music

And I will always love you!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Dolly died yesterday. 

I read the news post just as I was getting up.  To say that I gasped was an understatement.  We’ve all known it was coming, but even forty years from now would have been too soon.  She is the best Christian that I have ever known.  Accepting of everyone.  Honoring her roots and yet using her riches for good.  

To quote Spiderman, “With great power, come great responsibility.”  

She spent her life making things easier for those around her.  She donated money in her very poor town in Tennessee.  She donated books to kids around the country.  And in the last four or five hours I’ve read countless posts about her generosity. 

I have loved her since her Porter Wagoner days.  My family watched his show when I was a munchkin and I can still remember his shiny costumes and her big wigs.  I don’t know that I was a fan back then, but by the late 70’s and early 80’s I was sold. 

I have had the lucky occasion to see her in concert twice.  Most recently in Bangor, Maine with Adam.  The show was amazing.  And to quote Adam, “I’m so glad that we saw her when we had the chance.”

But the first time was in 1989 in Atlanta at Chastain Park.  I had gone out on a date or two with a boy name Tony Giatras.  Two would be exaggerating probably.  I liked him a lot, but he came on way too strong and was a bit pushy.  That being said, after it was clear we weren’t going to work as a couple, we remained friends. 

He called me up one night, back when you left messages on answering machines and told me he had a surprise for me.  His surprise.  Tickets to see Dolly.  I was ecstatic, but also a little annoyed as he wasn’t taking no for an answer.  But fuck it, I was not going to turn down Dolly tickets to prove a point.  

A few weeks later, we went to the concert.  We sat in the back of the amphitheater.  We drank the bottle of wine we brought.  And we enjoyed it immensely.  So many costumes changes.  So much energy.  

I focus on this because about two months later, I moved back to Kentucky to attend grad school at the University of Kentucky.  Tony and I stayed in touch, talking often on the phone.  

This would have been the summer of 1989. It’s funny.  I remember, this concert plain as day.  I remember the year. I remember the summer.  But according to AI, there is no recorded concert by Dolly in 1989.  But I know that I’m not wrong.  

All of this is important to me, because three years later, on a random day, I called Tony’s number.  His roommate answered and I asked for Tony.  There was a pause, and in that pause, I knew what he was about to say.  

Tony was HIV+ and had been since I knew him.  Well, I didn’t know it when I first met him, but I learned it not long after.  In 1990, being HIV+ was a death sentence, but I held out hope.  He’d just started AZT and the few times I visited when I went to Atlanta he seemed fine. 

Fast forward to 1992.  I called Tony, and his roommate answered.  There was the pause I mentioned and I knew before he said a word.  He’d passed about a month before.  They had been unable to find my number, so they couldn’t let me know.  I missed his final moments, I missed his memorial service, I missed it all.  

He filled me in on his final days.  His family had relented and finally come to Atlanta to be with him.  He’d gone blind about 48 hours before he passed, but I was told he seemed to be at peace with what was happening.  

I was devastated.  

But.  

Because I didn’t have any sort of closure, I’ve spent the last 35 years just believing that like many people from my past, we just lost touch.  He’s still driving his beat up tiny pick-up truck listening to Skinny Puppy cassettes.  I continue to hope that he’ll call and let me know he is okay.  

Our moment in time, was brief.  Maybe 4 four months total, before I moved back to Kentucky.  When we met, I was living with my friend Shelley, with my stuff in storage, trying to figure out what came next.  

One of my favorite memories, is coming home to discover a vase of daisies in front of our door.  The note was an apology for coming on too strong.  Daisies are still one of my favorite flowers because of that note.  

This is not the first time I’ve written about Tony.  Years ago I wrote about him, and a friend of his found the post and contacted me.  I was so touched.  I miss him.  And will love him forever. He was a bright spot in a moment in time for me.  

And this is my Dolly story.   

They say the neon lights are bright, on Broadway!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 2:

We slept very late. Almost till 1:00. We were tired from the previous 2 days and the late night last night.

The day started with a text from a friend from Atlanta who was in town. She was on her way home about the same time we were starting our day. It would have been great to see her as we only see each other every so often.

Next up was bagels, at The Bagel Bar down the street. They were delicious.

