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First up: the cast album for Vanities, a three-character musical, which played in Los Angeles and then this summer Off-Broadway with the same trio of actresses. Then, two reissues that may jog your memories or be new to you, featuring stars who've graced musical theatre stages: a collection of Mary Martin projects from the 1950s and a walk down memory lane with Dame Cleo Laine becoming the writer Colette in the musical by her husband, Sir John Dankworth.
The three cheerleaders cheering each other on in Vanities find plenty to cheer about when they're in high school and the present and future seemed something they could pretty much control. Happiness, husbands and having it all are on their "to do" lists, ready to be checked off. But, as someone once said, life is what happens while you're making other plans. In one song, they realize that they don't have the map for all their journeys. Things go from cheery to weary, the spark in their eyes turns to glares and dazed looks as things progress over the years. A lot of that comes through on the CD through the songs; we don't hear much of the dialogue which Jack Heifner adapted from his original play. A plot synopsis included in the booklet is helpful. There is plenty of energy, but things too often seem to be stuck in stereotypes, striking attitudes and parading platitudes and sound bites of lessons learned when we don't get to see the "aha!' moment or moment of truth. After the set-up, we meet the characters as teens in 1963 and things are pretty perky and peppy and innocent. The giddy glee could be grating, their myopia tedious if the prologue or previous experience with the play or supposition didn't give us reason to know things will change. David Kirshenbaum's music and lyrics achieve some of the same things they did (even more so and more movingly) in Summer of '42. They take an affectionate and sympathetic look at young people and their bonding, show their understandably narrow vision in a way that is not judgmental or too "knowing." The choices made evoke our understanding and make us come back to our own coming of age. Here, the characters are not as fleshed out, quirky or touching, unfortunately. The three women and the songs all become more interesting as time marches on. I wish there were more depth and drama and detail throughout. On the plus side, the music and orchestrations and some choices of language take advantage of suggesting the 1960s and 1970s in which scenes are set without becoming pure pastiche/gimmicky. It's more of a reference point and reminder. Musical themes are returned to as things flash forward to the next chapter, with lyrics very different to show how perspectives and goals have changed ("Setting Your Sights") or how "The Organized Life" becomes unraveled. As Kathy, Anneliese van der Pol gets to sing the best character arc, and is especially effective with the pained yet wistful "Cute Boys with Short Haircuts" and the later musings on "An Organized Life." Because Kathy is so darned chipper and on top of things in her younger days (if annoyingly so, perhaps), the payoff of the contrast and crash and burn is moving and tragic. Van der Pol portrays the loser winningly. Lauren Kennedy displays some of the dynamic zing and brio she's brought to other ventures, with an appealing openness and zest that successfully offset much of her character's less attractive qualities. Especially with this audio-only experience, Sarah Stiles has somewhat of an uphill battle with the more gratingly nasal and strident passages and a driving pop-beat accompaniment. She surmounts some of that, and that is effective in its own way as an appropriate presentation. But more subtlety all around—voices and accompaniment—would have been advantageous. There might be more time for reflection rather than the reminders that, seeing their own reflections in those vanity mirrors, the three don't often see much more. But even if the characters aren't seeing as much or as deeply, and the lyrics reflect that, the words are set to some ingratiating melodies. Even the sugary spunky ones can get under your skin. We get some of the underlying humanity beyond the vanity in the characters from this cast recording.
