Let’s not bury the lede: the hall was full (I feared that we’d have a sparse crowd), and the reception was rapturous. For once, that descriptor is not hyperbole. The hall in Orient is not large, and there is the palpable sense of a community coming together for a shared experience, an annual gift. People come up to us and thank us personally for bringing our music to them, and I always have the sense that each individual audience member is absorbing something essential during the afternoon. They are not there to judge or evaluate, but simply to revel in good songs and beautiful, young talent.
I certainly was able to supply them with those crucial elements. This is the fourth time I have done an operetta program, and it was the best of them, more concise, more surprising, more varied. Philip told me last night that as a performer the range of performance styles in his material felt like being in six different plays during the course of two hours: comedy of manners, farce, political drama, romance, vaudeville, pastorale. And I had moment after moment where I felt the electricity of the singer-to-listener connection: Scott seducing the crowd like an experienced roué with his aria from Lehár’s “Paganini,” Philip’s inspired, be-turbaned lunacy as a horny, highfalutin’ Maharajah. But perhaps my peak moment came when Adriana sang the climactic phrases in the aria from La rondine, which we’d worked on all week: a divine high C held for just the right length, an un-rushed pause, and then a pianissimo high B-flat timed to perfection. Gorgeous. I am a voice-guy, and it meant everything to me to watch her take control of the music—and of the crowd—like an assured professional. (A lot of those professionals, by the way, would kill to have her instrument.) It was so beautiful that I instantly got choked up and almost cried.
And as expected, I had my Own Private Idaho at the piano. It was an afternoon of musical Realpolitik where I opted to bring the songs home alive, and forgive myself for the places I simplified in the name of safety. I had lost about 10 crucial days of practice time right before the concert because a summer camp took over the performance space and made it impossible for me to get to the piano. In recent times I need to put every note into my hands, and not all of them made it there. But I also know two things: orchestral reductions are very forgiving—no one plays every single note—and the audience is generally unaware of my shortcuts. These concessions to reality torture me, they demoralize me, they color my feelings about my right to exist, but fundamentally they do not matter. And I know that even though my playing wasn’t everything I wanted, I did put some beauty into the air.
So much drama, so much work, for an afternoon’s entertainment! And yet it feels so significant, the flowering of the cast, the deep enjoyment of the audience. Every year I say, “This has to be the last one.” Last year I actually meant it (I had a horrible time onstage). But I’m pretty sure I’ll be back in twelve months.
PICTURED above: the whole group: Katherine M. Carter, Adriana Stepien, Philip Stoddard, Scott Rubén La Marca, and SB.
PICTURED on the right, top to bottom: Philip Stoddard with Adriana Stepien; Philip with Scott Rubén La Marca; Scott with Adriana.
We have been to this annual performance quite a few times. It is the highlight of the summer on the North Fork of Long Island- which has numerous musical events during the summer – but nothing matches this. Thanks to Mr. Blier!