As a Halloween treat, here is my brother-in-law Jeff Tweedy
being interviewed last night by Stephen Colbert. During the interview, Colbert told Jeff that he should change his name to something that sounded more like a rocker.
His suggestions were Jeff Silky or Joffrey Velvet. Love it. He accused Jeff of
socialism for giving out free songs on the Wilco website and tried to
imitate Jeff’s low-energy style, claiming his heart and endocrine system
stopped in the process. Both Jeff and Colbert angled for a position in an Obama administration and Jeff told a surprising but true story about his first
encounter with Senator Obama in 2005. Take a look:
Oh, shoot, it looks like YouTube took down the interview portion of the show—but you can watch it here. The whole band then joined Jeff for the debut of “Wilco, the
Song” which I’d never heard before.
Next stop for Jeff—the Inauguration of our 44th President?
It’s hard for me to write about Proposition 8 without going
into lengthy diatribes. I have friends who are voting for McCain next Tuesday
and while I feel strongly that McCain/Palin is a terrible choice for this
country, I’m able to disagree with these people without it affecting our
friendship. Okay, to be honest, my Republican friends are few and far between,
but they do exist. We sometimes get into heated exchanges about our differing
views—I may think they’re wrong, they may think I’m wrong, but it’s refreshing
to have dialogues with these folks and break out of the liberal ghetto I live
in most of the time.
Still, I’m having a much harder time agreeing to disagree
with people who are supporting Proposition 8, the
initiative on the California ballot that, if passed, will rescind the
California Supreme Court’s recent decision that same-sex couples have a right
to marry. The goal of the proposition is to change the wording of the
California Constitution so that only marriages between a man and a woman are
recognized. Yes, they want to change the Constitution, not an everyday
occurrence or one to be taken lightly, in order to openly and blatantly
discriminate against a specific group of people. Same-sex marriages have been
taking place at a brisk clip in this state since they became legal on June 17th.
At our synagogue alone, over dozens of weddings have taken place, including one
between our beloved rabbi and rebbitzin, Lisa Edwards and Tracy Moore.
Instead of blathering on again about how such unions are
helping, not hurting, the institution of marriage, how these families have
every right to be legally protected the same way other families are, and how
the Yes on 8 campaign is built almost entirely on a web of preposterous
fear-mongering lies, I will instead show you a video put together by one of our
recently married congregants.
In this video, Pam Postrel includes photos from almost all
of the weddings that have occurred at our synagogue, Beth Chayim Chadashim, since June, including hers to partner
Mindy. Kendall, Leah, and I know all of these couples and their children. Take
a look:
I wish people supporting Prop 8 could meet these families.
They are just normal, loving people, of course, with the same issues, joys, and
challenges as everyone else. Thousands of same-sex couples in California are
now married. Even if this hateful piece of legislation passes, scholars agree
that nobody will be able to retroactively invalidate their legal marriages.
But, if passed, no other couples will be able to get married and enjoy the
legal and psychological benefits (and headaches!) of that status.
If you are supporting Prop 8, this is the type of person you
are aligning yourself with. This Yes on 8 video popped up at the end of the
video I just showed, I swear I didn’t search through the YouTube files looking
for the worst one. But the comments of this bigoted moron perfectly express the
views of the people who would take away from same-sex couples the right they
now have to get married. I won’t review the many lies being promoted by the Yes
on 8 campaign since I’ve covered that in other posts but here’s a link to a
video refuting some of them.
Don’t like gay people? Here’s an idea: if you can't support
your gay friends or relatives getting married, why not just stay far away from their weddings? Your
loss. But change the constitution? Spend your time, money, and energy to deny loving couples and families the
rights that other people have? Hey, while we're at it, maybe we should go back to the time not so long ago when black and
white people couldn’t get married. How about instituting a California version
of the Nuremburg Laws that would prohibit Jews and Gentiles from being legally
wed?
I urge all Californians to take a stand against hate, fear,
and intolerance and Vote No on Proposition 8.
I love Neil and Pegi Young. We’re just back from the their two-day Bridge School Benefit Concert and I’m sad that I don’t have another
8-hour rock concert to go to this week. Apart from the wonderful music and the
chance to see my family, what struck me was the incredibly positive vibe
permeating the Shoreline Amphitheatre—on the stage, backstage, and in the
crowd. The Bridge School helps children with severe speech and physical
impairments with alternative means of communication, assistive technologies,
and other strategies that greatly improve their lives. Many of the current
students and their families were at the concert and there was a place reserved
up on the stage for about 40 of the students during every act. They came and
went all weekend and it was amazing to see the love emanating from these
families. I was standing on the side of the stage for most of the weekend and
was moved to tears many times watching the performers interact with the kids on
stage. The vast majority of these kids were in wheelchairs and many could only
communicate through the state-of-the-art computer screens that were attached to
their chairs. The students had a fantastic time at the show. They clearly love
Neil and Pegi Young, the teachers and administrators of this amazing school,
and the music itself. I saw Neil Young’s grown son Ben rocking to the music
from his wheelchair. Both of Young’s sons, Zeke (with Carrie Snodgress), 36,
and Ben (with Pegi), 30, have cerebral palsy which is, I assume, what led Pegi to
found the fabulous Bridge School many years ago.
I can’t think of a better cause than this benefit and I’m
just now realizing how refreshing it was to be at such a commercial-free
event—most mega-concerts like this are dripping in corporate endorsements and
product placements. I plan to go back every year even when Wilco isn’t playing.
Sometimes I forget how transforming music can be—I loved every second of the
two-day concert. If I wasn’t related to Jeff, I wonder if I would have
discovered Wilco’s music on my own or learned to appreciate any of the other
bands that I’ve been exposed to through them. I’m so grateful for that. For
whatever reason, music was not a big part of my childhood (unless your
definition of music includes 1960s TV show themes) and it’s only been as an
adult that I’ve come to truly understand the myriad ways music can enrich the soul and help us understand ourselves better. Sorry if that sounds
too sappy, I’m still coming down from my Bridge School high.