Then we rushed up town to see Dog Day Afternoon. The reviews had been mediocre at best, and it was one of the last shows we plotted for our trip. We didn’t have high hopes, but we were pleasantly surprised. We enjoyed it a lot. The performances were great and the design was amazing. It’s been years since I’ve seen the movie so I’m anxious to get home and give it a watch to see if it’s as funny as the show today was. We were both very happy to have included it in our list.

We had dinner at Gallagher’s. A must when we come to NYC. We always get the crab cake and the carpaccio. Tonight, we shared entrees and had a small bottle of wine. It was a great way to spend a couple of hours before we moved on to our evening show. (However, for the first time ever, Stu the bartender was not tending bar. We see him every time we go).

Of course, we had to walk from 52nd street to 41st street, so we couldn’t walk by The Rum House without stopping in for a pre-dinner cocktail and to see our friend John. We disappointed to learn after many years he has moved on. We had great service, but it was not the same. And he always remembered us.

We finished the evening with Schmigadoon. It’s the stage version of the TV show from years ago. I actually had to push to get Adam to put it on the list because he was convinced it would be meh. I was excited because it is based on the big dance shows of the 40’s and 50’s and I LOVE a musical with big dance numbers. I turned out to be right. The show is a must see if you like musicals. The performances were great. The design is great. And the songs are toe tapping good. And if you happen to be a musical theater fan there are so many throw backs to all of the shows of yesteryear. Samples of melodies. Jokes that harken back to the shows. And characters that play on the characters from these musicals. Billy Bigelow. Gertie Cummins. The Barroness from the Sound of Music. The audience might have been the best part of the show. They were on board the minute the show started and stayed right there till the last chord of music. It was so good.

We are batting a 1,000 so far with our selections.

We called it an evening early. I’m sitting in my underwear, drinking a soda water, typing while Adam is in the shower. We are going to watch some TV and read the Facebook so we can do Day 3 tomorrow.

Kiss today goodbye. And point me toward tomorrow. We did what we had to do

/ fightmasterwrites / 1 Comment

I’d like to speak to a helper.

Mr. Rodger’s taught me that there always people looking to help.

It’s November 8, 2024.

At least it was when I started writing this post. It might be tomorrow when I finish. It might be Christmas Eve.

You’ll know when you read this.

November 8, 2024 is three days after the presidential election. It won’t come as a surprise to any of you that I was not happy with the outcome. I wasn’t surprised with the outcome. But I was not happy.

To say that I was devastated, is an understatement. I truly had hope that the national nightmare that is the electee would be over on Tuesday. I mean, seriously, the American people had to realize that he was a horrible human being.

Alas, I was proven wrong.

I’m writing, because at least 80% of my friends are artists. That estimate might actually be low. They might not all call themselves artists but they are. My friends consist of scenery designers, costume designers, sound designers, lighting designers, actors, screenwriters, novelists, playwrights, academic writers, painters, singers, guitarists, pianists, drummers, knitters, dancers, film makers, wood workers, teachers, chefs, bakers, cake decorators, directors, bartenders, barbers, hair dressers, makeup artists, photographers, costume construction, craftsmen, florists, landscapers, and poets, to name a few.

Even more of my friends are in roles that support the arts, as artistic directors, professors, teachers, fund raising, ushers, librarians, event planners, box office employees, and my favorite which is actually more artist than they are given credit for stage managers.

I have about 6 people I know who aren’t artists. Yet.

And whenever, things get difficult, whether it’s personal, professional, academic etc, they all insist that the best way through the situation is to turn to art. I’ve seen post after post on Facebook, reminding people who are artists to keep making and sharing art, because it is a coping tool and reminds us all that we are not alone.

I started calling myself a writer about a year ago. There are probably a few people out there that would argue that point, but I don’t listen to them.

I’m a writer.

I’m turning to my art to help me understand the emotions that I’m feeling.

Adam and I went to NYC on Monday. We returned home yesterday afternoon. I went to work today for the first time since Sunday. When I sat down at my desk, turned on my computer, I noticed that my text message notifications showed over 100 texts.

I knew it was a lot, but to be honest I hadn’t really looked at texts since Tuesday afternoon.

