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Reviews

Guitarist Gary Lucas Explores Virtuosity at The Loft In City Winery

Gary Lucas with Feifei Yang
Sunday, May 28th 2023
The Loft at City Winery25 11th Ave. (at 15th St.)

After critically acclaimed guitarist Gary Lucas sent out a notice of a gig in The Loft at City Winery — “From Captain Beefheart to Buckley and Beyond” — I perked up. When it comes to the notion of a virtuoso, Lucas fits that idea perfectly. He can do slide guitar immaculately, play around with foot pedals or knobs to create a desired effect and he has incredibly facile fingering skills. He applies all his technical skills to a broad range of styles, yet doesn’t make it seem like three different guitarists at work.

With his intuitive skills finely honed and at peak performance, Lucas makes all the various styles in his wheelhouse mesh seamlessly. So I promptly arranged to go to the show. What an evening it turned out to be. It began with the screening of rare clips and the video for “Ice Cream for Crow.” Then Lucas ruminated about various touch points in his career, launching into “Lady of Shalott”— a lush piece combining acoustic guitar and voice.

Combining moments of kinetics and contemplation, Lucas defies labels and expectations — and so does his show. While some of the music he makes could be described as Americana — depending on the guitar he slings on — other tunes range from bluesy (his dark original “Dance of Destiny”) to avant garde. Of course, having worked with such a boundary-busting band leader as Captain Beefheart, Lucas stands apart from most musicians. No one has tested accompanists like the late master of undefinable sounds. As Lucas described, Beefheart would put his musicians through rigors that no other band leader ever did. For all of the other complicated things on which Lucas has dibs — such as composing music for film and television, scoring classic silent films like “The Golem” and playing with various avant-garde artists — his stage performance alternates between dramatic and contemplative. These seamless shifts are evident in his covers of Nino Rota’s Theme from Fellini’s “La Strada” and Beach Boy Brian Wilson’s “God Only Knows.”

After his term as Beefheart’s guitarist and manager, Lucas turned to forming his remarkable band, Gods and Monsters. Along the way, the late singer/songwriter Jeff Buckley became a part of the timeline, further demonstrating Lucas’ elasticity as both player and performer. In fact, as Gary described on stage, he was introduced to Jeff when Lucas was asked by late concept producer Hal Willner to work on a Tim Buckley tribute.
Tim, dad to Jeff, died way too young (at 28) but established a remarkable catalog. Lucas did a song and got a relationship with Jeff as part of the bargain. That turned into a collaboration which prompted a great song like “Grace” (co-composed with Lucas) and a moment when Buckley fronted Lucas’ band. Though that didn’t last long enough, it added a unique turn to Gary’s musical efforts.

All this combined to make for an evening rich in music ranging across all kinds of creative panoramas. Joined by singer/erhu player Feifei Yang, this evening’s show included versions out of Buckley’s catalog — “Grace” and Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Added to those were two Beefheart compositions, an original song or two from across Lucas’ landscape, and a Chinese pop tune from the ‘30s (as sung in Mandarin by Yang).

Ever clad in his signature fedora, Lucas shouldered most of the evening solo. But when Yang accompanied him, the tone changed and offered a joyful touch to an intimate and engaging evening. Hopefully there will be another occasion soon to be surprised by the veteran performer’s song choices and stylizations.

Broadway Musical Review—“Camelot” Revival

Camelot
Music by Frederick Loewe; lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner
Book by Aaron Sorkin, based on Lerner’s original book
Directed by Bartlett Sher
Opened April 13, 2023
Vivian Beaumont Theatre, 150 West 65th Street, NYC
lct.org
 
Phillipa Soo in Camelot (photo: Joan Marcus)
 
Lerner & Loewe’s Camelot has not been seen on Broadway in 30 years—I saw Robert Longbottom’s modestly silly staging at the 2012 Glimmerglass Festival, with a wondrous trio of leads: David Pittsinger’s King Arthur, Andriana Chuchman’s Guenevere and Nathan Gunn’s Lancelot—and Bartlett Sher’s uneven new staging, hampered by Aaron Sorkin’s new book, likely won’t help its cause. 
 
