Connecting the Notes

One of the things I get to do in this blog is editorialize about, well, almost anything.  Things that catch my eye sometimes have a rumination period.  Such is the case with two fairly recent articles in the Wall Street Journal and thoughts I’ve expressed about American popular culture and the state of American education.  Perhaps the reason I still subscribe to the Wall Street Journal is that in spite of its now Rupert Murdochian slant, one I lamented when Sarah Palin became associated with his empire (yikes, that was almost four years ago!), is that it has expanded its “life and culture” coverage, delivering consistent high quality. 

First, to set the stage I quote from Philip Roth – from an interview earlier in the year with a Swedish journalist (not the WSJ). He so eloquently described the losing battle that teachers and parents are having with “the moronic amusement park” of popular culture, omnipresent in our traditional media and the Internet: The power in any society is with those who get to impose the fantasy....Now the fantasy that prevails is the all-consuming, voraciously consumed popular culture, seemingly spawned by, of all things, freedom. The young especially live according to beliefs that are thought up for them by the society’s most unthinking people and by the businesses least impeded by innocent ends. Ingeniously as their parents and teachers may attempt to protect the young from being drawn, to their detriment, into the moronic amusement park that is now universal, the preponderance of the power is not with them.

It brings up the obvious issue of cultural values.  If our youth is being dumbed down to such an extent by the scores of pop figures rolling off the American Idol / America’s Got Talent assembly line each year, slavishly lionized, what kind of a future is there for classical music, opera, serious theatre, and literature?  To what extent is our educational system itself responsible?  And what can be done about it?

Terry Teachout, the now reigning theatre critic of the Wall Street Journal, addresses the popular culture side of this equation in his recent article, Pop Go the Highbrows. He cites as evidence the “devolution” the Kennedy Center Honors. In 1978, the first five recipients of that once-prestigious award were Marian Anderson, Fred Astaire, George Balanchine, Richard Rodgers and Arthur Rubinstein. This year’s honorees will be Al Green, Tom Hanks, Lily Tomlin and Sting, with the peerless ballerina Patricia McBride thrown in to humor the highbrows.

He goes on to say Alex Ross, the music critic of the New Yorker, got it just right when he wrote the other day that the Kennedy Center Honors have degenerated into “one more temple of celebrity culture, magnifying the fame of already familiar faces....The logic that has taken hold of the Honors is one of pop triumphalism: it’s not enough for pop culture to dominate the mainstream; it must colonize the spaces occupied by older genres and effectively drive them from the field.”

The following day the WSJ published Joanne Lipman’s A Musical Fix for American Schools. Perhaps you too have long lamented the state of our educational system, particularly the wide gap between the haves and the have-nots, and how our educators are low in our value system, paying a great teacher a mere fraction of what we pay other professionals, lawyers, doctors, business people,  you name it, not to mention entertainers and sports figures.  In 1990 when I returned from a trip to Japan, it became particularly obvious to me and I wrote an article, Why Johnny Can't Compete noting that "quality education is truly available to all in Japan and it is widely perceived to be desirable.  Japanese teachers occupy a high status in society and are well paid.  Illiteracy is virtually unknown."

Lipman’s essay hit me as an epiphany.  It’s not only about paying our better educators more, holding them higher in our esteem than other professionals; it’s about radically revamping our educational system.  Music democratizes education, allowing every child to participate on an equal footing, teaching cooperation, and “research shows that lessons with an instrument boosts IQ, focus and persistence.” Among the key points in the article:

            *Music raises your IQ

            *Musical training can reduce the academic gap between rich and poor districts

            *Music training does more than sports, theater or dance to improve key academic skills

            *Music can be an inexpensive early screening tool for reading disabilities

            *Music literally expands your brain

Why shouldn’t our educational system incorporate extensive music education (and by that I don’t mean only music history, but, more so, musical theory and practice, classical music as well as  jazz for its improvisational characteristics) into its curriculum?  Perhaps if students are able to perform those forms of music, the tide can be turned against, as Roth puts it, society’s most unthinking people.

“This Is the Way We Were” – OUR TOWN at Dramaworks

Our Town is probably the most widely performed play in American theatre.  Who hasn’t seen it, even at the high school level (my son played George Gibbs in his high school production)?  As many times as we’ve seen the play our one regret was not being able to attend the Westport Country Playhouse’s production with Paul Newman as the stage manager in June 2002.  Its brief run there ended before we returned to Connecticut from Florida for the summer.