Of the bands we saw during the two days, I’d have to say
that besides Wilco (who did two great acoustic sets), my favorite acts were
Norah Jones, Death Cab for Cutie, and Cat Power. I never followed Norah Jones
much but will from now on. I really enjoyed her music, especially in her latest
country-infused incarnation accompanied by bassist Catherine Popper and banjo
player and guitarist Sasha Dobson. Jones covered one of Jeff’s songs, “Jesus,
etc.” both days and I obnoxiously joked to Jeff that I finally understood what
that song was about after hearing her version. You know that cliche about how some people “make love to the camera?” In person, Norah Jones seemed
very nice, very pretty, and very petite. But I was amazed every time I looked up at
the video screen and saw her transformed into a stunningly beautiful goddess of
song who could rival Rita Hayworth or Ava Gardner in sheer sensuality. Am I
embarrassing myself yet? Yes. I was so worried that I’d do just that during the show
that I squelched the urge to talk to her whenever she was nearby, but my
8-year-old nephew Sammy bonded with her on several occasions, showing her all
of his recent wounds.
I was surprised by how much I enjoyed Death Cab for Cutie,
especially Ben Gibbard’s literate lyrics and strong voice. My 12-year-old
nephew Spencer asked Gibbard to call his bandmate Henry, a big Death Cab fan,
on his cell phone and Gibbard gamefully agreed. At home in Chicago, Henry was
thrilled. I was busy trying not to stalk Gibbard’s girlfriend, actress Zooey
Deschanel, who was so good in last season’s “Weeds” and is supposed to be
starring in a movie about the last day of Janis Joplin’s life. I also liked Cat Power, especially her set on Sunday when
she hoisted herself over the stage and went deep into the audience, singing her
plaintive lyrics in her ethereal, unpolished style. Back in the day Cat Power
(aka Chan Marshall) used to play my sister’s bar Lounge Ax and was known for
being painfully shy. She seems far more confident now (despite a few
self-deprecating remarks about how her set was going on Saturday) and was
joined by Neil Young at the end of her set on both days for a powerful duet.
Young joined most of the acts at the end of their sets, even Josh Groban who
seemed slightly out of place at this event with his superb but decidedly
non-rock voice. How old is that guy, he looked all of 17! We also enjoyed excellent sets by Band of Horses, Sarah MacLachlan, and Smashing Pumpkins. Leah and seemingly every young girl in the amphitheatre was excited to see heartthrob Jack Johnson perform a bunch of his
latest hits. At one point, when I was watching Neil Young from a platform on
the side of the stage, I glanced over to the ground level and saw Leah
standing alone with Johnson whispering something into his ear. I then saw him leave the stage and walk into his dressing room, with Leah following closely behind. Huh? My daughter appeared a second later
looking quite pleased. She had asked Johnson to sign her all-access pass and he
left the performing area to go find a sharpie, God love him.
Kendall and I want to avoid appearing as “hangers-on” at these events so we try to stay fairly invisible. Still, every time Neil Young walked by me I seemed to be devouring a huge plate of food. Oy, was it my fault the catering was so good? Despite being surrounded by great artists backstage, we had our own moment of celebrity when we went up to the lawn to visit our friends Michelle and Steve. Kendall took Leah to get a snack and someone in the massive crowd shouted over to her. She recognized Kendall and Leah...from my blog! Too funny. Mary...I'm sorry I never got a chance to meet you!
All of the artists
joined Neil and Pegi at the end of the show for a moving version of the
Beatles’ “A Day in the Life” and then Young’s own “Comes a Time.” What a
lovefest.
Considering we’re only a week away from the election, there
was a surprising lack of political comments although you’d have been hard
pressed to find a McCain supporter on the stage or in the crowd. At one point
the camera showed a close-up of Young’s “Hippies for Obama” button to great
cheers. Jeff commented on the flag lapel pin he was wearing and then taunted the
crowd for not wearing theirs. “Oh yeah, I forgot…this is California,” he said,
mocking Sarah Palin’s ravings about the “real” America. The most political
person at the concert was 8-year-old Sam Tweedy who recently perfected his
dead-on John McCain impersonation (“My friends…”). Sammy would answer every
question posed to him in perfect McCain patter. He eventually turned to Palin
and rivaled Tina Fey in his ability to capture the essence of the Alaska
governor (Sammy: “I don’t mind losing the election because I never really
wanted to be Vice President…I want to be PRESIDENT!”). He needs to go on the
road with his McCain/Palin act. His brother Spencer is also deeply involved in
the current election and displays a sophistication far beyond his 12 years on
his excellent blog. In addition to insightful political commentary and computer
expertise, check out Spencer’s running feature, “When You Ask an
Eight-Year-Old” that includes such gems as the following:
What happens when you ask
an eight year old…
What are the best bands ever?
They might answer:
• Avenged Seven-Fold,because they have the bestest songs ever
• The Beatles, because they don’t look like pigs
• Kiss, because they dress like weirdos
• Randy Newman, because he is obsessed with happiness
• Guns N’ Roses, because they have ‘gun’ in their name
I can’t believe I thought I was unfamiliar with Neil Young’s
music when I wrote the previous post. The minute he started singing I
recognized his iconic lyrics and distinctive voice. What an incredible
career and what a fine human being. His huge talent and his respect for other
artists, his social and political activism, and his tireless efforts on the
part of the disabled make him a role model like few others in the rock world.
Young’s wife Pegi emanates a positive energy that spreads to everyone in her
presence. Interestingly, she bears such a strong resemblance to my sister that
twice during the show I waved to her thinking it was Sue. Even at the party at
the Youngs’ house on Friday night, Sue was approached twice by the caterers,
thinking she was Pegi. The Youngs have endured more than their share of life
challenges, including Neil’s recent brain aneurysm, yet they keep going,
spreading dignity and love wherever they are. “Everybody’s life is hard,” Neil Young told a reporter in 2005 following his life-threatening aneurysm. “You look at life, and it’s not a
cakewalk. Things happen, and you’ve got to be able to bounce back.”
