I understand that conductor Edwin Outwater, who directs San Francisco Symphony's summer concerts, went to college with Thomas Lauderdale, who founded and leads the one-of-a-kind group Pink Martini. That relationship is probably why Pink Martini first performed with SF Symphony, several summers ago. They make incredible music together--so damn entertaining, you'll see people dancing in the aisles of Davies Symphony Hall--the reason Pink Martini keeps getting invited back.

I'm not a fan of the Boston Pops approach to music, but this isn't that. Performing on piano, trumpet, trombone, violin, cello, bass, guitar, harp, English horn, and percussion, Pink Martini's musicians are stellar performers all, and the arrangements of its lively, genre-crossing songs are both sophisticated and crowd-pleasing. SF Symphony neither overwhelms "the little orchestra" nor simplifies or fluffs up its own work. It just gets down with the Pink Martini sound and embellishes it.

This is the perfect band for people who love all kinds of music. It's possible even Lauderdale can't keep track of all the different songs this cosmopolitan band has performed on its eight CDs and in concerts from the Royal Albert Hall to the Cannes Film Festival. When the group's longtime lead singer, China Forbes, had to give her vocal chords an immediate break a couple of years ago, her replacement (now co-singer), the glamorous Storm Large, had to learn ten songs in five languages in four days. ("Fortunately, it was not a big deal," Large told us. "It was only for the Kennedy Center.")

Pink Martini performs way off the beaten path songs in Farsi, Turkish, Romanian, Japanese, Spanish, German--and that was just on the evening I saw them. Esoteric as that sounds, the songs often have a foot in pop culture: one that Dinah Shore sang in Farsi (sorry, I missed the name) on her TV show in 1965, celebrating the United Nations with her guest Harry Belafonte; "Üsküdar'a Gider İken," a Turkish folk song recorded by Eartha Kitt; "Ich dich liebe," a tune sung by Mamie van Doren, an American "blonde bombshell" of the 1950s and '60s, in a 1960s German spaghetti western called Freddy und das Lied der Prarie (Freddy and the Song of the Prairie).

Van Doren even performed with Pink Martini a few years ago, one of their many unexpected guests in concerts and on CDs. The guest performers in San Francisco were the von Trapps--yes, four young great-grandchildren of the Captain and Maria--whose contributions ranged from "The Lonely Goatherd" to "Dream a Little Dream," the title song of Pink Martini's latest CD.

Getting us in the mood for the show-closing "Brazil," a song that would get any audience dancing, was "Fernando," from the Swedish band ABBA--which makes an excellent segue to Arrival, a UK-based ABBA tribute band that will join SF Symphony onstage later this month. First, though, come two movie-related concerts: music from all 14 Pixar films and a sing-along version of Grease. After ABBA, actor-singer Cheyenne Jackson and rocker Melissa Etheridge will perform with the summertime symphony. Roll over, Beethoven? Maybe, but I prefer to think he might appreciate the change, and tell Tchaikovsky the news.

July 17-20 (matinee), Pixar in Concert; July 20 (evening), Grease Sing-Along; July 22, Arrival: the Music of ABBA; July 24-25, Hello, Gorgeous! Cheyenne Jackson Goes to the Movies; July 30-31, Melissa Etheridge, Davies Symphony Hall, Grove St. between Van Ness and Franklin, S.F., 415.864.6000, sfsymphony.org.

Cynthia Sitton, Jung's Dream, 2014, oil on linen, 36 x 84 in.

There have been a lot of articles and blogs lately wherein the value of an art education is called into question. People with art degrees can't get jobs in their fields, they are saddled with debt, and galleries are already overloaded with artists. Thousands of art degrees are conferred every year from art schools and art departments across the country, and obviously most of these people are not going to succeed as artists because the world can't hold so many of us. Twenty years after graduating from a major Midwestern university I asked a former professor how many of his students had become true artists over the three decades he'd been teaching. He looked at me sadly, "I'm talking to the only one!" Then he added a couple of others. Only one or two per decade... and he was a great teacher.

I've been teaching painting for nearly twenty years, in or near Los Angeles. I had a short stint at USC, twelve years at Pasadena's Art Center College of Design, and a number of years at Laguna College of Art + Design where I'm currently an associate professor with the MFA and BFA departments. My track record is a little better than my former professor's. I'd estimate at least forty of my former students have become independent working artists, selling work that expresses only their own ideas. The work of some of them populates this blog. Hundreds of other students of mine have gone into illustration, teaching, art direction, animation, publishing, video gaming, set design, and gallery work.


Andrew Hem, Kibas, 2014, mixed media, 24 x 36 in.

This moderate success is not a result of my own teaching, as I'm not as good a teacher as my aforementioned professor was, and there were many other excellent teachers involved in the education of the artists I had the privilege of instructing. However, there are identifiable factors I would like to mention that impact whether an art education will result in a successful career as a fine artist.

Location can impact success. I've taught in a major metropolitan area where there are enough collectors and galleries to support budding art graduates, where there are museums and art centers to codify their achievements, where critics abound to write about them, and successful colleagues are there to inspire and compete with. This doesn't mean you won't be successful if you aren't near a big city, it just makes it easier if you are.


Christopher Slaymaker, Liberated Vulnerability, 2013, oil on canvas, 36 x 36 in.

Connections begin at the school level, and branch out from there. Your fellow students are your first and closest link in this intricate web, and with luck their success will be shared, and vice-versa. A faculty that exhibits in important markets and that is willing to share their hard won art world network helps short-cut the process. Ignore networking and an art career is nearly impossible.

Institutional focus also plays a role in potential success. Rather than an art department that tries to do everything, I teach at a school that aims to produce representational artists. LCAD focuses on the skills required to draw and paint observed reality, and then teaches you to use that toolbox to create meaningful works. There is no institutional conflict or infighting, no conceptual versus abstract versus realist argument. Students graduate with a strong foundation that enables a broad range of expressive and career possibilities.


Timothy Robert Smith, Untitled for Now, 2014, oil on canvas, 48 x 60 in.

For me, identifying those that will succeed has come down to three requirements. First, SKILL. Some of this is inborn, some acquired. You do have to be good at what you do, but this is the least important of these three factors. With hard work you can usually make up for a lack of inborn ability, and the current art world is exceptionally forgiving of the unskilled, even to the point of lionizing clumsiness. I teach skills to representational painters, so I expect a bit more.

The second requirement is a POETIC MIND. You have to think and feel like an artist. Current popular and politically correct opinion holds that everyone is an artist. I disagree. I've seen spectacularly skilled realist painters who simply didn't have the poetic sensibilities necessary for making good art. There is a saying that "you can't teach content," but you can certainly help improve and enrich it. However, without that poetic spark you aren't going to make a meaningful connection to your fellow human beings.

I've had many students that exhibited these first two points in droves, but failed to launch. The third and most important requirement for artistic success is DRIVE. You have got to want it above all else, work like a demon, absorb defeat, be able to live on nothing, expect no praise, suffer like a martyr, and then maybe, with some luck, you will make a career of it.


Robin Cole Smith, Home, 2013, gouache & charcoal on paper, 46 x 32 in.

Here are some thoughts on the subject from some successful artists and former students:

Cynthia Sitton: "It always comes down to perseverance. Having a desire to make art is never enough; life gets in the way, at times creativity wanes, and doubts mount. Nothing but pure determination creates the work of art."

Andrew Hem: "Out of my whole graduation class only a few stuck with painting as a career. I think about that all the time and I wonder why. I think never giving up is the most important part to success."

Christopher Slaymaker: "As I got older I received a lot of positive feed back for the natural talent I displayed, which gave me fuel and desire to hone my skill. My art education was priceless. There's no other way I would have learned as much as I learned and improved as much as I did, in as short a time as I did. There is no book, "how to" dvd, or weekend workshop that could compare to two years of intensive MFA training."

Timothy Robert Smith: "Imagine meeting your future self who is coming back to gather information for a documentary on your life, and talk to this person about how it was done. That's how I think about things. It helps to wash away all of the petty, trivial bullshit, and focus on the real picture. The pain, struggle, and sacrifice just add the the story, as does every little victory and adventure."

Robin Cole Smith: "I invest years in understanding the world I hope to be a part of, making myself a known presence there, and connecting with others in an unassuming way.  When I do eventually make the leap of asking someone to recommend me, or asking a gallerist to take a risk with me, they look at me and my work and see someone they know, who cares deeply and acts with forethought, rather than a stranger asking them for a favor.  This has resulted not only in offers and opportunities I never would have expected, but in relationships of freely offered and consistently reaffirmed mutual respect. "


Ruprecht Von Kaufmann, The Taming of the Sphinx, 2013, acrylic & oil on canvas, 230 x 150 cm

Ruprecht Von Kaufmann: "I read this quote the other day, that sums it up quite nicely: Luck is where preparation meets opportunity. My art education was incredibly useful. I still find that I have a much broader knowledge about the handling of paint than most everyone I know here in Europe. It's depressing how many of my fellow teachers think that turpentine is a painting medium, and have never heard of or used anything else. The solid foundation I was able to get out of Art Center was a great base, but from observing my own students I am convinced that the most important quality for an artist is grit. The inner drive to want to make and create. To have something to say and to contribute. With that I don't mean that self important question whether my work matters in the great scheme of art history. That will come by itself or it won't and just cripples any creative process from the start. But to just want to make something, the urge to create, not caring whether it's 'art' or 'important'."


Alla Bartoshchuk, Luba, 2014, oil on canvas, 30 x 20 in.

Alla Bartoshchuk: "The art education I obtained focused on developing technical skills in painting, drawing and composition, plus a contemporary multidisciplinary art education that encouraged conceptual thinking and experimentation. In my studio practice I inevitably mold these two schools of thought together creating paintings that are built on traditional values of representational figurative art, but which are also informed by contemporary art practice."


Candice Bohannon, Bed of Gold, 2013, oil & acrylic on aluminum panel, 8 x 14 in.

Candice Bohannon: "When other people my age were driving new cars, buying homes and having babies, I was struggling to pay rent, driving a 15 year old car, eating rice and painting like crazy.  I was judged, I was condescended to, and I was told to get a real job and get my life on track... it was humbling, but I didn't give up. My advice to graduating art students: Protect and prioritize your studio time, keep your expenses low and find a way to live off of a part time income so you can paint as much as possible.  Be tenacious, have patience, take wins and losses with a grain of salt, be humble, be confident, forgive yourself and others, keep learning, take criticism, take praise, learn a little about business, learn to talk about your own work, know yourself, remember why you love creating art, and don't ever give up."


Zoey Frank, Kirsten, 2014, oil on linen, 36 x 46 in.

Zoey Frank: "I didn't wait to launch my career. I've heard advice to the contrary, but I chose to make my art publicly available as it was created rather than waiting until I had a body of work fully established. The art sales helped pay for my education, and I graduated with gallery representation, publications, and a livable income already established. I've said yes to almost every opportunity that has come my way."


Shay Bredimus, Constellation of Ships, 2014, tattoo ink & wax crayon on drafting film, 11 x 17 in.

Shay Bredimus: "i was willing to take out loans and sleep in my car and eat one meal a day to attend art school and further my attempt at being a professional artist, I'm still willing to do whatever it takes to make it. I spent my rent and bill money on framing for my last show. Art is the priority and for that I would sacrifice anything. If you are trying to make it and you have not yet accomplished your goal, maybe ask yourself if you have truly given everything you possibly can."


Sarah Awad, Untitled (Reclining Woman II), 2013, oil on canvas, 84 x 108 in, courtesy of Diane Rosenstein Gallery.

Sarah Awad: "Before art school, I thought the value of an arts education lay in the technical skills and knowledge of craft I would learn as a student. While I certainly acquired a certain level of expertise, most of what I gained from my arts education (and that is two and a half degrees worth!) was really the entrance into a community and network of working artists and the challenge to think and express thought as form - to make and think together. Without these two things, even if I had learned how to paint the perfect [insert any representational figure], my education would have been somewhat useless."