So now we finally had the opportunity to see what a professional theatre company would do with the play.  In celebration of Dramaworks’ 15^th season, it has staged a beautiful, memorable rendering, with the largest cast in its history, many veterans of other Dramaworks shows.  As J. Barry Lewis, the play’s Director and Dramaworks’ Resident Director, said at the lunch and learn the afternoon before the first preview performance, this company had grown so much artistically over the years that it wanted to put their own imprimatur on one of the most revered plays in American theatre history. 

Dramaworks cast discuss the play

Most of the twenty one actors in the play have appeared in other Dramaworks productions, so it was a reunion of sorts, a celebration of their theatre community -- and community in general -- with its choice of another Pulitzer Prize winning play (the company has performed at least one in each of its 15 years).

Dramaworks also put its own spin on the set.  Although it is the traditional minimalist set, with no props other than the chairs and tables (actors miming their use of everyday implements such as kitchenware), the backdrop could be anyplace backstage circa 1938 when the play was written (although the play covers the years 1903-1913, set in the mythical Grover’s Corners of New Hampshire). It is evocative of New England. It speaks of earlier times, a simpler way of life, but life, nonetheless, as we all still live it in all its cycles. The minimalist set asks us, the audience, to use our own imagination, enter the play, and to fill in the blanks. 

Our Town Set

So why does this play never tire, in spite of the number of times we’ve seen it?  It is a play about everyman – us – and it is a celebration of what it means to be part of a community.  It’s about the transience of life, something we become increasingly aware of as we age, putting our brief humdrum existence in context (“The cottage, the go cart, the Sunday-afternoon drives in the Ford, the first rheumatism, the grandchildren, the second rheumatism, the deathbed, the reading of the will. Once in a thousand times it’s interesting.”). It is a call to find beauty and meaning in the ordinary. 

The play is like a fine piece of music, where Act I: Daily Life is the exposition, meeting the characters and witnessing their routines, ones they go about sort of unconsciously as they comment about the weather and the ordinary details of their day.  Act II: Love and Marriage is the development section, where the characters and the themes are now more in focus; something of consequence is happening, a wedding, perhaps the most significant event in our lifetimes (“People are meant to go through life two by two,  ’Tain’t natural to be lonesome”).  Act III: Death and Dying is the recapitulation, but, now with an entirely different and solemn look at the characters when they realize their daily life must be lived, and every day, every action, cherished ("Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?-every, every minute?"). The omniscient Stage Manager then sums up, continuing to pass through the fourth wall, directly wishing the audience a good night.

We never tire of hearing the great masters of classical music, and similarly that is why seeing Our Town again (and again) is welcome.  We listen for the variations, the spin on the performance a conductor might put on a piece of music and the virtuosity of the musicians, and in this case what a director will do with the tabula rasa of the stage and bringing out the talent of the actors. 

How fitting that the Stage Manger role should go to Colin McPhillamy whose previous performances in Palm Beach Dramaworks’ Exit the King, Copenhagen and The Pitmen Painters were outstanding.  He is the consummate actor (and fellow blogger). He gives a tour de force performance inhabiting the role of the authoritative, omniscient guide for the audience, easily transitioning to briefly becoming a character in the play and then back again as the “stage manager.” It must be a difficult role to play. McPhillamy perfectly describes it in his blog.  “A man both of the town and beyond it, able to move in several directions in time and with the prescient knowledge of things to come and things past. His voice joins with the author's in the play's great invitation: to notice.”

Arguably the other leading characters in the play are Emily Webb and George Gibbs, with their marriage the center of the play’s loose plot line which gives rise to the play’s major themes on what it means to exist.

Emiley Kiser, a Dramaworks newcomer, plays Emily Webb.  She’s direct and likable, to George who marries her, and to us, the audience.  Yet she dies a young woman, only 26 years old giving birth to their second child.  Emiley Kiser is the kind of actress who just radiates her youth, making the transition from teenager to young adult on stage, the perfect choice for the fabled girl next door in the mythical town of Grover’s Corner.

George Gibbs is played by another newcomer, Joe Ferrarelli, an all-American boy, baseball is his sport, who hopes to go to college but settles down with Emily instead.  He takes the path of most of Grover’s Corner’s youngsters, 90% of them staying in the same town as they were born.  Ferrarelli plays his role with the breathless expectation of the future, a life with his childhood (albeit secret) sweetheart, one that he takes for granted will last, well, forever. 

