always good to see him).
I’m not quite sure why I was surprised, because we were diagonally across the square from the Stonewall, and directly across from another gay bar, where patrons who struck out there tried to hit on us. While I always took it as a complement, truthfully, I was never interested. I only met one person who got angry at my turning him down, who went into a rant about “Why would a straight person be working here!” After giving him a slightly smaller portion, I asked him to leave and not come back ever again.
One of the outcomes of working there was that my subway stop was directly under the Waverly Theater, and I had the opportunity to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show very early in its Midnight run, when it was just me and a few gay couples, most of them making out. Also, famous people would sometimes come into the parlor, and I served the likes of Barbara Walters, Mark Leonard (who played Spock’s father), and Paul Benedict (the British neighbor of The Jeffersons). One time when I wasn’t there, Divine came by and Dennis gave me his autograph (which I still have).
One night I was working and saw a flash of fire in front of the store through the window. It was a hot night, but considering we served cold ice cream, the store was not really crowded. Between the bits of bright flame that shot out every minute or so, I could see there was a swarm growing. Making sure we were covered, I went outside to check out what was going on. At the center of the growing crowd was a man dressed totally in black and a top hat who was juggling, breathing fire, and doing magic tricks for the group. He did it mime style, though not in whiteface. After watching for a while, I realized it was Philippe Petite, and it also seemed I was the only one who recognized him. His tightrope walking stunt was famous, and even his name was somewhat known, but people either did not recognize his visage, or just never put the two together.
Over the next few nights he appeared a few times, as it seemed he picked the corner in front of the store as “his spot.” Honestly, I didn’t see any problem with it because he drew people into the store when he finished, especially with causing more heat with the flames. There were two teen girls who also worked there, whose father owned the liquor store next door (it is still there). They thought highly of themselves and could have stepped out of one of those teens-with-attitude films. I refused to take crap from them (for example, I would not let them take out the live Ramones tape I had made at CBGB the night before that I was playing on the store tapedeck – this was before their first record – and replace with the Bay City Rollers), so when these nasty bimbettes wanted to chase him away, I would not let them. Heck, it was Philippe Petite, fer cryin’ out loud.
On one particularly hot night (the whole summer was a steambath), I went to watch him, and could see the sweat pouring down from under his top hat. Breathing fire surely must have been hard on him. So, I went into the store, filled a cup with some fruit punch (I figured it would be easier on this throat than something carbonated), and went back outside. Even in the dark, I could see that he was hotter-than-hot. Without thinking, I put my hand out with the drink, right through the crowd. Instantly, I realized that I would be interrupting his show, and it could be considered rude, so I flushed. Brilliantly, he managed to make my giving him this drink into part of the act, and he drank it down. Then I slunk back into the store.
The next day, he showed up at the counter. In his very thick French accent, he thanked me for the drink, and said in all the years that he had been doing magic and breathing fire, I was the first person ever to offer him a drink. I told him that while I couldn’t usually get out to see him, especially if there were customers, he was always welcome to come in after and I’d give him a free drink. He did so occasionally throughout the summer. He was a cultural (and counter-cultural) hero, after all!
The job only lasted into the fall. The owner of the store lost it to his ex-wife in a divorce deal. She fired everyone and started it from scratch – and strict to the letter. It was the wrong idea for that neighborhood at that time period, so it closed in less than a year. Now it’s a restaurant. Luckily, I went back to working in a different theater in Brooklyn. As for Dennis, we are still friends, but I never saw Petite in person again.
Images from Internet
When Man on Wire won the Academy Awards for Best Documentary on February 22, 2009, I immediately had to smile, having interacted with the film’s subject Philippe Petite. It was during the summer of 1976, known then simply as “The Bicentennial.”
I watched the Twin Towers go up. Being a new teen, its rise seemed to go on and on. One building went faster than the other, but with the impatience of youth, time seemed to be passing very slowly as it kept going up and up and up. Finally, the huge antenna was placed.
In 1974, Petite became infamous when he and others illegally set up cables, and he walked across the quarter mile high gap between the buildings a number of times. Even in the early days before 24/7 360 surveillance in the name of freedom, it seems hard to believe that this group could physically set it all up without the knowledge of, if not the city government, than at least the building management (e.g., he had fake ID), who probably saw it as positive PR when there had been so much negative press about what many considered an eyesore to the skyline. Why else would they leave Petite’s autograph on the building’s corner, clearly visible from the roof viewing walkway, right until the attacks 28 years later?
In 1976, I found myself unemployed from the Brooklyn movie theater I had started working the same year as Petite’s Tower walk. My pal Dennis Concepcion, whom I had recently met at Queens College (which I had recently started attending) said he would put in a good word at his place of employment, part of the Baskin-Robbins franchise. This particular one was on Seventh Avenue South, between Bleecker Street and Christopher Street, nearly directly across from Sheridan Square.
It truly was a fun place to work, especially in that hot summer. Our hands would freeze while bodies stayed hot standing next to the refrigerator motors. Unlike most franchises that adhere to strict rules about dress, size of portions, and inventory, this particular franchise was run very loose. If people were nasty to us, we would give them less of a scoop that those we liked, especially it if was Rocky Road, which was particularly brutal to scoop.
For example, there was this guy who came in regularly who looked very Madison Avenue with his suit, glasses, and attaché case. A really friendly person, he mentioned that the next day was his 10th anniversary. I told him if they both came in the next day, I would gladly give them a gratis anniversary cone. He came in the next days with another man who was dressed the exact same way: even their hairstyles and ties matched. He introduced the man as his 10-year partner. “Oh!” I said, and gave them both their promised cones. As I smiled and handed it over, he said, “You seem surprised. Does this bother you?” I truthfully answered, yes I was surprised (considering how “straight” he looked), but no I was not in the least bothered. We chatted a while, and he continued to come back every day (and it was always good to see him).
I’m not quite sure why I was surprised, because we were diagonally across the square from the Stonewall, and directly across from another gay bar, where patrons who struck out there tried to hit on us. While I always took it as a complement, truthfully, I was never interested. I only met one person who got angry at my turning him down, who went into a rant about “Why would a straight person be working here!” After giving him a slightly smaller portion, I asked him to leave and not come back ever again.
One of the outcomes of working there was that my subway stop was directly under the Waverly Theater, and I had the opportunity to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show very early in its Midnight run, when it was just me and a few gay couples, most of them making out. Also, famous people would sometimes come into the parlor, and I served the likes of Barbara Walters, Mark Leonard (who played Spock’s father), and Paul Benedict (the British neighbor of The Jeffersons). One time when I wasn’t there, Divine came by and Dennis gave me his autograph (which I still have).
One night I was working and saw a flash of fire in front of the store through the window. It was a hot night, but considering we served cold ice cream, the store was not really crowded. Between the bits of bright flame that shot out every minute or so, I could see there was a swarm growing. Making sure we were covered, I went outside to check out what was going on. At the center of the growing crowd was a man dressed totally in black and a top hat who was juggling, breathing fire, and doing magic tricks for the group. He did it mime style, though not in whiteface. After watching for a while, I realized it was Philippe Petite, and it also seemed I was the only one who recognized him. His tightrope walking stunt was famous, and even his name was somewhat known, but people either did not recognize his visage, or just never put the two together.Over the next few nights he appeared a few times, as it seemed he picked the corner in front of the store as “his spot.” Honestly, I didn’t see any problem with it because he drew people into the store when he finished, especially with causing more heat with the flames. There were two teen girls who also worked there, whose father owned the liquor store next door (it is still there). They thought highly of themselves and could have stepped out of one of those teens-with-attitude films. I refused to take crap from them (for example, I would not let them take out the live Ramones tape I had made at CBGB the night before that I was playing on the store tapedeck – this was before their first record – and replace with the Bay City Rollers), so when these nasty bimbettes wanted to chase him away, I would not let them. Heck, it was Philippe Petite, fer cryin’ out loud.
