Willie Mays was one of every kid’s sports heroes. In the early 1970s, in the twilight of his career, the great center fielder — who started in MLB with the New York Giants at the Polo Grounds (walking distance from my current apartment) before the team moved to San Francisco — returned to New York to finish out his career with the Mets.
The Mets were in the championship series in 1973, and my friends and I bought tickets to the entire series. We even cut class, something I never did before.
In the final game, in the final inning, I had my eye on a spot Willie stepped on right next to first base. After the Mets won the game and the championship, we were among those insane fans – fanatics, in the truest meaning of the word – who ran onto the field, grabbing strips of sod from the infield before running to the outfield and climbing the right-field fence out of the stadium.
I first ran to first base, and scooped up some dirt with cleat marks in it, into an old bottle of pills I’d found in the medicine chest.
When I got home, I transplanted the sod into the back yard. It proved unsuccessful. But I had my bottle of dirt. I can still recall that the pills, which I discarded, were my old, blue Marax asthma pills, and had been prescribed in 1968. I turned the label inside out and wrote, “Shea Stadium, Championship, 1973. Willie Mays possibly stepped on this dirt.”
I had it for years, and would often use it like a magical talisman, holding it during a game and shaking it in an attempt to cosmically change the Mets’ luck. I had this bottle of dirt until the year the Mets won the World Series, 1986, when I somehow stepped on it and broke the plastic bottle. The once beautiful innerfield dirt had turned gray and dusty, and was now all over the floor. I sadly discarded the bottle and swept up its contents.
Click here for the New York Times obit, as a gift article.
I review jazz and cabaret because I’m knowledgeable about them both, and I am a musician. I’m not a theater reviewer, at least not yet. If I were to start reviewing theater, the works of William Shakespeare would not be my starting point. When I was asked to write about this new production of Much Ado About Nothing, I made it clear that I could just talk about what I liked about it. When it comes to the Bard, I’m no bard.
This production of Much Ado is directed by the actor/acting teacher Thomas G. Waites, a fellow I know mainly from his other life as a singer/songwriter, whose show I reviewed last year for NiteLife Exchange (read HERE). His Juilliard acting school roommate was the very famous Kelsey Grammer, known to millions as “Frasier Crane” from Cheers and its super-successful spinoff, Frasier. Mr. Grammer, whose erudite, Mid-Atlantic speaking style has something of a Shakespearean sound, made this production possible, along with sponsor Faith American Beer. Mr. Waites’ acting school TGW Studio, provided the talent.
That said, I saw the second performance of this production at the Gene Frankel Theater. I love these kinds of theaters. They are intimate, with no proscenium, no curtain (except to hide the backstage area, and fairly static sets, the equivalent of a one-camera shoot. The bathrooms are behind the stage, so one must walk across the stage during the intermission. To pee, or not to pee? That is the question at this theater.
This reimagined staging sets the show in 1940s Italy, although it seemed at times to blur that period with that of the original. The show includes several lead characters, a handful of significant supporting roles, and a couple of comic relief characters.
The cast was very good at delivering Shakespearean dialogue so that it landed with its intention, whether comedic or dramatic. I often find Shakespear inscrutable, and it requires (for me) a high level of listening. It’s easy to lose the laughs when the audience spends too much energy “translating” this English into … English. I laughed often.
Interestingly, actor Cedric Allen Hills (as Balthazar), who performs in Mr. Waites’ band, played keyboards and sang what sounded like madrigals before the show started. Mr. Hills has a beautiful tenor voice. He was attired in a red, period-appropriate costume.
While some of the actors were also dressed in more of an Elizabethan-era style, others were dressed in modern clothes. Solo’s father, Leonato, wears a business suit, while a prince, Don Pedro, is dressed (and acts like) a modern-day Mafia don.
