Past Reviews Sound Advice Reviews True tales: |
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Floyd Collins and Elmer McCurdy were true-life figures (and, in the latter case, a true-death figure), born several years apart and both dying in their 30s. They captured public attention in a spectacle-like way. Also compelling are the musicals about them, both of which were Broadway attractions last season, closing a week apart in June, and spawning cast recordings. Lastly, consider a musical about the newspaper columnist and radio broadcaster Walter Winchell, poised to start a run on Broadway in 1991, but which disappeared from sight... until now. A belated studio cast re-creation shows us what the show had in store.
It happened one hundred years ago: Floyd Collins, a Kentucky man, was eagerly exploring a cave and became trapped deep under the ground. Seventy years later, Floyd Collins, the musical about him and those who tried to rescue him, was being revised from its workshops and debut in Philadelphia for a run in New York City, Off-Broadway. Although it only eked out 25 performances there, it garnered some strong reviews, generated a cast album, a following, a tour, and mountings in London and elsewhere. A new recording documents the work of the splendid performances of the cast from the show's return to Manhattan for a limited-run production on Broadway at Lincoln Center this year. It is, in a word, glorious. It is, in two words, very glorious. The company brings such attentive care and dedication to details of character and the musical lines. Playing the title role, Jeremy Jordan is appropriately commandingly vigorous and considerably vulnerable, as hope for rescue waxes and wanes. Those cast as his relatives add a a calibrated sense of loving support believably belying their underlying worry–especially Jason Gotay as his brother (their "Riddle Song" may be long at over eight minutes, but the chemistry and energy are strong) and the always on-target Jessica Molaskey embodying faith, wisdom and caring as his stepmother (known as Miss Jane). Lizzy McAlpine as his loving but troubled sister and Marc Kudisch as his father (with less singing than the others) complete the family circle. Familial love radiates through the performances of the work of composer/lyricist Adam Guettel and Tina Landau, (bookwriter/ additional lyrics, original director returning to the project). Ted Sperling, who conducted the New York Floyd Collins of 1996, wields the baton again, with Bruce Coughlin's orchestrations in place for the folk/bluegrass-inspired music. Messrs. Guettel and Sperling are the album's producers. Much in the inherently gorgeous Guettel melodies–big swaths and exquisite little phrases–becomes even more achingly beautiful when voices harmonize exquisitely. This is especially rewarding in the two duets featuring Jessica Molaskey's distinctive timbre redolent of a deep well of feeling ("Lucky" with Lizzie McAlpine and "Heart and Hand" with Marc Kudisch) and the two versions of "The Ballad of Floyd Collins" with group singing begun by the affecting Cole Vaughan. Another highlight and team effort is "Is That Remarkable?," full of precision and punch by cast members playing scoop-hungry reporters who have flocked to the small town, delighting in delivering the news for their home base newspapers. It's refreshing comic relief, polished to perfection. And then it's back to the harrowing ordeal and the vigil admirably portrayed in song by those mentioned above and Taylor Trensch as the more selfless journalist who is moved to help and join those in the desperate hope-against-hope situation. Those familiar with the earlier cast recording will notice some differences here beyond characterizations and vocal qualities of the two companies. The song order is not exactly the same. A solo for Floyd, "It Moves," moves from early in the show to the 14th spot in the 17 tracks, and another solo for the character, "And She'd Have Blue Eyes," in which he describes his imagined wife, was not on the 1996 album. It's a touching highlight as Jeremy Jordan addresses God ("After this is over, Lord, will there be a girl for me?/ I could try to behave like proper company/ ...I know my soul is yours to take, but if you let me meet her, Lord, I'd give her all I can..."). There are also many changes in what spoken lines are absent, included or altered within the musical numbers. Devotees will observe some tiny tweaks in the lyrics, too. While the Off-Broadway's orchestra of eight was increased by two players for the 1996 album, the new recording boasts a total of 14 musicians. The second act's treatment of "The Ballad of Floyd Collins" occasions another change from the Off-Broadway rendition, where it was a solo. This is an involving listening experience with a heartwarming and heartbreaking impact that doesn't end immediately when the last track ends. The impact lingers, resounding like in "The Call," the memorable echoes of Jeremy Jordan's yodel-like excited cries during Floyd's exploration of the cave. An exploration of this musical's bounty is recommended.