On one particularly hot night (the whole summer was a steambath), I went to watch him, and could see the sweat pouring down from under his top hat. Breathing fire surely must have been hard on him. So, I went into the store, filled a cup with some fruit punch (I figured it would be easier on this throat than something carbonated), and went back outside. Even in the dark, I could see that he was hotter-than-hot. Without thinking, I put my hand out with the drink, right through the crowd. Instantly, I realized that I would be interrupting his show, and it could be considered rude, so I flushed. Brilliantly, he managed to make my giving him this drink into part of the act, and he drank it down. Then I slunk back into the store.
The next day, he showed up at the counter. In his very thick French accent, he thanked me for the drink, and said in all the years that he had been doing magic and breathing fire, I was the first person ever to offer him a drink. I told him that while I couldn’t usually get out to see him, especially if there were customers, he was always welcome to come in after and I’d give him a free drink. He did so occasionally throughout the summer. He was a cultural (and counter-cultural) hero, after all!
The job only lasted into the fall. The owner of the store lost it to his ex-wife in a divorce deal. She fired everyone and started it from scratch – and strict to the letter. It was the wrong idea for that neighborhood at that time period, so it closed in less than a year. Now it’s a restaurant. Luckily, I went back to working in a different theater in Brooklyn. As for Dennis, we are still friends, but I never saw Petite in person again.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Theater Review: Psychomachia
Text © Robert Barry Francos
Images from the Internet
Play information at the end
Anyone who has been reading these blogs knows that I am a fan of theater, and have a warm place in my heart for the independents, aka off-off-Broadway. Then I heard about a production group called The Bridge Theatre Company, a DIY (with sponsors) troupe that sponsors readings of new, yet produced plays. In this case, it was Jennifer Lane’s Psychomachia.
The definition of psychomachia (translated as "Soul Warrior") is, according to (I kid you not, it was the best definition I found) muppet.wikia.com, “a literary concept named for a Latin poem by Prudentius. The poem dealt with the inner conflict within one's soul, between virtue and vice, through allegorical representations.” In other words, the old devil and angel on one’s shoulders trying to influence one.
This was not a standard theatrical production, but rather A Next Stop Workshop, where the actors are lined up on stage with the script, sitting on chairs, while they read their parts. Due to the static nature of the actors, the stage directions are read out loud, here ably by Matthew Groff. This reading was directed by Robin A. Paterson.
If I may digress here, when I was editor of a college newspaper many years ago, I saw a reading that I thought was terrible and gained the public wrath of the theater director of the school. Now I see what the process is supposed to be, and it is quite powerful.
The play is a well-written family drama with some sparks of humor, but it is inevitably going to be compared to August: Osage County. As I describe parts of it below, anyone who has seen or read A:OC may catch on to it as well. Please note that while I don’t think this play is derivative, all I’m saying is there are similarities.
[Ashlie Atkinson]
The story centers on Lydia, played by Ashlie Atkinson, and let me make this clear right out, this woman can act, Jack! She’s been in a number of indie films (5 of which are in post-production) and was a semi-regular on the cable show, Rescue Me. Ashlie handles Lydia strongly, never letting her slip into a cliché, and puts on her character like a second skin. And I’m not saying this because she also skated for Gotham Girls Roller Derby’s Manhattan Mayhem team, under the name Margaret Thrasher. Next thing you know, she’ll be playing bass with Suzy Hotrod, though the acting world needs her more.
[Christian Campbell]
Lydia is the surviving twin, as her brother, Johnny has committed suicide in a schizophrenic manic attack. Lydia still has conversations with him, both through flashbacks and within her mind (hence the play title). Christian Campbell plays Johnny as focused, yet subtly insane, with high intelligence (the type of role Freddy Rodriguez may play). Actually, Johnny is verbally one of the hardest roles in the show, with lots of patters of information and thick philosophical leanings. Christian manages to keep the dialog flowing despite this, as it would be easy to make Johnny sound like a nutcase rather than hyper focused. Canadian-born Christian had pretty much started his career in the cult classic Degrassi Junior High (as Todd), and continued on as semi-regular in such shows as TekWar, Malibu Shores, The $treet, All My Children, The Book of Daniel and quite a few films.
[Jennifer Laine Williams]
Their younger sister, Charlotte, is played by Jennifer Laine Williams, whose previous show, The View From Here, was reviewed at this blog, dated November 12, 2008. Charlotte’s character is somewhat muted in the early stages of the show, but becomes a key fulcrum to the story. Jennifer, who is physically smaller than anyone in the cast, brings the entire theater to a complete standstill at one point in a very shocking moment that would make Edvard Munch proud. This character is very different than the one she played in the earlier play, and Jennifer brings some nice layers to the role, rather than having her fade into the background in the early stages of the story.
[Debra Jo Rupp]
The mother of these siblings, Margaret, is played by Debra Jo Rupp. Margaret is a loud and self-centered alcoholic, who almost seems intent on single-handedly bringing the family to its knees in the wake of her son’s death. Debra is widely known for her comedic acting (the mother in That ‘70s Show, Jerry’s agent in Seinfeld, Phoebe’s sister-in-law in Friends, and so many others), but even with the humorous bits (and Margaret gets both the most laughs and some of the strongest pathos), Debra shows just how good she is on the dramatic side, as well. While she pulls some of the painful and pained lines in the show, she never fails to be a sympathetic character under Debra’s interpretation.
[Kevin Geer]
Her husband and father to the brood is Edward, portrayed nobly by Kevin Geer, a character actor of note who appears regularly on stage, screen and television; one of those “I’ve seen you in everything, but I can’t remember your name…” In other words, he is a true journeyman actor. Again, this character could be played for a buffoon, or emotionally unstable, but Kevin not only makes him sensitive, but gives a wonderful slow burn that builds through the entire piece right until the end, when he (and Debra) left me wanting more, to know what happens to the characters.
[Eric Michael Gillett]
Eric Michael Gillett’s role of Dr. Harold Telsey is also a pivotal one, if quite short. Though not in the play much, Telsey is sort of like a moon whose gravitational pull has a decaying affects on both generations of the family. Eric plays him quietly, and thereby subtly, never giving an indication on the surface to the internal turmoil that he causes. While the character could be made to be antagonistic, which would be the easy way to play him, by holding back Eric becomes more of an enigma, strengthening his place.
[John Calvin Kelly]
The last character is Lydia’s boyfriend, Ezra Stark, who is aptly named because he is the most underwritten character in the piece. John Calvin Kelly breathes life into Ezra, which is required. But there needs to be more interaction with him, to flesh him out. Perhaps if he showed up at the hospital and became part of the drama there? I’m not sure, since I can’t do fiction. While there are two important scenes with him in the second half, he comes across more as a place for Lydia to react to, rather than being, well, there. John makes as much as he can with the role, making a 2 dimensional role into 2-1/2.
The story is mostly a drama, with some very strong comedic bits, and a few shocks as well. As a workshop, I’m not sure if this is a reading of a final product, or one in transition. There are a couple of places where characters can be fleshed out a little more (mostly Harold and Ezra, and perhaps Charlotte), but it is well on its way.
On a personal note, again, I thank the company for its splendid work. By just sitting in a chair, they managed to convey real tears, strong emotions, and a clear purpose, one that could easily have been lost by the static nature of the stage. I have a newfound respect for theatrical readings, and look forward to others.
