The Rake Magazine

There's some interesting discussion over at the Walker blogs concerning the performance career ender that was staged, just this past weekend, by Claude Wampler. I saw the show on Friday but, sadly, didn't stick around for the Q&A, which sounds to have been very tense. Truth be told, my date was so angry as to be agitated; after the show, he wanted a drink in his hands, stat! So did I, of course, except I found myself more amused by the thing ... But I'd been lucky enough to notice, as we waited for the house to open, that there were likely "plants" among the audience members. How and why? Because there were too many folks with asymmetrical haircuts, and too many wearing shiny fabrics--that's why. The "real" audience members were swathed in wool and down parkas. (It was freakin' cold outside.)

According to some of the folks posting at the Walker blogs, Wampler made a [condescending?] statement at the Q&A regarding the difference between NYC and Minneapolis audiences. Well, we're quieter, for one. But we probably don't dress as often in metallics, either. By show's end, some of the plants were up and dancing in the aisles. Others were tossing light-up toys onstage. My suspicions were confirmed.

In case you missed it, Wampler basically staged a band practice. From beginning to end, the frontman had to communicate his vision for a song to his bandmates. But a visual trick was employed: images of the trio were projected onstage. The lead singer's image fell onto a screen, so his remained crisp. But in the cases of the keyboardist and drummer, smoke was occasionally pumped into the vicinities of their instruments--and so, their ghost-like images would materialize, every now and again, on the canvas of that haze.

But, going back to my original point: the real story is that the audience was "seeded," or full of planted performers. These folks hooted and, in some cases, heckled and behaved all-around badly, which inspired imitative behaviors from others. For example, when the lead-singer character made a funny comment about how the band must "finesse" its way out of his song (presumably by playing fancily), my date shouted (seemingly with glee): "Sure do!"

And that, friends, made the whole thing worth it--the fact that my well-behaved friend felt compelled to act in such a dramatic way, and the fact that he felt SAFE enough to do so. In other words, Wampler tinkered with the audience/performer dynamic to great success. Sure, her show was repetitive, perhaps even boring (although I must admit to being amused by the rock-n-roll clichés). But I appreciated being jolted out of my expectations and, for once, at a theater, having absolutely no fucking idea what was going on. Sweet chaos. As I exited the theater that night, I turned to an usher and asked (also with glee): "What just happened?" Then I went to the bar with my friend and enjoyed one of the most spirited conversations I've had about art in a long, long while.

 

I was definitely feeling something at the end of Blue Door, but it wasn't necessarily satisfaction. I was left with a lingering something: a desire to probe the questions asked by the play, but also the need to challenge some of its core ideas. Perhaps it was Tanya Barfield's intention to make her audience squirm a little, to make us slightly uncomfortable about the way we view race and race relations. However, when the play concluded and the protagonist, Lewis, finally seemed to embrace his heritage, I wasn't ready to embrace it with him.

In Blue Door, Lewis (who is played by David Eulus Wiles), is an African American math professor who has found himself unsettlingly alone after his white wife divorced him because he refused to participate in the Million Man March. As he paces around his house, trying to resist the insomnia that plagues him, he is visited by the spirits of his ancestors (all played by Eric Avery). These ancestors try to get Lewis to acknowledge his roots and embrace his "blackness."

My main beef with the play is that education, success, and productivity seemed to be equated with "denying one's blackness." It made me uncomfortable to see Lewis' ancestors admonishing him for being involved in "white academia." Yes, Lewis took his pursuit of excellence to an extreme, but I did not think he deserved such harsh abuse. I was left wondering, "Where is the middle ground? Can't a person be both black and successful?"

To be fair, as a white woman I can never exactly see the world in the same way that an African-American man might see it. I cannot relate to the experience Lewis had when a fellow professor stared at his hands as if afraid that he might strike her with them. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be burdened with a history of whippings, lynchings, and back-breaking labor. I do not, however, think it is wrong for Lewis to study mathematics and read Herman Melville. Furthermore, Melville hailed from a time when women were oppressed as well. Why can women today read literature from male-dominated time periods and dabble in the traditional spaces of white men without feeling guilty?