Julio Labra, Rise, 2014, oil on canvas, 72 x 36 in.

Julio Labra: "My teachers broadened my periphery on the artist I could be. This gave me a better understanding of the direction I wanted to take, and once I knew where I wanted to go all that was left for me to do was simply my best."


Natalia Fabia, GreenHell Princesses, 2012, oil on panel, 48 x 60 in.

Natalia Fabia: "My advice on how to be successful in the art world is to shove your work in anyone's face that will look at it. Paint paint paint paint paint non stop. For yourself not for others. "

The artist Swoon is known for both her street art and her performance projects that involve group voyages, such as the "Swimming Cities of the Switchback Sea," (2008) a journey along the Hudson River, and the "Swimming Cities of Serenissima," (2009) a journey from Slovenia to Venice on the Adriatic Sea. Her site-specific installation Submerged Motherlands is on view at the Brooklyn Museum until August 24. I sat down with her at Four and Twenty Blackbirds in Brooklyn to discuss her current and past work.

SUSAN: Could we start by discussing the genesis of Submerged Motherlands and what you saw as the central ideas behind the piece?

SWOON: Sure. So the Brooklyn Museum contacted me to do an installation a couple of years ago, and I started talking about the idea of bringing the boats back home [from Italy]. They started in New York on the Hudson -- actually in Troy -- and so they made this trip down the Hudson to New York City to these figures that were their docking place that umbilically tied them in. It was like they were searching for safe harbor. And then we took them to Venice in shipping containers, not over [the] sea, and we reassembled them in Koper, Slovenia, which is the region where all of the trees were felled for Venice to be built. They had these huge trees; actually, I think they basically clear-cut that whole area to build Venice. So we ended up re-assembling in that area and then making a journey skirting the sea, going into the canals and then ending up in Venice. And then I thought: maybe the boats will be done after that. But as we were pulling them out of the water, they just looked like such crazy beasts when they were getting crane-lifted out, and I was like: I think these need to be seen one more time, kind of as objects.

SUSAN: And you seem really interested in these objects in relationship to the environment and concerns about climate change.

SWOON: So much about the boats for me was always this loose narrative of thinking about climate change, and thinking about floods, and thinking about the idea of the coastal purchase of cities breaking off and then traveling and mutating and changing. It was a slightly fantastical image both of urban vulnerability and of something that was a little bit more an intuitive daydream. And at the time when I first made the boats in 2008, strangely, nobody really wanted to talk about it -- when I would talk to interviewers or whatever, they would never repeat that back, and thinking about climate change would never get into print. And then Sandy happened in New York, and I was like: This thinking now feels tangible to people, so maybe this is an interesting time to bring those boats back and to re-look at some of our understandings around the vulnerability of New York City. And I also felt that the narrative of these boats was a search for a home port. And then at the Brooklyn Museum, I made this tree, and the tree was one of those things where I was trying to think: What is a central image? And I was just working in Haiti and sitting under this incredible cacao tree, and it clicked as feeling like the right thing to rise up into that space, but to sort of contain that feeling of awe and humility at the same time. I had originally been thinking I might create a human portrait on that scale. But imagine how menacing that ultimately would be.

SUSAN: Honestly -- it would be like a colossus. Like Ancient Rome or something.

SWOON: Yes, and I thought: Maybe we don't want to create a heroic human right now. I really want to think in a different way. And so the tree popped into place, and then this other process happened as I was building out the installation. I started with this image of the boats, which are so much about climate change and vulnerability and this seasonal kind of journey, and then I started to build in a lot of the portraits, and then actually while I was working on it, my mother passed away, and so all of a sudden while I had been thinking about loss of homeland, I was thinking about the loss of my own mother. And so this double narrative started to happen. There's this group that I met in Brazil that's fighting the Brazilian government's construction of dams along the Amazon and Xingu Rivers, which were part of the ecosystem, and it's f*cking up their way of life. You know, these are people that only made contact with Europeans like 50 years ago and are doing fine. And there is this slow encroachment. So I was thinking about their threatened loss of motherland and also doing this project in Braddock, which is a town outside of Pittsburgh that has suffered its loss of industry, and it has lost itself in this other way, which for me is really interesting: to look at them as opposite sides of the same coin. One is this industry, and the other is something that's being threatened by industry. And so I was thinking about people losing homelands or fighting to put their lives back together after this process of industrialization and the way that it all leads to climate change. And then I was thinking about these things in a very personal way with the loss of my mother and that original homeland, and all of those narratives just kind of overlaid and wove themselves together to make Submerged Motherlands.

SUSAN: So thinking a little bit more about the boats. Just on a practical level, could you talk about how they were built and how you all lived on them? I think this idea of the communal is really interesting since a lot of archetypal journeys tend to privilege a solitary figure, even if the solitary figure is with his compatriots. So could you talk about the boats as material objects and as micro-communities?

SWOON: So I found myself thinking an awful lot about boats, and building a boat, and about making this trip, and I just kept talking about it to all my friends until people who had similar interests. And so finally a friend and I hit upon an idea not of a boat, but of a raft, and suddenly when the raft idea took the place of the boat, things clicked into place and it felt like: Oh, okay -- a raft feels like something that we non-sea-faring, ridiculous artist types can sort of understand how it works. And so we started to reach out and find some raft builders, and we ended up finding Shawn Kelly Neutrino, who had lived and worked with the Floating Neutrinos, this group of people that were kind of a funny, cult-y, awesome, weird hippie group in the'70s and '80s. And so Shawn taught us the style that they had developed. We kind of took it on and developed it ourselves, and when I say "we," I mean me and a bunch of friends. So there's a guy Jeff Stark who lives nearby who's done a bunch of cool projects. I connected with him first, and we set about building a team. Then we started to pre-build, and we made our way out to Minneapolis, and we finished putting it together, and then we started down from Minneapolis [on the Mississippi River], and it took us two years during the summer. And it was just the most incredible experience: just living together in this intense, communal way, and making your way down these rivers, and camping, and there was this wildness to it that I've kind of never seen again in my life. I kind of miss it.

SUSAN: It's an amazing idea: that you have all these people on these rafts, and you're always together. Was there any privacy on the boats?

SWOON: Kind of. In two different ways. Oftentimes, you would just be somewhere and you'd be like: Wow. I'm just watching the sea. There's nobody around me. How do I feel like I'm just in my own zone right now? There's that. And then when the boats would dock, everyone would just scatter. And everyone would just find crazy abandoned places to sleep and ending up exploring all kinds of stuff on their own or in groups and just finding ways to make your own little bit of psychological space because you are living in such close quarters.

SUSAN: Was there was a big difference traveling by sea versus by river, either practically or conceptually? Does it mean something different to cross a sea than it does to be carried along by a river?

SWOON: Yeah. We didn't actually do a crossing [of the Adriatic]. We skirted the coast. But being out to sea was incredible. Being like: Oh I can't see land, and I'm on this piece of bullsh*t. That's really cool.

SUSAN: Were you guys ever scared? Because there's something inspirationally terrifying about building a raft and then setting out to sea on it.

SWOON: Oh yeah. You could have your moments where you'd reckon with it, and you'd be like Whoa, this is crazy. But that would wear off pretty quickly, and then you would just get scared if giant waves came, and you'd be like: "Oh, we cannot handle this. We're going to die now." And so that's why we skirted the coast -- because we really can't take much weather on those vessels. I don't know; I might be wrong. Poppa Neutrino did an ocean crossing on a boat that was built in much the same way.

SUSAN: How did the practice of collecting influence Submerged Motherlands or your previous work? I'm thinking in particular about curiosity cabinets and bringing together all sorts of objects in one place.

SWOON: Well, there's one boat that didn't become part of the installation because it didn't make it. So I had to change my plan a little bit, and I ended up building the mother temple piece that's in there. And actually, I was glad that that happened because like I said, my mother passed away during the conceptualization of the installation. So it felt to me like a little bit more honest about my own experience: to have that piece that was so much about my mother. But the boat that got left out was actually a cabinet of curiosity. It ended up being a cabinet of disgusting dead things.

SUSAN: That's the best kind of cabinet, right? So taxidermy and things like that? Cabinets of curiosity always contain such strange combinations of objects.

SWOON: Those initial cabinet of curiosities -- whatever their flaws and that crazy Victorian colonialism -- pique this wonderment. This desire to know things. So the boat that didn't show up was a cabinet of curiosity, and we built little drawers in it and shelves, and we just collected things along the way. It was pretty haphazard; it never got to be a really intricate beautiful space that I would have loved it to be, but that was just because it's so hard to live on the water. I think the cabinets are really about this feeling of wonder, which brings me back to the installation, because in the absence of religious and spiritual spaces, we still really need spaces of wonder. They don't have to be about a specific religious narrative, but they have the capacity to transport you into a different state of mind. And for me, I feel both a desire to experience it and to make it. So when they showed me around the Brooklyn Museum and said, "Where do you want to work?" they were like, "We knew you were going choose that f*cking room." There's just this feeling of creating something that part of our spirit can rise into.


Courtesy of Brooklyn Museum

What if you showed up for work?

I mean really showed up.

Remember when "Take Our Daughters to Work" happened? Today it's called, "Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work." The idea is for children to explore the idea of having jobs and careers. I remember hanging out at my dad's office when I was a kid. He was different there. At work, he seemed to show a side that he kept hidden at home. I sometimes wondered, who is this guy?

How do we end up as one person at work, and a different person at home? In what ways could our home-life inform the way we are at work? Or the other way around?

Maybe you fly-fish or write jokes in your spare time, but this crazy-focused part of you goes completely unnoticed -- and untapped -- at the office. It might be that your understanding of chess, or baking, or some bit of dialogue from the movie you just saw, is the very input that is needed on a project. But you've left that part of you at home because it doesn't seem valuable or relevant. When John Jarvis, the quiet, mild-mannered keyboard player told me in the middle of a recording session for my latest album, Love Calling, that he'd just come from a sparring session at the boxing gym, I saw another part of him. I got closer to who he really is. And I could reference that in our conversations about the sound and intensity of a particular song.

We need to start "bringing ourselves" to work. It's risky, yes. People might think you've gone crazy, suddenly started (or stopped) taking serious meds. But there's always the other possibility, that who you are and what you bring is exactly what is needed.

I was talking the other day with Billy Kirsch, the hit songwriter and public speaker, about what it takes to do our jobs. What we do, whether it's writing, recording, performing or speaking requires us to be totally present. If musicians are faking it, phoning in the performance or the writing, it just doesn't work. The song falls flat. The audience can feel it. They may not know why they're bored, but they can sense it all the same. But when we are willing to be completely there-plugged in, awake, ready for anything - -the song writes itself, the studio comes alive, the audience connects. For music to be work, we as artists have to show up. Without that, it is just words, just noise.

I believe we all have much more to contribute than we acknowledge, especially at work. We often hide the best part of ourselves, thinking that no one wants to see who we truly are. We come up with a million reasons why what we have to offer isn't needed, wanted, or appropriate.

I would venture that just the opposite is true.

You want to have a better day? To contribute more, make a difference? Engage with your work. Bring your world with you. Bring yourself to work.

It's not rocket science, not a magic trick. It's the simplest thing.

Just show up.

Consider a venn diagram of Medicine and Art, left and right brained. I reside in the intersection, searching for my true north in two circular worlds.

My love for art started early and my parents always encouraged my initial, somewhat pathetic (in retrospect) efforts. Years of growing up in India have definitely influenced my work. While I am not a very religious person, religion, especially Hinduism and Buddhism, fascinates me, as do people, travel, and horses! I am constantly adding to the list.

I also remember playing "doctor" as a child, subjecting my poor family to rounds of "pseudo vaccines" administered by yours truly with talcum powder and knitting needles! Maybe its visual aspect, but anatomy fascinated me in medical school and I pictured myself becoming a surgeon. However, lifestyle choices steered me towards Emergency Medicine, for which I am eternally grateful!