Theatre 54 @ Shetler Studios
224 West 54 Street, 12 Floor
February 20th - 3:00pm & 8:00pm
February 21st - 8:00pm
Reservations: rsvp@thebridgetheatrecompany.com
www.thebridgetheatrecompany.com
Mission Statement: The Bridge Theatre Company is a New York-based ensemble of American and Canadian theatre artists dedicated to the cross-border development, workshop and production of new plays. Founded in 2004, The Bridge is a division of Theatrical Development Groups (TDG)…and the resident theatre company at Shetler Studio, a theatrical complex comprising 22 upscale rental studios including two theatres in the heart of the Theatre District – offering a unique infrastructure to support Bridge projects form discovery through development to performance and beyond.
Images from the Internet
Play information at the end
Anyone who has been reading these blogs knows that I am a fan of theater, and have a warm place in my heart for the independents, aka off-off-Broadway. Then I heard about a production group called The Bridge Theatre Company, a DIY (with sponsors) troupe that sponsors readings of new, yet produced plays. In this case, it was Jennifer Lane’s Psychomachia.
The definition of psychomachia (translated as "Soul Warrior") is, according to (I kid you not, it was the best definition I found) muppet.wikia.com, “a literary concept named for a Latin poem by Prudentius. The poem dealt with the inner conflict within one's soul, between virtue and vice, through allegorical representations.” In other words, the old devil and angel on one’s shoulders trying to influence one.
This was not a standard theatrical production, but rather A Next Stop Workshop, where the actors are lined up on stage with the script, sitting on chairs, while they read their parts. Due to the static nature of the actors, the stage directions are read out loud, here ably by Matthew Groff. This reading was directed by Robin A. Paterson.
If I may digress here, when I was editor of a college newspaper many years ago, I saw a reading that I thought was terrible and gained the public wrath of the theater director of the school. Now I see what the process is supposed to be, and it is quite powerful.
The play is a well-written family drama with some sparks of humor, but it is inevitably going to be compared to August: Osage County. As I describe parts of it below, anyone who has seen or read A:OC may catch on to it as well. Please note that while I don’t think this play is derivative, all I’m saying is there are similarities.
[Ashlie Atkinson]The story centers on Lydia, played by Ashlie Atkinson, and let me make this clear right out, this woman can act, Jack! She’s been in a number of indie films (5 of which are in post-production) and was a semi-regular on the cable show, Rescue Me. Ashlie handles Lydia strongly, never letting her slip into a cliché, and puts on her character like a second skin. And I’m not saying this because she also skated for Gotham Girls Roller Derby’s Manhattan Mayhem team, under the name Margaret Thrasher. Next thing you know, she’ll be playing bass with Suzy Hotrod, though the acting world needs her more.
[Christian Campbell]Lydia is the surviving twin, as her brother, Johnny has committed suicide in a schizophrenic manic attack. Lydia still has conversations with him, both through flashbacks and within her mind (hence the play title). Christian Campbell plays Johnny as focused, yet subtly insane, with high intelligence (the type of role Freddy Rodriguez may play). Actually, Johnny is verbally one of the hardest roles in the show, with lots of patters of information and thick philosophical leanings. Christian manages to keep the dialog flowing despite this, as it would be easy to make Johnny sound like a nutcase rather than hyper focused. Canadian-born Christian had pretty much started his career in the cult classic Degrassi Junior High (as Todd), and continued on as semi-regular in such shows as TekWar, Malibu Shores, The $treet, All My Children, The Book of Daniel and quite a few films.
[Jennifer Laine Williams]Their younger sister, Charlotte, is played by Jennifer Laine Williams, whose previous show, The View From Here, was reviewed at this blog, dated November 12, 2008. Charlotte’s character is somewhat muted in the early stages of the show, but becomes a key fulcrum to the story. Jennifer, who is physically smaller than anyone in the cast, brings the entire theater to a complete standstill at one point in a very shocking moment that would make Edvard Munch proud. This character is very different than the one she played in the earlier play, and Jennifer brings some nice layers to the role, rather than having her fade into the background in the early stages of the story.
[Debra Jo Rupp]The mother of these siblings, Margaret, is played by Debra Jo Rupp. Margaret is a loud and self-centered alcoholic, who almost seems intent on single-handedly bringing the family to its knees in the wake of her son’s death. Debra is widely known for her comedic acting (the mother in That ‘70s Show, Jerry’s agent in Seinfeld, Phoebe’s sister-in-law in Friends, and so many others), but even with the humorous bits (and Margaret gets both the most laughs and some of the strongest pathos), Debra shows just how good she is on the dramatic side, as well. While she pulls some of the painful and pained lines in the show, she never fails to be a sympathetic character under Debra’s interpretation.
[Kevin Geer]Her husband and father to the brood is Edward, portrayed nobly by Kevin Geer, a character actor of note who appears regularly on stage, screen and television; one of those “I’ve seen you in everything, but I can’t remember your name…” In other words, he is a true journeyman actor. Again, this character could be played for a buffoon, or emotionally unstable, but Kevin not only makes him sensitive, but gives a wonderful slow burn that builds through the entire piece right until the end, when he (and Debra) left me wanting more, to know what happens to the characters.
[Eric Michael Gillett]Eric Michael Gillett’s role of Dr. Harold Telsey is also a pivotal one, if quite short. Though not in the play much, Telsey is sort of like a moon whose gravitational pull has a decaying affects on both generations of the family. Eric plays him quietly, and thereby subtly, never giving an indication on the surface to the internal turmoil that he causes. While the character could be made to be antagonistic, which would be the easy way to play him, by holding back Eric becomes more of an enigma, strengthening his place.
[John Calvin Kelly]The last character is Lydia’s boyfriend, Ezra Stark, who is aptly named because he is the most underwritten character in the piece. John Calvin Kelly breathes life into Ezra, which is required. But there needs to be more interaction with him, to flesh him out. Perhaps if he showed up at the hospital and became part of the drama there? I’m not sure, since I can’t do fiction. While there are two important scenes with him in the second half, he comes across more as a place for Lydia to react to, rather than being, well, there. John makes as much as he can with the role, making a 2 dimensional role into 2-1/2.
The story is mostly a drama, with some very strong comedic bits, and a few shocks as well. As a workshop, I’m not sure if this is a reading of a final product, or one in transition. There are a couple of places where characters can be fleshed out a little more (mostly Harold and Ezra, and perhaps Charlotte), but it is well on its way.
On a personal note, again, I thank the company for its splendid work. By just sitting in a chair, they managed to convey real tears, strong emotions, and a clear purpose, one that could easily have been lost by the static nature of the stage. I have a newfound respect for theatrical readings, and look forward to others.
Theatre 54 @ Shetler Studios
224 West 54 Street, 12 Floor
February 20th - 3:00pm & 8:00pm
February 21st - 8:00pm
Reservations: rsvp@thebridgetheatrecompany.com
www.thebridgetheatrecompany.com
Mission Statement: The Bridge Theatre Company is a New York-based ensemble of American and Canadian theatre artists dedicated to the cross-border development, workshop and production of new plays. Founded in 2004, The Bridge is a division of Theatrical Development Groups (TDG)…and the resident theatre company at Shetler Studio, a theatrical complex comprising 22 upscale rental studios including two theatres in the heart of the Theatre District – offering a unique infrastructure to support Bridge projects form discovery through development to performance and beyond.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Favorite Releases of the Year
Text (c) Robert Barry Francos
Images from the Internet
Originally published at www.jerseybeat.com/quietcorner.html
The term “top 10 list” has always been kind of vague for me, when it comes to independent music. Things like mainstream films and music are released at a specific date (“dropped”), and usually out for a definitive time, so it’s easier to say, “this was released at X time.”