Much of the cast were in rotating roles, so you might not see the same performers I did. Notable performers included the handsome and mischievous Artur Ignatenko as the wisecracking Benedick (often pronounced with an emphasis on the third syllable for comic effect), and Aislinn Evans as Benedick’s love/hate counterpoint, Beatrice. Ms. Evans has the dazzling, luminescent glamour of an old-school star; and Stephanie Londoño as the falsely accused Hero.
A fun twist was using Matt “Ugly” McGlade (Borachio) also taking on the role of the female character Ursula. After a couple of female cast members playing the character dropped out early, Mr. Waites decided having Mr. McGlade playing Ursula in drag would be funny, although several women were ready to step in. It was a great choice for this comedy.
The spare set made excellent use of lighting, and consisted mainly of a long table prepared for a feast, some chairs with interesting designs stenciled into them as well as on the stage, and some other pieces that helped move along or justify the action, such as a window pane in the wall at stage left. Something behind the curtain was used by Mr. Ignatenko, a good physical comedian, to comically slam into several times.
This was a very enjoyable night of theater. I am, as mentioned, no expert on Shakespeare, so I cannot make any comparison to other productions of Much Ado About Nothing. However, I will make some ado about something, and say that this is a production worth your time and money.
Much Ado About Nothing is playing at the Gene Frankel Theater (24 Bond Street). Performances run through June 30 with performances Wednesday through Saturday at 7:30pm and Sundays at 3pm. Running time: 2 hours with a 10-minute intermission. Tickets are $25 (seniors), $35 (general admission) and are available at www.our.show/muchadonyc. The Gene Frankel Theatre is located at 24 Bond Street (Between Lafayette & Bowery), New York, NY 10012. Subways: 6 to Bleecker Street, B/D/F/M to Broadway/Lafayette.
I had the opportunity in December to see Steven Maglio at The Cutting Room for a second time. I reviewed his show for Theater Pizzazz last year. (Read HERE). Steve invited me back, and when I saw Tom Cotter would be his opening act, I couldn’t resist! I was lucky to be in the audience when Tom did the tightest “tight three” I’ve ever seen, at his audition for America’s Got Talent a dozen years ago. I was floored, and immediately connected with him on Facebook. Tom went on to come in second place for the entire season – behind a dog act! Trust me, the dogs couldn’t tell a joke.
Tom Cotter’s set was quite funny, if a little looser than his AGT material, and he played off the audience well. It was great to see him in person again.
Steven was in excellent form, and included a number of different songs than the previous show. He’s always a great act, and if you love Sinatra like I do, he does a great job of capturing the energy of a Sinatra show with a big-band sound. While Steven doesn’t effect an impression, his voice naturally has a similar timbre and his phrasing is quite influenced by the Chairman’s. The charts are all vintage Nelson Riddle and Billy May, et al.
Steven does his weekly Sinatra show at the Carnegie Cigar Bar. I’ve seen it once. That show, he claims, is the same every week, including the jokes, though there’s a loyal fan who has seen it dozens of times. The Cutting Room show changes each month, with Steven mixing in songs by other singers of Sinatra’s time, albeit with arrangements that Sinatra would have been quite comfortable singing.
Definitely catch Steven Maglio at either The Cutting Room or, if you don’t mind tobacco smoke, at the Carnegie Cigar Bar.
I was invited to a unique press event for Abington Theatre Company’s Robin and Me: A little Spark of Madness, which opens at Theatre 4 at Theatre Row on April 15th for a one-month run. The show was written and performed by actor, voiceover artist and playwright Dave Droxler, and directed by Chad Austin. The event, which took place in show’s rehearsal space on Eighth Avenues, presented a roughly ten-minute snippet of the show, after Mr. Austin set up the story.