Life happened. Marriage, moving to another part of the world, three beautiful children and my career in Emergency Medicine took over. It was only recently that I took a step back and reevaluated my life. The proverbial midlife crisis! I felt there was a void in my very full life and I needed to do something about it. I was convinced it could only be filled with exercising the submissive creative half and having it play a more dominant role in my life.

I had always dreamt of doing "something different" with my art but never had the time. Painting has always been my passion, yet I could only paint sporadically for enjoyment. People detox with cleansers and I detox with painting! I decided to turn it from an occasional hobby to something more substantial.

An idea blossomed and, supported by my family, I nurtured it and established a small business related to my artwork. Unencumbered by the pressures of making a profit ( thanks to my white coat) I can enjoy every bit of it, from learning about websites, marketing, and most of all the assured and constant creativity.

I love to tell stories with my work and wanted to share this one particular piece inspired from a favorite necklace.



Blame my physician background for the thought process... consider the beads as oxygen molecules that carry the blood from the impure side (depicted by the Buddha's blue face) and purify it (Buddha's red side). Remember the school illustrations of the artery in red and veins in blue? The good and the bad always merge and makes a whole and when you find the balance within, you find peace.

Getting back to my Venn diagram, maybe, a direction is not needed. I acknowledge my worlds collide and it is time I embraced both and live at peace and with happiness in my intersection.

Land Ho!, a road trip comedy co-written/directed by filmmakers Martha Stephens and Aaron Katz, follows two retirees through the nightclubs and other dangers of Iceland. The well-received independent film premiered and was picked up for distribution at Sundance this past year.

Here, in an interview conducted at Sundance, Land Ho!'s filmmakers and charming stars (Earl Lynn Nelson and Paul Eenhoorn) relate the Icelandic odyssey it took to make the indie film, which included a requisite Bjork sighting. Hey, it's a small country.

Follow Rob Feld and the Day for Night series on Twitter and on Facebook.

Land Ho! from Day for Night talks on Vimeo.

There has been a lot of union activity lately in the opera world, and numbers have been thrown around in the press which have caused many an ear to perk up. I always knew that singing in the chorus at the Metropolitan Opera was a lucrative job compared to a lot of other career paths one could take in this field, but I wasn't aware that the pay was (if we are to believe the New York Times) between $100,000 and $200,000 per year, when you include things like overtime, pensions, health insurance, etc. To a lot of working opera singers, that seems like a lot of money. Not that the chorus doesn't work incredibly hard at an extremely high level for their money -- they often do the least glamorous grunt work that allows the art form to flourish, and the amount of hours that they work and perform can be quite enormous.

I, personally, have no qualms whatsoever about their salaries -- I firmly believe they earn every penny. However, it still got me thinking about the opera industry and what the actual income of a typical opera singer pursuing a solo career was like. It's a difficult thing to figure out for several reasons. First of all, it's a hugely taboo subject, and not one that is easy to get people to discuss. Second, most singers have a pretty widely varying income from year to year, and their per performance fee varies pretty extensively from gig to gig. Third, it's difficult to decide from which group to collect data, since there are singers who make their living only from singing, some who supplement with teaching, some who supplement with other jobs, and some who actually have full-time jobs but still do legitimate singing gigs when they can.

But for the sake of argument, let's think about singers who make their entire livings from singing opera, and who don't supplement their income. I'm an example of that kind of singer. I'm not a famous example, but I made my professional debut in 1999, and since then I have only ever made money from singing, minus a short stint I did teaching a few lessons at a university for three semesters in between gigs. I have broken the six-figure ceiling a few different years, although not by too terribly much, and that was always on years when I had some substantial work in Europe (there are usually more performances for European gigs, the fees can be higher, the Euro has always been stronger than the dollar since I've been singing over there, just to name a few reasons). However, that is before taxes, before expenses (like renting an apartment and feeding yourself on a gig while you're already paying for the apartment where you live when you're not on the road), before agent fees, before travel costs, and before the costs of role preparation like lessons and coachings. All those things can easily eat up 50 percent of your fee. Oh, also, that is before paying for your own health insurance, not covered medical expenses, and any money you may put away for retirement (in my case, that has been zilch so far). And some years -- even recent years -- because of time off from having a baby, and lack of desire to pursue much European work with said baby in tow, I've made half of that. So actually, when you consider all those factors, a job in the Met chorus looks pretty darn good from a financial standpoint.

I think that this disparity between a solo singer's typical income and the salaries of the Met chorus is probably what causes people to raise an eyebrow or two about whether those Met choristers "deserve" to earn "so much" money. I took a very unscientific poll amongst my friends on Facebook, and most of them agreed with my guesstimate that fewer than 10 percent of working solo opera singers make more than $100,000 per year. The Met chorus singers certainly work more hours overall and do more performances than the solo singers, but they also don't have to deal with the stress and emotional turmoil that is caused by having your voice and your skills constantly evaluated by opera companies and the press. And they have job security -- something solo singers never ever get.

But here's my question: Why do we value our artists so little in the U.S. that we question whether $100,000 per year is too much money to earn for essentially being the backbone of the most well-regarded opera house in the country? And why are solo opera singers, who train their voices to the highest level of capabilities -- for the same number of years, often, as physicians train -- compensated so poorly commensurate to their ability and expertise?

Well, the basic answer is that we as Americans have a cultural landscape that doesn't value the arts very highly. We have absolutely no government funding for the arts, so our arts organizations must rely almost exclusively on the kindess of wealthy patrons to keep their doors open. So essentially, american opera singers rely on wealthy people who like opera in order to make a living. It makes sense if you believe that everything in life is only worth what it can sustain financially, but it is a difficult pill to swallow if you believe that the arts enhance humanity and actually benefit our society in ways that can't be quantified in dollars and cents.

But let me just step off my soapbox here for a moment for a reality check about what it really means to be an artist in this country compared to other places. In France recently at the Aix-en-Provence festival opening there was an enormous protest, chronicled here by the wonderful singer Sarah Connolly. When I read her description of being physically barred from getting to the stage for her entrance and trying to sing over screaming and noisemaking all night long I wondered: What could possibly be worth protesting like that? Then I read about the law in France that is under question, which actually pays artists unemployment for the times when they are in between jobs. Unlike American actors, for example, who are always working as waiters and waitresses in between acting jobs, France allows its artists to be just that -- artists -- by keeping them afloat during the dry times (as long as they qualify by working enough hours the rest of the year). I personally wanted to cry when I read about it.

As an American freelance opera singer, I have no job security, no health insurance, no retirement, no maternity leave, no unemployment. Yes, I chose to do this (although some would say it chose me when I was 9 years old and started taking singing lessons), but I could quit singing at any time and become a mortgage broker. But the truth is that I really love being an artist and spending my days rehearsing and performing. I love how it makes me feel, and how it can affect other people. I love the colleagues I get to work with and know, and I love doing something that challenges me, and something that feels like it has a history and a community and a relevance. Some people think that if you're lucky enough to do something you not only like but love, you shouldn't get paid a lot of money for it. I think that's absolute nonsense. The more people in a society who do things that they are not only good at but love to do, the better place it is to live.

The problem is not that we are overpaying our artists, even the highest paid ones at the Met. The problem is that we are undervaluing their worth in our society, and this is what these labor negotiations should be painful reminders of. The Met can't solve this problem alone, and may need to renegotiate some contracts for the time being, but we as artists must find a way to educate the general population about the value of what we do if we want to continue to do it. There is a reason opera still exists today, despite all the financial obstacles to making it happen. There is also a reason we don't get paid very much for what we do, and I believe each of us has a responsibility to brainstorm our way into the next generation of cultural literacy.

*addendum: after first submitting this post, I heard from a few people in the field with the following numbers:

- One international singer singing in all the major international opera houses wrote to let me know that they barely clear $100,000 per year after all expenses and they have even resorted to sleeping on friends' couches while working at an A house in order to save money.

- Another singer, who is now studying medicine, wrote to tell me that for a statistics class they took a survey of 100 solo singers and found that the median income was $17,500.

- Lauren Flanigan, acclaimed soprano and now patron and educator of young singers, told me that during her audition boot camp training session, the managers and people from the business who have participated inform her students that they estimate a career singing at the B opera houses can allow earnings of $40,000 to $70,000 per year (before expenses), whereas similar level houses in Europe pay more like $300,000 per year.

- Most of the people in the business who replied to my query about percentages said they believed the percentage of singers earning over $100,000 was far less than 10 percent -- most said between 2 percent and 5 percent.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been a huge prog-rock guy. For some unknown reason, I was immediately drawn to bands like Rush, Genesis, and Pink Floyd. Of course, prog had no shortage of critics who lambasted it as pretentious, overblown, bombastic, and self-important.

The once-derided genre of music seems to be making a bit of comeback as of late. Perhaps everything old is new again. And, if you're a prog fan today, you don't have to go too far until you'll come across the immensely talented multi-instrumentalist Marco Minneman. He's played with master musicians Joe Satriani, Steven Wilson, Jordan Rudess, and many others.



I recently sat down with Marco to talk about his new album EEPS, among other subjects.



You can buy the album Amazon as well.

Centuries after her death on July 15, 1542, Mona (Madame) Lisa Gherardini del Giocondo is still making headlines. Over the last two years journalists from around the world have descended upon Florence to report on dramatic excavations of skeletons that may--or may not--belong to Leonardo da Vinci's model and her family. The results of the latest round of laboratory analyses are expected soon.

"What are the odds of identifying Lisa Gherardini's remains?" I asked Silvano Vinceti, a self-styled cacciatore di ossa (bones hunter) who is spearheading the high-profile quest, during an interview in Florence.



"Forty percent," the chain-smoking, fast-talking, spindly-limbed former television producer replied without hesitation or explanation. Art historians, who decry his "tomb-raiding" as a macabre stunt, put them considerably lower.

"Lasciate in pace La Gioconda!" (Leave Mona Lisa in peace!) thundered Antonio Paolucci, the esteemed director of the Vatican Museums. That's not likely to happen--not when the whole world can't stop watching.

No one knew the whereabouts of Mona Lisa's remains until 2007, when Giuseppe Pallanti, author of Mona Lisa Revealed, reported his discovery of her recorded death at the convent of Sant'Orsola. After her husband Francesco del Giocondo died in 1538, his widow moved to the nunnery where their youngest daughter had taken vows -- located just steps away from the family home. Upon her death in 1542, Mona Lisa was buried, not in the del Giocondo crypt in Florence's Basilica of Santissima Annunziata, but at the convent.

Such arrangements were not uncommon. Privileged women who had the power to choose their place of burial, notes historian Margaret King in Women of the Renaissance, "overwhelmingly preferred to lie in community with other women" rather than with husbands or fathers. With this final choice, a woman could refute "all the past decisions" men had made during her lifetime.

Sant' Orsola, deconsecrated under Napoleon in the early 1800s, served as a tobacco processing plant and university lecture hall before deteriorating into a hulking, boarded-up, graffiti-smeared ruin (below). "The shame of Florence," an editorial writer branded it, and Florentines have long clamored for a clean-up of the urban eyesore.



In 2012 Vinceti, creator of the official-sounding National Committee for the Promotion of Historic and Cultural Heritage, stepped before the floodlights of international television crews gathered at Sant'Orsola. His team of volunteers, he announced, had unearthed several skeletons in a crypt beneath the chapel. Three date back to the sixteenth century.

Does one belong to Lisa Gherardini? Since hundreds of women lived and died at Sant' Orsola, the only way to find out is by matching DNA from bones or teeth to that of a known blood relative. The prime candidate is Mona Lisa's oldest biological son Piero del Giocondo, who died at age 73 in 1569 and was buried in Santissima Annunziata (in the dark chapel to the left in the photo below).