For independent music, even when it is released “officially,” it usually makes its rounds to the listeners over a longer, extended period of time. Just because a CD is finished, it gets sent to stores (hopefully), put up on Websites to hear or buy (or both), and usually is promoted virally, which takes time.
In honor to that process, and since I usually write about music that does not follow a schedule, rather than doing a traditional “released this year” kind of deal, I am going to list the top 10 CDs I’ve listened to the most this year that have been out within a reasonable time, arbitrary to my choice. Another criteria is that I can listen to them from beginning to end, with no desire to skip a song. Note that I have not put in the addresses of the labels, but rather suggest you look at their MySpace sites to hear samples of their sounds.
CHESTY MALONE AND THE SLICE ‘EM UPS - Now We’re Gonna See What Disaster Really Means. This band is everything a horror-themed hardcore band (horrorcore?) should be. You’ve got “13 Killers,” “Trouble with Cannibals,” “Livereaters,” and even a “Beavershot.” With Anthony Allen van Hoek’s screeching guitar, Hans von Severed’s bass and Tom Murphy’s drum bringing up the bottom, and fronted by the wonderfully named and fully committed Jacqueline Blownapart aka Chesty Malone aka Dotti Douchbag aka Vikki Voltage aka (TBD), this is a wrecking ball to the brain, with fun splattered all over it.
CHOKING SUSAN – [Self-titled]. Hailing from Detroit, this heavily Ramones-influenced band is fronted by the energetic Colleen Caffeine, a mainstay on the punk scene in MC. Seven strong old school punk anthems speed by. While my fave cuts include “Falling Round and Round,” “Baby Doll,” the point-out-the-poseur anthem “Punker,” and their should-be classic “I’m Alone,” there is just one solid song after another. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to see them play CBGB, and I am looking forward to their next release.
ANGELA ESTERLING – Earning Her Wings. Angela is an artist whose music is bluegrass-twinged country with a touch of pop. Along with a sweet and powerful testament to one of her idols, Johnny Cash (“Dear Johnny”; he’s also mentioned in another song), she shows she’s up for some good times with “I Feel Like Drinking,” and “Truck Driving Man” (she refers to him as her “knight in shining diesel”), she also tells of hard relationships (“Cowboy”) and I’m guessing a somewhat autobiographical tale of remembering where one comes from (“The Accordion”). Angela starts and ends with gospel inspired tunes “River Jordan” and a cover of “When I Wake Up to Sleep No More.” She is currently recording, I am very happy to say. What I especially like about this is that it’s more infused with ol’ style C&W, and not the modern, fake pop-disguised-as-country (such as the bland Faith Hill). This is more “true” Nashville.
FIRE BUG – End of the World. I’m not usually a fan of classic rock, but this too short 3-songer is worth seeking out, especially the title cut. Juliette Tworsey’s vocals have sort of a Stevie Nicks kind of waiver to them, but with a much harder edge, which matches the music (Nicks is soft pop rock, really). I know they are recording new material as it shows up on their ‘site, so I am looking forward to a full length release at some point, hopefully sooner than later.
MARY GATCHELL – Indigo Rose. I was first turned on to New Hampshire native Mary by Boston publicity maven Joe Viglione, and was instantly smitten by her voice. Having seen her play a few a few times now, confirmed that she is an exciting talent. While Mary’s songs are often about relationships (“Indigo Rose”), they are not sappy. On this CD, she covers self-strength (“Stronger Backs”, one of my fave cuts), abusive relationships (“Beautiful Girls”), fun casual hook-ups (“I’m in Like”), and even a humorous look at misguided marriages (“Green Card”). Her background is on piano and guitar jazz, which she morphs with chanteuse into both the sensual soft of “Perfect Love” to the fierce “?” (yes, that’s the name of the song). She has released a Christmas album after this, but I haven’t heard that one.
RACHEL HARRINGTON – The Bootlegger’s Daughter. Rachel has a new release, “City of Refuge,” which is also wonderful, but for now I’m putting this one first. Her old timey, Depression era sound calls out from the past into the present, with strong cuts like “Sunshine Girl,” “Halloween Leaves,” “Summer’s Gone,” and the very catchy “Shoeless Joe.” I would love to hear a duet with her and Allison Krauss, or Emmylou Harris at some time. Maybe (dare I say it) all three? On her own, though, Rachel can keep my attention. I am looking forward to actually seeing this Seattle-based singer live.
TAMARA HEY – Right This Minute. While going to see another musician, Tamara was on the same bill. We were going to stay just long enough to hear a song or two but remained for the whole set because it was musical love at first hear. Afterwards, I went over and got this CD from her. With a mix of pop, country and jazz, Tamara is another that doesn’t follow a formulaic pattern in subject matter. The first and title cut of this CD just blew me away from the first time I put it on, and the rest does not disappoint. Many of the songs cover relationships, but again, her perspective is not standard. Included is a wistful realizing that a relationship is ending (“Up In the Air”), sadness in realizing a partner may be interested in someone else (the beautifully haunting “More Like Melanie”) and someone close who is battling personal substance demons (“In the Universe With Me”), supportively confronting a friend who has just come out (“Girl Talk”), standing up to another (“Angeline”), and even a bluegrass themed angst (“Pebble in My Shoe”). Tamara’s songs are powerful stuff that loses nothing in the music. She has just released a new CD, and I am sure it will be reviewed by me at some point in my “Quiet Corner” column.
PHIL MINISSALE – Home to Me . Phil has an old poet’s soul that expresses itself in the form of Delta blues. His material is strong, his guitar work is superb, and his songs go the entire range from tragic to funny, from dirgy to spritely, and his personality shines through all of it. Robert Johnson meets Uncle Sun meets, well, central Long Island. He plays around a lot in the New York and Pennsylvania area, so check him out if you can.
MONTY LOVE – Girls are the New Boys. This hardcore release from this two-years-gone Staten Island-based band has probably been played the most by me of any CD I have listened to in the past two years. Filled with one bon mot after another (“I’d rather look ugly than have your personality,” “This went from funny to hospital,” “Call on me and I’ll be there/This I swear/Shit, I never swear,” and so on), their songs are tight punk with a pop hook, but lose none of its power. Find their Xmas Spectacular video on YouTube from their last show to see just how exciting they can be” (yes, I was there that night). The song titles (which almost always have nothing to do with the subject matter) are also noteworthy, including “We Give Good Headache,” “When I Die (It’s Gonna Suck),” and “Rinse and Repeat.” Anyway, Monty Love the man led Monty Love the band, and both rock the shit out of this CD. There are 25 songs here, most of them pretty short, which make it seem like a mere few minutes before it’s over. Hell, I got pulled over for speeding because I was listening to it in the car (true story). The way the CD is produced is excellent, as well, as one song flows naturally into the next. I can go on and on about how great this is, but it’s time to move on to the next on the list. But first, I’m going to put it on the player.
SHE WOLVES – 13 Deadly Sins. While their first 5-song CD (with Laura Sativa on bass) has a special place in my heart, this full release just buuuuuuurns. Generally, I’m not a big fan of metal, but this one just works for me. It’s hard to believe it is only a trio making this glorious noise. Head wolf, Donna, is a guitar-maniac with a voice like growling steel who hurls her vocals with a piledriver force. Bassist Gyda Gash (who has since left the group) adds some nice touches with a heavy bottom and some great songs (such as “I Kill With My C*nt”). Drummer Tony WolfMann, who has pounded his skins for some of the best rockers out there, brings up the support rhythm without getting lost. He even has his own fun song, “Chainsaw,” that has a catchy hook. Actually, many of these songs do, without being overly pop and schmaltzy. Great titles, too, like “Ghost Boyfriend,” and “Vicious Tit.” Plus, there are new versions of their “Art of War” and the Ramones-like “Hundred Bucks.” I’d also like to add that the Wolves are a fun live band, so I recommend you getting out there and seeing them.