The other major roles are all played by Dramaworks’ veterans and their experience and love of working together shines in their professionalism.  These include Kenneth Kay (Dr. Gibbs), Elizabeth Dimon (Mrs. Gibbs), Patti Gardner (Mrs. Webb), Dan Leonard (Mr. Webb), and Margery Lowe (Mrs. Soames).  Other members of the cast are Michael Collins, John Felix, Cliff Goulet, Dave Hyland, Hal Johnstone, Char Plotsky, Allie Beltran, Sawyer Hyatt, Joshua Stoughton, Justin Strikowski, Patrick A. Wilkinson, Nick Arenstein, and Ashley Horowitz.

In addition to the first-rate acting, it’s the “other things” that distinguish a fine professional production from a very good amateur one, specifically the set, lighting, sound, and costumes.  Of course professional companies usually have the facilities and the budget to excel in these areas, but one also needs the inspiration and the creativity for them to soar.  I already mentioned the scenic design, but a special mention should be made about the lighting, designed by the same person who handled the scenic design, Paul Black. With lighting, he captured the characters bathed in moonlight, drew the audience focus to certain characters while keeping others in dappled shadows, and making the characters in the cemetery seem, well, other-worldly.  The lighting was not obtrusive, but greatly enhanced the production.  Costumes of the period were spot on, thanks to Robin L. McGee’s efforts and when you needed to hear that railroad in the distance, sound designer, Matt Corey was right on cue.  Indeed, it’s these little things that help make a brilliant professional production.

Finally, it takes a special director to bring all of these elements together into a seamless, fulfilling creation.  J. Barry Lewis had never directed Our Town during his long career and it took a confluence of events to bring him to Grover’s Corner at this time, with a theatre company reaching maturity, with actors uniquely qualified for the roles, and professional designers and a stage well equipped to bring out all Thornton Wilder intended.  A deft director’s hand is critical to avoid the sense of sentimentality and to focus on the weighty universal truths behind the cycle of life of the play’s characters.  He is careful to capture the humor Wilder interjects here and there as well as to counterbalance the tragic elements.

So once again Dramaworks kicks off its season with a classic American play, one about a town in the early 20^th century, about us.  At one point the stage manager speculates about what the townspeople should put in a time capsule they are planning. He thinks this play itself should be among the artifacts, "So - people a thousand years from now - this is the way we were in the provinces north of New York at the beginning of the twentieth century. - This is the way we were: in our growing up and in our marrying and in our living and in our dying."  Theatre to think about!

Seattle Stay

To paraphrase Samuel Johnson, when a man is tired of Seattle, he is tired of life.  Of course Johnson was referring to London’s rich artistic and intellectual life.  Seattle has its theatres and museums (not like London of course), but it has an outdoor life that is the city’s pulse, everything centered on its bays, sounds, rivers, and lakes.  So if you love water, boating, and enjoy eating at fine restaurants, buying the freshest produce, every imaginable kind of fish and magnificent bouquets of flowers at Pike’s Market and other grocery stores, this is the place to live. There is an idiosyncratic almost hippie vibe to the city, mixed with the high tech nature of its business focus.

Our goal during our brief five day visit was to see as much of Seattle as we could after our Alaska cruise.  We were able to enjoy the city in all its dimensions in such a short period as the couple who we met on our river cruise last year, Edna and Mark, said if we ever visit Seattle, call us. We did.  They are inveterate Seattlephiles. Younger than we, they are active outdoor people and showed us the Seattle that few tourists can see in such a short time, not to mention negotiating the nightmarish traffic of the city. 

We also did some of the obligatory “tourist stuff” on our own, sparing Edna and Mark the ignominy of it all, a visit to the top of the Space Needle, a ride on the 175 foot ferris wheel extending over Elliot Bay, and even, embarrassed to admit this, a Ride the Duck tour – on a refurbished WWII amphibious landing craft.  In our case, one made by Studebaker! (How many remember that distinctive, but long-gone automaker?)

To understand Seattle, one must know its waterways, Puget Sound leading to Elliot Bay to the west of the city, Lake Union leading to one set of locks to the Puget Sound at the north, and Lake Washington to the east. Waterfront is king in the city and one may view the city from all different waterfront angles, ferries constantly running to Bainbridge Island to Seattle’s west.  There are many distinct neighborhoods in Seattle, each with its own unique characteristics.   Edna and Mark took us for a tour of several, again, something a mere tourist could rarely see without a car.

