Wishing Upon A Star

I got the most amazing e-mail from Michael this morning. I had told him about the call from the magazine asking me to write something for them and the doubts I had about being able to do it, and this was his response:

"Very hurried message, late at night....of course you can write an article by Friday! You're a born writer. Just write it like you write your e-mails. I'm serious. Everyone will love you!"

This should explain why he’s important to me. No one else in my life bothers to give me that little bit of encouragement, and from him it’s far more meaningful as he writes for a living. He is published in major New York papers and in national magazines, so to get words like that from him just make me glow.

Sigh.

I wish…

I overslept this morning, so ended up being an hour late for rehearsal. I absolutely love the woman who was coaching us today. She had taken us into contest a few years ago when we were between directors and we have a real love affair going on. And it’s mutual.

It’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t been in a chorus that competes, but there’s a chemistry and a rapport that needs to be established with a director, and with Sonny it was almost instantaneous. She can bring such emotion and finesse to a song that you feel every word you are singing.

She actually made me cry. I’ve been begging for six years to sing "This is the Moment" from "Jekyll and Hyde" and it’s finally entered our repertoire. The problem is that our director is a very technical and right brained sort of person, so we just sing the words, and it’s all tempo and downbeats, not the emotion that the song should engender.

Well, Sonny gave the director the instruction to play with the music and interpret the song with the emotion that should build being the focus. By the time we got to the final verse I had to stop singing as I was crying so hard. The emotion was finally there and all the things I loved about that song, and all the meaning it had for me was finally in our voices.

I was sobbing at the end.

Our director noticed me and said’ "I got you!" Sonny was totally puzzled and couldn’t figure out what was happening until everyone explained that for six years I’d waited for that moment.

Sonny understood.

It was a long day, but it was so worthwhile. I wish Sonny lived closer than New Jersey so that she could be with us all the time.

The best year of my life as an Adeline was the year she directed us. I think that’s what makes it so hard when things don’t go well now. I’ve had a taste of what it could be like and I want it again.

Then I was off to Sarah Brightman. She has a truly glorious voice, pure crystalline with gorgeous range.

But the production was so weird that you had to close your eyes and just listen to her. The whole thing was hard to watch and visually distracting. I’m not sure what the purpose of the whole thing was.

It opened with a magenta curtain (that looked as if it needed to be hemmed) cascading to the stage. Six shrouded figures emerged from the wings singing a sort of Celtic chant and carrying bowls of fire. For a minute I though I was at "Riverdance". The curtain opened to reveal Brightman on a raised platform that was supposed to look like a bed (I think), and she was sort of draped on the bed herself. The shrouded men tossed off their shawls (after a bit of cape swishing) they were now clad in black pants. They would gyrate a bit, then lift twirl and transport Brightman around the stage.

It was odd.

These six men continued to appear throughout the show, without a lot of purpose, as far as I could tell. All I could think of was that they were her sycophants. They were irritating.

The show continued to be overly dramatic, with lots of big drapes and curtains. She also wore some very odd costumes.

At one point she sang "Nessun Dorma", but was at the top of a huge staircase staring at a large moon that had been projected on the backdrop. She was wearing a huge lavender cape type of thing that made her look as if she was a wrapped mummy. This draping was so long that it covered the entire staircase and was held at the bottom by two of the sycophants.

Beautiful song, weird staging.

The second half opened with another weird number, something about Captain Nemo saying yes. She was behind a scrim that was lit in shades of aqua, and was soaring through the air (a sycophant at either side), but they were pretending to be swimming underwater.

I just didn’t get it.

She finally sang a couple of numbers from "Phantom of the Opera", but only after six dancers in capes and skeleton masks (like those in the "Masquerade" number in "Phantom" for those of you who have seen the production) swooped and twirled through the overture.

This was when Brightman was at her best. She simply stood at the microphone and sang the songs that had made her famous. And they were beautiful to listen to and to watch.

The encores were contrived and you could have used a stopwatch to predict when they’d happen. She sand "Don’t Cry for Me Argentina" and "Con Tir Partiro", which was the number everyone had been waiting to hear.

I enjoyed the music and her voice, but liked it best when I had my eyes closed.

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