* * *
As for the 10 worst of the year, well, just pick up any Billboard from the year and look at their best selling charts for that particular week, because they’re all pretty much interchangeable.
Images from the Internet
Originally published at www.jerseybeat.com/quietcorner.html
The term “top 10 list” has always been kind of vague for me, when it comes to independent music. Things like mainstream films and music are released at a specific date (“dropped”), and usually out for a definitive time, so it’s easier to say, “this was released at X time.”
For independent music, even when it is released “officially,” it usually makes its rounds to the listeners over a longer, extended period of time. Just because a CD is finished, it gets sent to stores (hopefully), put up on Websites to hear or buy (or both), and usually is promoted virally, which takes time.
In honor to that process, and since I usually write about music that does not follow a schedule, rather than doing a traditional “released this year” kind of deal, I am going to list the top 10 CDs I’ve listened to the most this year that have been out within a reasonable time, arbitrary to my choice. Another criteria is that I can listen to them from beginning to end, with no desire to skip a song. Note that I have not put in the addresses of the labels, but rather suggest you look at their MySpace sites to hear samples of their sounds.
CHESTY MALONE AND THE SLICE ‘EM UPS - Now We’re Gonna See What Disaster Really Means. This band is everything a horror-themed hardcore band (horrorcore?) should be. You’ve got “13 Killers,” “Trouble with Cannibals,” “Livereaters,” and even a “Beavershot.” With Anthony Allen van Hoek’s screeching guitar, Hans von Severed’s bass and Tom Murphy’s drum bringing up the bottom, and fronted by the wonderfully named and fully committed Jacqueline Blownapart aka Chesty Malone aka Dotti Douchbag aka Vikki Voltage aka (TBD), this is a wrecking ball to the brain, with fun splattered all over it.
CHOKING SUSAN – [Self-titled]. Hailing from Detroit, this heavily Ramones-influenced band is fronted by the energetic Colleen Caffeine, a mainstay on the punk scene in MC. Seven strong old school punk anthems speed by. While my fave cuts include “Falling Round and Round,” “Baby Doll,” the point-out-the-poseur anthem “Punker,” and their should-be classic “I’m Alone,” there is just one solid song after another. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to see them play CBGB, and I am looking forward to their next release.
ANGELA ESTERLING – Earning Her Wings. Angela is an artist whose music is bluegrass-twinged country with a touch of pop. Along with a sweet and powerful testament to one of her idols, Johnny Cash (“Dear Johnny”; he’s also mentioned in another song), she shows she’s up for some good times with “I Feel Like Drinking,” and “Truck Driving Man” (she refers to him as her “knight in shining diesel”), she also tells of hard relationships (“Cowboy”) and I’m guessing a somewhat autobiographical tale of remembering where one comes from (“The Accordion”). Angela starts and ends with gospel inspired tunes “River Jordan” and a cover of “When I Wake Up to Sleep No More.” She is currently recording, I am very happy to say. What I especially like about this is that it’s more infused with ol’ style C&W, and not the modern, fake pop-disguised-as-country (such as the bland Faith Hill). This is more “true” Nashville. 
FIRE BUG – End of the World. I’m not usually a fan of classic rock, but this too short 3-songer is worth seeking out, especially the title cut. Juliette Tworsey’s vocals have sort of a Stevie Nicks kind of waiver to them, but with a much harder edge, which matches the music (Nicks is soft pop rock, really). I know they are recording new material as it shows up on their ‘site, so I am looking forward to a full length release at some point, hopefully sooner than later.
MARY GATCHELL – Indigo Rose. I was first turned on to New Hampshire native Mary by Boston publicity maven Joe Viglione, and was instantly smitten by her voice. Having seen her play a few a few times now, confirmed that she is an exciting talent. While Mary’s songs are often about relationships (“Indigo Rose”), they are not sappy. On this CD, she covers self-strength (“Stronger Backs”, one of my fave cuts), abusive relationships (“Beautiful Girls”), fun casual hook-ups (“I’m in Like”), and even a humorous look at misguided marriages (“Green Card”). Her background is on piano and guitar jazz, which she morphs with chanteuse into both the sensual soft of “Perfect Love” to the fierce “?” (yes, that’s the name of the song). She has released a Christmas album after this, but I haven’t heard that one.
RACHEL HARRINGTON – The Bootlegger’s Daughter. Rachel has a new release, “City of Refuge,” which is also wonderful, but for now I’m putting this one first. Her old timey, Depression era sound calls out from the past into the present, with strong cuts like “Sunshine Girl,” “Halloween Leaves,” “Summer’s Gone,” and the very catchy “Shoeless Joe.” I would love to hear a duet with her and Allison Krauss, or Emmylou Harris at some time. Maybe (dare I say it) all three? On her own, though, Rachel can keep my attention. I am looking forward to actually seeing this Seattle-based singer live.
TAMARA HEY – Right This Minute. While going to see another musician, Tamara was on the same bill. We were going to stay just long enough to hear a song or two but remained for the whole set because it was musical love at first hear. Afterwards, I went over and got this CD from her. With a mix of pop, country and jazz, Tamara is another that doesn’t follow a formulaic pattern in subject matter. The first and title cut of this CD just blew me away from the first time I put it on, and the rest does not disappoint. Many of the songs cover relationships, but again, her perspective is not standard. Included is a wistful realizing that a relationship is ending (“Up In the Air”), sadness in realizing a partner may be interested in someone else (the beautifully haunting “More Like Melanie”) and someone close who is battling personal substance demons (“In the Universe With Me”), supportively confronting a friend who has just come out (“Girl Talk”), standing up to another (“Angeline”), and even a bluegrass themed angst (“Pebble in My Shoe”). Tamara’s songs are powerful stuff that loses nothing in the music. She has just released a new CD, and I am sure it will be reviewed by me at some point in my “Quiet Corner” column.
PHIL MINISSALE – Home to Me . Phil has an old poet’s soul that expresses itself in the form of Delta blues. His material is strong, his guitar work is superb, and his songs go the entire range from tragic to funny, from dirgy to spritely, and his personality shines through all of it. Robert Johnson meets Uncle Sun meets, well, central Long Island. He plays around a lot in the New York and Pennsylvania area, so check him out if you can.
MONTY LOVE – Girls are the New Boys. This hardcore release from this two-years-gone Staten Island-based band has probably been played the most by me of any CD I have listened to in the past two years. Filled with one bon mot after another (“I’d rather look ugly than have your personality,” “This went from funny to hospital,” “Call on me and I’ll be there/This I swear/Shit, I never swear,” and so on), their songs are tight punk with a pop hook, but lose none of its power. Find their Xmas Spectacular video on YouTube from their last show to see just how exciting they can be” (yes, I was there that night). The song titles (which almost always have nothing to do with the subject matter) are also noteworthy, including “We Give Good Headache,” “When I Die (It’s Gonna Suck),” and “Rinse and Repeat.” Anyway, Monty Love the man led Monty Love the band, and both rock the shit out of this CD. There are 25 songs here, most of them pretty short, which make it seem like a mere few minutes before it’s over. Hell, I got pulled over for speeding because I was listening to it in the car (true story). The way the CD is produced is excellent, as well, as one song flows naturally into the next. I can go on and on about how great this is, but it’s time to move on to the next on the list. But first, I’m going to put it on the player.
