For our first album spotlight, here's a very new musical based on an old play. Then, golden oldies from the Great White Way's rich year of 1928.

GOLDEN BOY OF THE BLUE RIDGE
2009 NEW YORK CAST RECORDING
Great White Wax, Inc.

There's more to the new country-flavored musical Golden Boy of the Blue Ridge than just hootin' and hollerin', harmony and banjo-picking. Sure, that's the overwhelming rush of sound and sensibility with this kind of high-energy backwoods foray, jumping in higher than waist-deep. Songs are growled and howled and crooned with a drawl by good ol' mountain folk, with backwoods accents and selective use of grammar rules and common sense. But there's some mighty fine musical theatre stuff as well.

Using the 1907 play Playboy of the Western World by J.M. Synge as its basis, Golden Boy of the Blue Ridge follows the plot a lot, but sets the action in another time and place, and that decision may create some musical style claustrophobia/over-emphasis on style and gleeful fiddling around (in both senses) for some. The play has previously seen different musicalizations, including the recorded score Christy and a couple of musical theatre adaptations in recent years, and an opera. As the musical Lone Star Love proved when it similarly took Shakespeare for refreshing, reinvigorated retread, this can work pretty well as a change of pace. In that case, it was a very merry Merry Wives of Windsor highjack with high jinks, proving the classics can be flexible and fun, traveling the path to musicalization and relocation with country-western jamboree good times. The cast performs this high-energy piece with relish, with occasional surprising dashes of pathos that hit you suddenly or sneak up on you.

Catchy and zingy, broad and cartoonish at times—and satisfyingly so—there's also, remaining from the original, a bit of food for thought should you choose to pause and chew on it. We can consider how human nature remains human nature in any time and place or with whatever accent and vocabulary it's sung about here. Beyond the humor and playfulness, there are reactions to limited life options in the story and the appeal of a wild, daring, dangerous spirit. Additionally, there is the difference between what is imagined or surmised and in-your-face reality of violence. But all that takes some pause for reflection, and there's not much pausing or slowing down on this cast album of mostly snappy, saucy showpieces. (The attractive title song, however, is an exception, allowing for plaintiveness and bittersweet longing.)

With music and lyrics by the gifted Peter Mills (Illyria, The Flood) from The Prospect Theater Company, there is much craft—with character-specific points of view and tangy melodies. Much fun is had with characters' limited experiences and perspective, making them seem dumber than a box of dirt and/or endearingly dim. This is definitely an ensemble piece; in the text on the packaging where they list the singing credits (and not much else), you'll see the words "& Company" on about half of the tracks. Band members also sing. It's not just additional vocals and harmonies as the equivalent of an anonymous Greek chorus—they play characters, too. It's a hoot when, in "Wanted Man," three male members of the band take on the roles of gossipy, fired-up, riled-up female townsfolk attracted by the wild spirit of the stranger who's come to town proclaiming that he's just killed someone in a justified (he says) rage. Surprise!—he's intriguing and sympathetic and maybe the eligible bachelor worth pursuing and protecting and dumping your intended for. Mark Mozingo makes the character, by turns, hilariously dopey-sweet, determined, sympathetic and hopeful, depending on the shifting perspective and plot turns and revelations. He hardly ever overplays his hand or seems manipulative, though such a road could be tempting.

It took me a while to be pulled in, but that may be because I find the opening number the weakest and least interesting and most repetitive. It's a reaction that has not changed upon repeat listenings—it drags on and I felt like someone was too obviously trying to pull me in into its hard-working, self-satisfied no-apologies world. I also found myself resisting the hard sell of another (heavier) kind in "Grist for the Mill." But, mostly, the grist for Mills's songsmithing talent is well used: human foibles and folly, the strengths and themes of the source material, irony, the element of surprise—and his own reservoir of language and musical colors. Wit and heart are provided in strong enough doses to make this is a recommended score by an increasingly important, impressive, versatile musical theatre artist. How can you not love a guy who rhymes "bludgeon" with "curmudgeon" (and more) when setting out the tale of a grisly crime without turning your attention or stomach? There's the contrast of employing simple stuff for expressions of simple-minded logic of one person and then showier displays of songwriting skill and high polish. In the latter category, there's a group that chimes in to discuss various crimes zipping through multiple rhymes, in machine-gun style sometimes. It's delicious. When we first run into the self-professed man on the run, what fun to have him forget the actual name of the crime and show his limited understanding so an observer can sarcastically comment that they can eliminate any chance that the term "criminal mastermind" has been applied to him. And, when his rival for milady's affections cautiously approaches him in a song with a proposal to leave town via a "First-Class Ticket," he self-interrupts his opening line with a nervous "Don't hurt me" (also serving to later rhyme with "desert me" about another worry).

