Legends of the Music Hall... see what I did there? So clever.

WARNING:

This blog post, should you choose to accept it, is filled to the brim with the sort of utterly indulgent musical theatre geek dorkery that would abhor and offend even my theatre major friends. If you, the non-dork, attempt to read it, you may self-destruct in 30 seconds.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Ok, I think it's just us dorks now. Hi guys. Let me break it down for you: tonight was an amazing and historic occasion for me on many levels. First, Sam and I went to Lincoln Center for the first time (even with all the construction, so lovely!). Second, we saw the New York Philharmonic... with BARBARA COOK!

*cricket chirp* *cricket chirp*

oh come on, dorks! Barbara Cook? The original Marian the Librarian? Music Man, people, get with the program here! You know, this lady (yes, you have to follow a link the old fashioned way. Don't get your knickers in a twist):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0vggMCiJfs

Are you with me yet?  Ok class, follow along:

Barbara Cook was a leading lady in Broadway's golden age, starting in 1948. She's most famous, however, for the second stage of her career: after Shirley Jones was cast in the movie version of Music Man over Cook, the leading roles started fading away, leading to Cook to virtually disappear from the stage for decades. Struggles with depression and obesity, starting in the 60's, did not help matters, and she nearly stopped acting altogether, emerging only to teach master voice classes at Julliard. Then in the late 70's somebody convinced somebody to let her have her own Carnegie Hall concert, and the theatre dork world has been obsessed with her rich, nuanced concert interpretations of the standards ever since. She's worked with all the great theatre composers, most famously with Sondheim, and is the only pop artist to ever perform at the Metropolitan Opera. Basically, she's a big deal, yo. 

So when I got an email with an offer for super discounted tickets to hear her with the Philharmonic (and in the middle of my week off, to boot!) I snapped up the opportunity. I mean, the woman is 83, how much longer will she be performing? Now I'll admit, in recordings her style has always been on and off; she got her start in operettas, and her voice has retained that high, wobbly quality that, for me, is hit or miss. So I mostly approached the evening as a "it won't blow me away, but how could I not?" sort of experience. For example, this is the kind of performance for which she's known:

Beautiful, sure, but would I ever want a CD of that? eh. 

Well smack me silly and call me Shirley, I am eating humble pie tonight. I've never enjoyed a concert more in my entire freakin' life. No one bothered to tell me that this woman was a warm, charming, charismatic performer with a penchant for the music of the south (she's a native Georgian), and a genius for interpretation. Ok, every critic in the world told me that last bit, but I didn't listen, ok?

I wish there were better youtube clips of her from the last year or so, I can't really describe the evening accurately. Ok, let me give you a play by play: first it's just the Philharmonic, doing a Music Man medley (btw, the conductor was also the pianist. And he wore a velvet jacket, and he marched all the way through "76 Trombones". Loved it!). The music is lush and filling the enormous, packed to the gills concert hall, when out of nowhere this tiny woman (well, tiny to me anyway) walks onstage and starts softly singing "Till There Was You". As the song progresses, her voice changes from the sort of wispy, talk-singing you expect of an 80 year old grandmother, to a... god, I don't know.... a river. A river of music, just flowing along with the orchestra, and everyone in the audience knows her story and what this song means to her and we're all crying a little, and then it all just fades away softly. And then she says "well, that wasn't half bad!" and launches into a fun, sweet southern number. 

this one, in fact:

Anyway, that's how pretty much the whole evening progressed: heart wrenching, beautiful ballads juxtaposed against fun, sometimes saucy, sometimes downright silly numbers. A few other favorite moments: after a gut-busting rendition of "Send in the Clowns," accompanied only by piano and oboe, as the applause is dying down an aging man in the balcony stands and hollers "bellisima, bella! Bellisima!" and blows her a kiss. A monologue about the current immigration debate, including just how much of the so called great American songbook was written by immigrants or first generation Americans; as she said "I don't know much about this issue, clearly. But I say, if they can write a song, better let 'em in." How her current obsession with youtube led her to include a Cole Porter song in one of her concerts for the first time. Then, for her encore, the whole orchestra put down their instruments, and the piano conductor barely touched the keys, and Cook sang "What a Wonderful World"... with NO MICROPHONE. In a several thousand seat theatre. And we heard her perfectly. It was truly magical. I got the impression that it was a tradition for her to sing her encore mic-less, but I can't be sure.

Ok ok ok ok ok I have to stop now. I want the internet world to know that I usually try to hide this side of my nature. Ever since moving to New York, though, I just keep feeling this strong, almost primal connection to the classics that I kind of glanced over as a teenager. I've been listening to An American in Paris over and over and over, marveling at the rich simplicity of the Gershwin orchestrations. And all the Rodgers and Hammerstein classics have been played at least once for the baby at work, maybe even three times in the case of South Pacific. I guess some part of me just feels called to that history again, to the kind of show that no one's writing anymore, to the part of New York that I'll never get to experience properly. But I caught a flashback tonight, and it made me more happy than I can truly express.

Aaaaaaaaaand to cancel out all that uber dorkiness, I've decided to close this posting with the following clip, which I feel is a nice bridge between the cult world of musical theatre and the cult world of classic Beatles:

Love to All!