Earlier this year investigators lowered themselves into the subterranean tomb and broadcast ghoulish images of crumbling skeletons on stone shelves. At least in theory, a match between DNA from a corpse in the del Giocondo crypt and a sample from one of the Sant'Orsola bodies could identify Piero and his mother Mona Lisa. However, given the badly decomposed remains, laboratory technicians said they were not optimistic.

If the tests should indicate a genetic match, Vinceti, who has no credentials in art history or forensics, says he will commission a reconstruction of Mona Lisa's face that would be "clear enough to see what she really looked like"--a claim academicians vigorously challenge. Leonardo himself might not recognize his twenty-something model on the basis of a reconstructed skull of a 63-year-old female who has been moldering in a grave for 472 years.

Certainly no skeleton or reconstruction can reveal the three-dimensional woman whose smile haunts us still. What, then, is the point of the quixotic quest? A boost for Florence tourism, insists Vinceti. A genetic identification might ignite support for restoration of blighted Sant'Orsola as a fitting resting place for Florence's long forgotten daughter.

Yet far more intriguing than the bones she left behind is the life the real Mona Lisa led -- as a daughter of Renaissance Florence, a merchant's wife, a loving mother and an artist's unforgettable muse.

Being disabled doesn't automatically make you a noble inspiration to all humanity, says Stella Young. In this very funny talk, she breaks down society's habit of turning disabled people into "inspiration porn."

We want to know what you think. Join the discussion by posting a comment below or tweeting #TEDWeekends. Interested in blogging for a future edition of TED Weekends? Email us at tedweekends@huffingtonpost.com.

Smiling Into Summer
Cultural & Charitable Catch-Up; July 2014

Text & Photographs © Jill Lynne 2014.

Jeff Koons, The Whitney Museum of Art Moves Downtown, "The Invention Of Wings" by Sue Monk Kidd, "The Ocean At The End of The Lane" by Neil Gaiman, "Siddharth" by Richard Mehta, The Thorn Tree Benefit at Urban Zen, Harboring Hearts Summer Soiree at The Rubin Museum, PRIDE Weekend AIDS and HBO/Larry Kramer's "The Normal Heart", A Ralph Lauren Summer...

Jeff Koons makes us smile!

"Art is a metaphysical activity!
I think of my Art every second of the day...", said he,

Koons playful, whimsical and sometimes ironic art evokes our inner child.
Think only of his signature Balloon Animals produced in stainless steel with mirror-finish surfaces and one is delighted.

Not to be dismissed as "light", his themes - such as "banality" - reflect deeper insights.

Despite the success - The Orange Balloon Dog sold at Christie's for a record-breaking $58.4 million dollars- Jeff Koons still seems sweet and unscathed... much as I remember him in the 80s, when we all were part of the burgeoning Soho Art Scene.

However despite success, this is Koons' first NYC retrospective.

The multiple openings at the Whitney Museum of American Art brought lines circling the block. From the standing-room-only press opening through VIP dinners, it became obvious that Koons, at age 59, has achieved "Art-Star/Rock-Star" status.

The mammoth Exhibition "Jeff Koons: A Retrospective" highlights 150 works of art from 1978 to the present.

The exhibition continues in NYC through October 19th and then travels to the Centre Pompidou, Musée national d'art moderne, Paris (November 26, 2014 - April 27, 2015) and to the Guggenheim Bilbao (June 5 - September 27, 2015).

A bit bittersweet, this is the final exhibition at the familiar uptown Whitney - located in the Marcel Breuer building on Madison Avenue. It heralds its upcoming move down to the West Village/Meat Packing District (WV/MPD) - where the larger structure on Gansevoort Street - overlooks the Hudson River.

Designed by Renzo Piano, the Whitney is scheduled to open its doors in 2015, with an inaugural exhibition of American Art of the 20th and 21st century - completely curated from the Museum's own collection.

We welcome the Whitney - the first full-scale Art Museum - to our "hood", a "walk-able" from our residence and office - and a neighborhood of Artists, Art-Appreciators, Collectors and Galleries.



A Smiling Jeff Koons at the Opening of his Whitney Retrospective



Jeff Koons gives Senior Curator Scott Rothkopf a "Thumbs Up"



Jeff Koons patiently interacts with Art "fans"



Michael Jackson and Bubbles, 1988 (Porcelain)



In the Whitney Courtyard, Popeye (detail) 2009-2012 (Granite with live flowers)



String of Puppies 1988 (Polychromed wood)



Elephant 2003 (Mirror-polished steel with transparent color coating) against the backdrop of Lips 2000 (oil on canvass)



Hanging Heart 1994-2006 (Violet/Gold)



Plans for the New Downtown Whitney


Now for two wonder-full new Summer Reads...

First, the historically-based novel, "The Invention of Wings" by Sue Monk Kidd - the New York Times award-winning Author of "The Secret Life Of Bees".

Kidd is a master at developing full, complex, deeply human characters - noble and flawed -that caringly carry you through the tale.

Her brilliant reimagining of the details of nineteenth century life and the nuances of her character development, are compelling, and ultimately, unforgettable.

Set in a slave-holding Plantation in Charleston, South Carolina, this important page-turner revolves around the true story of the Grimke Sisters - Sarah and Angelina. These women were not only the first female abolitionists but also among the first American feminist thinkers.

It is incredible that these significant Leaders had almost been lost to dusty archives.
Such is still - far too often - the way of women's "her-story"!





The Grimke Sisters - 19th century ground-breaking Feminists and Abolitionists

Secondly, "The Ocean At The End Of The Lane" by Neil Gaiman is an extraordinary, surreal adventure.

Gaiman's magnificent writing magically draws us in to a world of archetypes, the mystique of childhood where monsters loom large and angels beckon.
The book uproots us, transporting us to the foreboding and wondrous worlds of childhood, transforming out sense of reality.

NYT best selling Neil Gaiman is the author over over twenty books for adults and children. English-born he lives in the USA with his wife, the rock star Amanda Palmer.

Currently I'm reading Gaiman's Graphic Novel (The new trend in Fiction...) "The Truth Is a Cave in the Black Mountains" - collaboration with Illustrator Eddie Campbell.

As in "The Ocean..." there is a strange mix of myth and mundane reality - Intriguing!




SIDDHARTH, written and directed by Richard Mehta, reveals the story of an impoverished family in India. Hopeful for a better future the Father sends his 12 year old son away to work in a distant factory. After the child mysteriously disappears the film recounts the Father's heartbreaking journey to find his missing son.



Director Richard Mehta

Inspired by a real life encounter with a desperate man seeking his son on the streets of India, the film challenges us emotionally to take a deeper look at the appalling conditions in which the global poor still exist.

The name SIDDHARTH echoes back to "Siddhartha", another name for the Buddha, and is reminiscent of the profound journey of the lead character in Herman Hesse's iconic 1922 novel "Siddhartha" . Focusing on a spiritual journey the book was formative for me.

The film was screened at The Museum of Modern Art and showcased at the Human Rights Watch Film Festival.


International Eco-Designer Clogdah hosted Thorn Tree's Project's 11th Annual African Bazar and Silent Auction at Donna Karan's Urban Zen Center.

The proceeds benefit the impoverished Samburu tribe in Northern Kenya, providing educational opportunities for the children

The Thorn Tree Project is a 100% volunteer-run educational nonprofit organization supporting 1,500 students in 14 preschools and 3 primary schools, as well as an additional 150 scholarship students in high schools and universities across Kenya. Clodagh has served on the board of directors since the organization's inception in 2002.

The marvelous reality of this benefit is that for as little as $25. One can purchase a colorful accessory and help a child. A "must" for shopaholic-do-gooders!

www.thorntreeproject.org



Thorn Tree Project Student Sponsor Marjana Serdarevic-Pehar, wearing African Tribal Beads & Bracelets from the African Bazaar Benefit



Josephine Regina Lenore, the student supported by Marjana.
She had to convince her father to \be allowed to attend school, and later did the same for her siblings.
She hopes to become a journalist.


Harboring Hearts held its second Annual "Summer Soiree" at Chelsea's Rubin Museum of Art.

Harboring Hearts is a charity dedicated to providing affordable, short-term accommodations along with additional financial and emotional support for critically ill heart patients and their families during the critical time of treatment. Working closely with cardiology and transplant teams at top NY hospitals, Harboring Hearts provides targeted financial interventions that are tailored to meet specific housing and other urgent needs for those they serve.

Harboring Hearts co-founders Michelle Javian and Yuki Kotani welcomed over 300 supporters including Taye Diggs, Jean Shafiroff, Nicole DiCocco, Laura Lofaro Freeman, and Christian Siriano.

The special evening honored Evercore Founder and Executive Chairman Roger Altman, Columbia University Medical Center Dean of the Faculties of Health Sciences and Medicine Dr. Lee Goldman, Director of the Outpatient Pediatric Dysrhythmia Center at The Children's Hospital at Montefiore Dr. Christine Walsh and heart transplant recipient and motivational speaker Michael Kutcher for their great contributions.

www.haboringhearts.org



Honoree Dr. Christine Walsh, The Children's Hospital at Montefiore



Philanthropist Jean Shafiroff, Nicole DiCocco, R. Couri Hay, Nathalie Glaser
and Consuelo Vanderbilt Costin


Gay PRIDE Weekend brought huge crowds to the WV.

The recent outstanding HBO production of Larry Kramer's "Normal Heart" brought to mind not only how very much has been achieved but also served as a reminder of the painful fatal cost.

The Normal Heart is a 2014 with sixteen Emmy-nominations - including OutstandingTelevision Film - HBO's vital production, directed by Ryan Murphy and written by Larry Kramer - based on his own 1985. Starring Mark Ruffalo, Matt Bomer, Taylor Kitsch, Jim Parsons, Alfred Molina, Joe Mantello, and Julia Roberts, It will be released on DVD and Blu-ray on August 26, 2014

The film focuses on the rise of the HIV-AIDS crisis in New York City, 1981 - 1984, as seen through the eyes of writer/activist Ned Weeks, the gay founder of a prominent HIV advocacy group.



AIDS: Comfort During A Tragic Time, Joe Mantello with Jim Parsons © Jojo Whilden

This was an extremely difficult period for yours truly...
Losing many dear friends and brilliant associates to AIDS, besides supportive handholding, I dedicated myself to advocacy as well as fund-raising for AIDS care and research.

As I watched the throngs of young proud "healthy" members of the LGBT community converge from all corners of the globe, I wondered how cognizant they were of the price that had been paid.

Believing that a social justice victory for one is, in essence, a victory for all...
Wishing You Happy Summer Smiles!



Historical Poster on Christopher Street Window Commemorating the Long Struggle for Equal Rights




Ralph Lauren - The Master Designer of Americana - Celebrates Summer With A Children's Window

All Photographs (c) Jill Lynne 2014 available for Purchase
Contact JillLynne1@mac.com www.jilllynne.com

Pilgrim

24” x 18” x 26” Drift wood, various fabrics, stuffing, rubber, acrylic, cigarette paper, feathers, thread, twine, fur, miscellaneous items.

We guarantee you've never seen a beauty expert quite like this before!

At GLAM4GOOD we're all for beauty tips and tricks, but most of the "beauty experts" we see on YouTube or Instagram are very young, very beautiful and, well, very boring. It's hard to feel good about yourself when you're getting beauty advice from a gorgeous girl half your age with perfect everything. But then we discovered Lyle Reimer and fell in love with his astonishing yet cheeky, over-the-top beauty and fashion inspired posts that push boundaries, cultivate creativity and keep us laughing all the way to the MAC counter!

Reimer encourages women to "celebrate their face, their features and their essence" and tells GLAM4GOOD he thinks women should step outside of their comfort zone with makeup. "If it feels right, regardless of age, skin tone, size ... do it!" he says. Reimer uses his face as a canvas and the skills he's gained from 15 years in the makeup industry, most for MAC Cosmetics, to transform what would be normal Instagram selfies into what he calls "art installations." The Vancouver-based selfie sensationalist has just over 100 posts, yet 19,000 followers and counting.

