1-FEB-2020 Saturday!

[DiveMilw]

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[KathyB]

That's great. I especially like the three images used as reference off to the right.

[scenicdesign71]

Adorable! 

There are worse things one could do by oneself, of a Saturday night, than to hear Tituss Burgess sing Sondheim at Carnegie Hall.

Ever since I bought a single ticket, several weeks ago -- orchestra row J, very close to center, somehow only $80 -- I've been thinking I should've sprung for a pair instead, and invited someone to go with.  (As it turned out, the seat next to mine apparently never was sold).  But on one hand, the person that I'd have most wanted to ask was off-limits (and still is: I remain far more messed-up over him than I wish I were).  And on the other, I've been distracting myself from that whole mess by buying so many theatre tickets over the past month that, for the sake of my wallet, I thought it might be better to just go see some of these things "stag".  (Jagged Little Pill, the week before last, was another such solo outing).  Still, at barely a third of the cost of equivalent seats on Broadway, it might have been worth snapping up that vacant seat next to mine, especially since I do have several friends who probably would have very much liked to see this concert.

All was not lost: as I took my seat, I got a surprise text saying "look to your right" -- from a set-decorator friend from work, who was seated, with his husband, across the aisle and a row back from me.  They were meeting friends directly afterward for drinks near Times Sq, while I was starving for comfort food from the Carnegie Diner, so we only had a moment or two to catch up after the show.  But apparently the universe was just not having my asocial mood: during my late supper at the diner, still alone, I got another text from another coworker (even more randomly, as she hadn't been at the concert) inviting me for a drink nearby with herself and some friends: one of them a Hamilton crew member who'd just gotten off work; and the other an eminent designer for stage & screen whom I'd known-of for years but never met, and who was quick to offer a drink, his card and some amiable chat.

You'd almost think I had a social life.  Believe me, I don't, even if the universe inexplicably wants me to pretend otherwise at the moment.
Still, it was pleasant to see people outside of work, in civilian drag, and at least cap off the solo-concertgoing with a beer's-worth of socializing.

Anyway, the concert itself:

Burgess is obviously an extraordinary vocalist -- so much so that I was mildly puzzled by the need someone felt to dress this up as almost a "real" show (or, to be more precise, a "real" revue), with a bit too much sketchy interstitial material linking the songs (or trying to), multiple costume changes, projections, a thirteen-member chorus doing quite a bit of movement/choreography while also fielding such tricky ensemble vocals as "Company" and "Sunday" (as well as simpler ones like "Comedy Tonight" and "Loveland"); and guest appearances by Jane Krakowski, Lillias White, Orfeh and Michael McElroy.  All of whom were marvelous, but I could've just as happily listened to Burgess sing all night uninterrupted.

Krakowski did "Sooner Or Later," White "Everything's Coming Up Roses," Orfeh "Everybody Says Don't," and all three joined in a splendid "You Gotta Have A Gimmick," with White brandishing a real trumpet but gloriously scatting Mazeppa's reveille in lieu of actually playing it.  And McElroy was a magnificent Mysterious Man to Burgess's Baker in what was by far the most gorgeously-sung "No More" I've ever heard.  (I've grown so used to hearing those roles cast more-or-less along the lines of the originals -- the Baker with a respectable but by no means breathtaking voice, the MM with not much voice to speak of -- that it came as a delightful surprise to hear one of my favorite Sondheim songs given new life by singers whose deeply heartfelt performances were actually matched by their almost unearthly vocal beauty.

Other moments (all Burgess) that made me cry:  "Anyone Can Whistle," in an exquisite orchestration by Charlie Rosen (who also conducted the thirteen-piece orchestra); "Tonight/Somewhere"; and the finale, "Take Me To The World" segueing into "Sunday" (with the full ensemble) and back again.  This last was framed by Burgess's only real venture (quite late in the evening) into autobiographical reminiscence -- about growing up on a farm in Georgia; singing in church from early childhood; and yet always feeling, as a distinctly square peg in his rural community, somehow stuck outside of the spiritual nourishment and ecstasy others found in those hymns.  Only as a teenager, stumbling across a late-night rerun of SITPWG on PBS ("I didn't know what the f**k I was seeing"), did he finally get his first thunderstruck glimpse of God (invoked with moving directness and simplicity, and a notable lack of scare-quotes).  Burgess's rendition of "Take Me To The World," then, became an anthem of yearning addressed to the distant numinous figure of SJS himself by an insecure kid just becoming aware of the aching, awe-inspiring beauty that might someday be found beyond the limits of his upbringing; and "Sunday" the blazing apotheosis of that dream.  In its rough outlines, the tale is hardly unique, but it was far and away the evening's most effective deployment of song and story to illuminate one another outside the context of the original shows.  It also made for an emotionally powerful, musically overwhelming, three-hanky finale.

Neither Burgess nor any of his "special guests" made it through the evening without at least one lyric screwup (at times it felt like barely a song went by without one), but most were minor enough that only a Sondhead would likely have noticed them, and even the worst never came anywhere near capsizing a song -- especially impressive with something like "Getting Married Today" where, if making it through flawlessly is a feat, making it through despite a flaw, almost any flaw, seems almost superhuman (or at least astoundingly lucky).  I can't even remember which specific lyric Burgess fluffed in Amy's breakneck patter, but his recovery was thankfully instantaneous -- and, again, might even have gone undetected by many listeners.

This was one-night-only, and I didn't see any cameras, but, notwithstanding the lyric gaffes -- and some recurring sound issues over the course of the show -- it would be nice to have this recorded.  While I could've used more Burgess and less showbiz-y filler, the evening still contained some truly astonishing gifts.  Maybe even better, he should do a (studio) Sondheim album, perhaps including some of the songs that were teased in Rosen's overture but never actually sung in the concert:  "Multitudes of Amys", "What More Do I Need?", and "Another Hundred People", among others.

[DiveMilw]

That's great. I especially like the three images used as reference off to the right.

I hadn't noticed those.  The picture just got lovelier! 

[scenicdesign71]

My favorite (by a hare ...sorry) is Binky.

Actually, no; the Dürer and the Potter, aside from being objectively much more accomplished works (and more-useful references for the self-portrait being attempted here), would also vie far ahead of the Groening for being my personal favorite.

But Binky makes an ideal punchline as your eye moves down the three images.

(No surer way of killing delight than by overexplaining).