Despite being set in England during the Middle Ages when there was an obvious line of demarcation between exalted royals and plebian subjects, Camelot is not all earnest seriousness and masculine swordplay. Monty Python and the Holy Grail and its musical offspring Spamalot have made us think the original is eternally dated. Yet Lerner’s book and lyrics nicely balance drama, romance and humor, while Loewe’s songs are—as always—impossibly tuneful. But Sher and Sorkin, who have gone to great lengths to “improve” the show, only intermittently succeed. 
 
Sorkin has squeezed much of the juice out of a story that was simply, for all intents and purposes, a romantic triangle among Arthur, his queen Guenevere and the French Knight of the Round Table, Lancelot. Sorkin has also eliminated the magic, literally: old wise man Merlin is no longer a wizard, Morgan le Fay—the witch-like aunt of Mordred, Arthur’s illegitimate son—is now a scientist as well as Mordred’s mother, and Guenevere is a brash, enlightened heroine.  
 
Such “improvements” are often no worse than what’s in Lerner’s original book, but they’re not much better either. And Sorkin’s dialogue—which has the rat-a-tat rhythms of his TV and theater scripts—is too sitcomish, too crudely clever. In fact, swaths of this Camelot sound as if they were created by an Aaron Sorkin ChatBot.
 
Director Sher seems somewhat hamstrung by Sorkin’s book; interactions and conversations play out at the exaggerated pace of The West Wing or The Newsroom, which is at further odds with these characters. At least the sweep of Camelot’s setting remains, thanks to Michael Yeargan’s apt set design, Jennifer Moeller’s vibrant costumes, Lap Chi Chu’s expressive lighting and Marc Salzberg and Beth Lake’s imaginative sound design. 
 
Andrew Dunlap is a personable if somewhat callow Arthur and Philippa Soo is a beguiling and lovely-sounding Guenevere. As Lancelot—subbing for Tony-nominated Jordan Donica at the performance I saw—Christian Mark Gibbs has a muscular voice that’s appropriately reined in on the evergreen “If Ever I Would Leave You.” 
 
Too bad the show’s immortal title tune is made almost perfunctory by Sorkin and Sher at the beginning, as Guinevere rolls her eyes and complains while Arthur describes his kingdom’s metaphorical glories. But even they can’t “improve” it when it returns, battered but defiant, at the end.

June '23 Digital Week I

In-Theater/Streaming Releases of the Week 
Squaring the Circle 
(Raindog Films)
Probably the seminal rock music graphic design team, Hipgnosis—founded by Storm Thorgerson and Audrey Powell in the late ‘60s—designed some of the most famous album covers of all-time, like Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here; Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy and Presence; and Wings’ Venus and Mars and Band on the Run.
 
 
Director Anton Corbijn’s loving reminiscence of the team features a poignant new interview with Powell and an archival one with Thorgerson, who died in 2013. Also along for the ride—which includes wondrous vintage video footage and photographs of their many collaborations, the most memorable of which may be the infamous Pink Floyd Animals cover shoot—are the surviving Floyd members (David Gilmour, Nick Mason, Roger Waters), Led Zep’s Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, and Paul McCartney, with many others, all paying homage to the team’s unique visual brilliance.
Now playing at Film Forum in Manhattan; filmforum.org
 
 
Anonymous Sister 
(Long Shot Factory)
In this intensely personal, harrowing documentary, director Jamie Boyle recounts the hell her family went through when her sister (a talented figure skater whose pain from performing made her get hooked on painkillers) and her mother (whose arthritis also caused overprescribing of pain meds) became hooked on OxyContin, the drug that the loathsome Sackler family parlayed into billions of dollars in profits for them and an untold number of Americans’ deaths in the past three decades.
 