Update: I just found this video of Norah Jones singing Jeff's song, “Jesus, etc.” from Sunday night's show. Not a great quality vid, but I loved her version of the song:
I’m excited about another trip we’re taking this weekend.
Kendall, Leah, and I are driving up to northern California to meet up with my
sister and her family because her husband is playing Neil Young’s 22ndAnnual Bridge School Benefit Concert. In addition to Wilco, the concert will
include the Smashing Pumpkins, Sarah McLachlan, Norah Jones, Band of Horses, Death
Cab for Cutie, Jack Johnson, Cat Power, and Josh Groban. And, of course, Neil
Young.
It’s only now, as I think about attending this concert, that
I realize how shockingly unfamiliar I am with Neil Young’s music. It’s
embarrassing to realize the extent to which this icon of the music world has
escaped my attention. How is that possible? Was I listening to too many
showtunes? I’m way more familiar with Young’s early 1960s band, Buffalo
Springfield, and certainly his participation in Crosby, Stills, Nash &
Young. In fact, “Teach Your Children Well” was one of my favorite songs from
childhood. I found the lyrics haunting then and now:
Teach your children well
Their father’s hell
Did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they pick
The one you’ll know by.
Don’t you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would die
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.
Brilliant. Except that was written by Graham Nash, not Neil
Young. I know he’s survived my ignorance quite well but I look forward to
hearing him perform on Saturday and Sunday. I’m hoping that once I hear the
actual songs, some of them will come back to me even if I can’t name them
off the top of my head. I certainly admire everything I’ve read about Young and
his values and beliefs. I remember when he turned down a million-dollar offer
to appear at Woodstock ’94 because he thought it was becoming too commercial. Young
helped to found The Bridge School over twenty years ago. The inspiring school does
amazing work for children with disabilities. Both of Young’s sons have cerebral
palsy, including the son he had with the late actress Carrie Snodgress. (He fell in love with Snodgress after seeing her in the superb “Diary of a Mad Housewife” in 1970.) Young’s benefit concerts have raised millions for the school and are its primary
source of funding. It's a true labor of love for Neil Young and the many artists who
have participated over the years. That stellar list includes Bruce Springsteen,
Paul McCartney, David Bowie, Simon & Garfunkel, Emmylou Harris, Willie
Nelson, and so many others. Wilco played once before in 2003.
At 62, Neil Young is now cited by many of today’s musicians
(my brother-in-law included) as a major influence. Am I crazy in thinking that Young looks a bit like Jeff? Following the Bridge Concert, Wilco will
begin touring with Neil Young just after Thanksgiving. They’ll play Canada and the
east coast, culminating with two nights at Madison Square Garden in
mid-December. Many reviews of Wilco cite the
influence of Neil Young’s sound on the band and Jeff has talked about how
important Young has been to his musical development.
In Greg Kot’s book about
Wilco, “Learning How to Die,” a disgruntled president of a major record label
bemoaned Jeff Tweedy’s penchant for making “indulgent” albums. “It’s
unacceptable for any artist to behave the way he does,” the obnoxious executive
stated. “Who does he think he is? Neil Young?”
No wonder the uncompromising Young is such a role model to
bands with integrity. A few years ago, Jeff compiled a list for HARP magazine
of what he considered the most essential live albums ever made and put Neil
Young’s “Live Rust” as #1. As Jeff stated at the time:
There's not that much Neil Young that I'm not into. But
‘Powderfinger’ on this—he's on fire! I just saw him at Farm Aid. He did
‘Southern Man’ with the Fisk University gospel choir. It was a fucking perfect
performance of a classic song, and maybe my favorite moment ever of seeing live
music.
There was a lot of shit going on, things that seemed to fuel
his anger. And an angry Neil Young, that's pretty unbeatable. That’s kind of
what ‘Powderfinger’ sounds like to me. He’s invested himself in some of the
fury of it.
Here’s a video of Jeff sitting in with the Bottle Rockets at
Schuba’s in Chicago playing a great cover of Neil Young’s “Walk On.”
>
And speaking of Neil Young’s anger, here’s a very topical video
from Young’s 2006 album, “Living with War.”
>
Now I’m even more excited about this weekend. What other
Neil Young songs do you think I should listen to before the concert? (I won’t
even try to educate myself on Death Cab for Cutie or Cat Power.)
I’m thrilled that the
polls are looking so good for Obama but I’m not taking pleasure in watching
John McCain sink to such depths during the final weeks of this endless
campaign. I had a lot of respect for Senator McCain during the 2000
primaries and was disgusted to see his “Straight Talk Express” derailed by the dirty politics of George W. Bush and Karl Rove. At the time I
thought McCain really was a “maverick” who thought for himself even when his
beliefs weren’t politically expedient and I truly believed he’d make a good
President. I was shocked when he made nice with Bush so soon after he pulled
out of the race that year considering the viciousness of Bush’s attacks and I was
sad to see McCain trying so hard to appeal to the fringe elements of the
extreme right—people whose actions and statements he had rightfully decried
during the primaries. But that’s politics, I sighed, of course he was going to
try to shore up his support among all elements of the Republican Party.
But I am beyond
sickened by the latest attempts of the McCain campaign to reverse their
fortunes in the current polls. With his full approval, McCain’s honchos are
waging one of the most blatant campaigns of fear since Joseph Goebbels served
as Reich Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. The latest automated
“robo calls” aimed at swing state voters have all the subtlety of a Der Stürmer
political cartoon. McCain’s final, desperate gasp in this grueling campaign is
an unvarnished attempt to appeal exclusively to the basest fears of voters,
hoping to scare the bejeesus out of them and convince them that Barack Obama is
planning some kind of radical leftist coup despite his flowery words. It is
truly despicable and in my opinion, has permanently damaged McCain’s reputation
and any memories of his bucking-the-establishment “maverick” past.
