Seen and Heard in New York: a Weekly Round-Up

While I may not be terribly productive outside my working hours, I do frequently use this time to enjoy the greatest hub of art, culture, and entertainment (and cuisine, finance, innovation, design, etc.) that is New York. (However, you will rarely see a silent movie with organ accompaniment there—Jersey City has dibs on that.) In the past week or so, I have been incredibly lucky to have watched a college basketball game, listened to a concert, and see two (or four, rather) plays. Frankly, I’m as astonished as you, dear reader, that I could fit this all within my week (and budget). But the cost of living here includes access to such opportunities. And if you don’t take advantage of this proximity, then you might as well live somewhere else--you know, somewhere cheaper and less exciting, like Philly.




The Terps come to the Big Apple just about as frequently as they make the Final Four, so I try to make sure I’m in the stands. I last watched a Terps basketball game two years ago, when they lost their second of two games at Madison Square Garden. Our loss to Illinois that night was so frustrating that a friend of mine in attendance later texted me “Did I just buy a 40 for the train ride [to Connecticut] because we couldn’t shoot free-throws? Yes.” Ah, the highs and lows of Terps fandom.

The new season opened, conveniently, at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center—an opportunity to check out the new arena and Terps squad, and for friends to visit New York. Before the game, I met up with my pal Aaron (a local who’s thankful that the arena crowds trend toward bars south of Atlantic Avenue rather than north) for some killer falafel, then joined my friend (and fellow UMD alum) Jason and others at Pacific Standard—which for that night seemed every inch a typical college bar.  Game time approached, so we left Aaron and the bar, and stepped through the arena’s LED-bedazzled archway into a chaotic lobby. After Joe Williams secured our tickets, we made our way past refreshment stands of favorite Brooklyn vendors (Calexico, Fatty ‘Cue, etc.) and up to the mezzanine level. While we had fantastic mid-level seats above a corner of the court, the upper deck to our right was red with Terps fans, although the distribution of supporters was probably 50-50 throughout the arena. During team introductions, these rabid alumni brought the feel of a home game at Comcast as they waved newspapers and sang our rendition of “Rock & Roll: Part II.” With Jay-Z watching from the sidelines, the Terps shot poorly and Kentucky carried a significant lead into the locker rooms at halftime. But after the break, the Terps went on a 15-0 run to tie up the game and remind me why I love college basketball. The game was a nail-biter to the end: but after the Wildcats took a small lead, key shots failed to drop for us and the fouls/clock situation made a comeback unlikely. Though we lost against the reigning champs (although most of that team left for the pros), the Terps learned about the talent of their 2012-13 squad, and proved that that they could play with the best teams in the country.

Enough sports, back to arts and culture. After seeing posters at Lincoln Center for years, I finally saw the lauded War Horse at the Beaumont Theatre, just across the plaza from my office. With the production coming to a close this winter, Mandy secured us great seats (front row center in the balcony) for a packed matinee—though I’m sure each performance is well-sold. While the story and characters are rather straightforward, the sheer spectacle of the special effects is the primary feature of this play, including: the projected scenery sketches, the blanks shot throughout the war scenes, the rotating stage, the slow-motion cavalry charge, the terrifying specter of a WWI tank, and the unique, dual battlefield trench. But the reason we went to see the play was for the horses—the life-size, fully mobile (and ride-able) horse puppets and the actors who brilliantly performed them. I could describe how remarkably they interacted with the human characters while portraying emotions and authentic equine movements, but I let the creators do that.  
While film is probably the better medium for this story (with sweeping battle scenes and, you know, real horses), the theatrical production is incredibly affecting—more immediate and concentrated. And within the audience we witnessed genuine engagement, which always make for a gratifying experience.

Audience engagement was an integral component of the production I saw a week ago at Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM). During the fall, BAM presents contemporary works in theatre, dance, music, and combinations of these in their New Wave Festival. Mandy spotted a unique theatrical performance: Shakespeare’s three Roman tragedies—Corialanus, Julius Caesar, and Antony & Cleopatra—presented back-to-back-to-back at BAM’s Gilaman Opera House. Oh, and besides being nearly six hours of theater, the plays were performed in Dutch, with an array of monitors showing subtitles live video footage. And to top it off, the audience was invited to sit anywhere in the house or expansive stage—which included refreshments and computer access. Simply, it was one of the coolest theatrical experiences I’ve been a part of. 