I checked out Tuesday night around 11:00 as the results of the election started to come in. I needed to process. I needed to mourn. I needed to pull my thoughts together. Except for show posts, I’ve only posted a couple of things on social media. I didn’t respond to texts, and I didn’t engage on Facebook.

Adam and I had gone to NYC to see Ragtime at City Center. It is my favorite show, and if it’s not Adam’s it’s a close second. It was the last show we would see on our trip.

Wednesday, Adam and I went about our day, relatively quietly. We held hands, but we didn’t spend a lot of time talking. It wasn’t until after we saw Our Town at 2:00 that we started to come out of the funk. It was a nice reminder that life is short, and that the best you can do is appreciate it while you can.

After the show, we had dinner, then walked to a restaurant near City Center, found a spot in the bar, and had a cocktail and dessert. We were able to relax and start to feel better. We were both looking forward to Ragtime.

At 7:15, we walked across the street to the theater, found our seats and got comfortable.

At 7:35 the house lights dimmed, leaving only a piano center stage lit by a single spotlight.

The first notes of music played, and energy coursed through the theater. There was immediate applause.

To back up a little:

Ragtime is a musical with music by Stephen Flaherty, lyrics by Lynne Ahrens, and a book by Terrence McNally. (Fun Fact: Lynn Ahrens wrote the lyrics to a number of your favorite Schoolhouse Rock Songs). The show is more than a musical. It is operettic in scale and its message is life changing.

I have told this story before, but the first time I saw Ragtime was a Sunday afternoon in 1998. I was at TKTS trying to find a show to see. Nothing interested me. A man approached me with a ticket to Ragtime for 100 bucks. I said no. I kept looking. He approached me two more times and the last time I said, sure I’ll take it for 50 bucks. It was 2:50. The show started at 3:00. He said no, and I said, take the 50 now, or get nothing for it in ten minutes. He said okay, I handed him the money and sprinted (this was back when I still ran) and got to the theater to discover the ticket was third row center in the orchestra. I was dressed in cargo shorts and a t-shirt, and I still remember the girl I sat next to me, judging me for my attire.

The house lights dimmed, the orchestra started, and when Audra McDonald sang a song about why she buried her baby in a garden I started crying.

ONLY DARKNESS AND PAIN, THE ANGER AND PAIN,

THE BLOOD AND THE PAIN! I BURIED MY HEART IN THE GROUND!

IN THE GROUND.

WHEN I BURIED YOU IN THE GROUND.

I didn’t stop till the company bowed two hours later. I was hooked.

For those of you who don’t know, Ragtime is based on the book by E. L. Doctorow. It tells the story of an upperclass white family who live in New Rochelle, NY. A black couple, Coalhouse Walker, Jr, and Sarah, who have just had a baby, although they are not married, and an immigrant family consisting of Tateh and his daughter who’ve just come through Ellis Island from Latvia.

It probably goes without saying that its message might have a lot to say about the current state of America.

Halfway through the opening number you hear these lyrics:

Ladies with parasols,

Fellows with tennis balls.

There were no negroes

And there were no immigrants.

Five minutes into the show, the three families become intertwined and the story plays out from there. There is racism front and center with the use of the “n” word sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

COALHOUSE Let me pass.

CONKLIN Gladly. That will be twenty-five dollars. This is a private toll road.

COALHOUSE Since when?

CONKLIN Since some high-falutin’ ni**er and his whore and his whore’s baby thought they could drive that goddamn car of theirs any place they pleased, that’s since when.

Running away, ni**er?

COALHOUSE

I am going to find a policeman. If anyone touches my car before I return, he will answer to Coalhouse.

CONKLIN

Tell him Fire Chief Will Conklin sends his regards!

Two scenes later the immigrant father is offered money…for the sale of his daughter.

Meanwhile, the well to do father, is off traversing the world, while his wife, who he thinks knows her place is at home tending to the family.

As the father leaves for his trip Mother sings:

You have places to discover,

Oceans to conquer,

You need to know

I’ll be there at the window

While you go on your way.

I accept that.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the plot. I will say, if you get the chance to see it, do so. The music is truly sensational.

It’s Wednesday night, the house lights have lowered, the music starts, with just a piano playing the melody of the opening song. The audience shouted their approval.

