Play on, play on

[deckardcanine]

I should be glad to have been occupied the last few days. Still, it's a little embarrassing to post updates this late after the fact.


First, on Friday, I had the honor to usher the world premiere of a play written and directed by Charles Randolph-Wright, adapted from a book by Craig Marberry: Cuttin' Up. It’s about African-American culture from the perspective of three barbers, each of a different generation. Aside from the barbers, there are five Black actors, only one of them female, who play about a dozen roles apiece (gotta keep the customers varied). Naturally, most of the audience was Black as well – probably even a greater percentage than for last year's Crowns or Hallelujah, Baby!, both highly recommended.

There are melancholic moments, particularly with respect to the subplots that help hold the largely ambling play together. There are a few brief cuts to singers and dancers. But it functions primarily – and best – as a comedy, whatever your race. This was clear from the opening announcement, which gave the usual instructions to turn off cell phones etc. but pretended to come from a Magic 102.3 deejay. That was not the only tip of the hat to the DC area: there was a conversation at one point that included plans to visit Tai Shan the panda cub. I suspect the actors were ad-libbing rather than following a last-minute script update.

As a matter of fact, I dare say that Cuttin' Up is the most flawless play I've seen at least since I started ushering regularly. The only part I can call awkward is a flashback of three customers preparing for 'Nam; it doesn't fully flow with the rest. I remember being struck when I saw a genuine-looking barber shop on stage (altho I have yet to go to one that keeps cash in wooden drawers instead of a register). The stage moved around electronically, but I think a lower-budget production can manage other ways to keep the visuals interesting. Seemingly everybody involved outdid him/herself, my personal favorite being the young and ever-clothes-changing barber, whose actor called himself Psalmayene 24.


Then on Saturday, I got to see my favorite band at the 9:30 Club. For those not very familiar with Rusted Root, I'm afraid I can think of no comparison. They have a sort of fusion rock that may incorporate "world beat," country, and who knows how many other styles. Their lyrics are a mixed bag: one music teacher of mine fell in love with the words on their first album, while a friend heard another album and said lyrics were by far their weakest point. Me, I give little mind to lyrics outside of hymns and humor, but I can assure you that at least they're hardly offensive.

Dang, was I immature earlier that day. I almost opted out of the experience when I heard they were scheduled to come on after a nobody band at 11:30. But when we walked thru the door at 10:45 to find a spot, we heard the opening notes of the first song. (A very good and lively song at that: "Voodoo.") In moments, I stood on a balcony point where I could see most of the four-man, two-woman band. Not that they offered much for onstage visuals, but I marveled at one song’s use of an instrument like three small gourds stuck together, which the player rotated slowly in different directions at the mike. Which sound did it make?

You may recall that my first concert was of Simon and Garfunkel and my second featured Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan. This one was more of what I think when I hear "rock concert." We were all on our feet and frequently dancing, most of the crowd was under 30 (RR is played primarily in colleges, not mainstream radio), beer was the only drink available where I was, lots of people lit up – indoors – on every slow song, and I went to bed with my ears ringing. It'll take another exceptional group or individual to bring me back to that venue.

When I looked up RR on Yahoo! two years ago, I found five albums, two of which merely repeated songs from the others. Now they were pushing a new one, and one third to one half of the songs they played were unfamiliar to me. They clearly haven't lost their touch. It's just too bad they played only two songs from my favorite album; more of it was older stuff. Oh, to be there for "Faith I Do Believe" or "Who Do You Tell It To?"

Comments

[billis.livejournal.com]

I had no idea that Rusted Root was still out there. I must admit they earned my scorn then, as my roommate was always turning them up, lighting scented candles, and then huffing his bong atop a pile of pillows in the nude.

[deckardcanine.livejournal.com]

:( That experience would earn my scorn for anyone he was playing, even if I already liked the group.

[billis.livejournal.com]

Now, in my mind, it seems kind of awesome, like it can be good to have to live with sort of extreme people. A memory I'm really enjoying right now is one time I came in, and he was stoned on his pillows, and the music was "the cat came back, the cat came back" and he said "the cat came back, man.... Rusted Root sucks!" and then laughed about it. He was listening to it all the time, and really liked it, but then he also enjoyed mocking it. It seems like a strangely positive outlook.

But OMG resolving rent and bill payment issues with him, noooooooooooo! As far as I know, he left the weed behind for a life as a dentist!

[deckardcanine.livejournal.com]

I don't remember them ever singing, "The cat came back," but I do remember "When the cat turned blue."

[billis.livejournal.com]

that's it!