Nea music pals

upcoming


Ethicom.

Remembances of the promises and despair of the 60s on the 45th observance of the death of President Kennedy. My much feared depression era 5th grade teacher Mrs. Blake, came into the classroom after lunch and announced that President Kennedy had been killed. Her stony deportment completely gone, she cried as she was telling us. A moment later she punched a kid in the mouth for his nervous laughter at the news.

lobbies&curtains

The Academy of Music chandelier is back to its restored glory. Can’t wait until they start lowering and raising it to cue the curtain ala The Met.

Ran into Walter Dallas, premiere Philadelphia theater & opera director, at ‘The Italian Girl in Algiers’ who is set to direct a new play in DC, this spring.

Chet Plays the Mercury L

Chet plays the Mercury L

Before the rain
Tore off
some baleful heart
in private pictures
Of sordid songs
on beat to

alley footfalls
other shadows
that quit the sound
in the stolen cornet
A dreamer’s dream
of lost memories
In abandon hotels
hand on that shattered
note

sepia note cards
lipsticks bleeds

one onyx cufflink
silver clips
crushed flasks
discarded jacks
lovers under

blue smoke
faced away

prenatal twins

clutching cold promises
night sweats
in whispers
through a calypso coma

dreams back

Driving red ’55 Alfa with your blonde
Hair and scarf

brushing wind tide
On my neck
You make me hum

’Where or When’
& you cradle my horn

like it was our boy

kick your shoes out
Of the window to feel
your arch
to the wind

as I curl my toes

yes,  I pissed you off bad

over the fucking moon bad

cuethegaddamnmusic

You can’t chase him down
in that torn door
To that empty hall
that lullaby street
our condemned psalm
of sexless escape
shadow in shadowblew
let the puddles bust open
onto that pocked room
Lapel against the mangled collar
Clinging to fevered hair.
Then he shoots the stars
into that unseeable nirvana

pictures of godless eyes
Of mercury wings
On the wounded heart
Crouched over blue scorched notes
Ash, whiskey, burn, whiskey, more

just whiskey Chet
honey notes all over the bed.
Cradling his trumpet.

alternate take 

Chet Plays the Mercury L

Before the rain
Eroded a
Whispery ballade
The private pictures
in sordid songs
About stupid hearts and
Busted scales
Trashed in
drop dead lipsticks
Chipped onyx cuff links
Silverdeco cigarette cases
left on by
Discarded lovers
Thrown through smoke
Of scared promises
Playing the
corruptible psalm in a
Cobalt wind
or Driving a pink panel
55-crome
Chevy convertible
your luscious hair
Playing cello
moon tide on
His lap and
you make me hum
‘Where or When.’
kick your shoes off
feeling your arch smile
to my toes
yeah, I pissed you off
you can’t chase me down
To the wrong door
To that empty hall
that lullaby
that damned psalm
of sexless lust
shadow in shadow in shadow
lets the mirror open
all he sees is the black satin
Lapel against the mangled collar
Clinging to his wet hair.
forces silently
Away to complete
That unseen picture
Of lacquered eyes
On the wounded brow
Crouched over blue scorched notes
Ash whiskey notes tracks lies
spilled all over the bed
Cradling his trumpet.

Ute’s boa journey

belated LOTD

sung in Joe’s Pub

The vamp history of Ute Lemper’s fuschia cabaret boa tracking it through the Weimar Republic, through wars, affairs, divas and momentarily to Sarah Palin.

(photo- KarenMoorman)

Roulades & Yuks

Opera Company of Philadelphia

The Italian Girl in Algiers

11/21/08

Busty, bawdy and as gay as Liberace in Casablanca, the Opera Company of Philadelphia all but sets the rainbow drapes on fire for Rossini’s ‘The Italian Girl in Algiers.’

For those who don’t know the story there is a built in harem in heat for the rotund Mustafa, who is looking for foreign ‘bon-bons’ to play in his palace. His pirates pillage for him on the high seas. His dressers are so fey they jete in the new silks.

But Isabella wasn’t pushed around on the boot or in Algiers. She’s a femme fatale that can whither swords both steel & flesh. Making the best of a shipwreck, she is going to do some pillaging of her own. A Mezzo-tranian farce ensues as she dupes pirates, eunuchs, sultans and the Mediterranean hoi polloi.

It may be stooge opera, but this cast can boast a lot of great singing headed by Ruxandra Donose, a fine mezzo who camps and vamps it up every moment. Lawrence Brownlee, equals with a commanding tenor as her lovelorn secret love. The singers starred in OCP’s Cinderella on 2006.

Daniel Belcher, a flings his foppish baritone about with nimble comic acting, posing as Isabella’s uncle instead of her lover to save himself from being impaled. The phallic jokes get so literal that guardsmen actually polish their spears.

Kevin Glavin uses his buffo bass to every advantage as Mustafa, that has him spooning and mugging like Curly one minute and checking out his butt in the mirror the next. And the man can work his turbans, whether they look like Mars attacks or a Carmen Miranda knockoff.

Rossini’s quintets and quartets are sung with gusto and sharpness by this able lead cast. Atop rolling cubes in one scene, they are rolled around the stage by slaves and it becomes vocal jousting from every angle.

Credit such meaty moments to director Stefano Vizioli. Corrado Rovaris, OCP’s resident conductor specializes in Italian opera and his punctuations are crisp and the clamorous Rossini canter brought to full gallop with one whip.

-Whittington

Later

for GLBT Prop 8 report from NY

a thousand dreams later

Danse Macabre

Down and outward
my gray heart
Gargoyled limbs and swayback
Plies
Wistful discord
Stabbing lights
Silhouettes eat
Fragments of night
Venal lunges and livid eyes
The slack of the bodies
Only the tongues rush by
Vestiges of emotions
In complete undoubt
Violet shadows
Inner sculptures flung out
Promenade flouncing
Flicking the obscure
The minuet of abstract
The savaging
Crashing bore
Seek the devils
With these
Feet and hand
Enfold me into your body
So we are unforeseen
Night creatures who obliterate all along
To that very moment
Before the moment’s gone.