Today I bravely confronted a truly terrifying vegetable that came into my abode via Fresh Direct--not to mention the devil.
Also: I was afraid that Lou Reed's Berlin at St. Ann's would be flat and a shadow of the album but instead it was one of the best things Ive ever seen, if not the best thing. I wept through the entire thing. Just imagine that whole album, that album that starts in hopefulness and rapture and goes through all this harrowing loss and disillusionment and devastation, live with Lou Reed AT HIS BEST and a full choir and an orchestra and this gorgeous set designed by Julian Schnabel, all glimmering and golden, and a huge screen behind Lou Reed projecting all these nostalgic haunting images, this beautiful woman, this child running around in wings, all sort of dark, images from memory or dream.. It was so intense. I kept feeling chills and shivers move through me and I cant remember ever sitting through anything where I was openly weeping. My friend Pete cried a lot, too. I dont know how anyone could not. Julian Schnabel introduced the show and called Berlin the most romantic album ever made; I love that.
Then, after the Berlin album, there was this tiny break and then the band came back and did three more songs. It seemed extraneous at first, like how could anything be as good as what we'd just seen? But then he did a gorgeous, soft version of "Sweet Jane," and THEN he had Antony (who had been sitting there singing back up the whole time) sing "Candy Says" and MY GOD that boy's voice is not of this world. Ive never heard anything like it. Like a ghost or an angel. And then Lou Reed started singing WITH him, moving in and out of his voice, and to hear a voice as brittle as Lou Reed's against Antony's crazy angelic voice was just so beautiful. I left feeling totally wrecked and exhilarated. I can't even believe I almost missed it.
I also saw a reading of my friend David's play on Friday at the Public Theater, with Joi and Eric, and it was pretty stunning, the whole story of Jerry Siegel and Superman and the Holocaust. I had read the play and marked it up the week before, so it was so cool to see how it actually came off in a reading, with some things working way better than I would have thought, and some things way worse. Overall, it was really smart and engaging and hilarious and sad. David's one of those writers who can make you laugh and break your heart at the same time. It makes me think of this quote I love from the director Faith Akin, who did the amazing Gegen Die Wand:
Germans try to categorize films: in a comedy, you just laugh and in a drama, you're not allowed to laugh. I don't believe in that, sometimes we laugh and cry in the same hour. It's dangerous when you have a drama and you put humor in it. I think it's the opposite, the funnier it is in the beginning of such a story, the more dramatic it can become. Because when an audience is laughing, that's opening their souls somehow, and when you have an audience with an open soul, it's much better to hit them with a knife.
Also: I was afraid that Lou Reed's Berlin at St. Ann's would be flat and a shadow of the album but instead it was one of the best things Ive ever seen, if not the best thing. I wept through the entire thing. Just imagine that whole album, that album that starts in hopefulness and rapture and goes through all this harrowing loss and disillusionment and devastation, live with Lou Reed AT HIS BEST and a full choir and an orchestra and this gorgeous set designed by Julian Schnabel, all glimmering and golden, and a huge screen behind Lou Reed projecting all these nostalgic haunting images, this beautiful woman, this child running around in wings, all sort of dark, images from memory or dream.. It was so intense. I kept feeling chills and shivers move through me and I cant remember ever sitting through anything where I was openly weeping. My friend Pete cried a lot, too. I dont know how anyone could not. Julian Schnabel introduced the show and called Berlin the most romantic album ever made; I love that.
Then, after the Berlin album, there was this tiny break and then the band came back and did three more songs. It seemed extraneous at first, like how could anything be as good as what we'd just seen? But then he did a gorgeous, soft version of "Sweet Jane," and THEN he had Antony (who had been sitting there singing back up the whole time) sing "Candy Says" and MY GOD that boy's voice is not of this world. Ive never heard anything like it. Like a ghost or an angel. And then Lou Reed started singing WITH him, moving in and out of his voice, and to hear a voice as brittle as Lou Reed's against Antony's crazy angelic voice was just so beautiful. I left feeling totally wrecked and exhilarated. I can't even believe I almost missed it.
I also saw a reading of my friend David's play on Friday at the Public Theater, with Joi and Eric, and it was pretty stunning, the whole story of Jerry Siegel and Superman and the Holocaust. I had read the play and marked it up the week before, so it was so cool to see how it actually came off in a reading, with some things working way better than I would have thought, and some things way worse. Overall, it was really smart and engaging and hilarious and sad. David's one of those writers who can make you laugh and break your heart at the same time. It makes me think of this quote I love from the director Faith Akin, who did the amazing Gegen Die Wand:
Germans try to categorize films: in a comedy, you just laugh and in a drama, you're not allowed to laugh. I don't believe in that, sometimes we laugh and cry in the same hour. It's dangerous when you have a drama and you put humor in it. I think it's the opposite, the funnier it is in the beginning of such a story, the more dramatic it can become. Because when an audience is laughing, that's opening their souls somehow, and when you have an audience with an open soul, it's much better to hit them with a knife.
posted by Carolyn Turgeon at
1:14 AM
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