Don't get me wrong. I think it is important to acknowledge who you are and to remember your roots and family history. I also think we stand on the shoulders of our ancestors and we should not be afraid to reach for bigger and better things. I do not honestly believe that Tanya Barfield meant to say that African Americans should not be successful, but I think she was simply too hard on Lewis. There was a schism between her characters that was much too sharp. One the one hand, there was Lewis, a hard working, intelligent, very successful math professor who refused to acknowledge his blackness. On the other hand, there was Rex, Lewis' not-so-successful brother who died of a drug overdose. Where was the character that was both black and successful? In the end, Lewis seemed to finally "get it" and stopped repressing his past. At this point, however, he had already messed up his teaching career because paranoia about his blackness in a white world provoked him to yell at an innocent student.

Although I didn't necessarily agree with some of its assertions, Blue Door did have some heart-wrenching, conscience-jerking moments. Lewis' ancestors spun poignant tales about struggling in a cruel and overwhelmingly white world. Avery did an excellent job portraying the hardships of Lewis' ancestors and the unjust treatment of African Americans as slaves and as "free" men. His performance was most haunting when he sang in a stunning, clear voice the Ancestor's Song. "Baba agba, iya agba,mo pe o." Grandfather, Grandmother, I call on you.

Despite its pessimistic tone, Blue Door ended on a somewhat positive note. Lewis finally manages to acknowledge and make peace with the ancestors that haunted him throughout the play. Instead of struggling against his inner voices, Lewis gives in and starts working in cadence with his ancestors as they paint a door together, singing with each stroke. Lewis finally grasped the importance of his heritage, but I left hoping that he would also not deny his own success-filled past. A blue door is said to keep the night terrors out, but you have to leave the house sometime.

When talent and friendship meet on stage, magic is bound to happen. And indeed it did. Old School Freight Train left their audience spellbound as they strummed and drummed their way through an energetic and soulful seventy-five minute set at the Cedar last week. For me, the time flew by much too fast. OSFT kept me smiling and tapping my toes through their last measure. Their beaming smiles and playful commentaries, proof that the five band members were truly enjoying themselves, propelled the audience into a good time as well.

Old School Freight Train's music is deeply felt and skillfully performed, but what kind of music do they actually play? "That's a good question," said guitarist and lead vocalist Jesse Harper. "I don't want to say that we're folk rock. We're kind of Radiohead meets all things that are good."

For OSFT "all things that are good" include a mix of folk, jazz, soul, pop, bluegrass, Latin, and Celtic music. They have even been known to modify the occasional disco tune into a more acoustic number. They are not bound by a particular style or genre of music and see themselves growing and changing as they continue to play. One major change that the band already underwent was the addition of percussionist Nick Falk six months ago. "It's been great for the band," said bassist Darrell Muller. "It seems like the music has more of a backbone now."

Old School Freight Train has been going strong for seven years, and most of their success is attributed to the fact that they are self-proclaimed best friends. "You see other bands," said fiddler Nate Leath, "and they don't even sit at the same table during dinner. We're not like that at all." It's a good thing too. The band members, Jesse Harper, Darrell Muller, Nate Leath, Pete Frostic, and Nick Falk, spend hours on the road together while touring all over the country. "It's always an adventure," says Harper. "The best part of our job is meeting new people."

It was certainly an adventure just getting to the Cedar. The band's van spun out of control while driving from Chicago to Minneapolis, and they had to wait two hours while a tow truck came to get them out of the ditch. The band, however, seemed unperturbed as they played their upbeat melodies with heart and soul.

It is a shame that more people did not brave the cold to see this spectacular band. Their music was so rich and textured that it had an almost tangible quality. The combination of guitar, drums, fiddle, mandolin, and upright bass was exquisite and seemed effortless. It was the type of captivating music that cannot be produced by talent alone, but by feeling completely comfortable with the other musicians standing on stage with you. Everyone in the band has their own life and their own job, but they all agree that the band comes first. It is something very special in each of their lives, and that kind of commitment to music is obvious when they take the stage.

It is hard for me to sing anything but praises for OSFT, especially when they think so highly of our fair state. "We love Minnesota," said Nate Leath. "Everyone is so friendly and welcoming here. We always have a great time." Unfortunately, the band is still not very well known in this area, but hopefully that will change as more people discover their rich sound.

The band, however, does have one major problem: its name. They are ready for a change, they say, but cannot decide on a new name. While driving to Minneapolis they were discussing different ideas for band names when their van careened into the ditch. "I think it was an omen," said Jesse playfully. "Yeah," chimed in Nate, "the death of our van was like the death of our band's name. We need to find a new one." The task is potentially up to you, readers. Go to OSFT's website, listen to their music, and send them your suggestions. Maybe their new name will hail from the state "that hasn't always been easy to get to, but has always been worth it."