It's not only the makeup that leaves his followers awestruck, but the props, accessories, headpieces and witty captions he incorporates as well. Every look Reimer creates takes at least three hours to perfect. His quirky, funny and beautiful photos are inspired by life around him, although they always link back to fashion. Reimer, whose motto is "live your life with pride in who you are, and keep searching until you find it," says the responses he's gotten from his photos have brought him to tears. He believes "people are responding to a guy who clearly lives outside of the box and sends a message of self love, creativity and being truly authentic to yourself."

Euphorica. Used by Permission of Euphorica.

I spent two weeks in June wandering around Prague and Budapest, seeing the sights and looking for folk and folk-inspired music. I came back with a satchel of CDs, some of which I'll share here in a series of posts. For this one, I'll talk about CDs that mix early music with traditional folk and other elements.

One Czech group that surely has the potential to transcend the Czech market, Euphorica, remind me of Mediaeval Baebes, whom I interviewed a few years back. Made up of four women (and sometimes one man) who dress in elaborate medieval costumes while singing and playing a variety of medieval and modern folk music, they're a treat for the eyes and ears. Their brand-new album Archa is a multicultural mix of European folk and early music. The four Czech folksongs include "Stojí Hruška," a piece with a sad text and a majestic melody that, through the version by Čechomor, has become one of my favorite songs. My other favorites include "Tri Martolod," a Breton ballad made famous by Alan Stivell, and "Yo Me Soy La Morenica," a cheerful Spanish song from the Renaissance Cancionero de Upsala, which borrows imagery from the Song of Solomon. They perform two Italian pieces (one modern and one medieval), a Medieval Latin Christmas carol, a Serbian song, and a Macedonian song, and top it off with a bonus track: a cover of Nick Cave's "Into My Arms." Their main instruments are cittern, recorders, shawms, and ethnic percussion, which gives them a nice combination of sharp and sweet timbres with crisp, snappy rhythms and tight vocal harmonies. Look out for them, starting with their promo video:



Grál and Bohemian Bards are two related bands, or maybe two lineups of the same band. I encountered them busking in Prague's Old Town Square, which acts as a music showcase all day and into the evening. It's hard to ignore guys dressed in rustic medieval garb, especially if they're playing bagpipes. They happily sold me both Grál's optimistically-titled CD I, and the Bohemian Bards' CD The Roots of Grál. Grál's CD showcases a fun band of a type common on the German and Czech "medieval market" scene: fronted by bagpipes and shawms, backed by enthusiastic drums, with cittern, fiddle, and recorders, this is a branch of the same tree that produced Corvus Corax, Subway to Sally, and Van Langen. It seems to be a "live in the studio" recording, with the typical production limitations that implies. As such, it's an impressive debut. The band sings in several languages; a version of "Maravilos" is particularly impressive for its use of recorders, violin, cittern, and drums behind the medieval Spanish words, and "Batalion," which appears to be Medieval Spanish words set to Pierre Attaignant's "Tourdion," is equally good. "Ai Vist Lo Lop," the infectious Occitan children's song about a wolf, a fox, and a hare (which made it into Cajun music as "J'ai Vu le Loup") is another fun one, making Grál I an enjoyable, if short CD. The Roots of Grál is stronger in the production department; it maintains a nice separation among the instruments, and you can hear the various drums popping and pipes trilling with precision. It leaves no doubt that these are very accomplished musicians. However, the violin and recorder are each featured only for a brief moment, making the album essentially one of bagpipe and shawm music with drums and vocals. The lack of variety hurts it a little, but it's still a fun listen, and I hope to hear more of them someday.


Bohemian Bards Busking in Prague. Photo by Stephen Winick.

Hungary's answer to the "medieval market" style is Igriczek, a six-piece band that blends pipes and drums with a more lyrical folk band, arriving at a sound more like Faun or even Estampie than Covus Corax. On their latest CD Magyarok Fénye, one big advantage they have over Grál et al is a great singer; Navratil Andrea (Hungarians put their surnames first) is a world-class vocalist, and one of the singers who represented Hungary last year at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. Led by her voice, several standards of the international medieval repertoire shine: "Stella Splendens," "Como Poden," and even "Gaudete," the Latin Christmas Carol that was an offbeat chart hit for Steeleye Span in 1973. On this last, they begin with a Hungarian carol which opens the track gently, then launch into "Gaudete" itself with gusto on drums, pipes, and rebec as well as voice. The rest of the songs are from Hungarian tradition, and are given thoughtful, intricate, and often rousing arrangements on lute, hurdy-gurdy, medieval and Hungarian bagpipes, medieval and modern fiddles, drums, and bells. Three sets of dance music and one stately air, all led by bagpipes but featuring varied backing from the rest of the band, round out the offerings. The attention to detail in he arrangements, ensuring varied textures from song to song, make this a pleasure to listen to. Here's a live video led by their other singer, Szedlák József:



Navratil is also a featured performer in Fonó Zenekar, one of Hungary's most esteemed folk bands. Their latest album, Vadbarokk, ("wild Baroque") does for Baroque music what Igriczek does with medieval music, producing a skillful and polished folk sound. Beginning with a piece by J.S. Bach, they transition to a program of Hungarian folk-baroque music led mostly by twin violins, backed by bowed bass and viola, and occasionally enlivened by cymbalom, bagpipe and Moldavian lute, while Navratil and Agócs Gergely provide passionate singing of folksongs. The repertoire comes from various regions of Hungary, as well as from the Hungarian population of Transylvania, and from Roma people living among Hungarians. Mostly sad songs and dance music that churns merrily along, this CD is fun to listen to and also features detailed song notes in English, so you'll know what you're hearing: soldier's songs, love songs, peasant dances, and even a tune whose title they translate as "World's Mouth, Heart's Snaffle." World Music fans of a certain age will be reminded of Márta Sebestyén and Muzsikás in their glory days of the 1980s and 90s. Here's a video of the band with Navratil up front:





Right: The cover of this album is a ca. 1312 medieval painting by Simone Martini, and therefore in the Public Domain.

For those who prefer electric folk, there's a nice CD from a few years ago called Indulj el Egy Úton. On it, Szécsényi László blends medieval and folk music with his own electric guitar playing, bass, drums, and programming, citing as influences progressive rock in general, and Yes, Genesis and Pink Floyd in particular. In addition to the rock influence, he's a skilled folk musician on acoustic guitar, Moldavian and Arabic lutes, and bouzouki, and he invites a quartet of folkies along to add flutes, violins, and vocals. In particular, Tárnoki Beatrix's weightless voice adds both beauty and gravity when needed. Songs include traditional folksongs, settings of poems by Balassi Bálint (1554-1594) and Debreceni Szappanyos János (d. 1614), and a few composed by Szécsényi. The standout track for me is their version of "Szerelem, Szerelem," which was the slow, sinuous, Arabic-sounding song sung by Márta Sebestyén on the soundtrack of The English Patient. Szécsényi, Tárnoki and friends transform it into an upbeat World Music piece. Other pieces get a jazz treatment, and still others a classical harpsichord sound. If you like the prog-folk style of bands like Garolou and Gryphon, give this a try!

Over the years I've learned to savor my journeys through improbable dreamscapes -- visions that make no dramatic sense, lack any kind of physical restraints, and have no respect for boundaries of any kind. Shortly after awakening, the flagrant real-life barriers to duplicating anything that happened in my dream become painfully obvious.

Let me give you an example (and I'm not talking about the time Whoopi Goldberg and I went bicycling down a steep hill to see who could cross a highway and enter Safeway's parking lot first without getting creamed by an approaching car).

The other night I dreamed that I was in an office in mid-Manhattan when someone came into the room and announced that the conductor for that evening's performance of La Traviata was indisposed. Could I step in and take over?

Having no experience leading an orchestra in real life, the idea is downright laughable. Decades have passed since I studied piano or was able to sight read music. And yet, there I was, alone in a studio, running through Verdi's score by heart on a grand piano.




Renee Fleming as Violetta in Act I of La Traviata


In my mind, the dynamics of Violetta's Act I party scene were totally accurate. A neighbor who is a major opera fan even stopped by to agree with the tempi I had chosen. As I waited to make my entrance into the orchestra pit at City Center, I thought back to the time (in my dreams) when I had conducted a performance of Lohengrin in my underwear following an urgent request from Kurt Herbert Adler.

And then I woke up.

In the hazy aftermath of that dream, some ideas which had been eluding a solution finally coalesced into a workable format that I could use in an upcoming column. As the wild creativity of my dream life faded into the background, I quickly saw how what was possible in my sleep was impossible in reality.

For many artists, the ability to see what others don't -- or can't see -- is what adds an element of humanity or depth to their work. For most people, 2 + 2 may equal 4. But for an artist, the result may be 4 plus a pink rhinoceros. Or a cupcake with day-glo icing. I can't explain the process; that's simply how it happens.

Those off-balance observations and perspectives are what frequently make one person's art stand out from another's. Consider two short plays that were part of the Best of Playground 18 Festival.

In The Broken-Tooth Comb by William Bivins, a young Chinese math whiz gets an opportunity to leave China and study in America. As the years progress (and he is separated from his beloved Yaling Sun (Rinabeth Apostol), he struggles to find a relationship between two prime numbers -- P (Howard Swain) and Q (Teddy Spencer). As directed by Katia Rivera, Jomar Tagatac gave a poignant portrayal of a mathematics professor chasing after the seemingly undecipherable answer to his theory until, late in life, he finds the solution he has always sought.





Tagatac also appeared as Kevin, the delivery boy, in Ruben Grijalva's political farce entitled Mr. Wong's Goes to Washington, which was crisply directed by M. Graham Smith. The setup is simple: Denise (Stacy Ross) is a White House aide locking horns during a meeting with a wingnut conservative member of Congress (Howard Swain).

When Kevin arrives with the food that was ordered by Ben (Adam Roy) and approved by Kim (Rinabeth Apostol) and Denise, Mick's two congressional aides are hungry for lunch. Kim is starving and ready to kill anyone who gets between her and the food. Ben is the very model of a research assistant, ready to quote statistics that will allow the Congressman to pay for and eat the food Kevin has delivered.

Mick, however, is having none of it. Not only does he resent the fact that someone ordered Chinese food when there is a good American delicatessen just down the street, he refuses to spend taxpayer money on a decision in which he was not involved. When Kevin (whose arms are getting tired from holding all the food) insists that someone is going to have to pay for their order, it only serves to further aggravate the belligerent Congressman who is, above all else, in love with the sound of his own voice.





Grijalva's tidy little farce did a surprisingly effect job of underscoring the sheer lunacy of the ideological extremes which have led to so much gridlock in Washington. But when it comes to dissecting sociological and ideological extremes, there is really only one person whose combination of forensic insight and artistic acuity is up to the task. That man is Mike Daisey.

* * * * * * * * * *

Daisey returned to the Bay area for the first time in three years for a two-night engagement at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, where he performed his stunning monologue entitled American Utopias. It requires an extremely skilled artist to take three seemingly disparate and uniquely American microcosms and tie them together using the complex common bond of how American culture can use (and abuse) the concept of an ongoing, carefully defined niche partnership between the public and private sectors.




Poster art for American Utopias


The three objects of Daisey's fascination are:

• Burning Man: Daisey and his wife, Jean-Michele Gregory, had never been to the annual gathering in Black Rock Desert. As they drove down from Seattle, they were terrified by thoughts of the unknown. Watching Daisey describe what it's like for a marginally defensive New Yorker to be hugged by strange men wearing little, if any clothing, is a moment of priceless hilarity built on the shattering of assumed physical boundaries. While his critical eye takes in the art cars and other sculptures to be found on the Playa, Daisey's acute sensitivity to money and how it affects cultural systems is blindsided when he encounters Burning Man's gifting economy. His discovery that the ritual of "burning the man" at the end of each year's festivities has less to do with the actual conflagration than with the way it impacts those in attendance is one of many presumptions about Burning Man that, quite literally, went up in smoke.