Wary theatregoers may have steered clear of a new musical based on the true story of a preserved corpse used as a sideshow attraction and movie prop, represented by an actor at times immobile in a coffin. Like its titular protagonist, Dead Outlaw expired before its time, lasting on Broadway for just 73 performances. But, taken on their own merits, cast recordings let us concentrate on just the quality of what we hear: the songs, the voices, the musicians (a band of just five here). In this case, we hear potent singing of well-crafted songs penned jointly by David Yazbek and Erik Della Penna, with credit for arrangements and orchestrations shared by the two and Dean Sharenow, the music supervisor; there's captivating listening that stands on its own. The seven tracks released digitally in the spring as a kind of preview (and reviewed in this column) indeed proved to be a true representative sample of the score, with more of each musical flavor and mood in this 22-track release. For an even more complete audio experience that can make Dead Outlaw come alive, the full show including all the dialogue is available from Audible. Perhaps the most striking takeaway from listening to this recording is the huge contrast in tones between two extremes. The remarkable Andrew Durand as the Elmer (the outlaw who'll end up dead), spews insults and vulgarities, full of bravado, booze, and boasts of how he "Killed a Man in Maine" and elsewhere reveals one of the most disarmingly arresting sweet-timbred vocals heard on a cast album in recent memory. Julia Knitel, who plays all the female characters, also renders tender emotions in four wistful numbers. There are irreverent attitudes toward life and death, exemplified by some group numbers, such as the two treatments of "There's Somethin' Bout a Mummy" the sideshow's eager-to-pay customers are referred to as "suckers" and a movie set's mummy is valued for being low-maintenance, unlike the troublesome actors. Most cavalier of all is the harsh, hard-rocking "Dead," led by Mr. Della Penna and Jeb Brown and heard three times. The songs put the value of human life and emotions daringly on display as either precious or disposable. Fine work is also turned in by cast members Eddie Cooper, Thom Sesma, Trent Saunders, Ken Marks, and Dashiell Eaves. Ultimately, there's much below the surface of what's being stated in the lyrics. They also hold up a mirror to the least noble sides of human nature and society, a chance to identify with sorrows and food for thought.
In the "better late than never" curiosity category is a recording of material from the long-lost coulda-been musical about Walter Winchell, the high-profile chronicler of show business celebrities and politics (from the early 1920s to the early 1960s). Cancelled on the cusp of commencing a Broadway run in 1991, Winchell was full of appealing melodies, witty words, and appropriately jaded characters, based on the resurrection via the recently recorded 18-track studio cast album. This welcome surprise was spearheaded by Keith Levenson, its composer and co-author–with the late Martin Charnin–of its lyrics and book. Songs, dialogue bits and overall tone are often brash, like its idiosyncratic, hard-nosed bio-subject. The panjandrum spreading gossip, scoops, and (later) fear about communism's alleged sympathizers, via newspaper columns and radio broadcasts, is not glorified or glamorized here. He's effectively played with imposing gutsiness and a self-satisfied sneer by Jason Robert Brown, taking a holiday from his usual work as musical theatre composer/lyricist and performer of his own songs. He's joined by a bevy of performers from the worlds of stage, screen, and rock music, some of whom appear briefly and/or just in spoken roles. The proceedings open with reaction to reports of the title character's death at age 74, greeted with some exultation peppered with expletives instead of expressions of sympathy in "Prologue: The Town Ain't the Same Anymore," led by Chip Zien (heard on nine other tracks, too), amusing as Irving, Winchell's publicist ("I hope his remains have pains"). He's joined by Sally Struthers, Michael Cerveris, and Roger Daltrey. Mean-spirited? Yes, but high-spirited in its own dark and snarky way. Although intrusive in his revelations about private lives of public figures, and decidedly divisive when choosing to side with the 1950s conspiracy theorist Senator Joseph McCarthy's Red Scare tactics, what Winchell might say could hold sway. His power is summed up in the self-explanatory song title "He Knows Where the Bodies Are Buried." And, as a reporter and broadcaster, he had a way with words, sometimes inventing his own slang and unique adjustments to standard vocabulary, crediting him for that in the rollicking number, "Winchellese." Each of these three group numbers is reprised, giving the flow of this project some sense of continuity. There is respite from the prominent sarcasm and hard edge with a couple of fun pieces. "Lottie" is plucky pastiche with puns to represent Walter's early career as an entertainer in vaudeville, and Mr. Brown seems to revel in the lively romp. Poignancy comes with the lilting "Stay with Us," the plea addressed to the often absent Winchell by the character of his adopted child, who died when she was nine years old. It's handled gracefully, but without overdone emotion, by Angelina Carballo (who had a connection to Charnin as lyricist and director when she played the title role and other characters in two tours of his most famous musical, Annie). The ensemble includes a few members of the 1991 company. No liner notes, synopsis, or cast list come with this digital release, so it's not always evident who the characters are, or what exactly is happening, but a little knowledge and/or careful listening for context clues will help. Julia Murney, using a kind of screechy tone, is perhaps a long-suffering professional associate; Kate Baldwin's shining vocalizing and acting is in the role of Winchell's common law wife; and clearly Darlene Love is the legendary entertainer Josephine Baker for the slinky "Teacher, Teacher" ("I'd love you to criticize me, verbalize me, math-matize me"). Recorded by others, two numbers from the score, "It Happens at Night" and "Unfinished Symphonies," will be familiar to those who know the Charnin-centric collection that contained them, Incurably Romantic: Songs of Martin Charnin, with Mr. Levenson's orchestrations, released five years after Winchell was cancelled. Proceeds from purchases of the digital tracks will benefit the Cleveland Clinic Lou Ruvo Center for Brain Health in Las Vegas, Nevada, which helps treat trauma and movement disorders. This "rescued" score is well worth investigating and whets the appetite for, finally, a full-fledged staging. The most engaging parts of this audio appetizer are, to borrow a phrase once coined to describe a musical performance he liked: "eardorable." |
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FLOYD COLLINS
DEAD OUTLAW
WINCHELL