*A special acknowledgment should go to Orange Mighty Trio, the band that opened for OSFT while they were making their way to the Cedar. Orange Mighty Trio had an excellent performance and did a commendable job helping out in a bind.

Peer Gynt: It's a fairly good Guthrie production, in my humble view--although it would've been smart, even merciful, of the director, had he condensed the meandering fourth and fifth acts. But what I'm more interested in discussing here is the review penned by Star Tribune critic Rohan Preston, in which he derides lead actor Mark Rylance for not knowing his lines. Is that fair, do you suppose?

Preston did something similar in November '06 when reviewing The Rivals at the Jungle Theater. It seemed Claudia Wilkens, who played Mrs. Malaprop, hadn't memorized her lines in time for opening night; in fact, she hadn't yet mastered them when I saw the show two or three nights later. From an audience perspective, this proved a problem: How to know where the malapropisms stopped and the fumbled lines began? But still, I was surprised by the chitchat in the theater community following Preston's critique: Had he hit Wilkens below the belt, people wondered. Is it fair to criticize an actor for not knowing his or her lines, since a critical review is traditionally more concerned with the substance of the play?

Methinks it's fair to criticize actors when their flubbed lines impede upon the theater-going experience. But then again, I'm an audience-centrist. I write from an audience perspective; I write to the audience, as if they might one day care to see the show. And misfired lines do a lot to hurt our experience. In fact, we feel ripped-off when artists aren't ready to present the work we've shelled for! At last night's showing, Rylance was still flubbing a few of his lines, but it wasn't enough to interfere with my experience. As a matter of fact, by then, he had done a fine job inhabiting the character. He used a mumbled, sort of messy speech pattern that, I felt, brilliantly captured the inner workings of this troubled, cloudy-thinking youth.

Judging by the size of last night's audience, there should be tickets left to see Particularly in the Heartland. And if you happen to be the type who's a little tired of our pop culture's present mood (rampant cynicism peppered with ironic snark)--in other words, if the Colbert Report doesn't entirely resonate, or if the plights of Britney Spears don't exactly inspire, in you, a sense of schadenfreude--then this show might be something you'd care to see.

It stands in stark contrast to the Walker's initial installment of the annual Out There series: last week's performance by Miguel Gutierrez and, ahem, "the Powerful People," which struck me as a masturbatory, self-indulgent piece of artless hipster quackery, passed off (unsuccessfully) as an exercise in shapes and whimsical personalities emerging from pattern. Last night's show, rather, made me feel good about my place in the world. It's a sprawling, even diffuse, and loosely-connected play. The basic premise is shamelessly ludicrous: A trio of evangelical kids, living out in the middle of nowhere, lose their parents to a Kansan twister, but believe the folks have been raptured. (One kid claims to have seen it happen.) To make a long story short: The ghost of Bobby Kennedy shows up, as does a female Wall Street type, and the effect, I suppose, is to turn an inner eye at our blue-state prejudices. For example, there are plenty of moments when the evangelical kids make ridiculous statements; the youngest of the kids, a ten-year-old spitfire named Anna, waxes poetic on her science textbook, which gives plenty of ink to creationism--and, as an audience member, you're already rolling your eyes. We're accustomed to encountering the occasional ironic and/or hateful usage of red-state stereotypes. (The conditioned response is to write them off, focusing instead on the play's other virtues.) But in this show, predictable leftism is not what unfolds--not in the least. Nor are we led to believe the death of Bobby Kennedy was the single event that led this country into its present mess; even he is painted as a complicated character, with plenty of flaws as well as strengths. The message seems to be this: There's plenty of beauty to be discovered if only we allow ourselves to wander outside our black-and-white thinking. Also, people--even (especially?) evangelicals--are essentially good.

 

In one of the show's most powerful moments, the cast breaks from the script and invites the audience to ask questions. What became clear to me then was that these performers are so entrenched in, and care so much for, their characters that they can even improvise, while staying in character, with relative ease-and without hitting false notes. Again, I reflexively thought the cast would get about the sport of lampooning fundamentalists. But instead, the play's sincerest moment came to pass: An audience member asked Sarah--the middle child, a teenager dabbling in lesbianism--what she plans for her future. The response--to be a better person "and hopefully see my parents again"--startled me. And so, finally, I abandoned my hardened expectations and began to feel the play for what it was. It left me feeling lighter, with a renewed sense of optimism. Go see it.