Here are the words
thousands of unsuspecting swing state recipients will hear when they pick up their
phones this week:
“Hello. I'm calling for John McCain and the RNC because you
need to know that Barack Obama has worked closely with domestic terrorist Bill
Ayers, whose organization bombed the U.S. Capitol, the Pentagon, a judge’s home
and killed Americans. And Democrats will enact an extreme leftist agenda if
they take control of Washington. Barack Obama and his Democratic allies lack
the judgment to lead our country. This call was paid for by McCain-Palin 2008
and the Republican National Committee."
It’s even creepier when
you hear the actual voice:
I cannot believe the
McCain camp has sunk this low. This, just a few days after the candidate
declared during the final debate that he didn’t care about some “washed-up
terrorist” and emphatically denied that he was running a negative campaign.
Even some GOP leaders are condemning the fear-mongering calls but McCain spent
yesterday defending them. Is this what it looks like to sell your soul to the devil?
Speaking of desperate
Republican moves that are NOT helping McCain’s slipping poll numbers, have you
heard this exchange from last Friday between Chris Matthews of “Hardball” and
Minnesota Representative Michele Bachman. Do not adjust your computer
screen—this is not archival footage from Joseph McCarthy, these are statements
from an actual member of Congress made in October 2008:
Bachmann is running
for re-election in Minnesota. During the 48 hours following her asinine
comments (how was this woman ever elected to office in the first place?), her
Democratic opponent received more donations than he’s been able to raise during
the past several months. It's possible that Bachmann is ignorant enough to believe the B.S. that she's spewing but John McCain is not. He knows his campaign is resorting to lies and propaganda to appeal to the lowest level of fears in the electorate—and to me that makes it all the worse. Overall, Americans are not buying the brazen fear-mongering—and that may be
the best news about this country that we've had in ages.
Two weeks and one day
until November 4th. Perhaps there’s one sentiment that even the most
polarized members of both sides would agree on: WE CAN’T WAIT UNTIL IT’S OVER!
Update on 10/22: As of today there's a new "robo call" circulating that's just as reprehensible and misleading as the one above:
"Hi, this is Rudy Giuliani and I'm calling for John McCain
and the Republican National Committee, because you need to know that Barack
Obama opposes mandatory prison sentences for sex offenders, drug dealers, and
murderers. It's true, I read Obama's words myself. And recently, Congressional
liberals introduced a bill to eliminate mandatory prison sentences for violent
criminals -- trying to give liberal judges the power to decide whether
criminals are sent to jail or set free. With priorities like these, we just
can't trust the inexperience and judgment of Barack Obama and his liberal
allies. This call was paid for by the Republican National Committee and
McCain-Palin 2008."
Disgusting. As if Rudy's smirking speech at the Republican National Convention in which he spent most of his time making fun of community organizers wasn't bad enough. The only thing left in the McCain campaign's bag of tricks during these last days seems to be FEAR. Why don't they just cut to the chase? "Vote for Obama and you will be raped, your kids will become drug addicts, your sister will become a prostitute, and the U.S. will become a haven for terrorism by Islamic fundamentalists!"
I never used to get why people would travel so far out of
their way to see the changing colors in the fall. Now I know. After a few days
in Manhattan last week, Kendall and I spent the rest of our trip traveling in
New England, and we were lucky enough to hit the roads at the absolute peak of
the fall foliage. In a word, it was SPECTACULAR. I grew up in the Midwest but
our autumn colors paled in comparison to the brilliant reds, yellows, and
oranges that lit up the New England countryside. It was so breathtakingly
beautiful that I found myself gasping non-stop as we drove, trying to open my
eyes wider than they would normally go just to take it all in. Kendall made an
irritatingly accurate observation that sometimes my expressions of joy are similar
to how I express pain and angst. As if it almost hurts to witness the glories
of nature because I know how fleeting it all is. I need to work on my ability
to live in the moment, that’s a major challenge for me. How can I learn to enjoy my
surroundings without worrying about capturing them for the future or grieving their eventual loss? How many positive moments in my life have I
squandered because of these fears of scarcity and loss?
Besides our Yom Kippur romp with Patti LuPone, we saw two
other plays before leaving New York. I wrote last spring about seeing the
original cast of the brilliantly intense “August: Osage County,” but I returned
to this play with Kendall and her mom to see their family friend Estelle
Parsons who has taken over the lead role. Parsons was perfect as the
drug-addled and vicious Violet Weston, matriarch of the Oklahoma clan. There is
so much content in Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer Prize-winning play that a brief
summary would be impossible and might scare you away. Like many of the productions
that originated at the Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago, the actors are so good,
the story so rich that it makes for an incredibly rewarding and fleeting night
in the theatre, even with its running time of over three and a half hours! When
we visited Estelle in her dressing room after the show, I expected to find her
slumped in a corner, exhausted from the powerful drama and sobbing from the
emotion of it all. Instead, she was dancing around the room entertaining some
Swedish visitors and looking about three decades shy of her 80 years. What an
amazing actress. Kendall’s late father, playwright Oliver Hailey, worshipped
Parsons. She starred years ago in his play, “Hey You, Light Man” and I remember
some story about Kendall’s parents babysitting Estelle’s twin girls as she was
making “Bonnie and Clyde.” The other new members of the cast were equally
brilliant, including Jim True-Frost in the difficult and poignant part of
Little Charles. Jim is the brother of a friend of ours from Chicago whose son
Henry is the lead singer and songwriter in my nephew’s band.
Oy, is that enough name-dropping for one paragraph? Don’t
worry—we didn’t know a soul in the final play we saw while in New York, the
remarkable revival of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “South Pacfic” at Lincoln
Center. Of all the musicals in the Rodgers & Hammerstein canon, “South
Pacific” had always been my least favorite, probably because of trudging
through the movie version as a child. It was a year ago, also on Yom Kippur,
when I had the opportunity to re-evaluate the 1958 film starring Mitzi Gaynor
and Rosanno Brazzi, and this time I found the stark themes of racism and
prejudice to be way more powerful than I had remembered. The new stage version,
the first Broadway revival since the play first appeared (way ahead of its
time) in 1949, quadruples the power of those themes. I don’t have enough
superlatives to praise the performance of Kelli O’Hara as Ensign Nellie
Forbush. You know how you can love some actresses but still feel like you’re
watching them acting, even if they have excellent technique? O’Hara disappeared
into the role of Nellie, conveying the conflicted emotions of her character in
ways that were so real and complex that we were reduced to tears on several
occasions. (Sorry, Mitzi, but I never came close to being that moved by the
film version!)
