Dress rehearsal? Well, it went smoothly enough. 95% of the lyrics were in place, a few of the numbers got their best performance yet, and everything was, as we say, at a level. Katherine, who had told us we wouldn’t be seeing the lights until the performance, managed to fire up the lighting board and preview the way the show would look. It’ll be even more elaborate and à propos tomorrow, we’re told, but it was great to have a sense of the theatrical possibilities of the room. The Plain Jane community center takes on some atmosphere under the spell of an amber spotlight. 

I have a very talented cast of artists, and when they’re doing their best work they are sublime. When they’re not, it’s still wonderful—we had a tiny audience today, but everyone was rapturous, really over the moon. But I get agitated when a moment that we worked on and perfected yesterday comes out the way they sang it at the beginning of the week—“Groundhog Day Syndrome,” I call it, after the movie where Bill Murray is forced to re-live the same day over and over again as if nothing had taken place.

I kept it together through the rehearsal, and had some specifics to discuss afterwards. I went through one of Adriana’s pieces, a British song called “Cigarette,” from top to tail—no piano, just a cappella, shaping the vowels, discussing the character, refining the subtext, elongating the short notes, clipping some of the other words, locating the ironic humor. It was ravishing, the best she’d sung it, and I am doing a rain dance to insure that she retains the work for tomorrow’s performance. 

Philip was in much better shape today. His voice has returned to a large extent, and so have his spirits. His imagination and experience as an actor were flowing with great freedom today. it’s hard to kick up your heels when you’re worried about whether your vocal cords are going to phonate, but now that he has his voice back he seems looser and more inventive, almost celebratory. It was exhilarating to see him so energized onstage. 

Scott had a little vocal glitch at the end of his first song, and he’s a tenor. He got through the rest of the show without incident, but I’ve been a voice coach for fifty years and I know when a performer is distracted, reliving an onstage scare.  He was on and off his best game—never less than good, but not always at his sublime best. (NB: none of our listeners noticed a thing.)

I walked Scott and Adriana home and talked about the afternoon. “It’s like the two of you have a stash of gold—this wonderful talent! And sometimes you give me the gold, and sometimes you just give me Monopoly money, and it’s as if you don’t know which is which! I only want the gold, and I do know the difference, and I need for YOU to know the difference!”

Scott asked me about how I handled my nerves, which led to a discussion about how I felt about being onstage. I admitted that I was aware of the things I don’t do well, or have trouble with, or fear—technical things that tax me, especially these days. I told him that I accept the fact that there will be a few moments during the concert that will make me want to give up the piano forever. “But I also know that I have an individual approach to music and to song—and yes, to the piano itself—that is mine alone, and a deep dedication to the material that carries me through. I never let go of the song.”

Scott said softly, “Never let go of the song.”