The announcement of a reissue of recordings by the great musical theatre star Mary Martin was music to my ears. Beyond her iconic stage roles preserved on cast albums and reissued over the years, she was involved in other projects that brought her into recording studios, into our homes via television, and into our hearts and memories. Just before the star took the veil to settle in for work on Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein's The Sound of Music, shepherding that cluster of kiddies, she did a tour of concerts for young people, recorded it during the New York stop, and brought the material to TV. Rodgers' music was at the center: father and daughters, with the then-quite-recent Rodgers & Hammerstein TV score of Cinderella and a delightful set of songs by Rodgers' daughters Mary and Linda that introduces children to the orchestra, the role of the composer, and audience etiquette. We get all that here, plus her album of standards that had three more Richard Rodgers tunes among them (older ones, from the Rodgers & Hart period) and two single 45 rpm record releases. It's a harvest of happiness with Mary merry or breezy-bright, peppy or placid. Her trademark optimism flows, cock-eyed or otherwise. Historical notes and photos bring non-fans up to speed for the speed-through of music to come. The one-woman recapitulation of Cinderella starts things off. Mary greets listeners in the role of storyteller, introducing herself as the fairy godmother but later singing from the point of view of Cinderella and her prince. Accompanied by background music from the score, she narrates throughout, setting up the moods and a handful of the major songs (some abridged). Frothy cheer overflows as this well-cast motherly fairy godmother seems well-stocked with magic powers to make that "Impossible!" dream come true and get the ball rolling. It's definitely addressed to kids and includes her instructions for calling out the answer to her repeated spoken question,"Does it fit?" as she gets to the part about various ladies trying on the glass slipper. But the songs themselves are a good fit for the Martin persona and she was in good voice, selling the romance and fantasy. This CliffsNotes treatment of the story is brisk, though, skating over the surface smoothly, without lingering over the longing that might be found "In My Own Little Corner" or the confusion in "Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful?" Three to Make Music is a child's eye-opener to music in the concert hall, the "three" needed participants being not just those who play the music but those who wrote it and those who hear it. The audience-behavior lessons about being respectful and still are still relevant, as many more polite and more annoyed theatregoers know all too well. The sung explanation of the unique qualities of each section of the orchestra is rich in melody and rhyming, with impressive and charming work that holds up well. Though Richard Rodgers' daughter Mary would have success as a composer, notably with Once Upon a Mattress, here she did the lyrics to sister Linda's fleet, sweet melodies. In dialogue, Miss Martin interacts with the character of an inquisitive clown who clearly didn't take Music 101. As one Mary sings the other Mary's words, we are transported back to when we all first discovered the joys of music and also appreciated its magic and mystery and how it's made, without any heavy analysis, with much fresher ears. There's an innocence and enthusiasm to this section—and of course in Cinderella—that is endearing and hopefully the joy doesn't cloy. One thing that gives this away as being from another generation is that, throughout the song cycle, a composer and musicians are always referred to as "the man" or "the men" ... particularly striking when the writers were women. The CD segues into more grown-up fare with the A Musical Love Story section, which was an entire LP of standards. One song purposely blends into the next. There are 17 numbers but this is no lengthy marathon of love, as only four of the numbers run longer than two minutes! Although the singing is more than fine, and the accompaniment features varied instruments in the spotlight (vibes, guitar, etc.), the "story" concept is not deftly handled. Although one song is set up to blend into the next, it sometimes feels like more of a bumping-into. Sometimes it's just a continuation of mood, other times it's a common word joining them. For example, "Too Marvelous for Words" segues into another adjective-stuffed classic, the Gershwins' "'S Wonderful" because it happens to have the word "marvelous" in it. To achieve the allusion, the chorus's first two lines are reversed. "You Stepped Out of a Dream" and "Love Walked In" are paired because both refer to similar actions; "Where or When" is sung with feeling and its "aha!" moment for these purposes comes where and when there's a chance to slip into another ballad with the word "when" in its lyric, "I'm in the Mood for Love." Love in its most contented, cozy mood is almost the only one here. You might expect that a title like "A Musical Love Story" would suggest we'd start with a first meeting of two people, growing affection, a deepening of feelings, maybe trouble in paradise and reconciliation. Drama, anyone? Logical progression? Nope. So, just think of it as a big ol' love song medley with mostly the same flavor, and a sweet flavor it is. (It's Mary Martin, after all.) Variety comes more from instrumentation and tempo, as there are some jaunty rides and then the vehicle returns again to park in Lover's Lane. In a few rewarding spots, like the beginning of "The Song Is You" (a pre-Rodgers period Hammerstein lyric with the indestructible Kern melody), there's some depth and delicacy in the phrasing. The gear switch comes mid-song, however. This can be frustrating, but even tantalizing and brief tastes of the Martin style are worth the sampling. Once one adjusts to and accepts the whirlwind tour idea, it's a pleasure to hear the familiar voice on these familiar songs, the final result feeling still somehow like old friends. Following this montage of music, there's a full-length song called "Boy Wanted." It's not the 1921 Gershwin item of the same title, but a real rarity. Mary Martin was cast in a 1956 TV version of the non-musical play Born Yesterday, and this custom-made bit of insouciance was written as a P.S. played over the closing credits. The lyricist is the play's writer, Garson Kanin, and the music is by pianist Joe Bushkin. The spry and sprightly little romp, similar in concept to the Gershwin lyric using the language of a classified ad for a romantic partner with or without "experience," is a real find. The generous-length CD ends with the number that shot Martin to stardom back in the 1930s, Cole Porter's "My Heart Belongs to Daddy," recorded years later. It's the whipped cream on the top of a delicious triple-layer cake of Martin memories, well worth the tasting and savoring. This CD will be available at Amazon on March 9, but is available now at Footlight.