 
Balancing plentiful home-movie footage the family took as she and her sister grew up with her difficult confessional interviews with sister, mom and dad (happily, all survived and are thriving), Boyle’s often moving and enraging chronicle shows how this epidemic surfaced among so many unsuspecting families and destroyed so many lives.
 
 
 
Blue Jean 
(Magnolia Pictures) 
It’s 1988, Margaret Thatcher’s awful conservatism is tightening its stranglehold over England, and closeted young Jean is teaching Phys Ed at a Newcastle school, frightfully (and rightfully) afraid of being outed. When a new student visits the local gay bar she herself frequents, Jean’s not-so-orderly world becomes even more disordered.
 
 
Director-writer Georgia Oakley’s exquisitely restrained drama, as much political as it is personal, is—despite being set 35 years ago—equally relevant today here, unfortunately. And it’s all centered by Rosy McEwen’s formidable but quiet  performance as Jean. 
 
 
 
Mending the Line 
(Blue Fox Entertainment) 
How vets deal with returning home from war when friends don’t is compellingly if conventionally dramatized by director Joshua Caldwell and writer Stephen Camelio, who create sympathetic portraits of two veterans—one who served in Vietnam and the other in Afghanistan—and the fiancée of a soldier who was KIA.
 
 
The fly-fishing metaphor, while initially effective, turns stilted, and the ending—while necessarily bittersweet—doesn’t really stick the landing. Still, the terrific acting by the great Brian Cox (Vietnam vet), Sinqua Walls (Afghanistan vet) and Perry Mattfeld (the widowed fiancée) provide more than enough reason to watch. 
 
 
 
Mercy 
(Paramount Global)
Luckily for the staff of a local hospital, when Irish gangsters take everyone hostage trying to get the patriarch’s wounded son out of there (it’s a long story), one of the doctors, Michelle, happens to be an Afghan war vet who can mow down the intruders with impunity.
 
 
Director Tony Dean Smith and writer Alex Wright know their premise is ridiculous, but they run with it, their 85-minute movie is just an excuse to cheer on the resourceful Michelle (played by the physically impressive Canadian actress Leah Gibson) as she outsmarts the bad guys, barely pausing even when they use her teenage son as bait.  
 
 
 
Rise 
(Blue Fox Entertainment) 
In Cédric Klapisch’s delicately told melodrama, real-life dancer Marion Barbeau plays ballerina Elise, whose serious injury while performing—as well as discovering that her boyfriend is cheating on her with a fellow dancer—throws her for a loop and makes her question her own relationships and goals, until she falls in with a group performing contemporary dance and discovers that new personal and professional paths are possible.
 
 
As usual, Klapisch effortlessly harnesses several story strands and multiple characters, but Rise—beautifully shot by Alexis Kavyrchine, especially the varied dance sequences both on- and offstage—might seem superfluous if not for the presence of Barbeau, a wonderfully lithe dancer who also proves herself a natural and engaging actress.
 
 
 
Scarlet 
(Kino Lorber) 
As his followup to Martin Eden, the engrossing and richly nuanced adaptation of a Jack London story, Italian director Pietro Marcello tackles a 1923 Russian novella and conjures an often luminous, fantastical atmosphere in its chronicle of Juliette, a young French woman who has been alerted that she’ll fall for an aviator who falls from the sky—which promptly happens.
 
 
Not nearly as resonant as Martin Eden, Scarlet is shot through with Marcello’s painterly and idiosyncratic eye, abetted by Marco Graziaplena’s sumptuous cinematography (shot in Academy ratio) and the winning presence of Juliette Jouan, whose natural unaffectedness as her namesake transforms this into a beguiling fable. 
 
 
 
Blu-ray Releases of the Week
A Good Person 
(Warner Bros) 
Zach Braff wrote and directed this earnest, soggy melodrama about repentance, forgiveness and starting over about a young woman whose stupid act while driving causes the death of her future brother- and sister-in-laws and who afterward crosses paths with the dead woman’s father and her orphaned daughter.
 