SHE WOLVES – 13 Deadly Sins. While their first 5-song CD (with Laura Sativa on bass) has a special place in my heart, this full release just buuuuuuurns. Generally, I’m not a big fan of metal, but this one just works for me. It’s hard to believe it is only a trio making this glorious noise. Head wolf, Donna, is a guitar-maniac with a voice like growling steel who hurls her vocals with a piledriver force. Bassist Gyda Gash (who has since left the group) adds some nice touches with a heavy bottom and some great songs (such as “I Kill With My C*nt”). Drummer Tony WolfMann, who has pounded his skins for some of the best rockers out there, brings up the support rhythm without getting lost. He even has his own fun song, “Chainsaw,” that has a catchy hook. Actually, many of these songs do, without being overly pop and schmaltzy. Great titles, too, like “Ghost Boyfriend,” and “Vicious Tit.” Plus, there are new versions of their “Art of War” and the Ramones-like “Hundred Bucks.” I’d also like to add that the Wolves are a fun live band, so I recommend you getting out there and seeing them. * * *
As for the 10 worst of the year, well, just pick up any Billboard from the year and look at their best selling charts for that particular week, because they’re all pretty much interchangeable.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Television of My Childhood in New York
Text © Robert Barry Francos
Images from the Internet
Some of my earliest memories have been of television. If any of it is inaccurate, well, these are over 40-year-old.
I was too young to quite appreciate Howdy Doody, though I have strong memories of my brother yelling out, every once in a while, “What time is it?!?!” While I’m sure I saw it too, my remembrance is more of a meta-memory about it rather than of it.
My first strong television memories were of Sunday morning. My older brother Ricky (as we called him then) and I would wake up really early – too early for a weekend – and turn on the TV to the test pattern. This would eventually change to an image of the flag and such jingoistic images of Mt. Rushmore, military jets (this is around 1960, before Viet Nam), Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and the White House. Over this was a military band’s recording of the “Star Spangled Banner.” Is there any place in the United States now that has a signing on and off the air? Seems like it wasn’t until the mid-sixties before television turned into a 24-hour telecaster. I am assuming all this was in black and white, but I would not know otherwise because that was all our TV set displayed.
First up on the weekend was a show called something like Modern Agriculture. This was documentary footage of farms, planting, and people working the fields, while an announcer would drone on about “Agrarian society” and the like, while Ricky and I marveled at the tractors. After that, it became a fantasy of mine to drive one of these implements, and I finally had the chance – and a huge tractor at that – thanks to my brother-in-law, during the 1990.
Next was the Farmer Brown cartoons. Originally shown in theaters in the late 1920s-early ‘30s, these were bouncy characters that played out under a classical music soundtrack. I am certain that my appreciation for this type of music dates back to this very silly cartoon.
This was followed by Billy Bang Bang and His Brother Butch. In a similar fashion to Farmer Brown, this show was short silent film westerns by the lies of Tom Mix, but voiced over this time by the conversation of two boys (most likely actually adult women) who discussed what was happening on-screen. This was way before Mystery Science Theater 3000. Mostly it was fistfights, gun battles, horse chases, and fighting with “Indians.” Billy and Butch would say things like “Watch out behind you!” and “Duck!” My brother was obsessed by westerns in his youth, and I’ll be some of that dates back to both Billy Bang Bang and Butch.
Then it was time for The Little Rascals. Most of my friends who liked them preferred the later, Spanky and Our Gang ones. Well, perhaps I did too, especially the ones with musical numbers (“He makes hundreds and thousands of dollars!”), but I also liked the earlier Dickie Moore period (e.g., “Then Tubby sayd [sob] you had a wooden layg”; “Learn that poem…”). What has come to be one of my favorite ones is a rare mid-period one, which featured a very young Spanky, called “Mush and Milk”. The kids are all living in a boarding school by a cruel elderly, cheap matron. The milk (from a goat) is spilled in an accident, so the kids make “milk” out of flour and water. Around the table, the kids spread the word, “Don’t drink the milk; it’s spoiled.” When it gets ‘round to Spanky, one of the original conspirators, he very coolly says to the girl passing it on, “I’m way ahead of ya, sister!” I used that line for years (no matter what the gender, which perplexed some). Many years later, I found out that the actress who played Miss Crabtree had retired to my neighborhood in Bensonhurst.
Last of the Sunday morning line-up was The Bowery Boys, also known as East Side Kids. They were all in their ‘30s by the time these were made, but played teens. I loved these guys, though I never aspired to be like them; but I definitely felt an affinity, probably because I recognized so many of the characters as people I grew up with. They felt like part of my neighborhood, especially characters like Sach and his uncle, who came across as very Jewish to me (though not that I realized it at that age). When I found out that the troupe started out in a serious gang exposes like the film Angels With Dirty Faces, it was very strange to me. It was sort f like when Moe Hoard would occasionally show up on Officer Joe Bolton’s show, with white hair and looking terribly old to us.
Officer Joe Bolton (it was never just Joe Bolton) hosted the daily airing of The Three Stooges shorts for years in New York. Whether he was really a member of the police force was never questioned, and didn’t matter to us. We knew he hosted the show, and we knew he wore the uniform and twirled a wood police baton with grace. That made him cool, and that is what mattered.
Along the same lines was Captain Jack McCarthy (sometimes just Captain Jack), who hosted cartoons such as Popeye. No matter what time the show was on, it was either “Four Bells” or “Six Bells,” and he would pull the string to strike the bell (ding-ding, ding-ding). Although also in a captain’s uniform that looked more like Captain Stubbing, he was a bit blander of a personality than Bolton, but we watched him each opportunity, nonetheless.
One other host I remember, though barely, is Tommy Seven. His prop was a hot dog cart and the theme song, “East side, west side / All around the town / The kids love Tommy Seven / He’s our favorite TV clown.” The memory of his theme lasted longer than the host himself, who dressed as a hobo, though I enjoyed the show at the time.
Captain Kangaroo, Wonderama and Romper Room were all popular, but my preference was for Shenanigans, hosted by the rotund Stubby Kaye. Basically, it was a game show with physical shtick decades before Nickelodeon. There was a board game that went with it, which I coveted for years. However, I did get to play it at friends’ houses. Stubby was a strongly underrated artist and singer, who is probably better known as Nicely Nicely from the film version of Guys and Dolls, where he sang the spiritual “Rocking the Boat,” and as one of the two troubadours from The Ballad of Cat Ballou (Nat King Cole played the other). I still have his album, Music For Chubby Lovers.
My brother who is four years older, caught on to Soupy Sales years before I did, but his adult jokes went right over my head (“Hey Pokie, how come every time I show you the letter F, you see K?” Note that Britney Spears new song is the same wordplay). Just as I started to get into it, the show ended.
By far, my favorite host was Brooklyn native Chuck McCann. Soon as I saw him dancing down the halls of the studio singing, “Put on a Happy Face,” everything seemed good. His show was a mix of sketches, music, reading of comic strips, and never failed to keep my attention. On the big screen, he was powerful as a mute in the drama, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter,” and starred as the title character in the counter-culture cult classic, The Projectionist. He is another talent that was under appreciated.
A lot of these hosts and shows had a level of subversiveness about them, most of which would be washed clean by the late sixties, after the overreaction and fall of Soupy Sales (much as the FCC cracked down after the Super Bowl “wardrobe malfunction”). It was, however, these experiments that led the way for the likes of Uncle Floyd, The Simpsons, Family Guy, and even Spongebob Squarepants.
Images from the Internet
Some of my earliest memories have been of television. If any of it is inaccurate, well, these are over 40-year-old.
I was too young to quite appreciate Howdy Doody, though I have strong memories of my brother yelling out, every once in a while, “What time is it?!?!” While I’m sure I saw it too, my remembrance is more of a meta-memory about it rather than of it.