In a strange coincidence, the CD issue of the cast album of Colette comes back to the marketplace just days after the death of Britain's jazz master, saxophonist and composer Sir John Dankworth, who wrote the music and lyrics, also the musical director and arranger and producer of the original record now wonderfully remastered for CD. Prior to its brief London run, the show had premiered at The Stables Theatre, Wavendon, the venue that was set up and nurtured by him and his wife, Colette's star, Cleo Laine. It was her idea to present the colorful French author through song, and it was created for her. That production was just at the midpoint in the history of the theatre which this month had its 40th anniversary gala celebration of this landmark; Cleo Laine and her children went onstage to perform, though the audience did not know until evening's end that it was at the request of Dankworth and that he had died that very afternoon. But my fondness for this material began years ago when I got the original vinyl souvenir of this skillful, underappreciated score, performed with great style. As a fan of the prodigiously gifted veteran singer at the center and specifically her many collaborations with her husband, I felt I would probably be in good hands. I was. The score has many riches but takes some attentive listening to really "get it" all, as it is a mix of tones that don't instantly coalesce into one coherent picture. The lack of detailed notes or plot synopsis is no help. One number is in a music hall, rambunctious style, another feels like a delicate, elusive piece and another is very much universal musical comedy in its most chipper or uber-"charm" mode, another feels like a poetic interior monologue. Whatever the whole versus sum-of-the-parts debate we might concoct belatedly, I'll just say that I think there's plenty to admire and relish. Polished and professional, with some showstopping splash, it still feels like something other than commercial and occasionally feels like it's trying too hard to stay in the mold of old. ("You've Got to Do What You've Got to Do" starts to seem too, too dumbed-down calculated and makes the title character seem too determined to be determined. But, at the end when Cleo finally pulls out her trump card of stratospheric singing for a dazzling end, all is almost forgiven.) Most of the other numbers feel more effortless in their slyness, validation of an independent spirit and deliciously devilish no-apology-needed posturing. Cleo, already many years into a celebrated career, is at the top of her game as singer and actress. She owns the material and struts her stuff, able to convey the assertiveness and pull back to show vulnerability and glow as incandescently as the treasured "little blue lamp" she rhapsodizes about in her "Little Red Room," the writer's sanctuary. Her acing the whirlwind of rhymes in the splashily energized, name-dropping "Paree!" is grand to behold (" ... Proust, whom she probably seduced ..."). The ode to the not-to-be-underestimated value of make-up as a reliable tool, "A Little Touch of Powder," is more than a little touch of terrific. But there's a read-between-the-lines thing going on as such songs suggest another agenda of battles not won without price or regret. As happened in the big London revival of Show Boat, Cleo has Kenneth Nelson in the cast. There's showy and slinky work at hand by this performer who made his mark in such shows as Seventeen and The Fantasticks, where he was the Boy in the original cast (and later a very different Boy as Michael in the New York, London and film versions of The Boys in the Band). Here, he also shows his versatility by playing the different men in Colette's storied life. As a less-than-selfless, less-than-modest cad, his colors come through immediately in his material, starting with the oh-so-braggadocio "I'm Special." The two are at their best with their duet "We'll Stick Together." It's set up by the fed-up Colette's ranting announcement that she is leaving him, but for appearances they need to pretend all is hunky-dory, and the main part of the song is a bouncy-tuned declaration of eternal perfectly-matched devotion. With the stated underlying animosity, it's laced with poison as they sing through gritted teeth maniacally, never losing the ever-perky strains of the music. What a knockout! Maybe this neither-fish-nor-fowl score will puzzle some. Just when you think it's a bit esoteric and sophisticated, it gets blatantly bombastic. Just when you think we've returned to familiar ground of vaudevillian showpieces, things turned arty or sad. Maybe that's what happens when a jazz person writes a musical for a star who can do it all. But why worry about categorizing or even consistency two decades later? Why not enjoy Colette for what it is, and what it is—is kind of wonderful.
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VANITIES
MARY MARTIN
COLETTE
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