 
It’s so cloying that if Braff’s name wasn’t attached, it probably wouldn’t have gotten made; it’s an OK 90-minute tearjerker padded to an unconscionable 128 minutes. Braff even wastes his excellent leads, Florence Pugh and Morgan Freeman. The film looks fine on Blu.
 
 
 
Renfield 
(Universal)
Wherein Renfield (Nicolas Hoult), the ever-faithful companion of Count Dracula (Nicolas Cage) for the past few centuries, decides he needs to get out of a relationship that’s stifled him and made him codependent: Chris McKay’s wild ride blends vampires, rom-com, and ludicrous bloodletting into a fast-paced 90 minutes that doesn’t get the chance to wear out its welcome.
 
 
Acted with wink-wink knowingness by Hoult and Cage, both performers unafraid to go too far, the flick also has fun appearances by Awkwafina, Shohreh Aghdashloo, and Ben Schwartz, along with some of the reddest fake gore I’ve seen in awhile, all tongue-in-cheek, of course. It all looks smashing in hi-def; extras comprise deleted/extended scenes as well as making-of featurettes. 
 
 
 
CD Release of the Week
Anne Akiko Meyers—Mysterium 
(Avie Records)
Although this EP contains only four works that clock in at a total of 19 minutes, it plays both to Anne Akiko Meyers’ considerable strengths as a virtuoso violinist and to the lilting, gorgeous sounds produced by the Los Angeles Master Chorale.
 
 
The three arrangements of Bach works, beginning with Jesu, Joy of Man’s Suffering, are extraordinarily moving to hear when the chorale and Meyers combine forces, but it’s the world-premiere arrangement of Morten Lauridsen’s O Magnum Mysterium—an austere work about Christ’s birth that was premiered by the chorale in 1994—in which Meyers’ miraculous playing and the chorale’s sensational singing coalesce beautifully. It’s all sensitively led by the chorale’s artistic director Grant Gershon.  

Renée Fleming Performs at Carnegie Hall

Renée Fleming (R) with Evgeny Kissin at the piano. Photo by Chris Lee

At Carnegie Hall on the evening of Wednesday, May 31st, I had the exceptional privilege to attend a marvelous recital featuring the extraordinary, renowned soprano Renée Fleming, superbly accompanied by the celebrated pianist, Evgeny Kissin.

Fleming wore a fabulous burgundy gown and the event opened strongly with four excellentliederby Franz Schubert set to verse by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe—he was the composer’s favorite poet, setting seventy songs to his works—or related figures. In her informative notes for the program, Janet E. Bedell provides useful background on the first of the night’s songs:

The poem for “Suleika I” was long attributed to Goethe, since it is to be found in his compilationWest-östlicher Divan, inspired by his fascination with the work of 14th-century Persian poet Hafiz (Suleika is one of Hafiz’s characters). We now know it was written by Marianne von Willemer, an Austrian actress who had a brief but intense relationship with Goethe.

Next was the brief “Die Vögel” of 1820 which is by the illustrious Friedrich von Schlegel, one of the founders of the Romantic movement in Germany for which Goethe was the most important precursor. Bedell comments instructively on the song that followed:

Poems from Goethe’s classic bildungsroman Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre—the chronicle of a young German’s educational wanderings in which, among other episodes, he meets a mysterious and winsome young girl, Mignon, who has been abducted from her Italian homeland and impressed into a band of traveling circus performers—inspired many Schubert lieder. Composed in 1826, the most famous of these “Lied der Mignon” is “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt” (“Only one who knows longing”), the last of six versions Schubert created for this haunting poem.

Finally, Fleming sung the 1821 revision of “Rastlose Liebe” (“Restless Love”) after Goethe’s poem.

The imposing balance of the first half of the program was devoted to outstanding music by Franz Liszt, beginning with two pieces for solo piano expertly played by Kissin. Of the first, Bedell writes:

Published in 1858, “Sposalizio” (“Marriage”) comes from Années de pèlerinage, deuxième année: Italie and was inspired by Raphael’s painting “The Marriage of the Virgin.”