Dave Droxler and Chad Austin
The one-man show is a tour de force for the Mr. Droxler, whose autobiographical character has Robin Williams as his imaginary friend, muse, acting coach and mentor. Droxler not only effortlessly switches between his own character and that of Robin Williams, but he invokes his parents and other characters, switching on a dime among them. Even more impressively, not only does he do a dead-on vocal and physical manifestation of Robin, he riffs in real time with the audience, zeroing in on various aspects of those in attendance. In Droxler’s brief performance, we saw humor and pathos, and the actor quickly established enough of a back story to bring all present into his world.
When asked about the germination of the show, he told me, “I would always do a Robin Williams impression… I would kind of do him naturally, when I was nervous. I wrote this other show, called Walken on Sunshine, which was a part of the Fringe Festival. I was doing Christopher Walken in it [he did a quick impression on request], and I had this whole thing where an actor was trying to get Walken in a film. So, I had this one moment where I would do Robin improve and it always got a big reaction. People would always say, ‘When are you gonna do something about Robin Williams?’” Eventually, Droxler realized he’d been using Williams as a base of inspiration not only as a performer, but also just as a human being.
In some ways the show is reminiscent of Woody Allen’s play and film, Play it Again, Sam,” in which Humphrey Bogart was Woody’s muse and mentor who’d advise him through various situations. In that show, an actor portrayed Bogart. Mr. Doxler takes that similar premise to several levels higher.
Today, The Boulevardier was invited by a donor friend to watch the Jazz at Lincoln Center (JALC) band rehearse for their upcoming performance, in the rehearsal space/classroom just pass Dizzy’s.
Panoramic shot
It is an annual event before the pandemic, and this was the first one in several years. It was an extraordinary experience. Founder Wynton Marsalis was in his usual trumpet chair, but reed man Ted Nash led the band through the rehearsal, with the great Lew Tabackin on tenor sax and flute. Watching all these cats in street clothes was cool enough, but I later learned all of them were sightreading the scores for the very first time. Their level of musicianship is so high that you would have thought they’d been rehearsing for weeks.
Afterwards, the group of us and many of the musicians, including Messrs. Nash and Tabackin, walked over to Dizzy’s for a sumptuous buffet. Some words were spoken and questions were taken.
This was quite the exciting day. I’ll have to grab a ticket for this concert!
I will have my 150th review/article published in January 2023 — that’s in a total of 17 months as a reviewer. Publicists have been sending me CDs or emailing the tracks, and thus I will also begin to review these, initially here on The Boulevardier, but hope to get them picked up by one or more of the jazz sites. I also expect to do more features and interviews in 2023.
We’re off to a great start with the Joe Lovano Big Band on January 4th, though we also saw the Greg Ruvalo Big Band on New Year’s Day, but it was not picked up. As of January 21st, nine shows for review have been scheduled for the month, with three already published and a fourth submitted.
End of year summary: I slowed down a bit compared with 2022, as I also returned to performing, and became a part-time tour guide. I reached my 211th published review on December 26th. Not bad for two and a half years as a jazz and cabaret critic!
Love is Just Around the Corner The Green Room 42 May 4, 2022
In an imaginary world, the secret love child of Mel Tormé and Liza Minnelli would be … Nicolas King. Take all of Mel’s finest gifts of vocal and musical prowess and syncopated rhythm magic, and his real-life mentor Liza’s (and by extension, Judy Garland’s) show biz instincts and pizzazz, and you might wind up with this kid. (Kid? Mr. King, once a child star, is now 30!) Of course, that would not explain his warm and wonderful parental units, Erik and Christina King, who were present for tonight’s show.
Mr. King came to The Green Room 42 dressed in a somewhat conservative dark suit and tie, albeit with a sparkling white dress shirt. The singer also had a kick-ass, make that world class, trio in tow. It would be enough to have Steve Doyle on bass and Daniel Glass on drums. But Tedd Firth on piano means you’re going to get the kind voicings and vamps you rarely get even on the finest of nights in the grandest of clubs (except perhaps from the late Mike Renzi, who Nick was fortunate to work with virtually all of his adult life and even well into the pandemic, virtually).