There was applause a dozen times in the opening number. Applause for actors, but more importantly applause for message.

It didn’t stop there. There were two standing ovations in act one that brought the show to a halt.

First for Wheels of a Dream:

Yes, the wheels are turning for us, girl.

And the times are starting to roll.

Any man can get where he wants to

If he’s got some fire in his soul.

We’ll see justice, Sarah,

And plenty of men

Who will stand up

And give us our due.

Oh, Sarah, it’s more that promises.

Sarah, it must be true.

A country that let’s a man like me

Own a car, raise a child, build a life with you…

Then the end of Act One when a woman with an ungodly voice sang:

Give the people

A day of peace.

A day of pride.

A day of justice

We have been denied.

Let the new day dawn,

Oh, Lord, I pray…

We’ll never get to heaven

Till we reach that day.

There were another two standing ovations during act two.

You were my sky,

My moon and my stars and my ocean.

We can never go back to before.

We can never go back to before!

We aren’t going back!!!

And included a prolonged ovation for the 11 o’clock number of Make Them Hear You.

Your sword can be a sermon

or the power of the pen

Teach every child to raise his voice

and then my brothers, then

Will justice be demanded

By ten million righteous men.

Make them hear you.

When they hear you

I’ll be near you, again.

The song is written to hold the last note a long time. On Wednesday, he held it, and held it, and held it, and held it. When he finally let it go, the audience rose in unison, and stopped the show. The conductor turned to the audience and waited for permission to move on.

You might get a sense from the lyrics I shared that the show was a perfect antidote to the Tuesday election. And everyone in the theater knew it.

City Center in NYC seats 2,257 people. The show has been sold out for weeks. Every seat was taken. You have not experienced live theater until you are a part of an audience that stands in unison, in the middle of a show. When the collective is moved in such a way that they know they are experiencing something special.

That was the feeling Wednesday night.

2,257 people needed love. They needed support. They more than anything needed to know that they were not alone in their mourning.

My favorite part of the evening, was in act 2 when Mother’s younger brother (fun fact, the white people don’t have names, they are referred to as Mother, Father, Grandfather, Younger Brother) yells at Father.

YOUNGER BROTHER: I did not hear such a eulogy at Sarah’s funeral. I did not hear you say then that death and the destruction of property were inexcusable. You are a complacent man with no thought of history. You have traveled everywhere and learned nothing. I despise you.

The audience erupted into cheers. Applause halting the show.

I cried multiple times throughout the show. Because of the music. The performances. The message.

I cried because my emotions were on my sleeve.

I cried because I thought better of my fellow Americans.

I cried not because we lost the election, but because more than 50% of Americans thought a convicted rapist, felon, insurrectionist, adulter was a better choice.

I cried for my female friends who are now subject to laws and regulations that could kill them.

I cried for my trans friends who if they aren’t killed by their neighbors are going to be subject to even worse laws.

I cried for my LGBT friends who live in the wrong parts of the country or are terrified that marriage equality will be over turned with the new administration.

I cried for my friends who suffer from pre-existing conditions who will suffer the consequences when the ACA is repealed.

I cried for my friends raising children who’s access to public education is going to be affected. Who have to find a way to explain to their 9year-old that the man who will be president is NOT a nice man.

I cried for the embarrassment it is to be an American in the world standing when most of the civilized world can see the man who would be president for what and who he is.

I cried because one party offered to help you buy your first home and the other party promised to remove fluoride from water and Americans chose the fluoride party.

I cried because Americans are so afraid of people who aren’t white that they’ll do anything to keep them out of their neighborhood.

I cried because young white men overwhelmingly supported the man who would be president, saying he says what they are thinking, which scares the fuck out of me.

I cried because more than 50% of the country thinks I’m exaggerating as I write these things, even though the man who would be president, ran on a platform supporting these platforms, but we are supposed to know that he doesn’t mean what he says.

I cried that the man who would be president speaks on a 5th grade level, and yet much of America says he speaks for them, and it’s not wrong about the 5th grade level.

I cried because they ran on a platform of America is for Americans and Americans only.

I cried because they want to destroy the American educational system and replace it with a program of vouchers that only helps rich, mostly white, kids.