One of those neighborhoods to the north is Ballard where the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks can be toured.  There are beautiful parks and gardens there as well and, a fish ladder so salmon and steelhead can go upstream to fresh water from the Puget Sound to spawn. We were visiting toward the end of the King Salmon season, but there was still some action and as it was a Sunday afternoon, there was lots of boat traffic returning to their fresh water ports.  (Mark was wearing the same turquoise shirt that Ann said looked great on him last year during the river cruise, and he had remembered, but when we stepped into the car that last Sunday morning in Seattle, Ann made the same observation.  No memory of saying it before, but least she’s consistent -- and observant!)

Our first and second days (and nights) after the cruise were mostly spent with them.  At night we had dinner, they making the choice of the first restaurant and we having the impudence of suggesting the restaurant for the second night.  I don’t think it’s possible to get a bad meal in Seattle.  Each and every place we ate -- from touristy spots to some of the better restaurants -- was outstanding.  The ubiquitous NE clam chowder which is on most menus and at least one of us regularly ordered, seemed to be one of those award-winning soups which tasted equally delicious from restaurant to restaurant leading to our speculation that there must be one central place where it is made in a huge vat and delivered fresh to all of Seattle’s restaurants:-).

Edna and Mark took us to Salty’s that first night, as much for the food, as for the exceptional view of the sunset reflecting off Seattle’s buildings across the Bay.  But we turned the tables on them the second night, visiting the same restaurant we ate at a week earlier on our way to Alaska, Crow.  As they do not live in the Queen Anne neighborhood where our hotel was, and they have plenty of fine restaurants in their own neighborhood, they were not familiar with Crow. 

We had raved about it to them, almost forced them to go, and then began to feel a little nervous – will it be as good as the build up?  Will they be disappointed (and we embarrassed?).  It was as good if not better than our first visit.  They’re going back.  Wish we could too, although we have some fine restaurants within a short distance of our home, including those on Palm Beach.  But it’s the ambiance too (it has a funky upscale warehouse feeling), and they keep their menu limited to only 5 or 6 dishes and then do them supremely well, which makes this restaurant distinctive.  If you ever have a chance to eat one meal in Seattle, eat at Crow!! (No, they don’t serve crow there :-). 

A special highlight was visiting the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum, the miraculous brainchild of the now internationally acclaimed artist Dale Chihuly.  He is from the Seattle area (Tacoma) so this houses some of his most significant works.  It opened in 2012, and it is absolutely breathtaking!  It is right at the base of the Space Needle and all of this was a few blocks from our hotel.  His pieces are outer-worldly in color and artistry and he created an outdoor garden (his first ever) to showcase many of his other glass pieces, these being heavier and thicker for outside display.  Each piece of glass inside the museum is hand cleaned every single day to remove any dust or dirt!  Amazing. 

We ate in the Museum Cafe where we had a delicious lunch (what else in Seattle, including the clam chowder!) and admired all of his collections of antique memorabilia, from Christmas ornaments to toy soldiers, from clocks to teapots, church keys, and accordions hanging from the ceiling. A surprise for me was to see his collection of Edward S. Curtis’ photogravures of the North American Indian, the same ones that I worked on in the New York Public library in the late 1960’s as the publishing firm I worked for in New York was reprinting his entire collection.  I was a Production Manager then, preparing the photogravures for offset printing, ordering the paper (I still remember -- 60# Warrens Patina paper, a high opacity, calendered, cream-color stock, so appropriate for those historic prints). Where did Chihuly have time to amass all these collections while creating such beautiful glass work?  One simply cannot describe it all and hopefully some of the photos do the talking.

Another day we rode the 1962 World's Fair monorail to Pike's market, marveled at all the produce, fish and exquisite flowers, the likes of which we had never seen before, rode on the Ferris Wheel, ate lunch on the water, took a 2 hour informative boat ride on Puget Sound, walked through the Seattle Aquarium and took photos in front of the original Starbucks.

And let's not forget the butterfly collection at the Science Museum where we also "sat for breakfast" (the museum's intention to demonstrate relativity).

The ride on the amphibious vehicle (Ride the Duck) was absolutely campy.  One could not help but get into the touristy nature of it, singing and calling out together at passersbys on the street who accustomed to this frivolity were gracious in their acknowledgement of us crazy people.  The Duck took us to idiosyncratic destinations, tours on the water of houseboats galore, not to mention the infamous Sleepless in Seattle houseboat which recently sold for $2 million.  The tour concludes with a rousing chorus of the Village People’s “Y-M-C-A,” and from my salad days I still remember the hand gestures and joined in the silliness.  Good to be silly in such a beautiful place and a perfect sunny day (the locals propagate the rumor that Seattle is 100% gloomy and rainy to keep the population down).

