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Hindsight, patience, new perspectives, advances in recording technology, non-original cast but wonderful casting ... These can all be good things for new albums of songs from musical theater, unless you're one of those who only want the original cast and think nothing can compete or be true to the intentions of the creators. Evidence to put forth: here are today's bright Broadway stars on record for three projects—a full-length version of a historically important show only previously recorded in a very abridged version; more history with a look back at Broadway songs from 1930; and, last, a family musical that has been around for over a decade but had never been recorded.
Welcome home, missing pieces; now it all makes sense. If you're familiar with Rodgers & Hammerstein's score for Allegro only through its only other recorded version, taken from ten 78 rpm record sides totaling 33 minutes, the new 2-CD set will be a revelation. It's surely a cause for celebration: not only because it is historic, an important brick in the house that Rodgers and Hammerstein built, but also because it's been done so very, very well. Although you may have read about the ambitious goals of this early "concept musical" with its innovations, serious tone and exploration of human values, listening to the 1947 album gave little sense of that. It often felt just brisk when it might have been invigorating, preachy and stuffy when it might have been moving and, to use medication terms for this saga of a doctor, it was generic but not the strong medicine that the prescription called for. Now, like long-lost relatives we'd only heard stories about, we meet the rest of the family of this score and what a wonderful family reunion. Context at last! Many more colors come into the picture. This is not simply due to the fact that there had been much previously unrecorded, but a lot of that was the more serious and some sarcastic moments. It was the sugar and apple pie that had been left in the plate. The Greek chorus convention is established and returns throughout, musical themes repeat and develop and, with some bits of dialogue, we start to understand our Everyman character and his struggles with growing up and making decisions. The scenes of college days are great fun, bringing out the ups and downs of being away at school, with the ingratiating college sequences (featuring a sprightly and memorable section whose lyric begins, "It's a darn nice campus...") and cameos by some theatre personalities in spoken roles. (I get a kick hearing Howard Kissel and John Simon cast as professors spouting facts and theories.) An extended sequence of the title song, with dance music, brings out its message about life moving too frantically fast and furiously and it now feels like a psychological study and social commentary rather than a mere pep rally. We see our hero "warts and all," human rather than idealized, sung with conviction by Patrick Wilson and the perspective on him changes as he is seen through the eyes of the various women in his life, played by Marni Nixon (as his supportive grandmother), Laura Benanti, Judy Kuhn and Liz Callaway. Each shines and brings a different sensibility and vocal tone. Full of character and quirky nuances, they come to life. Only Judy Kuhn seems too constricted in a more formal style, given the ballad "So Far," she sings the melody line with a rich and glorious voice. As his warm and wise mother, Audra McDonald enriches the tapestry of the piece. This happens in big, sunny ways like her burnishing and enriching some simple words in the convincing plea to "Come Home." It also happens in small moments, such as her adding a dollop of implied eye-rolling and personal experience on the line in "A Fella Needs a Girl" about how a patient woman at a man's side has to "listen to him talk." There is so much to revel in here: loving care and attention to detail, and a glorious, big orchestra (recorded on another continent and in a different years than the vocals, but it all flows like a perfectly partnered dance). Larry Blank conducts with the original Robert Russell Bennett orchestrations and Trude Rittmann's dance arrangements. The sound is superb. Look for strong ensemble work, with individual voices standing out and some delicious bits of comedy and pointed asides. It's a treat to have Norbert Leo Butz as the somewhat snide college pal, and Georga Osborne, also a strong soprano, stands out as a frazzled insomniac seeking a doctor and some shut-eye. After letting more than sixty years of water go under the bridge, we need not whine any more that not every show with music by Rodgers and lyrics and book by Hammerstein is their caviar. Allegro is far better than chopped liver, even even though some 1947 lines recall earlier work or foreshadow what was to come, perhaps unavoidably. Perspective and history are given in a generous booklet, with an essay by the original 1947 rehearsal production assistant—a college kid interested in musical theatre named Stephen Sondheim, who has a little spoken piece in a key moment. The booklet has all the text and some photos from the original show. Young doctor seeks meaning in life and true love and direction, finds the true values of home and helping ... Some may feel the corn is as high as an elephant's eye, and just a bit too pat, overly pedantic or romantic, but I don't think you can deny that it is rich in detail and richly sung; for my money, we are richer for having it in all its glory and glorious completeness. This Allegro is a must, not just for the collector/completist, but for anyone who is interested in the classic Broadway style of integrated musicals by the guys who helped invent it. It's full of invention.