The evening got off to a late start due to some venue issues, but it was worth the wait for the “Sweetheart of 42nd Street,” as he was announced. At a time when he is “learning contentment, Nick crooned a tune introduced by Liza Minnelli on Broadway in Flora the Red Menace, “Happy Song” (John Kander/Fred Ebb), over Steve Doyle’s walking bass. The song rose to a big finish, setting up a beautiful ballad, “Ask Yourself Why” (Michel Legrand/Alan and Marilyn Bergman). Mr. King often interpolates spoken words and cadences into his songs, something of a Liza-ism, that bring an intimate, almost conversational aspect to his delivery. He has mastered the ability to make every one of them sound the idea just popped into his head.
The young performer announced it was time for “an emotional spring-cleaning song,” really a medley, a cue for a long, spectacular vamp by Tedd Firth that earned its own ovation. “Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most” (Tommy Wolf/Fran Landesman) might have done the trick on its own, but the tonic to this gin was Cole Porter’s “Just One of Those Things.” If anyone should know from emotional spring-cleaning, it’s Cole Porter. This song is nearly always done uptempo, a la Sinatra, but here, with Firth’s sublime assistance, Mr. King sang it very slowly, creating a deep emotional connection, before returning to “Spring” for the final cleanup. Stunning.
Nick’s maternal grandmother, the delightful singer Angela Bacari, announced from the crowd, “I think you’re going to need this!” and brought a cocktail to the stage. Nick demurred, saying he couldn’t possibly drink and sing — before taking a little taste and putting the drink on a chair for an “ode to a glass.” It was a set-up, of course, and a fun one. Nick went into “A Little Taste,” the witty, Dave Frishberg jazz standard with lines like “In my condition, this is a risky proposition” and “It’s a sedation, good for a sticky situation.”
A wonderful and surprising treat was found in, of all things, “Hit Me Baby One More Time” (Max Martin). Yes, the Britney Spears debut pop hit from her first album. No, seriously! Here, Nick dismissed Tedd Firth and sat at the piano. He somehow made this piece of pop fluff into an interesting song. Better yet, after a smooth transition from the piano while Tedd slipped back onto the piano bench, he did a scat solo!
Mr. King sang “You are There”(Johnny Mandel/Dave Frishberg), a song dedicated to the late Mike Renzi, who died suddenly in September 2021.
My dearest dream is gone. I often think there’s just one thing to do. Pretend the dream is true, and tell myself that you … are there.
The star was visibly affected by these lyrics. It was a lovely musical eulogy.
The jazz highlight of the night was “Pick Yourself Up” (Jerome Kern/Dorothy Fields), a song introduced by Fred Astaire in Swing Time in 1936. Going for baroque, so to speak, Mr. King borrowed the entirety of Mel Tormé’s sensational arrangement Tormé created with George Shearing, including the spoken introduction of the Swing Time plot and the Bach-like fugue piano and scat parts originally improvised by Tormé. There are few singers or pianists around today who could pull this off (although, of course, John Colianni, who, like Shearing and Renzi, played the piece with Tormé for years, is still active)
To set up Songheim’s “Children Will Listen” from Into the Woods, Mr. King recited an ancient Greek proverb worth, repeating here. “A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.” They just might listen, if they heard Nicolas King tell them in song. Somewhat ironically, it may have been the opening night of a two-week run of Into the Woods at City Center, along with Ken Page’s simultaneous show near that venue, that made for a sparser than usual crowd for a Nicolas King show, although it was also livestreamed to many more customers.
The evening’s ”faux finale” was the title song, “Love is Just Around the Corner,” where Mr. King let loose with an Ella Fitzgerald/Mel Tormé-like succession of countless great musical quotes.
The encore was a gorgeous, sensitive interpretation of “A Time for Love” (Johnny Mandel/Paul Francis Webster) that earned a second standing ovation for Mr. King.