Is there a more recognizable and haunting overture in the
history of musical theatre? The only one I can think of that packs the same
wallop is from “Gypsy” which we saw that same day. I so want you to see an
excerpt from this version of “South Pacific” but this hokey medley from the
Tony Awards doesn’t come close to conveying the intensity of the actual
production. Still, if you have a few minutes, take a look:
Considering its daring themes, it’s amazing that the play
ever got produced during those terribly repressive post-war years. One of the many
things we loved about this revival was that the casting wasn’t color-blind, as
is the trend. Sure, there are African American sailors present on the South Sea
island but they are never fully integrated into the white group, just as the
real-life sailors were kept separated during the war. Everything about this
musical was perfectly realized, even the set. The entire stage pulled away
several times to reveal the full orchestra underneath, a move that was
surprisingly effective. The backdrops were so gorgeous I wanted to rent a
dinghy and have Seabee Luther Billis sail me to Bali Ha’i. The only thing that marred our experience was the woman sitting behind Kendall who was having major respiratory issues and breathing louder than a World War II foghorn. What's the appropriate response to such an annoying theatre patron? "Stop breathing, dammit!" Instead, Kendall and I simply found two seats on the opposite side of the theatre during intermission.
But let’s get back to name-dropping. In between “South
Pacific” and “Gypsy” we had dinner at Sardi’s with the magnificent Marian
Seldes. Do you know her? You should—she’s one of the most talented women ever
to walk across a stage, something she’s been doing regularly since her Broadway
debut 60 years ago in a production of “Medea.” Marian was married to writer
Garson Kanin (after Ruth Gordon died) and was famous for never having missed a
single performance of “Deathtrap” during its long Broadway run. She made it
into the Guinness Book of World Records for playing all 1,809 performances of
that play. Kendall’s dad also made it into the Guinness Book of World Records
for having the most plays open and close on Broadway on the same day. Gulp! But
Marian was so great in Oliver’s “Father’s Day” that she got nominated for a
Tony and won the Drama Desk Awards for that single night’s performance! Marian
is an endless fount of great theatre stories, I could listen to her talk for
hours on end. She knows everyone in town and still sees almost every play (she
starred in the original “Equus” and told us that she thought Harry
Potter’s Daniel Radcliffe was very good in the new one that just opened).
Marian was a renowned acting teacher at Julliard whose students included Patti
LuPone and many of today’s greats. I couldn’t begin to list all of Marian
Seldes’ achievements so I won’t even try. I’ll just say that it’s always
thrilling to be in her presence, she is truly the Grande Dame of American
Theatre.
I know I’m fawning, it was just that kind of a trip.
Highlights of our jaunt through New England included our bookend visits with
our friends Julie and John and their kids Lily and Ryan. John showed us some of
the new paintings he’s working on. My favorite was this superb portrait of his
daughter called “Allegiances.”
From there we headed to the New Hampshire mountains to the
fabulous 1902 Mt. Washington Hotel (a four-year-old wedding gift from my former
colleagues). The Mt. Washington looked like a giant luxury ocean liner sitting
on top of a mountain. The hotel hosted an illustrious international clientele
in 1944 when the World Bank and International Monetary Fund were created within
its beautiful walls. Can those folks come back and help rescue us from the
current economic nightmare?
We had a great lobster dinner in Maine with my former
co-worker Jeff and his wonderful family including the two Wilco-obsessed boys I
mentioned a while ago. They were able to attend the Wilco concert at Tanglewood
last August and interact with the band members. Before dinner, Jack and Ben
each played a Wilco song for us, Jack on his mandolin and Ben on guitar.
Coolest. Kids. Ever.
Finally, we visited a former author of mine who’s an early
childhood expert at her apple orchard in New Salem, Massachusetts. Paradise on
earth. We were heading to the airport from there and I thought Kendall was clinically
insane when she appeared with a huge bag full of Macintosh apples, a gallon of
freshly made apple cider, sun-dried preserves, and enough cider donuts to feed
the “South Pacfic” cast between their matinee and evening performances. How on
earth would we get that stuff home, I asked. Kendall promptly pulled all her
clothes out of her suitcase, crammed them into a shopping bag she carried on
the plane, and packed her suitcase with the goodies. I still can’t believe her bag made it through x-rays without a hitch. How did they know that was
apple cider and not nitroglycerin? But boy, was I grateful for her crazy
gesture this week as I’ve been feasting on all of the delectable treats.
And now we’re back in colorless Los Angeles trying not to
panic about impending doom and financial collapse. I find myself looking to my
new friend Nellie Forbush for advice. If only I could adopt her hopeful
attitude:
I have heard people rant and rave and bellow
That we're done and we might as well be dead
But I’m only a cockeyed optimist
And I can't get it into my head.
I hear the human race
Is fallin' on its face
And hasn’t very far to go.
But every whippoorwill
Is sellin' me a bill
And tellin' me it just ain’t so.
I could say life is just a bowl of Jello
And appear more intelligent and smart
But I’m stuck like a dope
With a thing called hope
And I can't get it out of my heart!
We had no idea when we made plans months ago to attend a
friend’s wedding on the east coast that our trip fell during Yom Kippur. We
made plans to stay in New York for two days before the wedding and see several
plays with Kendall’s mom. A month or two later, the wedding got cancelled but
we decided to keep our non-refundable tickets. It was only then that I glanced
at a calendar and realized that our front-row tickets to see “Gypsy” fell on
the eve of Yom Kippur, the night when we would normally be at our synagogue
listening to the solemn Kol Nidre prayer. Oops. Maybe that’s why we were able
to get such good tickets. If Jews abandoned Broadway, the theatre industry
would collapse overnight.