It's 1930 all over again—or at least 2006 all over again, as we revisit a concert from March of 2006 that salutes the songs introduced on Broadway in 1930. In Broadway Musicals of 1930, part of the ongoing Broadway by the Year concert series at The Town Hall and its resultant live albums, we are bound to be dealing with the period that has new contemporary relevance: the time of the country being in an economic downturn. Certainly this disc brings songs of cheer and perspective. There are references to the Depression era throughout series creator-host Scott Siegel's narration, with a low quotient of juicy anecdotes and snappy patter this time around. He toasts the talents of writers and performers, and they in turn optimistically urge us to see the champagne glass as half full. This is done successfully with Miles Phillips' jaunt "On the Sunny Side of the Street," starting off slowly cajoling and then becoming catchy as tempo picks up with the spirits, while selections from the encouragingly titled Smiles are more downbeat. There are also some disappointments, especially in terms of shrill vocal moments and a few lackluster or tentative performances of famous songs. However, with a generous 22 tracks, a few misses doesn't mean a deal-breaker or make the Depression more depressing; the batting average is pretty good. Recalling the actual performance, there were some strong-impact moments of chemistry and comedy that don't translate to CD. Michael Winther's impressive off-mic vocal heft, defiance and acting skill are displayed in a number that takes a tough stance to address the tough times of the times. It was the title song of a revue called Who Cares, not to be confused with the more famous and breezier song by the Gershwins—those famous songwriting brothers are represented by two shows of 1930. There is the title song of their satire sequel Strike Up the Band, and several selections from their big hit Girl Crazy which decades later morphed, sort of, into Crazy for You. Rather than giving the plum assignment of deciding who got "I Got Rhythm," Scott lets it introduce the show and cast members as they each enter singing: "I got rhythm, I got music, I got my man, who could ask for anything more?" Well, since you asked, maybe we could ask for better sound quality. It's a little muddy in spots early on the CD, but things clear up. Some chances are taken and only some work; certainly there are some idiosyncratic stylizations and performance styles. Mary Testa is sometimes in lioness mode, biting into lines and consonants with ferocity, especially in group numbers and one solo where it is a testament to Testa talent (or is it desperation?) that she makes a rather nonspecific love lament have so much bite ("He Came Along," by Vincent Youmans and Harold Adamson, cut from Smiles). Her "I Happen to Like New York" is more restrained and more effective as she avoids the trap of relying on the sing-song and build in the structure of this piece, as some singers have. Nancy Anderson is the ideal 1930s idol, the era's singing style being one of her strong suits, and she captures the flavor and sensibility, but it will be déjà vu ingénue for her fans who have her only solo CD, Ten Cents a Dance because she was given two of its numbers as her only solos: a Girl Crazy girl's sorrow "But Not for Me," and the title number of her album, that Lorenz Hart lyric of lament with the melody by Richard Rodgers. Marc Kudisch, a regular in the Broadway by the Year shows, is usually handed the splashy, show-offy number(s) or the spotlight is put on his grand vocal stylizing. This time, it's different and I hope you will be as impressed as I was as he shows his quieter, sensitive side with introspective and vulnerability in a Schwartz and Dietz number, "Right at the Start of It." Fortunately, the director knew he had the versatility needed (and he should: Marc Kudisch was the director). The year had its big hits and forgotten or fuzzy memories—two quirky cutie-pie, never-destined-to-be-standards called "If I Were You, Love (I'd Jump in the Lake)," sung by Deven May with cheekiness and cheer, and "I've Got a Bug in My Head" for Celia Keenan-Bolger's adorable charms. Getting back to the Gershwin songbook, Emily Skinner delivers her welcome honeyed sounds and some romantic reveling in "I've Got a Crush on You," quite the opposite of the strident post-flapper too-bubbly "Barbary Coast" in ultra golly-gee glee mode. Much will depend on your preference for traditional or non. Especially intriguing is a laser beam-focused, angsty interiorized reading by Douglas Ladnier that is riveting on "Body and Soul," given its strength and length (a bit over five minutes, not counting what, to me, was well-deserved big applause). The body and maybe soul sold by the character in Cole Porter's once radio-banned "Love for Sale" is shared by three of the women (Celia, Nancy, Emily), giving you three streetwalkers for the price of one, so to speak. This edition of the series may not allow me to "get happy" quite as much as usual, but even tracks that go a bit off track for me have some partially redeeming section or value. This has been a marvelous series which hopscotches among decades in a season and I look forward to Monday, March 30, for the next in the concert programs—saluting the year 1931.