My first strong television memories were of Sunday morning. My older brother Ricky (as we called him then) and I would wake up really early – too early for a weekend – and turn on the TV to the test pattern. This would eventually change to an image of the flag and such jingoistic images of Mt. Rushmore, military jets (this is around 1960, before Viet Nam), Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and the White House. Over this was a military band’s recording of the “Star Spangled Banner.” Is there any place in the United States now that has a signing on and off the air? Seems like it wasn’t until the mid-sixties before television turned into a 24-hour telecaster. I am assuming all this was in black and white, but I would not know otherwise because that was all our TV set displayed.
First up on the weekend was a show called something like Modern Agriculture. This was documentary footage of farms, planting, and people working the fields, while an announcer would drone on about “Agrarian society” and the like, while Ricky and I marveled at the tractors. After that, it became a fantasy of mine to drive one of these implements, and I finally had the chance – and a huge tractor at that – thanks to my brother-in-law, during the 1990.Next was the Farmer Brown cartoons. Originally shown in theaters in the late 1920s-early ‘30s, these were bouncy characters that played out under a classical music soundtrack. I am certain that my appreciation for this type of music dates back to this very silly cartoon.
This was followed by Billy Bang Bang and His Brother Butch. In a similar fashion to Farmer Brown, this show was short silent film westerns by the lies of Tom Mix, but voiced over this time by the conversation of two boys (most likely actually adult women) who discussed what was happening on-screen. This was way before Mystery Science Theater 3000. Mostly it was fistfights, gun battles, horse chases, and fighting with “Indians.” Billy and Butch would say things like “Watch out behind you!” and “Duck!” My brother was obsessed by westerns in his youth, and I’ll be some of that dates back to both Billy Bang Bang and Butch.
Then it was time for The Little Rascals. Most of my friends who liked them preferred the later, Spanky and Our Gang ones. Well, perhaps I did too, especially the ones with musical numbers (“He makes hundreds and thousands of dollars!”), but I also liked the earlier Dickie Moore period (e.g., “Then Tubby sayd [sob] you had a wooden layg”; “Learn that poem…”). What has come to be one of my favorite ones is a rare mid-period one, which featured a very young Spanky, called “Mush and Milk”. The kids are all living in a boarding school by a cruel elderly, cheap matron. The milk (from a goat) is spilled in an accident, so the kids make “milk” out of flour and water. Around the table, the kids spread the word, “Don’t drink the milk; it’s spoiled.” When it gets ‘round to Spanky, one of the original conspirators, he very coolly says to the girl passing it on, “I’m way ahead of ya, sister!” I used that line for years (no matter what the gender, which perplexed some). Many years later, I found out that the actress who played Miss Crabtree had retired to my neighborhood in Bensonhurst. 
Last of the Sunday morning line-up was The Bowery Boys, also known as East Side Kids. They were all in their ‘30s by the time these were made, but played teens. I loved these guys, though I never aspired to be like them; but I definitely felt an affinity, probably because I recognized so many of the characters as people I grew up with. They felt like part of my neighborhood, especially characters like Sach and his uncle, who came across as very Jewish to me (though not that I realized it at that age). When I found out that the troupe started out in a serious gang exposes like the film Angels With Dirty Faces, it was very strange to me. It was sort f like when Moe Hoard would occasionally show up on Officer Joe Bolton’s show, with white hair and looking terribly old to us. 
Officer Joe Bolton (it was never just Joe Bolton) hosted the daily airing of The Three Stooges shorts for years in New York. Whether he was really a member of the police force was never questioned, and didn’t matter to us. We knew he hosted the show, and we knew he wore the uniform and twirled a wood police baton with grace. That made him cool, and that is what mattered.
Along the same lines was Captain Jack McCarthy (sometimes just Captain Jack), who hosted cartoons such as Popeye. No matter what time the show was on, it was either “Four Bells” or “Six Bells,” and he would pull the string to strike the bell (ding-ding, ding-ding). Although also in a captain’s uniform that looked more like Captain Stubbing, he was a bit blander of a personality than Bolton, but we watched him each opportunity, nonetheless.One other host I remember, though barely, is Tommy Seven. His prop was a hot dog cart and the theme song, “East side, west side / All around the town / The kids love Tommy Seven / He’s our favorite TV clown.” The memory of his theme lasted longer than the host himself, who dressed as a hobo, though I enjoyed the show at the time.
Captain Kangaroo, Wonderama and Romper Room were all popular, but my preference was for Shenanigans, hosted by the rotund Stubby Kaye. Basically, it was a game show with physical shtick decades before Nickelodeon. There was a board game that went with it, which I coveted for years. However, I did get to play it at friends’ houses. Stubby was a strongly underrated artist and singer, who is probably better known as Nicely Nicely from the film version of Guys and Dolls, where he sang the spiritual “Rocking the Boat,” and as one of the two troubadours from The Ballad of Cat Ballou (Nat King Cole played the other). I still have his album, Music For Chubby Lovers.My brother who is four years older, caught on to Soupy Sales years before I did, but his adult jokes went right over my head (“Hey Pokie, how come every time I show you the letter F, you see K?” Note that Britney Spears new song is the same wordplay). Just as I started to get into it, the show ended.
By far, my favorite host was Brooklyn native Chuck McCann. Soon as I saw him dancing down the halls of the studio singing, “Put on a Happy Face,” everything seemed good. His show was a mix of sketches, music, reading of comic strips, and never failed to keep my attention. On the big screen, he was powerful as a mute in the drama, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter,” and starred as the title character in the counter-culture cult classic, The Projectionist. He is another talent that was under appreciated.A lot of these hosts and shows had a level of subversiveness about them, most of which would be washed clean by the late sixties, after the overreaction and fall of Soupy Sales (much as the FCC cracked down after the Super Bowl “wardrobe malfunction”). It was, however, these experiments that led the way for the likes of Uncle Floyd, The Simpsons, Family Guy, and even Spongebob Squarepants.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Videowave: Lene Lovich, Nina Hagen, Holly Beth Vincent
Photos and text © Robert Barry Francos
Videos © Alan Abramowitz / Videowave
One of the great joys I had during the 1980s and ‘90s was working on a cable access program called Videowave, created, produced, and run by one of my oldest pals, Alan Abramowitz. Alan and I had met in camp in 1970, and years later found out we were distant cousins.
Videowave centered mainly on music, but also focused on all aspects of fine arts, from dance to spoken word. Usually it was a blend of independent music videos that one tended not to see on places like MTV, mixed with interviews with various artists and bands.
Considering the DIY (and budget) of the show, thanks in part to knowing some connected people (and the wherewithal of Alan to take a chance and, well, ask), Alan managed to secure a number of major acts, but almost always ones that were interesting, like the Heartbreakers, Richard Hell, Bow Wow Wow, Too Much Joy, Dramarama, Nick Cave, Buzzcocks, Lenny Kaye, Steve Wynn, Dick Dale, Jonathan Richman, Ofra Haza, Philip Glass, Frente!, Joey Ramone, Husker Du, and so many others. In all the years, there have been only two artists who committed but did not appear at the shoot without any warning: new recording artist Madonna, and P.I.L. (the publicist confided that the band was out looking for Keith Levene, who was on a drug hunt).
At first, the show was staged in a for-hire television studio on Rivington Street, on the Lower East Side of New York, called Young Filmmakers. My job varied over the years, including floor manager (the person between the talent and the control room), photographer, and occasional cameraman.
