Terry Teachout's Blog, page 196

TT: Get happy

To go to a basement nightclub in Manhattan and sit ten feet away from a big band in full cry is one of the most exhilarating experiences known to man. Once upon a time I did so fairly often, but nowadays I rarely manage to do it more than once a year, when Mrs. T and I head down to the Jazz Standard on the Sunday after Thanksgiving to hear Maria Schneider 's band.

Each year we do our best not to miss the last night of Maria's annual week-long residency at the Jazz Standard, but this time around I felt more strongly than ever before the absolute need to flee from life and immerse myself in the world of art. Too much work, too much stress, too much everything...so we walked away from our worries, lined up at the door, and within minutes found ourselves sitting two tables away from the musicians, the very place where we most wanted to be.

The sound of a big band in a small room hits you like a benign tornado, filling the air with glowing clouds of harmony. It is, I suppose, possible to think of other things in the midst of such a maelstrom, but I didn't: I let the outside world go and was content.

Eventually the music stopped, as it always does, and we said our farewells to Maria and caught a cab outside the club.

"Why don't we do that more often?" asked Mrs. T as we pulled away.

"Beats me," I replied.

* * *

The Maria Schneider Orchestra plays "Journey Home":

TT: Just because

Zora Neale Hurston talks about zombies on Mary Margaret McBride 's radio show in 1943:

TT: Almanac

"Late love has this in common with first love, it is again involuntary."

Sybille Bedford, A Legacy

TT: Monster class

In today's Wall Street Journal drama column I report on the premiere of Seminar , Theresa Rebeck's new play. Here's an excerpt.

* * *

Nobody does nasty like Alan Rickman, and in "Seminar," Theresa Rebeck's new play, he goes the whole hog, playing a monstrously brutal teacher who hates his students almost as much as he hates himself. It's no surprise that the man who brought Severus Snape to the screen should be so good at spewing verbal cyanide onstage. To hear him dismiss a short story written by one of his hapless charges as "a soul-sucking waste of words" is to know what a mouse feels like as it peers down the mouth of an ill-fed snake. What's surprising and gratifying about "Seminar" is that Ms. Rebeck, a prolific playwright with a hit-or-miss average, should have connected so firmly with the dramatic ball this time at bat. Like "The Understudy," her last play, "Seminar" is an intermission-free comedy that gets serious at the halfway point, and for all the shiny slickness of its surface, Ms. Rebeck has once again contrived to conjure up a stageful of too-clever-for-their-own-good characters who'll sneak right under your skin.

The premise of "Seminar" requires explaining, since it will undoubtedly be alien to anyone who hasn't dipped a toe into the creative-writing racket. Mr. Rickman plays Leonard, a burned-out novelist turned high-octane book editor who makes extra cash on the side by leading private seminars in The Fine Art of Getting Published. Pony up $5,000 and you get to participate in 10 kick-me sessions at which he tells a small group of up-and-coming young writers what dim-witted boobs they are...

It goes without saying that Mr. Rickman is the star of the show. Ms. Rebeck has given him a lengthy speech about unsuccessful writers ("You'll feel like you're in the ninth circle of hell, where the betrayers of Christ are frozen in eternal cannibalistic silence") that he delivers as if it were an operatic aria, using his hissing, sinister drawl to color each phrase so tellingly that you'll catch your breath from start to finish. But "Seminar" is in no way a one-man show, and Mr. Rickman's "supporting" cast backs him brilliantly and effortlessly....

* * *

Read the whole thing here .

TT: When art goes up in smoke

Today's Wall Street Journal "Sightings" column is occasioned by the recent discovery of sketches for Sibelius' Eighth Symphony. Here's an excerpt.

* * *

The most famous bonfire in the history of classical music was lit by Jean Sibelius in 1945. The composer of "Finlandia," who had succumbed to depression and stopped writing music years earlier, burned a basketful of manuscripts in his fireplace, and it's thought that his unperformed Eighth Symphony, over which he had struggled for nearly two decades, went up in flames that day.

Or did it?

The Finnish newspaper Helsingin Sanomat published a story last month called "Is This the Sound of Sibelius' Lost Eighth Symphony?" Finnish scholars now claim to have located three fragments from Sibelius' sketches for the Eighth Symphony, and John Storgårds and the Helsinki Philharmonic recently performed them. It's impossible to know for sure whether these snippets actually belong to the Eighth Symphony, but the possibility that they might has set musicians around the world to buzzing.

Lost, unfinished and destroyed works of art have always tickled the fancies of art lovers, sometimes to the point of outright obsession. Did Buddy Bolden, the legendary New Orleans jazzman, really record a cylinder of his cornet playing? Probably not--but that hasn't stopped fanatics from looking for it. Whatever happened to the missing finale of Schubert's "Unfinished" Symphony? Nobody knows--but cockeyed theories abound.

Max Beerbohm wrote an essay called "Quia Imperfectum" in which he reflected on the "peculiar charm" exerted by unfinished works of art, suggesting that it would be worthwhile to construct "a museum of incomplete masterpieces" whose collection would be "full of unfulfillment." It's a clever idea, and a thoroughly romantic one. Most of the best-known unfinished works of art, after all, including Bach's "Art of Fugue," Charles Dickens' "Mystery of Edwin Drood," F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Last Tycoon" and Gustav Mahler's Tenth Symphony, were short-circuited by the deaths of their creators. Just as we are intrigued by the last words of great men, so are we fascinated by the last works of great artists, and when they are left incomplete, the fascination is heightened still further by the universal longing to see beyond the grave.