I regretted missing Kol Nidre. I missed our rabbi's wisdom and I longed to hear our
synagogue’s visiting cantor, Juval Porat, the first ordained cantor in Germany
since World War II, chant the haunting Aramaic melody three times, gradually
increasing in intensity, as is the ancient custom. But at the risk of
blasphemy, can I say that listening to Patti LuPone had a similar effect on me?
Do I dare comment that watching “Gypsy” was something of a religious
experience? During my last trip to New York in March, I was lucky enough to see
the very first preview of this latest version of the musical. I was bowled over
then, even though there were a few rough spots, including when a piece of the
ceiling fell on an audience member’s head during a particularly emotional scene
between Rose and Louise, with the poor woman being carried out by paramedics.
Since that time, the plaster molding in the St. James
Theatre has been secured, and the actors in “Gypsy” have worked out all the
kinks. I obviously haven’t seen all of the Broadway productions of this story
(the night I was born in 1959 Ethel Merman was warbling on stage as the
original Mama Rose) but I’ve seen most of them and I have no choice but to think
that this is the most skilled, emotionally realized version that will ever be
mounted. I feel bad that in my original “review” I was critical of Boyd Gaines’
Herbie, a difficult and somewhat thankless role that I now believe he masters
as no one before him has. The chemistry and sexual tension between LuPone and
Gaines is palpable in this show and makes some of the shakier parts of the plot
all the more understandable and moving.
Laura Benanti continues to be the best Gypsy Rose Lee that
ever emerged like a butterfly from the cocoon of shy Louise. For once people
leave the theatre without wondering why the musical is called “Gypsy” and not
“Mama Rose.” This was the first time Kendall saw this version of the show and she surprised herself by shedding a tear during Benanti's heart-rending performance of "Little Lamb." Kendall didn't think any actress could make that treacly song work. Sitting in the first row, I was thrilled to be singled out by
Benanti during the sequence when Louise transforms from a terrified stripper
thrust into the spotlight into Gypsy Rose Lee, the confident and
gorgeous Queen of Burlesque. In one bit when Gypsy starts interacting with the
audience, she asked a man sitting near me if he knew what an ecdysiast (ek-diz’-e-ast) was (the
fancy word for stripper that was coined by H. L. Mencken with Gypsy Rose Lee in
mind). The guy was clueless and sat there blankly, paralyzed by the attention he
was getting. Benanti then turned to me. “HE knows what an ecdysiast is,” she
exclaimed provocatively, staring at me as she shimmied across the stage. “Aw,
look, he’s turning red! Don’t be embarrassed. I love a man with no hair!” I was
never happier to be bald!
And what is there to say about Patti LuPone, other than the
fact that her voice carries with it the same spiritual and emotional resonance
as the greatest cantors in the history of Judaism? Is that over the top? Am I
just trying to assuage my guilt at attending this show instead of being deep in
prayer? Perhaps, but I still say LuPone’s voice is a conduit to the Divine.
Throughout the musical, LuPone shows Rose’s internal battles with endless skill
and subtlety. How her actions so often flicker between her desperate attempts
to expiate the sins and crushing disappointments of her own life and her fierce
desire to give her daughters the opportunities no one ever cared enough to give
to her. She is a monster and a savior, an abusive parent and a shining example
of selfless Mother Love. For all her torment of June and Louise, both ended up
with lives and careers that they loved, even if they had to sacrifice their
childhoods to get there and grow to despise their mother in the process.
Any self-consciousness LuPone may have had at that first
preview is long gone. She owns the role outright, and it seems as if every
emotion she’s ever experienced, good or bad, informs her channeling of this
character. LuPone, Gaines, and Benanti all won Tonys this year, an amazing feat
that only seems to strengthen their camaraderie on the stage, as well as their
ability to play off the more troublesome, unflattering aspects of their
characters.
Gypsy Rose Lee’s life was about pain and loss, triumph and
rebirth, sin and redemption. It is the perfect Yom Kippur story.
Back at 35,000 feet, but this time I’m actually posting from
the air. Did you know American Airlines has started offering Internet access on
board flights from LAX to JFK? Very cool…and yet I imagine very soon we'll be shocked to remember a time when there wasn’t Internet
access on planes.
We planned this trip several months ago to attend a wedding
of a good friend. We were going to see a few plays and then head out to Cape
Cod for the wedding. Except thewedding got cancelled, and later rescheduled for the same day in Los
Angeles. Gulp. We decided to keep our non-refundable plane and theatre tickets!
Even though my family did not come through Ellis Island or
the Lower East Side, I always feel like a Diaspora Jew returning home when I
visit New York. I can’t think of a more Jewish city on the planet. I was just
reading about the quintessential New York Jewish mama, Gertrude Berg. A few
days ago would have been Berg’s 109th birthday. Are you familiar
with her or at least her most famous character, Molly Goldberg? Yesterday we had lunch with a woman who co-starred in the 1950 movie version of "The Goldbergs." Tomorrow night we're having dinner with an actress whose husband appeared on the radio version of the show.
Gertrude Berg was a true pioneer—a woman who wore all the
hats: writer, producer, star, comedian—and this decades before Lucille Ball hit
the airwaves. “The Goldbergs” started on the radio in 1929, moved to television
in 1949, and lasted there until 1955, even surviving the blacklisting of one of
the show’s stars, Philip Loeb.
It’s only my swiftly dying battery and our slow descent into
Manhattan that’s preventing me from tormenting you with a PhD-thesis-length
treatise on Gertrude Berg’s many accomplishments. So instead I’m
including a segment from a documentary in the works about the amazing Berg and “The
Goldbergs.” To me it’s the perfect thing to watch as we touch down in New York.