• Walt Disney World: For years, Daisey had resisted going to Orlando's theme parks. However, his relatives in New Jersey regard a trip to Walt Disney World the same way that many Muslims regard the Hajj. While Daisey's description of his painful misadventures in "the happiest place on earth" will have some people doubled over in laughter, there is also a childlike moment of awe as he first glimpses Sleeping Beauty's Castle and feels the same thrill he felt as a child watching television. His expectation of spending many hours waiting on lines for various attractions is undermined by a cousin's paramilitary approach to efficiently touring the Magic Kingdom. Perhaps the biggest irony of his family's Disney obsession comes when his cousin, Chris, asks Daisey what he liked the most about the whole experience and Mike confesses that, even more than the trip to Orlando, he really enjoyed attending one of his family's annual picnics in which they created their own Disney-inspired theme park experience.


• Zuccotti Park: Feeling guilty that he was not on hand for the Occupy Wall Street event when it took over Zuccotti Park, Daisey describes his experience on the day that he finally made a trip to Wall Street to see what the park (another public-private partnership) was like. Astounded by the intense police presence, after leaving the area and heading toward the subway, he asked a lone policeman how he felt about the whole phenomenon. The man replied "Well, you know, we've got to keep this place safe for the right people."

Monologist Mike Daisey

Those who attended some of Daisey's previous performances might have been surprised by the different tone of American Utopias. For one thing, Daisey seemed more emotionally vulnerable in his descriptions of feeling like an outsider at Burning Man and Walt Disney World. His ability to weave three separate narratives into a cultural tapestry hit a critical turning point at which the audience suddenly became much quieter and settled in for less comedy and more social criticism about the dominant influence of corporatism in our lives.

In American Utopias, Daisey seemed less combative and more willing to take his time as a master storyteller (had he been a camp counselor telling ghost stories, you can be sure every one of his camper's sleeping bags would have been soaked in urine by the time the sun came up). Not too many people can hold an audience in rapt attention for more than 2-1/2 hours before asking the stage manager to bring up the house lights so he can see the audience.

At that point, Daisey did something quite remarkable. He thanked the audience for letting him see them, explaining that at most performances he's usually speaking into a darkened space. Then, to make his point about why theatre is really about the exchange of energy between the audience and the performers, he invited everyone to join him outside the Novellus Theatre for the final segment of his performance. Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Daisey then left the stage, walked through the auditorium and was followed outdoors by hundreds of loyal fans.

As I noted above, American Utopias presents a mellower and more personal side of Mike Daisey than audiences might be used to. For those who have never seen Daisey performing at full throttle, the following clip was recorded on December 2, 2011, in the plaza at Broadway and West 50th Street (directly across the street from the Winter Garden Theatre) as part of an Occupy Broadway event. As Benjamin Shepard, co-author of The Beach Beneath the Streets explained:

"The city created privately owned public spaces for the people, in exchange for bonus height and bulk in these spaces. In recent weeks, there has been a push to tramp on our rights to public assembly, public space and, by extension, democracy itself. In response, Occupy Broadway joins a global struggle using occupation as a form of creative resistance. Occupations are spreading around the world and around New York City, even uptown.

Bloomberg beware: As State Judge Stallman made clear last week, the people have a right to be in these spaces 24 hours a day. You take our park, now Liberty Park is everywhere! In a time when downtown theaters are rapidly losing their spaces, being turned into high-end fashion stores, Occupy Broadway is a symbolic attempt to regain the space of theatre as an accessible, popular art form, bringing it back to where it all started -- in a public space, for the common citizen."

Watch Mike Daisey address the crowd in a highly impassioned, uniquely confrontational speech. His action is a fine example of artists working to bring power back to the people.





To read more of George Heymont go to My Cultural Landscape

Louise Munson's play Luigi is being produced by Inkwell Theater this summer, opening July 18th at the VS. Theatre in Los Angeles. When Luigi, the patriarch of an Italian family, is in his last days, family members gather in Tuscany to celebrate love, life and rediscover the bonds that hold them together. Among the crowd is Luigi's young American niece, Anna, who soon discovers her uncle is the key to a world of free thinking and a familial relationship she longs for. I spoke with Munson about her new work, a story of poetry, memories and the intergenerational connection of family.

Tickets available at Inkwelltheater.com.



Your plays all focus on family, both the connection and disconnection of the generations. Why was it important for this play to span 3 generations of family?

This play is about a family, some who don't know each other, who gather in one place together for a week. These seven people are all trying to figure out their own mythology and how it ties into their larger family mythology. What parts of their family mythology are bullshit and which feel truthful? It's something I think everyone goes through to some extent. They're all trying to figure out how to be authentic, and this vacation together, as Luigi's health worsens, confuses things for everyone but hopefully clarifies a few things too.

I tried to capture the brief, but subtly life-altering moments that you can have when you're in a new, strange place and find yourself connecting to people who may not even speak the same language. The moments when you're on vacation, and everything is new, and you don't have your regular routine, your phone, your computer, your distractions so that the connections with other people become heightened and surreal, like a dream. Time is a funny thing, we can remember a handful of days more clearly than most other whole months, years of our lives. And, of course, in the theater, the audience along with the actors are experiencing the event of the play in real time, every night, and that's always been a fascinating and exciting thing to me. Hopefully, after the play's done, you do feel slightly altered and weirdly close not only to the characters you've come to know but to this group that you experienced the play with--even if you never talk to them.

One of the most touching relationships in the show is between Luigi, the elderly Italian poet, and Anna, his 13-year-old American niece. What drew you to write about such a non-traditional friendship?

Yeah, their story is really the heart of the play. Anna's this American teenager getting to know her extended Italian family for the first time, without knowing the language and she's also dealing with her parents divorce, and all the terrible and wonderful things being a thirteen-year-old entails. Her friendship with Luigi, who is nearing the end of his life, is one of those friendships where words aren't so important, and there's a humor and understanding they share.

Like a lot of writers, I've always been obsessed with both the experience of being a teenager, facing the complicated growing up stuff, as well as the experience of being an older man, facing decline and mortality. I didn't think about this when I wrote it, but Anna and Luigi's odd love-friendship story develops in large part because they are both preoccupied with the same things. They are both in super-intense, heightened moments of their lives. They're both thinking about death a lot, but not in a morose way (it is a comedy), and they're both sharply awake and alive to the world around them. Actually, this might explain my equal love of The Sopranos and My So-Called Life.

Luigi doesn't face mortality in the way we normally see it portrayed, he is at peace with it, and not in a phony way. The character Luigi is based on a real person, Luigi Vignolo, although the play is fictional. I'm lucky to have known him, and in writing this, I think I was attempting to capture his particular sensibility to then give it away. What I found fascinating about Luigi (the real person) is that he was a man of science, a very accomplished neurologist, yet while he was dying, he didn't want to know the details of his illness, he had absolutely no interest in the specifics. So instead of trying to control it or fixate on himself, he was at peace, and therefore able to enjoy his last years with his family, and, for me, that was a very important spiritual lesson. (Although he would never put it in that way.)

The play heavily incorporates poetry, interpreted by several characters of different ages. Why did you find this element so important in telling this story?

Anna wants to be a poet, and Luigi becomes a kind of mentor for her. He gives her permission. Every creative person needs someone in their life who basically tells them, "Hey, I'm gonna give you permission to take what you love to do seriously." No creative person hasn't had that. Without it, you don't go for it. Anna leaves Tuscany with Luigi having basically said, "Go for it." And that's his last lovely act in life. And I think he's okay with it.

Old habits die hard. Especially when the habits are religious traditions and the agents of change seek to persecute those traditions. "Fiddler on the Roof," written by Joseph Stein, music by Jerry Bock, lyrics by Sheldon Harnick, directed by Phyllis B. Gitlin for the Long Beach Playhouse Mainstage Theatre, is a moving and painful account of the conflict.

Set in 1905, in the village of Anatevka, Russia, the story features Tevye (Martin Feldman). He's a poor milkman, a dedicated husband/father, and a devout Jew. He's married to Golde (Harriet Whitmyer). They've got five daughters. They include Tzeitel (Jennifer Bales), Hodel (Melissa Deni), Chava (Sara Lipowsky), Shprintze (Hannah Smith), and Bielke (Mariyah Duffie).

The three eldest want boyfriends. Their choice of suitors, though, exasperates Tevye. Not least because they forgo the services of Yente the matchmaker (Roxanne Martinez). Tzeitel rejects a wealthy butcher, Lazar Wolfe (Richard DeVicariis). Instead, she choses a poor tailor, Motel (Jeremy Krasovic). Hodel chooses Perchik (Dennis Adrian Dyck), the family tutor full of revolutionary ideas. Chava chooses Fyedka (Evan Battle) because he shares her love of reading.

The story's bittersweet. It's not just that Tevye has to make a hardscrabble living, to ensure good marriages for his daughters, to keep the faith. He also has to contend with changing social values and the threat of pogroms.

Gitlin emphasizes the sweet over the bitter. The three oldest daughters are bubbly and vivacious. The low-key courtship scenes and the wedding are exuberant. The scenes of daily life are hustle bustle engaging. The family may be poor but they have each other and they have their religion.

The production's success depends on simplicity. Here, the contrast between cramped quarters and soaring dreams rings true. Gitlin shows a remarkable sense of space. She creates busyness and activity without making the production seem crowded and chaotic. As a result, the production is both intimate and airy. When Tevye speaks to God, you feel the sky open up. When he speaks to his wife and his three oldest daughters, it's as close as close can be.

The Mainstage's proscenium stage is especially effective. At times it houses up to 24 characters at one time. Whether it's a yard, a tavern, or a bedroom, we're smack dab in the middle of the characters' lives. Their joys and tribulations are our joys and tribulations.

The two leads are well cast. Feldman shines the long-suffering, ever-hopeful Tevye. In his day-to-day life he rolls with the punches, soldiers on. When he prays to his God, though, he opens up, like he's talking to his favorite bartender. His opposite is Whitmyer's Golde. She's hardheaded. She keeps everyone, including her quixotic husband, in check. Together they form the family's core, a core tested by events changing all around them.

The Fiddler (Brenna Hanlan) lyrically holds things together. She and her music represent tradition and stability in a story of far-reaching change. That's the best thing about this production. Music articulates the joys and the challenges that Tevye and his family face. As the family marches off at the end to God-knows-where, only the music, alas, remains.

Performances are 8pm, Friday and Saturday, and 2pm, Sunday. The show runs until August 16. Tickets are $14 - $21. The Playhouse is located at 5021 E. Anaheim Street, Long Beach, CA 90804. For more information, call (562) 494-1014, option 1, or visit www.lbplayhouse.org.

Atomic, at the Acorn, is the show that asks the musical question: Once the A-bomb was realized, was it wise to use it? Coming up with an answer requires a great deal of serious thought, which is what librettist-lyricists Danny Ginges and Gregory Bonsignore and composer-lyricist Philip Foxman give it. Whether they've given it enough thought--in a tuner that may push the limit on how far musicals dealing with difficult issues can go--remains in question.

Ginges, Bonsignore and Foxman tell their story within an intriguing framework. Appearing before the House Un-American Activities Committee, the brilliant though arrogant J. Robert Oppenheimer (Euan Morton) decides to defend his loyalty to the country by telling the history of the development of the devastating weapon that irrevocably changed mankind's history.

Oppenheimer introduces the tale of Leo Szilard (Jeremy Kushnier), then and now an almost forgotten figure in the building of the atomic bomb. It was Szilard who got the genius notion about a chain reaction leading to splitting the atom, a possibility discounted prior to the mid-1930s.