That Sibelius should have put his Eighth Symphony to the torch is no less fascinating. It's not unusual for artists to suppress works with which they're dissatisfied, but rarely do they actually destroy them....

* * *

Read the whole thing here .

To hear a performance of the sketches for Sibelius' Eighth Symphohy, go here and click on the small video screen. (The music is preceded by a two-minute-long interview in Finnish.)

TT: Almanac

"For many readers a good critic, in whatever field, is someone they agree with or who agrees with them. For me, a good critic is a good writer. A good critic is someone who recognizes and acknowledges the artist's intentions and the work's aspirations, and judges the work by them, not by what his own objectives would have been. A good critic is so impassioned about his subject that he can persuade you to attend something you'd never have imagined going to. A good critic is an entertaining read. A good critic is hard to find."

Stephen Sondheim, Look, I Made a Hat: Collected Lyrics (1981-2011) with Attendant Comments, Amplifications, Dogmas, Harangues, Digressions, Anecdotes and Miscellany

TT: For which much thanks

"When we exist without thought or thanksgiving we are not men, but beasts." So said M.F.K. Fisher in How to Cook a Wolf. I quoted her words in this space six years ago, and they are as true now as they were then, or in 1942, when Fisher wrote them. Today Mrs. T and I are preparing to go to her sister's house in Connecticut, there to sit at a groaning table and eat to our hearts' content. We are lucky and we are grateful--for the meal, for those with whom we'll share it, for one another. Spouses who come together in middle age don't take their good fortune for granted.

I've been favored by fortune my whole life long, which isn't to say that I haven't stepped in my fair share of potholes. Six years ago I ate my Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant, thinking dark thoughts as I dined, and a few short weeks later I was carried out of my apartment on a stretcher, wondering if I'd ever see it again. Not only did I make it back home in one piece, but I found my true love along the way. And even on the darkest of days I wasn't alone: I've always been surrounded by friends, and they've never failed to come when I called.

Unlike many, perhaps most folk, I earn my living doing something that gives me pleasure, and I don't take that for granted, either. I get paid to write about the plays of Shakespeare and Chekhov and Brian Friel and the music of Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington. How lucky can you get? That I also have to write about significantly less worthy things from time to time is surely the smallest of prices to pay for such a privilege (though sometimes it doesn't seem like it!).

As if all that bounty weren't enough, I wrote my first play and saw it performed in the year just past, an experience so unforeseen that I still have trouble believing that it really happened. I hope to see Satchmo at the Waldorf performed again before too much time goes by, and I also hope that other plays of mine (I've written two more since finishing Satchmo at the Waldorf) will someday make it to the stage. But even if that doesn't happen, I'll still be farther ahead of the game than I ever dreamed.

Nobody's luck holds forever, but when hard times come again--as they surely will--I hope I'll be warmed by the memory of how I feel today.

* * *

The finale of Stephen Sondheim's Company, as performed in 2008 by Raul Esparza and the members of the original Broadway cast of John Doyle's production:

TT: So you want to see a show?

Here's my list of recommended Broadway, off-Broadway, and out-of-town shows, updated weekly. In all cases, I gave these shows favorable reviews (if sometimes qualifiedly so) in The Wall Street Journal when they opened. For more information, click on the title.

BROADWAY:

• Anything Goes (musical, G/PG-13, mildly adult subject matter that will be unintelligible to children, closes Apr. 29, most performances sold out last week, reviewed here)

• Chinglish (comedy, PG-13, adult subject matter, closes Apr. 29, reviewed here)

• Follies (musical, PG-13, adult subject matter, closes Jan. 22, reviewed here)

• Godspell (musical, G, suitable for children, most performances sold out last week, reviewed here)

• How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying (musical, G/PG-13, perfectly fine for children whose parents aren't actively prudish, reviewed here)

• Other Desert Cities (drama, PG-13, adult subject matter, most performances sold out last week, reviewed here)

• Private Lives (comedy, PG-13, closes Feb. 5, reviewed here)

• Venus in Fur (serious comedy, R, adult subject matter, closes Dec. 18, most performances sold out last week, reviewed here)

OFF BROADWAY:

• Dancing at Lughnasa (drama, G/PG-13, extended through Jan. 15, reviewed here)

• Avenue Q (musical, R, adult subject matter and one show-stopping scene of puppet-on-puppet sex, reviewed here)

• The Fantasticks (musical, G, suitable for children capable of enjoying a love story, reviewed here)

• Million Dollar Quartet (jukebox musical, G, off-Broadway remounting of Broadway production, original run reviewed here)

CLOSING NEXT WEEK OFF BROADWAY:

• The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs (monologue, PG-13, closes Dec. 4, reviewed here)

CLOSING NEXT WEEK IN GLENCOE, ILLINOIS:

• The Real Thing (serious comedy, PG-13, closes Dec. 4, reviewed here)

CLOSING SUNDAY ON BROADWAY:

• Man and Boy (drama, PG-13, adult subject matter, most performances sold out last week, reviewed here)

TT: Almanac

"Let the man who would be grateful think of repaying a kindness even while receiving it."

Seneca, De Beneficiis

TT: Almanac

"George Abbott later told me that no matter what part you're playing, the audience makes up its mind when you first step onstage, before you speak, whether it likes you or not."

Edie Adams and Robert Windeler, Sing a Pretty Song...