Have I mentioned how obsessed I am with history? Family
history, U.S. history, the history of Los Angeles, of my
neighborhood, of the guy who built our house in 1909. I love it all, especially
during times when the present seems especially challenging.
I live in the West Adams neighborhood of Los Angeles, an
area that used to be the swankiest district in town before bad times, gangs,
crack houses, and severe urban blight nearly killed it. For years now the area
has been an enjoying a resurgence thanks to devoted residents and
preservationists who are restoring what’s left of the magnificent
hundred-year-old homes and making sure the inner city ‘hood is once again a
great place to live.
I’ve written about Henry C. Jensen, the original owner of
our house, who lived here from 1909 until his death in 1944. Henry is buried in
his family plot at the nearby Angelus-Rosedale Cemetery. Every year, the West
Adams Heritage Association picks five or six prominent people who are buried at
Rosedale and brings them to life. Several years ago I played Henry Jensen, and
despite my phobia of public speaking, I felt I was channeling the spirit of the
man who built our house and many of the earliest movie theatres in Los Angeles.
Ever since then, I’ve been volunteering at the Living History Tour. Last
Saturday I led two of the three-hour tours and while I nearly collapsed from
sunstroke (it must have been 100 degrees in the largely shadeless cemetery), I loved stepping
back in time and hearing from a diverse collection of corpses.
And what a fascinating group of stiffs it was this year
with look-alike neighborhood residents expertly playing the dearly departed. In
the photos on the top of this post, you can see Captain Edward Lee Baker, Jr. (1865-1913) who was a
Buffalo Soldier in the Indian campaigns of the West and the Spanish-American
War. Baker (played by Albert Edmund Lord III) was a sergeant-major in the
all-black 10th U.S. Cavalry and won a Congressional Medal of Honor
for valor during the battle of San Juan Hill. A bunch of descendants of Baker’s
were present on the tour, and because the captain was of mixed-race heritage,
it was poignant to see the white, blond-haired kids meeting their
African-American cousins for the first time. One little boy was carrying his
relative’s sword that had been passed down through the generations.
Next to Baker is Ernestine Wade (1906-1983), a pioneering
black actress who is best known for her role as Sapphire Stevens on the “Amos
n’Andy” radio and subsequent TV show. Wade (played by Phyllis Williams) gave a
fascinating talk about the controversies that always surrounded the hugely popular “Amos n’Andy” (especially during the radio years when the main characters were portrayed by white men in blackface) and the criticisms by African-American groups that eventually led to the
show’s cancellation in 1953. Wade did not feel that her character, the wife of the Kingfish, was demeaning to blacks at all, and she spoke
eloquently about the opportunities available for African-American actors at that time. Hattie McDaniel, the first African-American ever to win an Oscar
(in 1939 for her incredible portrayal of Mammy in “Gone With the Wind”) is
buried in Rosedale, not far from Wade’s grave. McDaniel wanted to be buried in
a cemetery in Hollywood but when she died in the early 1950s, blacks were not
allowed among the other famous dead people, even if they were Oscar winners, so
McDaniel was buried at Rosedale, the only cemetery that always accepted people
of all races. Wade ended her graveside talk by quoting her friend Hattie who
once said of the criticism she received for playing so many servants in the
movies, “I’d rather play a maid for $700 a week than BE one for $7!”
We also heard from the Reverend Asahel Morgan Hough
(1830-1900) whose portrayer, Steven Box, was a dead ringer, even down to the
unusual rectangular beard that was his own! Rev. Hough helped to establish the
Methodist Church in Southern California and was married to Anna Gould, sister
of millionaire “robber baron” tycoon Jay Gould. Hough was best known as one of
the founders of the University of Southern California—the original Trojan!
We then paid a visit to the lovely Francesca de Paula Alexander
Fleming (1865-1901), the great-granddaughter of Juan Dominguez, the owner of
both the San Pedro Ranch and the Palos Verdes Rancho. Fleming (played by Gisa
Nico) focused her talk on her glorious week as Queen of the Fiesta de Los
Angeles of 1897, ahuge festival
that dominated Los Angeles life during the 1890s. As Queen, Francesca presided
over countless parades and fancy balls with her court, wearing an array of
gowns, each one more extravagant than the next. Sadly, Fleming died just a few
years after being the toast of the town.
One of the tours I led consisted almost entirely of
descendents of another dead guy being featured, Swedish photographer Valentine Wolfenstein
(1845-1909) who had one of the first photography studios in downtown Los Angeles.
Wolfenstein (played by Hunter Ochs) told of his many adventures, including his stint in the Union Army during the Civil War and his subsequent trip west by
wagon train. He also revealed his many romantic exploits that resulted in the
great-, great-great-, and great-great-great-grandchildren that now stood before
him in rapt attention. After his talk, during which he shared many of his
beautiful photographs, Wolfenstein posed for photos with each generation of his
family members who had gathered at Rosedale from spots all over the country.
Some of them were seeing each other for the first time. I admit I was moved to
tears watching the poignant scene of the modern-day Wolfenstein family meeting
their illustrious ancestor. None of them had ever been to his gravesite at
Rosedale. I only wish I could watch my own great-great-grandfather come to life
but I’m afraid the cemetery in Staszow, Poland where my ancestors are buried
was destroyed by the Nazis. A man named Jack Goldfarb has been working
painstakingly to restore it since 2003 so maybe one day we can all meet there
and conduct our own Living History tour.
The final character we met during the tour was the great
actor Monroe Salisbury (1876-1935). Never heard of him? Few today have, even though he was
one of the most famous men in the theatre and later in silent movies. In
addition to leading two of the tours, I also wrote the script for Monroe
Salisbury, forgotten superstars being one of my areas of great interest. The
actor playing Salisbury, Chuck Kovacic, looked EXACTLY like the silent screen
star and did an incredible job taking my script and adapting it into a true
performance, evoking every ounce of pathos he could get out of the sad story of
the forgotten star. As each tour group approached, Salisbury sat dozing on a
chair, surrounded by props form the North Woods dramas of the teens, the film
genre he made famous after appearing in “The Squaw Man” in 1913, directed by a
young Cecil B. De Mille (considered the first full-length motion
picture). As I meekly called out his name to wake up the slumbering actor, he
jumped to his feet and dramatically bellowed a line from one of his plays as
if he had been dreaming of his own past glories:
“OH, HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE
FALLEN!”