Having a soft spot for children's theatre and childhood perspectives in general helps in appreciating Dear Edwina. I have that soft spot (very soft and deeply felt), but this spiffy, spunky CD is so amusing and loveably good-hearted that I think it has a slightly broader appeal. For fans of contemporary musical theatre performers, there's even more of a reason to raise an eyebrow and take a listen—because the kid characters are played by a bunch of grown-up singers with Broadway and Broadway cast albums on their resumes, including the vibrant-voiced Andréa Burns (In the Heights), a devilishly broad Terrence Mann and the ever-youthfully plucky Kerry Butler as the title character, an advice-spouting young girl. The plot, such as it is, involves Edwina putting on a show and answering letters from kids, mostly related in some way to the topic of manners. Thankfully, it's all done with considerable panache and good humor and a variety of musical styles, sometimes inspired by the nationality of the letter-writer or a whim. A grand French-accented lesson in the importance of knowing we should always "R.S.V.P." when receiving an invitation is in the exuberant big production number zippiness of "Be Our Guest" from Beauty and the Beast, building and bubbling over with fun. Danny Burstein hams it up in the best possible, as a character named Jean-Pierre Fromage de la Croissant. C'est magnifique. There are elements of the story, explained in liner notes but not obvious from just hearing the songs, which feel episodic, like an etiquette book set to music, chapter by chapter. Lessons learned (hopefully)—or at least preached—range from how to set a table to how to set things straight with people who bug you. Frugality and friendliness and "Frankenguest"-fearlessness are addressed. (A Frankenguest is what adults might call the party guest from hell: he's greedy and needy, grabbing food for himself and his companion, his pet snake and generally is obnoxious. The cure? "Pay him no attention when he acts like a jerk.") This was the first collaboration between the talented songwriting partners of Zina Goldrich, the composer, and lyricist-bookwriter (and chipper chatty liner notes writer) Marcy Heisler. Each has a character role on the recording and they sing well, with warmth and character. With 16 singers on board, each given at least one juicy moment to take the vocal spotlight, it does feel like a lot of characters to absorb when they don't reappear. From a practical performing standpoint, this is clearly a good ensemble show for groups to do, with plenty of opportunities for character, solo and group work. I would have liked to hear more of Telly Leung as the endearingly wistful boy with a crush on Edwina as well as a singing napkin, and Jeff Blumenkrantz who is a hoot as the aforementioned rotten party guest and also a little kid who's Greek and a bit of a geek named Hephaestus Colossus Melekalikimakadopoulous Swenson. And I wish Rebecca Luker had a more defined character—but that voice is also a joy. She sings a tune about a spoon (and other cutlery). The bouncy, lively, varied score is a pick-me-up you might want to pick up for a kid or someone who is a kid at heart. The music is enhanced by the playing of a band directed by the composer, with herself and the talented Mark Hartman on pianos. (He's currently musical director of Avenue Q—but don't mention puppets to Frankenguest; according to the lyrics, he hates puppets and they can really set him off ... Take my advice—I mean Edwina's). Note: This recording is a studio cast, not the company that performed the show in its very recent run in New York City, nor any other cast. The show is often performed by kids.
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ALLEGRO
THE BROADWAY MUSICALS OF 1930
DEAR EDWINA