 

Also in the “campy camp” was a brief visit to Paul Allen’s homage to American Popular culture, the EMP Museum.  Strange to walk through a museum which simply recounts the music and pop “culture” of the 60’s and 70’s (mostly), with a particular focus on Jimi Hendrix memorabilia, years I vividly remember.  Now my memories are museum worthy.  There are so many exhibits to explore there, the most interesting one to me being a giant guitar sculpture consisting of more than 500 musical instruments.

 

We decided to leave Seattle a couple of days earlier than planned.  First, Mark and Edna took us everywhere!  And, from our centrally located hotel, we had accomplished all the touristy stuff and we had matters to attend to at home.  Also, American Airlines had changed our return flight three times, the last change departing Seattle at 6.00 AM, and we’d have to get up at 4.00 AM or earlier to make our flight.    Having arm wrestled with an American agent (couldn’t make the changes on line without ridiculous charges), we were able to get a 12.20 PM flight two days earlier, again through Dallas, making a connection with a 1.50 hour window, and then to West Palm Beach.

We arrived at the airport with enough time to get an early lunch, and then waited at the gate which had an on time departure.  We had already lined up for boarding when the agent at the desk (and I was standing right in front) announced that they just received word that Dallas was experimenting with a new air traffic system and they’ve delayed our flight to 3.00 PM (and therefore we would be unable to make our connection, visions of spending the night in Dallas) and even the 2.00 flight would leave before the 12.20.  Naturally there was pandemonium at the gate, people surging to speak to the agents. One person was screaming at the top of her lungs, “I want to speak to a supervisor!!!” Ha.

As I was right there, I formed a single line for the next available agent (there were two).  Meanwhile the surging, crazy mob pushed and formed two lines not even acknowledging my place. I was on the phone with an American Million Miler agent while waiting and she said they had no information on a delay and therefore couldn’t help.  Meanwhile I was arguing with people on both lines that I would be next at which point I heard the agent at the desk talking on her cell saying, “are you sure, we’re boarding immediately and departing at 12.37?”  I could see her grabbing the microphone to make the announcement so I left the line and got into the boarding line and indeed, the announcement was made.  Again the surging mobs.

The airlines have made everyone crazy, fighting for overhead bin space.  We had two small carry-ons, having checked our luggage, but many people were carrying not one but two pieces of luggage, the maximum size for the overheads.  It’s almost rendering air travel impossible (for me at least) unless we pay up for first class. As the Sunday New York Times noted in “A Recipe for Air Rage” – “pack passengers tightly, add the stress and fatigue of travel, stir well and stand back!”

 

Not the end of the saga though.  Because of the late departure (later than 12.37) and given the size of the Dallas airport, our connection might be in jeopardy.  The pilot said he’d try to make up time.  He could not.  Meanwhile, as we approached Dallas, an American hub, the long list of connection flights and gates was read out. We were arriving in terminal C and our flight was departing from A10 although we were told A9 when we checked our luggage tag, both a long ride on the Dallas terminal-connecting train.  But it seemed we’d have enough time.  We landed and began to approach our gate and the pilot announced another plane was still there and we’d have to wait about 15 minutes, which was about the margin of error I figured for safely making our connecting flight.  To the iPhone I went to check whether our departing plane was still on time.  It was.  But it also reported that the departure gate was A28, not A9 or A10 as announced (conjuring up scenes from the 1980 movie satire of air travel Airplane!).  I showed this to the flight attendant and asked what should we believe, their announcement, my luggage receipt, or what is on the American Air site on my phone?  She said the phone; they frequently get wrong information on the plane!  And she also advised that we hoof it to the gate as it is closer to the one we’re arriving at.  It would be faster than the connecting tram.

After 15 minutes we indeed got to the gate and began our trek.  Well, “close” in the Dallas airport has a different meaning than most places.  It was still a long haul but we found an attendant with an electric cart for disabled people, just waiting for business, and figured as older folk we qualified, and he was happy to take us.  It was further than we had imagined and we pulled up to the A28 (and I had verified the gate by checking the board before embarking on the trek), but the flight sign read Austin, TX!  Our driver inquired.  No, that was the last flight; they just hadn’t posted the soon-to-leave West Palm flight.  So all was well after all, but the needless anxiety.

We finally arrived home after midnight, tired, but thankful to Edna and Mark for sharing their time and love of amazing Seattle with us.