I read that line in a play back in 1904, but it could have
been my epitaph! Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. My name is Monroe
Salisbury. I have appeared on the stage opposite some of the most gifted
thespians the world will ever see. The great Eleanora Duse, John Drew, the
Barrymores, Richard Mansfield, Mrs. Fiske. At one time, I was one of the
biggest stars of the motion picture industry. I was a leading man of many North
Woods dramas. What’s that you say? You never heard of a North Woods drama? You
never heard of me? Ah, such is my sad tale of woe.
After achieving great success in the movies, Salisbury tried
to produce and star in his own films. The powerful studio heads were
aghast and did everything they could to sabotage Salisbury’s career. His 1920
independent feature, “The Barbarian” was a bomb, and his star fell quickly.
Salisbury was never able to resuscitate his career. He had a
few nervous breakdowns and in 1935 checked himself into the Patton State
Hospital for the Insane. About a month later, he had a nasty fall there and
cracked his skull open, dying a few days after that. Though once admired by
millions, only four people attended his funeral at Rosedale.
I just eat this stuff up. If any of these photos look familiar, it's probably because you've seen Rosedale Cemetery in countless movies and TV shows from "Six Feet Under" to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." The organizers of this event, led
by writer/researcher Laura Meyers, are already looking for people to feature
next year. I’m on the lookout for a really juicy story from L.A. history
involving a dead teenager, preferably one with red hair since my daughter Leah
has been dying to perform in the Living History Tour.
If you’re ever in the ‘hood and feel like being haunted (I
haven’t even mentioned the sad part of the cemetery that’s made up exclusively
of hundreds of young children’s graves who died between 1906 and 1912), give me
a call and I’ll escort you on a private tour of the West Adams dead.
I first saw this Rosh Hashanah video on Tamar’s blog and
it’s too good not to share. It’s already been viewed almost 900,000 times on
YouTube so you may have seen it—it’s amazing how these things spread.
It mocks both sides equally but is actually very tame.
The video is actually an advertisement for Birthright
Israel, the group that provides free 10-day trips to Israel for young people
around the world. This program started in 2000 and as of this summer over
160,000 people from 52 countries have participated. I know a bunch of kids
who’ve gone and they’ve loved it. I suspiciously wondered if the goal of such a
program was to try to convince young Jews to emigrate to Israel but from what I
hear there’s no hard sell in that regard. The participants travel all over the
country, meet Israeli students and families, and attend workshops on topics
such as “What does it mean to be Jewish in the modern world?” I think it’s a
great idea and I’m only sorry about the age restrictions (you have to be
between 18 and 26). Is there any way I can convince the Israeli government to
let a 49-year-old who still dresses like he’s 18 to join the next group?
I wish all my Jewish friends and readers a very happy and
healthy 5769. There is a tradition that whatever you do during Rosh Hashanah reflects on how the rest of your year will go. God, I hope not, since I've been feeling pretty anxious lately about the future and the general state of the world. I so enjoyed the services at our synagogue Monday
night and yesterday. I’ve always been moved by the beautiful voice
of our cantor, Fran Chalin, but she retired earlier this year so I was worried that I wouldn't feel as connected to the prayers.
But our shul brought in the most incredible young cantor from Berlin, a guy
named Juval Porat, who, believe it or not, is the first ordained cantor in
Germany since before World War II! And Fran returned to lead the amazing choir
at Beth Chayim Chadishim so there was an abundance of musical riches, not to
mention the inspiring wisdom of our beloved rabbi Lisa Edwards. When I saw
Juval off the bimah, he looked so young he bore no resemblance to the imposing
cantors of my youth. But every time he raised his voice in prayer, I was
transfixed. His voice was so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes over
and over again. I found it soul-stirring and eerily reminiscent, as if I was
having some past-life or ancestral memories of time spent in the synagogues of
Europe before they were destroyed.
It’s amazing to me how music can have such a powerful effect
on the emotions of people listening to it, especially when they’re part of a group.
I’ve seen people crying at Wilco concerts many times. Apart from yesterday, the
last time I remember being that emotional from a single person’s voice was when
I heard Fran’s haunting recitation of the Kol Nidre prayer last year during her
final Yom Kippur services with our synagogue. Like Juval, she seemed to be
channeling something from a much Higher Place—it was not of this world. Before
that, I remember bursting into tears in a Broadway theatre listening to Idina
Menzel hit those final notes in the song “Defying Gravity” just before the Act
I curtain in the musical “Wicked.” I realize that admission makes me sound
gayer than the actual gay members of our LGBT synagogue. What can I say? I ran
into our rabbi last week at a Whole Foods and had to admit to her that several
months ago we planned a trip to the east coast next week without checking our Hebrew calendar so on the night of the solemn Kol Nidre observance we will be in the
first row of the St. James Theatre in New York listening to Patti LuPone belt
out “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” Ah well, I shrugged to cover up my
embarrassment, a Broadway theatre IS like a house of worship to me, and Patti
LuPone holds the same ability when she sings as Fran and Juval to channel from
a Higher Place. I would never have admitted any of this to the terrifying
rabbis of my childhood but a few days later I got an email from Lisa asking if
she could mention my comparison of a synagogue to a Broadway theatre in her Yom
Kippur speech.
During our Rosh Hashanah services, they showed a beautiful
video highlighting the 36 same-sex marriages that have occurred in our
synagogue since the California Supreme Court ruling. Many of these couples have
been together for 10, 20, or even 30 years and it was incredibly moving to see
them participate in these legal ceremonies after so many years of struggle to
have their relationships and families accepted by society. I only wish that
video were on YouTube and could be watched by every single supporter of the
hateful and fear-based Proposition 8.