[Lene Lovich, Holly Beth Vincent, 1983],
During late 1983, Alan managed to get Lene Lovich, which was quite the coup at the time. She was on with Holly Beth Vincent, of Holly and the Italians, who had a relative hit with “Tell That Girl To Shut Up” (though a great pop song, I preferred Barb Kitson / City Thrill’s “I Must Have Been Dreamin’,” which had a similar feel). Lene and Holly Beth met in England, where they had both transplanted from the Midwest, and become fast friends. On this day, Lene was a joy to work with responding with smiles and enjoying the experience. She treated all of us pro bono studio people with respect and kindness. Holly Beth was just the opposite, looking sullen, being distant, and just surly. She also chain smoked through the whole time she was in the studio. She pretty much disappeared after that, except for a duet with Joey Ramone.
[Lene Lovich, 1990]
Years later, in 1990, Lene was in town again to play at an animal rights rally, and was again being interviewed for Videowave. And once again, I was asked to be floor manager and photographer. This time, however, it was not in a studio, but thanks to both lack of studio space and outside funding, the show had gone gonzo, filming wherever Alan (or the talent) deemed. Since Lene was staying at a hotel a block from Gramercy Park, we shot right outside the park. As before, Lene was amiable and seemed to be enjoying the experience. It was also interesting to see her in the bright sunlight. I had seen her on the dark stage and under the glaring lights of a studio, but this was the closest I had been to her. She’s more beautiful than I had expected or remembered, with bright, intelligent eyes and a generous smile.
One of Lene’s good friends and international star Nina Hagen was also on Videowave, in 1984. The Germanic singer / performance artist was a real terror, and obviously enjoyed being one. She was sitting on the stage in the rented studio, and we were ready to shoot. I was standing by as floor manager, clipboard in hand and headset turned up. The director, way up in the control booth, was screaming in my ear. The reason for this was Nina’s holding a can of guava in front of her face, and refusing to put it down. I’d say, trying to be diplomatic for Alan’s sake, “Please, Nina, put the can down.” She responded in one of her ridiculous, child-like voices, “No!,” pretending to be a spoiled child (well, perhaps not pretending…). I’m sure she thought this behavior was cute and funny, but it was wasting valuable time and money that no one, especially producer Alan, could afford. I explained about how studio time was expensive and that this was not a big media conglomerate that could swallow the cost. Her response was, in the same annoying, dumbass voice, “I don’t want to!”
Finally, one of the cameraman, who was also stuck waiting and listening to the screaming over the headsets, took off and put down his earphones, and calmly walked over to her with a big smile and whispered something in her ear. Still smiling, he walked back to the camera. She looked shocked and her face turned red. Then a big, bright smile came over her face, and she put the damn can down. The interview went well after that. Later, I cornered the guy and asked him what had happened. He said that when he had enough, he walked over to her with that big, warm grin and said, very quietly and with a mild tone, “If you don’t put down that can, you Nazi bitch, I’m going to break every fucking bone in your body.” She thought it was hysterically funny, and was fine afterwards.
While I do have photos I took of Nina, none are yet scanned. Sorry.
One can find information and clips of some of these shows here:
www.geocities.com/videowavemusicmusings
http://videowave-goingunderground.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/Videowave
Videos © Alan Abramowitz / Videowave
One of the great joys I had during the 1980s and ‘90s was working on a cable access program called Videowave, created, produced, and run by one of my oldest pals, Alan Abramowitz. Alan and I had met in camp in 1970, and years later found out we were distant cousins.Videowave centered mainly on music, but also focused on all aspects of fine arts, from dance to spoken word. Usually it was a blend of independent music videos that one tended not to see on places like MTV, mixed with interviews with various artists and bands.
Considering the DIY (and budget) of the show, thanks in part to knowing some connected people (and the wherewithal of Alan to take a chance and, well, ask), Alan managed to secure a number of major acts, but almost always ones that were interesting, like the Heartbreakers, Richard Hell, Bow Wow Wow, Too Much Joy, Dramarama, Nick Cave, Buzzcocks, Lenny Kaye, Steve Wynn, Dick Dale, Jonathan Richman, Ofra Haza, Philip Glass, Frente!, Joey Ramone, Husker Du, and so many others. In all the years, there have been only two artists who committed but did not appear at the shoot without any warning: new recording artist Madonna, and P.I.L. (the publicist confided that the band was out looking for Keith Levene, who was on a drug hunt).
At first, the show was staged in a for-hire television studio on Rivington Street, on the Lower East Side of New York, called Young Filmmakers. My job varied over the years, including floor manager (the person between the talent and the control room), photographer, and occasional cameraman.
[Lene Lovich, Holly Beth Vincent, 1983],During late 1983, Alan managed to get Lene Lovich, which was quite the coup at the time. She was on with Holly Beth Vincent, of Holly and the Italians, who had a relative hit with “Tell That Girl To Shut Up” (though a great pop song, I preferred Barb Kitson / City Thrill’s “I Must Have Been Dreamin’,” which had a similar feel). Lene and Holly Beth met in England, where they had both transplanted from the Midwest, and become fast friends. On this day, Lene was a joy to work with responding with smiles and enjoying the experience. She treated all of us pro bono studio people with respect and kindness. Holly Beth was just the opposite, looking sullen, being distant, and just surly. She also chain smoked through the whole time she was in the studio. She pretty much disappeared after that, except for a duet with Joey Ramone.
[Lene Lovich, 1990]Years later, in 1990, Lene was in town again to play at an animal rights rally, and was again being interviewed for Videowave. And once again, I was asked to be floor manager and photographer. This time, however, it was not in a studio, but thanks to both lack of studio space and outside funding, the show had gone gonzo, filming wherever Alan (or the talent) deemed. Since Lene was staying at a hotel a block from Gramercy Park, we shot right outside the park. As before, Lene was amiable and seemed to be enjoying the experience. It was also interesting to see her in the bright sunlight. I had seen her on the dark stage and under the glaring lights of a studio, but this was the closest I had been to her. She’s more beautiful than I had expected or remembered, with bright, intelligent eyes and a generous smile.
One of Lene’s good friends and international star Nina Hagen was also on Videowave, in 1984. The Germanic singer / performance artist was a real terror, and obviously enjoyed being one. She was sitting on the stage in the rented studio, and we were ready to shoot. I was standing by as floor manager, clipboard in hand and headset turned up. The director, way up in the control booth, was screaming in my ear. The reason for this was Nina’s holding a can of guava in front of her face, and refusing to put it down. I’d say, trying to be diplomatic for Alan’s sake, “Please, Nina, put the can down.” She responded in one of her ridiculous, child-like voices, “No!,” pretending to be a spoiled child (well, perhaps not pretending…). I’m sure she thought this behavior was cute and funny, but it was wasting valuable time and money that no one, especially producer Alan, could afford. I explained about how studio time was expensive and that this was not a big media conglomerate that could swallow the cost. Her response was, in the same annoying, dumbass voice, “I don’t want to!”
Finally, one of the cameraman, who was also stuck waiting and listening to the screaming over the headsets, took off and put down his earphones, and calmly walked over to her with a big smile and whispered something in her ear. Still smiling, he walked back to the camera. She looked shocked and her face turned red. Then a big, bright smile came over her face, and she put the damn can down. The interview went well after that. Later, I cornered the guy and asked him what had happened. He said that when he had enough, he walked over to her with that big, warm grin and said, very quietly and with a mild tone, “If you don’t put down that can, you Nazi bitch, I’m going to break every fucking bone in your body.” She thought it was hysterically funny, and was fine afterwards.
While I do have photos I took of Nina, none are yet scanned. Sorry.
One can find information and clips of some of these shows here:
www.geocities.com/videowavemusicmusings
http://videowave-goingunderground.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/Videowave
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