Fearful, particularly when Germany invaded Poland in 1939, that German scientists would build a bomb before anyone else, Szilard devoted his life to the project (eventually the Manhattan Project), at times jeopardizing his marriage to pediatrician Trudy Weiss Szilard (Sara Gettelfinger).

When the war with Germany ends, Szilard considers the long-term implications of the bomb and concludes that using it against Japan is too much for his conscience to bear. He tries to stop it but is foiled in an attempt to reach Harry Truman--partly because Oppenheimer argued successfully that deploying the bomb would result in the occasion's being an effective future deterrent, which, of course, it has been. So far.

It's a meaty subject, all right, with Ginges, Bonsignore and Foxman bringing in supporting players like Enrico Fermi (Jonathan Hammond), Edward Teller (Randy Harrison) and project liaison Arthur Compton (David Abeles), who objected to Szilard's resistant attitude towards the kind of secrecy under which he was expected to operate.

In a production where Neil Patel's sleek grid-like set (that annoyingly obscures lights behind it specifying locales) and David Finn's lighting are crucially effective, the human and humane nature of those associated with the super-human efforts--the amount of drinking the participants did, for instance, and then their abiding post-bombing guilt--is both surveyed and stinted.

Szilard's details are unfolded in great detail, but Oppenheimer's, on the other hand, aren't. (Fermi is presented almost strictly as a caricature Italian.) It's not unusual for musicals to jump over biographical segments, and that occurs in excess with Oppenheimer. How he became Manhattan Project head is completely ignored, practically reducing him to the heavy in the piece, a bombastic bombing advocate with his signature cigarette in hand.

And since this is a musical, there's the music. It's something of a rock score during which every once in a while Kushnier, who has a solid belt, steps center stage--sometimes on a table--and, not unlike Idina Menzel in If/Then, delivers a power ballad with all his might. That just about every song he's given sounds like the one that preceded it isn't helpful, nor are the lyrics, which are rife with clumsy off rhymes. Neither Oscar Hammerstein nor Stephen Sondheim nor any other Golden Age lyricist you might mention would ever rhyme "office" with "nauseous"--especially since the correct adjective is 'nauseated."

Kushnier isn't the only forceful singer in the group, directed with cogency by Damien Grey and choreographed when it's called for by Greg Graham. The other eight ensemble members match him when their turns come. Is it going too far to say they're all a blast?
************************************************************************************************
Most people know about Swan Lake, but perhaps only those who see The Mapmaker's Opera at PTC Performance Place as part of the New York Music Festival, will know about Paloma Lake. That could be the English title of "Leyenda de la Paloma," the dance that begins the musical's second act and, as choreographed by Stas Kmiec and danced by Natalia Lepore Hagan and Andrés Acosta, is the most interesting part of an otherwise uninvolving work.

Adapting Béa Gonzalez's novel of the same name set on the eve of the Mexican Revolution, librettist-lyricist Victor Kazan and composer Kevin Purcell unfold the story of naturalist's assistant Diego Clemente (Joel Perez), who paints birds, and rich man's daughter Sofia Duarte (Madeleine Featherby), who fall in love across class lines and eventually bear the consequences.

While occasionally throwing in flimsy references to the increasingly inflammatory ruling class/workers condition, the flamenco-influenced musical musters little urgency. While guitarists Nilko Andreas Guarin, Frederick Bryant Hollister, Richard Miller and David Boddington add flavor, the songs eventually give the impression of being a series of rhymed clichés.

The cast, directed half-heartedly by Donald Brenner, is divided into two halves, the half that does its best with the material (Alma Cuervo, Lorraine Serabian, Tony Chiroldes) and the half that doesn't. But there is money on the stage in a series of animated drawings that indicate various Yucatån locales. Since there's no credit for a projections designer, set designer Andrew Lu must deserve the credit.
**************************************************************************************************
Pretentious and muddled aren't the most encouraging words to describe a production of any kind, but they unfortunately apply to ValueVille, also at the PCT Performance Space and part of this year's NYMF.

It's a spin on Jean-:Paul Sartre's No Exit, and in it a handful of people are trapped with each other in an Ikea-like Purgatory akin to a roach hotel where you can check-in but you can't check out.

Eddie (David Spadora), a recent college grad, arrives and immediately encounters nervous ex-girlfriend Meg (Emily Koch), a tyrannical boss Don (Christopher Sutton) and a few others, including a forever-pregnant shopper (Stephanie Fittro).

The idea seems to be that once any of them realizes what landed them in this pre-Hell and right the personality flaw, he or she is free to go. Yet, several of them do make the connection but still remain condemned to their dire spot. So what does librettist-lyricist-composer Rowan Casey think he's doing?

Not crafting memorable songs, that's for sure. At one point there's a "cheesy feel-good ballad," which isn't my assessment but that of naysayer Don. Towards the end, Sharonda (NaTasha Yvette Williams) blares an 11 o'clock gospel song that lands in the time-honored way of 11 o'clock gospel rants. It's followed by Eddie, Meg and company singing a rather sweet song called "Heart & Soul." It's not the Frank Loesser-Hoagy Carmichael "Heart and Soul," but arranger Ryan Cartwell has the wit to end the ditty with a piano reference to the golden oldie.

ValueVille is directed by the terrific performer Donna Lynne Champlin making her debut in this capacity, and choreographed by the terrific performer Jeffry Denman. They both can be forgiven the lapse.

A Conversation with Jason Mraz

Mike Ragogna: It's Jason Mraz! So you're doing a world tour with Raining Jane.

Jason Mraz: Yep, I'll be taking Raining Jane with me on the road, so we'll be able to recreate this album and obviously, we'll be able to play a lot of our old songs through our new musical filter that Raining Jane and I laid down. I first saw Raining Jane about eight years ago and I loved their musicianship. They're all multi-instrumentalists and beautiful singers. I loved their attitude, how they connect with the audience. I immediately wanted to work with them, so for the last eight years, we've gotten together twice a year to write songs and collaborate, thus resulting in the album Yes!, which is a complete collaboration between myself and Raining Jane.

MR: "Love Someone" is the first single from your new album Yes!, and you performed it on American Idol, right?

JM: We did! That was a very brave American Idol choice, for them to let us come on and do an untested song. It was pretty much a world premiere at that point. It was great.

MR: Seems like you're doing the TV tour.

JM: We were on Ellen with one of the other songs, though. We're just getting our bearings to take these songs out on the road and take them on television shows, but we're happy to share it, that's for sure!

MR: Jason, your album titles have become positive, one-word anthems. Love...Yes!...

JM: I think it's important and I think it's true that our life experience is going to be about our attitude, our thoughts, our beliefs, our speech and our actions. We can transform our life experience simply by changing our language. So rather than say, "I'm not good enough," or "Something's missing in my life," or "I am broke," or "I am suffering"... See, "I am" are the two most powerful words on the planet. Whatever we put after "I am," we're going to become. I've tried to be really specific in my language as a writer to start putting more affirming and heartfelt and thoughtful lyrics in the songs so when you sing along, you're actually getting these tools of transformation and maybe your attitude can shift a little bit, or at the very least maybe your mood can change for three and a half minutes in the song. So I also wanted to extend that onto my stage, I wanted to extend that into my interviews, I wanted to extend that down to my album covers. "Yes" is the mother of all positive words. When you say, "Yes," something is going to be born into this world.

MR: You know, many singer-songwriters have traditionally written socially conscious songs to affect politics or raise awareness. In contrast, your approach differs because it doesn't focus on what's wrong with the world, it's the exact opposite.

JM: Right. I wish I could take credit to thinking that whole-mindedly, but thank you for being something of an historian on that topic because that's a brilliant point. I had not wanted to sing protest songs or songs of "this should be that and we should change this" because I only think about my own perspective and trust that other humans can relate through their human-ness. I sing songs for me that are, "I won't give up" because I don't want to give up. I sing "I'm Yours" because I'm singing to my infinite, that which I sing to, and I say, "Make me an instrument so that I can be yours, I can be of service." I'm hoping that my listeners or fans of this music have similar experiences in that when they sing along to it, they themselves become transformed by it. I can't take credit for everything you just said, but I think that is definitely the goal.

MR: Can you take us through a brief tour of the album, maybe the two or three songs that you feel are the most positive, the biggest "Yes!"-es of the album?

JM: Man, this is going to be a tough one, because it's going to come from my own perspective. I love "Long Drive." I think it best represents what Raining Jane and I do as a whole. It was built around Becky's bass line; Becky [Gebhardt] is also a classical sitar player so we got to utilize that. Mona Tavakoli is our phenomenal percussionist. She really demonstrates her percussion and her drum skills. We have Main Bloomfield who play the cello, which is apparent, and Chaska Potter who's following me on all of the harmonies and together, they're all singing. It's a story that you either live or you dream. It's a lovely escape. I love it musically. I love how it feels energetically. It's one of my favorite songs on the record. I also love "Quiet." To me, it's one of the most challenging songs I've ever performed. It's mostly because of my range, it just falls in a really challenging place, but the song is about overcoming those internal challenges, where we can sometimes be overwhelmed by how fast life is evolving and technologies are evolving. How fast our communities are building and how sometimes we just need to take a deep breath and maybe hold the hand of someone who knows us, who knows where we came from, or someone who recognizes that you're on this journey and through that, we can actually quiet our minds on the struggle. We don't need to add self-inflicted pain to an already painful human.

"Quiet" is a really strong entry in that category. I'll say "Shine," as well, which is the finale of the record. It's based on a thirteenth century poem. It originally said, "Even after all these years the sun never said to the Earth, 'You owe me,' and look what happens with a love like that; it lights up the whole sky." I wanted to embellish upon this poem, and I created this story of the sun and the moon and how the moon actually didn't have a light of its own, but it was still going to work at night to light the sky and borrow light from the sun. The closing verse to that is, "If you forget that you're special, just remember that wherever you go and however you move that light shines directly to you." We can experience that when we're looking at the moon on water or when we look out of our car and the moon is following us. In our own thoughts we can choose to feel that we're loved and we're being watched over and that we matter. Those are important things as humans who often times fall victim to our thoughts and feel like we're alone and that we can do no good.

MR: In the Vedic tradition, the full moon is supposed to fill humans who observe it with beauty, especially on a full moon. It's interesting that you had a perspective that aligns with classical thought.

JM: How about that. Thanks for sharing that.

MR: Jason, what advice do you have for new artists?

JM: I would just say get out there and play. If you're a new artist, practice your art and share it. Set up shop somewhere, whether it's a street corner or a coffee shop. I got my start in a coffee shop that didn't even have live music. I wanted to play in coffee shops that did have live music, but I didn't have an audience. I didn't really have anything to offer those coffee shops, so I went down the street to a place that didn't have live music and I said, "Hey, can I bring some speakers and some music on Friday night?" They said, "Sure." By the end of the Summer, it was packed every Friday night. You couldn't even get in. That's what I try to encourage artists to do, make a home for yourself where it's easy for the community to find you and by playing often you'll improve as a writer, as a performer, and you'll develop a loyal fan base. I think these days, new artists have a tendency to try to cut corners. Maybe they want a Kickstarter campaign and have an audience pay for their album. Well, you can also go out there and play enough gigs and earn money for that album and the music will probably be better and your listener will probably be stronger because you've actually spent more time on the road and in the venues. I think it's important to earn your fan base and not just try to immediately advance to the top. If you ride to the top quickly, you're liable to fall as quickly. Take your time. It's a long journey ahead of you as an artist. There's nowhere that you're supposed to be other than right now living inside of your art.

Transcribed by Galen Hawthorne


JOE BONAMASSA'S "DIFFERENT SHADES OF BLUE"



According to Joe Bonamassa...

"When [producer] Kevin Shirley and I started talking about what kind of record we wanted to make next, I knew it had to be something different - a new challenge. We agreed that a record of all original songs was something that has been long overdue. So I went to Nashville to write with James House, Jerry Flowers and Jonathan Cain. When James sang me his idea for 'Different Shades Of Blue,' I thought the title was perfect, especially for the type of artist I am, and for the type of album we were writing. It says it all. At least it does for me. I hope everyone enjoys it."