And about the second she says, “The Valse oubliée No. 1 (Forgotten Waltz) is the most famous of four with that title composed in 1881.” About the composer’s songs, she explains:

He seemed to regard them as his personal responses to the poetry he loved and never promoted them heavily. Nevertheless, he composed more than 80 songs in five different languages between 1839 and his death in 1886. Though most are in German, this most cosmopolitan of artists also set poetry in French, Italian, English, and Hungarian.

Songwriting came naturally to Liszt, who counted many of Europe’s leading poets and novelists among his friends. His particular musical inspirations were Schubert (Liszt made many transcriptions of Schubert lieder) and Robert Schumann, whom he knew personally.

Liszt was a painstaking and highly innovative craftsman, who sometimes produced as many as three different versions of a song before he was satisfied. When he settled in Weimar in the 1850s, he found fault with many of his songs of the 1840s, saying: “My earlier songs are mostly inflatedly sentimental and frequently crammed too full in the accompaniment.” He revised most of them extensively, ruthlessly stripping them of excess, and even pruning his own piano parts so they were less virtuosic and more supportive handmaidens of the verse.

Fleming then admirably performed two more Goethe settings: “Freudvoll und leidvoll” (“Joyful and Sorrowful”) of 1844 and “Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh’” (“Over every mountaintop is peace”) of 1860, from a poem also set by Schubert. She concluded magnificently with “Im Rhein, im schönen Ströme” (“In the Rhine, in the fair stream”), with a lyric by Heinrich Heine which, according to Bedell, “portrays Cologne Cathedral and a beautiful sacred painting it contains.”

Comparable in intensity was the second half of the program—for which Fleming wore a spectacular, shimmering, orange-copper gown—which began with five works by Sergei Rachmaninoff. Kissin began by masterfully playing the transcription for piano of the exquisite “Lilacs” (from the composer’s Opus 21 of 1902) which was followed by the soprano performing the original song. Also bewitching was her version of “A Dream”—with a lyric by the esteemed Fyodor Sologub—from the Opus 38, Rachmaninoff’s last set of songs, from six texts by Russian symbolist poets.

Kissin then played two of the Morceaux de fantaisie: the Sérénade in B-flat minor and the Mélodie in E Major. Bedell provides some valuable background on these:

Written in 1892 when the composer was only 19 and just finishing his studies at the Moscow Conservatory, the five Morceaux de fantaisie were Rachmaninoff’s first published pieces for solo piano. He began the set with the dramatic Prélude in C-sharp minor, which was to become one of his most popular pieces, constantly demanded as an encore at his piano concerts. Needing more works for an upcoming concert, he rapidly added four companions. The last, the Sérénade in B-flat minor, was created as an expression of joy upon reading an article by Tchaikovsky in which the older composer praised him as one of Russia’s most outstanding young composers.

For the rest of his life, Rachmaninoff prized these little masterpieces, which he performed regularly and eventually recorded. In 1940, three years before his death, he chose to revise both the Mélodie in E Major and the Sérénade into the definitive versions performed today.

Fleming returned to the stage for two more superlative Liszt songs, both Victor Hugo settings. About the first, Bedell remarks:

Liszt created two versions of “S’il est un charmant gazon” (“If there is a charming lawn”), one around 1844 and the other in 1859; it is the first version performed on this program, which—typical for earlier Liszt songs—is longer and more elaborate in its vocal and piano parts, and adds an expansive coda.

Her rendition of the second, the famous “Oh! Quand je dors,” was maybe the apotheosis of the evening. She concluded the program enchantingly with two wonderful Henri Duparc songs: “Extase” and “Le manoir de Rosemonde,” the latter set to a lyric by the composer’s friend, Robert de Bonnières. Enthusiastic applause was rewarded with a thrilling encore: Schubert’s unforgettable “Ave Maria.”



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