The play began suddenly with a blackout, thunderous percussion, and strobe-lighting. After the first scene set up Coriolanus, the announcer laid out the rules and features for afternoon. We were encouraged to take pictures and Tweet about the show, and even post them from the computers. Scene changes were carefully timed and orchestrated; furniture and props were minimal—couches and tables, mostly. And while the majority of the action took place at stage center (right in front of where Mandy stood), characters did appear throughout the stage—whether at war councils, or in their death throes—and even in the house. One particularly great moment was when the character who had betrayed Marc Antony ran through the house, lobby, and right out to the sidewalk. We watched from the monitors as he delivered his emotional soliloquy to passersby on a Brooklyn street corner—entirely in Dutch.

Watching the action and subtitles from the crowded stage. Every death took place between the glass walls, at center.

While the staging was unique and spoken language foreign, Shakespeare’s plays—based on Roman history—are classic examinations of political and personal relationships. The production added some modern elements—contemporary dress (i.e., suits as “armor”), news broadcasts, and contextual footage of Hurricane Sandy, or Obama, or street fighting in the Middle East. But since action was limited (although, in an early fight scene, Corialanus fell over an audience member), the plays relied on dialogue—characters discussing their plans of action—or monologues that revealed individuals’ motivations and regrets. You know, the basics of drama as written by one of its masters. And of course, we extend many thanks to Neil—there to see it himself, for once—for getting us in for the show.

Between these theatrical experiences, Tim and I had the pleasure of seeing one of our favorite singers in concert, Sharon Van Etten. This was not the first time I’d seen her live or written about her on this blog. I would refer you to my earlier posts; after looking back on these, there’s not much else left to say about her or her songs. But I will expound on this particularly moving concert with a few narrative details.

After admiring the legacy of performances (including a Stravinsky concert with cough drops provided by Vicks) and public forums at Town Hall, originally built in 1921, Tim and I took our plush seats in the center of the balcony. As hip folk began to fill in around us, we noticed how unusual the setting was for a rock concert. Normally we would stand on the main floor of the venue, shoulder-to-shoulder with a variety of people we would never want to be near again (and a few I wouldn’t mind seeing again) all brought together only by our mutual fandom. But while the audience was basically the same you would find at the Bowery Ballroom, the seating arrangement (actual seats) was rather different; this was not a bad thing, however, as the sightlines and acoustics of Town Hall are famously fantastic. But Tim and I did come to call it the “show of perpetual late-seating”. During classical music concerts, patrons are only admitted to the concert hall after the start of the show during appropriate late-seating breaks—if at all. And if one should leave the hall during the performance, you will not be admitted until the next break. Of course, this reinforces the stuffy, uptight reputation of classical music—and frequently leads to heated complaints from customers in the lobby. But it also does cut down on distracting entrances/exits, of which there were many that night. However, Sharon was more captivating than any such nonsense.

Sharon structured her show into two sets: one featuring her quieter and, usually, early-career songs, and another with a full band and the rock sound of her latest album. While initially this seemed like too formal and rigid an approach, the frequent guests brought looseness to the performance. And eventually the flow of the concert became one, grand slow-build that mirrored many of her best songs. Despite the varying dynamics, depth, and instrumentation, all of her songs exhibit her special voice and potent lyrics. I’ve discussed those aspects before, so instead let me emphasize how fascinating it is to hear a concert build from just a soloist singing softly with her guitar to the sonic surge of six guitars squealing with harmonious distortion. For pictures, set-list, and guest appearances (including her dad!), I suggest the coverage in Brooklyn Vegan (just don’t read the comments; never read the comments, those people suck.)



And to cap off this run of performance-going, I saw my co-workers in concert Friday night. I was damn sure Frank Peter Zimmerman would break his Strad during his rendition of Shostakovich's Violin Concerto No. 1. (How awesome would that have been!) Even though he only severed a few hairs of his bow, that solo in the third movement was truly bitchin'. And as for crowd-favorite From the New World (aka Symphony No. 9) by Dvorak, well, that brilliant piece is a crowd-pleaser for a reason. How can a symphony have so many hooks? Even rampant coughing from a sold-out house couldn’t diminish this gem. Get yourself to Lincoln Center Tuesday night, because even though the Phil premiered it 120 years ago, it might just be another four years before we play it again.