Nicolas King is a terrific powerhouse of an entertainer. He makes everything look effortless, but you can trust that it takes a lot of hard work to make it look that easy.
For 1922, I continued my new writing gig as a reviewer of jazz and cabaret shows, primarily for Theater Pizzazz. I wrote a total of 100 reviews, with one being pulled from the publication but later posted here on The Boulevardier. I also wrote a number of reviews for Broadway World and NiteLife Exchange. Reviews for those publications are indicated in parentheses.
In 2021, I reviewed a total of 44 shows for Theater Pizzazz, with two more that were not published except here on The Boulevardier. Those reviews can be found on this post: bit.ly/MyTPreviews.
Each month, I will update this page with the review list. The linkable titles are for completed reviews. Any others (in italics) are shows I’ve seen but for which I have not yet submitted the review.
In 2021, I became a reviewer of jazz and cabaret shows for Theater Pizzazz. I reviewed a total of 44 shows for the publication, one of which was too late for publication and another which was superseded by another reviewer who was inadvertently assigned to the same show and submitted his ahead of mine.
I’m very proud of this achievement. I’ve had the opportunity to review many artists I know and love personally, or are fans of, as well as take on many challenges to write about performers with whom I was completely unfamiliar. All of this – 42 published reviews — in less than four months.
The two unpublished reviews, an early practice review, and a review for a Facebook group I co-manage can be found in this blog. Here is a list of all 42 published reviews by artist and the date of the show. I’ve connected direct links to each of the reviews listed.
Back in 1977, I saw the comedian Robert Klein when he came to the University of Maryland for a show. I can still remember many details of it. But most of all, I remember the opening act. A huge fellow waddled across the stage, wearing overalls, possibly weighing close to 300 pounds, though my memory might be playing tricks, as he does not look nearly that heavy on his album cover. The audience did not know who he was – he was not introduced – and some people laughed at his appearance, which saddened me. He looked like he might be the maintenance man or a piano tuner, if played by Oliver Hardy. Then he sat down at the piano, to everyone’s surprise. He played and sang. When he opened his mouth to sing, I was mesmerized. He also accompanied himself on guitar for a few songs. He played both instruments with great skill. And I loved his voice and his songs. He was funny and self-deprecating. After the show, I went straight to the record store in the Student Union and bought his album, “A Simpler Time,” on A&M Records. Many other students did the same. I thought for sure he would be a big star. I must have played this record hundreds of times, and I can still hear “Oooh, I’ve got no lights. Oooh, I’ve got no heat,” whenever I’ve lost power or heat. And I know “I’ve been down this road before,” and that has been a very pleasant earworm when it hits me.
Despite my expectation that Katakis would be the next Billy Joel, I never heard of him again. Some years ago, after many attempts to find out what became of him, I discovered he had become a successful “writer who also takes photographs,” a professor of Native American literature, and more, in a career lasting more than four decades. He’s no longer that huge fellow I saw in 1977, either. Katakis has published a number of titles, including a spectacular book of his journeys around the world, Photographs and Words. And he manages the literary estate of Ernest Hemingway! I found his email and wrote him a letter to acknowledge him and ask what happened to his music career. Weeks later, he found the email in his spam folder and wrote me back. I learned that he quit the music business maybe a year after this show, just disgusted with it. He was really thrilled and appreciative to learn he had made such an impact in his short time making music. He had to read the letter to his wife. It was, I suppose, his “Moonlight Graham” (Field of Dreams) moment. “You were good, Doc!”
The album is long out of print. And nothing in any of Katakis’s bios even mentions his early career. After many years, someone in Japan finally had the good sense to put the album on YouTube. It is, in fact, the soundtrack to a video of the actual album playing on a turntable, and it sounds pristine. I’m perhaps as moved today as I was some 44 years ago. And wondering if I or a wise reader of this post can possibly cover a couple of these lost tunes, which deserve another day in the sun.