In its music and mindset, Golden Boy of the Blue Ridge may be too one-color for some theatre fans. Give it a chance and give your mind a chance to switch gears to "befriend" the simpler-minded residents. As the old movie dialogue cliche line goes, "There's gold in them there hills."

THE BROADWAY MUSICALS OF 1928
THE TOWN HALL (NYC) CONCERT CAST
Original Cast Records

Certainly it seems that the end of the 1920s was an early but definite part of the "Golden Age" of Broadway. Look back and be amazed, not at just what songs have survived to be loved and not left behind, like "Love Me or Leave Me" in 1928, a year that could give us "I Can't Give You Anything But Love," but the sheer number of shows with stars and splash opening in quick succession, successfully or not, in twelve months. The concert of The Broadway Musicals of 1928 from the Broadway by the Year series is ample evidence of that golden time when, for example, Cole Porter and George M. Cohan unveiled new scores and Rodgers & Hart had three shows in that single season—and Rodgers' future partner for another golden age had the smash operetta The New Moon as well as the "ambitious failure" of the grand-scaled Rainbow, and he took over directing as well. The great Marx Brothers graced the Great White Way their way before going Hollywood for good. "Hello, I Must Be Going" from their Animal Crackers is just one of the treats in this jam-packed gem of a CD that actually is only a small slice of the prolific year before the Great Depression made producers wake up and smell the economic coffee.

But meanwhile, "You're the Cream in My Coffee" and other ditties were among the cream of the crop of Broadway's new songs. That number is performed with grace and breezy, easygoing charm by song-and-dance man Jeffry Denman, an example of the event wisely matching vintage material of a certain stripe and character to a current-day musical theatre performer. Sometimes this is no-brainer type-casting, like tapping into Denman's dance skills and charm factor, and Eddie Korbich channeling another Eddie—Eddie Cantor—making ham with "Makin' Whoopee" (maybe too much honing close to the original treatment here to be a real treat). Then there's the reliably on-target Nancy Anderson—who has proved herself to be the very model of a modern 1920s flapper girl—doing Helen Kane's boop-boop-a-doop kewpie doll cutesy bit for "I Wanna Be Loved by You." She's also ideally winsome and to the point with Cohan's title song to Billie, acing its graceful melody.

Here and there, performers get to stretch and show another color. Country recording artist Lari White (picked to throw her cowgirl hat into the ring for the recent Broadway Johnny Cash show Ring of Fire) shows her versatility with the torchy "Love Me or Leave Me" and a different—but also dead-serious—plea, "Lover, Come Back to Me" from the Romberg/Hammerstein operetta. Cabaret performer Lumiri Tubo does well by "Got Myself Another Jockey Now," not overdoing the vamp or camp factor, but making it as much sweet as saucy. Max von Essen perhaps shows the most range here, with a big-voiced "Why Must We Always Be Dreaming?" (Rosalie) and lighter items, too, like being part of a trio for "My Wife Is on a Diet." A real showman, Paul Schoeffler has a real tour de force with the funny voices and schtick appropriate for "Ever Since the Movies Learned to Talk" about the then-new concept of spoken dialogue on a movie soundtrack and some silent screen stars not up to the task of sounding like their image or having a pleasant voice. It's a highlight in the humor category.

This is a strong CD with the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" familiar formula from the series—mostly the best-remembered songs with a smattering of the more obscure rewarding dusted off and something sung off-mic and a a lively dance number or two. Ballads and razzle dazzle, laments and lightheartedness, the Ross Patterson band breezing along and giving scaled-down essences of musical comedy pizzazz or tenderness. And there's a solid cast, different kinds of voices so they aren't clones of each other, with historical commentary and perspective by host/creator Scott Siegel.

An extra added idea for this 2007 concert was the presence of Bob Martin in his character of Man In Chair from the then-running The Drowsy Chaperone, a natural match since it is about a (pretend) musical comedy of that time. Though he appeared for banter throughout the evening, just his opening comments are included. It's intentionally dorky—in character—but loses something without the visual impact and facial expressions as he dwells on turning off cell phones (he harps on the idea that cell phones should be just for drug dealers) and, besides, it's 1928.

Sound quality and consistency of volume and ambiance is quite good on this recording, with only the occasional briefest snag or blip. It's one of the strongest of the recent issues in the worthwhile history of these CDs. Though the By the Year series is on hiatus for the summer, its cousin-like Broadway Cabaret Festival is taking up residence at The Town Hall on Mondays this month. Meanwhile, this is a nice taste of old Broadway.

- Rob Lester

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