A Conversation with Marc Broussard

Mike Ragogna: Marc, I just finished listening to your album A Life Worth Living. I think it's your most personal one yet.

Marc Broussard: No doubt about it!

MR: You mention family members, your relation to God, Hurricane Katrina... What motivated you to put a project together in this way?

MB: Being honest. I think the motivation stems mostly from my record label releasing me from the strictures that were in place with previous record deals. When you're on a major label like Island Def Jam or Atlantic, there can be a lot of pressure to perform and to put out a product that is going to be successful commercially whereas Vanguard told me not to worry much about radio and just to go make a record that I wanted to make. That's why the record sounds the way it does.

MR: Although the production gets intimate, there are also rockers on the album and some other big production numbers. I feel like it's the caliber of the lyrics that really unify A Life Worth Living the most.

MB: I do a lot of co-writing, I've always done that for my records and this was no exception. But I wrote with a bunch of different writers. For the past several records, I stuck with a similar stable of writers. This is no knock on them, but being put in situations with new writers opened me up to a different process in a sort of way. Most important was my desire to be brutally honest whenever possible. That stems from hearing a particular song by a particular artist named Blake Mills. There's a song called "Don't Tell All Our Friends About Me" that I found on YouTube through a friend of mine, and it hit me right in the gut, man. The blatant honesty that was on display in that song was jarring. It made me realize that I had avoided being as honest as that for fear of offending my wife's sensibilities for a long, long time. As noble as that may be, it definitely prevented me from connecting with the lyric in a way that I really desired to deeply.

MR: So that song moved you into wanting to go to that level of revelation?

MB: Exactly. It moved me so much that I had a talk with my wife and said, "Look, babe, this is going to be a different record. This is going to be some heartache and some heartbreak and I don't want you to focus on the words of the song, I want you to focus on how we are together and then just let me as an artist get this stuff off my chest. That's what happened. It helps that some of the heartache that's on this record isn't about her. For instance, "A Life Worth Living," the title track, is a song about my grandmother passing away. "Give Em Hell" is another gut-wrenching heartache song but once again it's about death, the death of a friend of mine. Even "Hurricane Heart" sounds like it's about a relationship. But truthfully, it's about a male friend of mine I had a falling out with.

MR: Sometimes the brotherly bond is a harder one to wrangle with.

MB: No doubt about it. In love as I am with my wife, and in love as I am with my life, I felt really compelled to dig a little deeper into the nitty-gritty that I had been avoiding for so long.

MR: When she finally heard the album, were there any moments of wincing?

MB: No. I think she's been well aware of this process from jump, so she never questioned me. She really gave me the freedom to do this thing.

MR: I'm guessing it was a cathartic process creating this project?

MB: One of the first songs I wrote for this record is called "Honesty." My wife tends to avoid confrontation, and I tend to want to hash things out pretty regularly. I'll do it right on the spot while she wants to wrap her head around things first. That song really set the tone for the rest of the process. I tried to write that song with several different writers I work with and finally when I met Paul Moak who produced the record, we sat down and wrote that song. Not only did I know that it was the right mood and the right tone for the album but I knew that Paul was going to be producing the record from that point on.

MR: What does this do for your future as far as how you're creating music? Was this a game changer?

MB: I think it is. Personally, I feel very strongly that this record put my best foot forward. This is my sixth studio album and I think that the writing speaks for itself. The production speaks for itself, and I'm looking forward to the next album, I really am. But I'm focused on this album right now. Every project is quite different. Who knows who I'll be next year or what I'll learn by the time I get back in the studio for the next project. All I can do as an artist and as a writer is take those experiences and help inform the writing process.

MR: This is not meant to be rude, but these new performances seem night and day compared to anything you've done before, except, of course, "Home."

MB: I tend to agree with that simply because the previous albums were an attempt to do something that I knew I could accomplish technically. However, connecting to the lyrics of the previous records is not the easiest thing to do, especially a song like "Hard Knocks" from Keep Coming Back. There are certain songs that I've written and recorded along the way that I really had no business singing at the end of the day because I didn't have those experiences growing up. I was raised by a middle class family in a small town outside of Lafeyette, Louisiana. I had lots of really poor black friends growing up, but I never lived through that. My parents are still together after forty years. My family is blessed in a lot of ways. I think most important was that I sought out at the beginning of this recording process to be really honest and true to myself. I've gravitated more to rock 'n' roll instead of R&B and soul. Modern R&B and soul really doesn't touch me in the same way that it used to, or in the same way that the old soul still does. Classic rock and guys like The Black Crowes and the Foo Fighters are having more of an impact on me musically these days than ever before, as well as guys like Blake Mills who I've only recently discovered. Blake's album was a big influence on this record. HIs writing was the watermark, if you will.

MR: Was there any song on this album that was difficult for you to write or perform?

MB: Absolutely. Both the song about my grandmother and the song about my friend were extremely emotional experiences, mostly because I felt more like a conduit than a writer of those songs. I wrote both of those songs on my own. The lyrics really weren't coming to me, they weren't divined from within myself, they were grabbed from somewhere else. That process can be really difficult, not because you want to do the song justice, but because you realize that once you surrender yourself and allow that next lyric to come in, you realize how devastating it's going to be, emotionally, for yourself. Surrendering to that process is a very emotional, very difficult process.

MR: And I'm going to throw "Home" out there again because I feel like that came closest to the emotion of your new recordings.

MB: Once again, this whole record was about connecting with the lyric. I had a producer, the first producer I ever worked with, Marshall Altman, during the records we made together would constantly tell me, "Sing the lyric, sing the lyric" and I never really understood what he meant by that until this project. What it means is connect with the lyric, understand the words that you're saying and try your damnedest to mean them. Actors are trained to do this on a regular basis, they're trained to get into that character. When you finish writing a song, that day, it's really easy to connect with the lyric. So often I have to go back and listen to demos and try to find that character again. This whole record was really focused on connecting with those lyrics and making sure that I was in the right headspace to sing every one of those songs.

MR: Speaking of headspace, perhaps your unconscious was nudging you into writing these lyrics.

MB: It was different in so many ways. Every record after my very first independent release I had hundreds of thousands of dollars at my disposal to record records, whereas with this project, we had a shoestring budget, but we were highly motivated. Everybody involved felt really strongly about the material we chose to record. It was a really easy process in that regard, things came together pretty quickly over the recording phase. We built the tracks from the ground up for the first half of the record, the vibe-y stuff like "Honesty" and several other songs. We recorded five or six songs with just myself, Paul Moak and an assistant engineer Devin Vaughan who also happened to be a drummer, just the three of us building those tracks from the ground up. Then the stuff that we needed the band for, we called the band in and we knocked it out in four days or something like that. It was a really swift process as opposed to an extended process like I've had in the past where we've set up in a studio for six weeks and take our time.

MR: I think sometimes a long process recording creates an environment for overthinking everything.

MB: Absolutely. Almost every time. When you're recording a record you're trying to catch lightning in a bottle. You're not going to be able to do that by spending eight weeks or three months trying to make a record. It just doesn't happen that way. It's got to flow naturally, it's got to happen naturally. Limiting yourself with the time, I think, is actually quite wise.

MR: And it allows you to bring your thoughts together in a way that the process is efficient and not overindulgent.

MB: It also harkens back to some of my favorite recordings of all time, songs like "I Love You More Than You Know" or "I've Been Loving You Too Long" and Al Green's "Love & Happiness." That was an era where entire records were being cut in a single day. We try to take our cues from the predecessors that have cut the path before us.

MR: What advice do you have for new artists?

MB: The first thing I would say as a business person is "Get a good lawyer." Always get a good lawyer. Secondly, spend a significant amount of time thinking really hard about what you want out of this business. When I first started, I thought that I wanted to be the biggest star in the world. I no longer have that desire at all. I like the anonymity that I have. The money could always be better, but I am blessed and I do lead a very comfortable life. My wife and I are truly blessed in that way. Spend an awful lot of time thinking about the trajectory you want your career to go, and then most importantly, don't be afraid to work your ass off. And be nice. There's no reason to be a dick.

MR: I imagine you'd also tell people to connect to the music in the same way you did here.

MB: Yeah, being true to yourself, as well. I made a record for Island Def Jam after Carencro. It came out after Lyor Cohen left the label and L.A. Reid stepped in, and that record never came out, it never saw the light of day because L.A. Reid, when he head it, called it "too urban." What that really meant, in my opinion, was that I was too white to sing the songs that I had sung for that record. It left me bitter for a little while, but in retrospect, he was probably right in a lot of ways. There were songs on that record that I just didn't have any business singing, and there was no way for him to market it successfully with me as the guy singing those songs.

MR: That happens often, guys singing with big, soulful voices though they haven't exactly perfected their "instrument" and don't really know what their talent is about.

MB: I really spent a lot of time thinking exactly about that, what my instrument was and what my role is in delivering songs to the world. The bottom line is if I'm not being true to myself and I'm trying to do things simply because I think they're going to be successful or that they're going to sound cool, that's no way to connect with my fans. That's no way to connect with a lyric. Once again, the idea was really just to be as honest as possible.

MR: Beautiful. What's coming down the pike with your socially conscious efforts?

MB: There are some great things happening. I'm actually part of a nonprofit project to address the problems of poverty and homelessness as well as address healthcare issues the world over. It's going to be called the S.O.S. Foundation and essentially, I'm looking to record S.O.S. records every other record cycle and have those records be a fundraising apparatus to partner with various groups that we choose to work with over the years. Our first partner is a group called City Of Refuge out of Atlanta. I'm trying to launch a new festival next summer that will be a big partner with the S.O.S. Foundation and I'm looking forward to getting on tour behind this record and hopefully see a bit more success and continue to progress as a writer.

Transcribed by Galen Hawthorne

Too many talented arts executives - whose organizations have achieved a great deal under their leadership - fail to promote their organizations successfully because they do not know how to speak to reporters. The difference between a large story and a small one, a positive article and a bland or even negative one, an on-going relationship with a journalist or a one-off story can often be traced to the way the manager responds to a journalist. Since important, large, positive stories in publications can play a pivotal role in establishing strong institutional identity (which typically leads directly to ticket sales and fund-raising success) learning how to interact with journalists is crucial.

A few important rules:

1. Know what you want to say before every interview: It is important to be proactive when speaking with journalists rather than simply answering their questions. If you know the topic of the interview (and you should always ask beforehand), then you have time to prepare an outline of the concepts and facts you wish to convey.

2. Be specific: Articles are much more interesting and far more likely to be of some length if you can cite a series of specific facts, experiences, plans, etc. that will capture the interest of the journalist and the readers. If one only speaks in bland generalities the article is not likely to be very impressive.

3. Read the journalist: Working with a journalist is, in part, a courting process. We are trying to impress the journalist that we know what we are doing, that our organization is successful and that our story is important. We need to know what interests and excites journalists - we do that by listening carefully when they speak and presenting our story in a way that is likely to impress them. All journalists are different and our story must be tailored to their particular interests and prejudices.

4. Tell the truth: Ideally we are forming a long-term relationship with a journalist. And all relationships are based on trust. Suggesting the next opera or play is going to be extraordinary when we know it is going to be routine or suggesting our financial health is strong when we know that we are facing major cash flow problems is not the way to build a trusting relationship. Of course we will always shade things to make them seem as positive as we can and we do not want to air our dirty linen in public; but we also do not want important journalists to mistrust us.

5. Practice: Practice may not make perfect but it does teach us what works and what doesn't. We need to find our own personal interview style that works for us and our organizations. Doing many interviews, analyzing the results, and working to improve our skills do pay off in the long run.

The arts managers who can create excitement with their press corps are the ones whose institutions will likely continue to build strong and consistent visibility and fiscal health.