I cried because I worry that my love of Adam will be used to cause harm to the two of us.

I cried, because it hurts.

Beyond that road,

Beyond this lifetime,

That car full of hope

Will always gleam

With the promise of happiness

And the freedom we’ll live to know

We’ll travel with heads held high

Just as far as our hearts can go

And we will ride,

Each child will ride

On the wheels of a dream!

The audience rose again in unison. The actors bowed. The applause went on and on.

The house lights came up.

And the orchestra played us out.

Adam and I sat in our seats, for the five or six minutes the orchestra played. In silence. Our hands grasped together.

Finally, we stood for the last time, and exited the theater.

As we walked into the unseasonably warm evening and turned right to head home I realized I felt better.

Sitting with 2,257 other people, who were all crying. All for variations of the same reason.

When we sat at the beginning of the show, to get to our seats, the woman next to us had to stand. She was very old, and was none too happy to let us by. But about half way thru act two I looked over, and she was wiping tears from her eyes. She was as moved as we were.

On Wednesday night, art made me feel better. Art made me realize that we have work to do. Art made me realize that I can do my part. Art made me know that the first thing I need to do is to take care of myself.

I’ve been gentle with myself since then. I have avoided text messages. I have mostly avoided social media. And I have reached out to multiple friends to see how they are doing.

They all respond the same, and yet as I said, they are all artists and they are all starting to grasp that reality. My friend Michelle reminded me she had rehearsal for her band on Monday night. Another friend is starting rehearsal for a play with teenagers. Another friend just opened a show that has an equaling compelling message. Another friend just threw out their proposed theater season, and is exploring shows that will offer both a message and comfort to their patrons.

The artists I know are protesting. Slowly at first, but their message is loud and clear.

We have work to do. Get out of our way and watch us create change in the world.

Whether you like it or not.

Face life, with a little guts and a lot of glitter.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!!!

My show opened tonight.

It went well.

In fact, in over all the shows I’ve designed, I don’t remember ever having brought up a cue and gotten an audible gasp.

It happened tonight.

It’s the equivalent of applause for the set when the curtain rises.

Tonight’s show was a celebration of queer theater.

It involved straight folks, gay folks, lesbian folks, trans folks, and some bi folks.

It was about 15 performers and crew, getting their groove on, making art.

It was not high art; we’ll never be compared to Sondheim.

But it was smart and funny. And the jokes sometimes played on the silly and sometimes were intelligent, and unexpected.

It was theater by committee, as everyone had a voice.

I cleaned up the choreography for the opening musical number. The stage manager staged the curtain call. We all helped the MC, write bits and jokes to tell to fill the space, during transitions and costume changes. The performers gave each other guidance.

Fun fact, except for me and the stage manager, not one of the group has a theater back ground. It’s a group of folks, who decided to put on a show, and didn’t let not knowing how, stop them.

The show changed a great deal in the five days we were in the theater. Scenes were cleaned up. Laugh lines played a multitude of different ways to find the comedy.

More than anything, it was a group of like-minded friends who got together, to celebrate each other, their creativity and their queerness.

The older I get, the more appreciative I am the community we have in Maine, especially the Portland area. We can never take for granted the fact that we live in a state/city/community that allows us to be open. Adam and I never fear, walking across town holding hands. We don’t get nervous at work that someone might see us hugging or getting a quick kiss.

All of our friends are equally open.

The openness is all around us.

Today, I drove through McDonald’s to get a soda. The 16-year-old that handed me my drink, presented as masculine with about 2 weeks growth on his face, but he had 2” acrylic nails painted a bright pink.
I thought to myself you go!!!

This pride post, is about our friends. Our life. Our relationships. Our love for each other and our friends.

The truly best part of the evening, was sitting in the open booth, waving to friends as they entered the theater. Getting hugs at intermission. And being celebrated by these friends at the end of the show.

I truly hope, that my LGBTQ friends, and I have a lot of them, have found communities that embrace you the way ours has. That you are able to feel safe. And loved. And appreciated for the special person that you are.

And for you straight friends, love your LGBTQ neighbors. Support them. Love them. Make them feel safe in your communities.

You’ll get a 100% return on your investment.