It's a wonderful town - again!
So. Where am I as I write this?
As it happens, I'm far above the white candyfloss clouds, on an Airbus 340, having taken off from JFK about ten minutes ago. It's a bit bumpy, as we reach our cruising altitude, so typing this is proving a little tricky. Hang on: I think it's stabilised. Yes. I'll proceed.
I've had the most amazing week in New York, having arrived last Wednesday. There's been drinking and eating, and seeing old friends, and making new friends, and walking, and if course, a fair amount of theatre!
The main reason I chose to come to New York for this particular week, missing the street parties prompted by the Royal Wedding, is that my dear friend, Christopher Sieber has been starring opposite Harvey Fierstein in La Cage Aux Folles on Broadway. An opportunity not to be missed, but more of that in a bit.
It wad quite chilly when I arrived in Manhattan. It had apparently been even colder before I blew into town, but compared with the fantastic, unseasonably warm weather I had left behind in England, it felt a bit nippy!
My first duty on hitting the city was to collect the keys to Christopher's apartment, where I would be staying, from the theatre where he was working. He'd left them with the doorman, which was brilliant, as it meant I could also leave my suitcase there while I went off and enjoyed my first evening there. I was going to be meeting my good friend Adam for a bite to eat and a few drinks at a place called Arriba Arriba, in Hell's Kitchen at around 50th and 9th.
After dropping off my bag, and heading of to Arriba Arriba, I wad once again struck by how comfortable I feel in New York. I'm a regular visitor: it's been about twice a year for the past five years or so, and in the early days, I was always amazed and awed on arrival, by just how alien and exciting everything was. From the yellow traffic lights, and the Walk/Don't Walk signs on every corner, to the layout of the streets and avenues themselves. Everything was so unfamiliar. Now however, I very much feel like I'm coming home again when I get to New York. It's like slipping on a favourite pair of jeans, and I love that feeling.
The main reason Adam and I had chosen Arriba Arriba was for their legendary margaritas. They do them in various flavours and sizes, and the largest is called the "Mamma". It's aptly named, it comes in a glass the size of a generous goldfish bowl on a stem, and tastes simply fabulous. I had two. I was already a bit squiffy by the time I had to leave to meet Christopher at the theatre.
He had some friends on to see the show, and was meeting them on the stage. His dresser, a very friendly chap called Jason, showed me to his dressing room, and I waited there for him to come offstage. What I didn't realise wad that his friends were people I already knew. David Valcin and Diane Murphy, are old friends of his (he and David did a sitcom together years ago), and about three years ago, we spent a delightful weekend all together on Christopher's island home in New Jersey. It was lovely to see them again and we all piled into Hurley's bar next door for s gossip and a catch up.
While we were on there, Christopher went over to talk to someone at the bar, and I heard my name being mentioned. I looked over, and to my great delight saw the one and only Mike McShane grinning over at me. Mike and I occasionally worked together in Showstopper, the improvised musical show that I spent some time in a couple of years ago. We always got on very well, and j adore him. He is a truly gifted performer, and one of the most generous people I've ever had the good fortune to share a stage with. A true gem. I hadn't realised that he was in the show with Christopher, so I'd be seeing him onstage the very next night.
More drink flowed, and I was as pissed as a fart by the time we got to the apartment that night!
Thursday morning, Christopher, his partner Kevin and I went to Ton's Restaurant for pancakes. It's one if my favourite places to eat in New York, and I always make a point of going there at least once per trip. It's famous for being the exterior of "the coffee shop" that features in nearly every episode of Seinfeld, as well as being the subject of the Suzanne Vega song, Tom's Diner. I had pancakes with banana and walnuts, dripping with butter and maple syrup. THAT'S the way to start a day!
That afternoon, Christopher got a call informing him that he had been nominated for a Drama Desk award for an off-Broadway show he had done last year called The Kid. I was very proud of him.
Watching La Cage that night was great fun. Christopher and Harvey have known each other for years, and they had a wonderful onstage relationship. I had been given a fabulous seat: five rows from the front, right in the centre, and the evening only got better from there. I've always had a penchant for seeing/hearing an author performing their own work, and to see Harvey Fierstein in the role that he wrote so many years ago was a real treat. Yes, he's over the top, yes, he pulls a lot of faces, and yes, that oh-so-distinctive voice can make me want to hold my own throat comfortingly when he sings, but he is wonderful to watch. Everything he does comes from a real place of truth and vulnerability, and his rendition of I Am What I Am at the end of act one was heartbreaking.
Christopher was also marvellous in the show. it was good to see him playing a part that, while very funny, was actually the straight guy in the relationship (in more ways than one) and he had a really warm twinkle in his eye throughout, and great charisma.
Friday was all about meeting my friend Sharon, who is a brilliant photographer (and whose wedding Ben and I attended last time we were in New York last October). I had asked her if she would be free to do a session with me for some new headshots, as I've never really been happy with the ones I've been using for the last three years or so, and I really love Sharon's style, so I've been waiting for the chance to get her to do some for me. (Last time we saw each other, she was obviously too busy getting married!)
We met up on Spring Street in the heart if SoHo, and immediately got down to business. Two hours later, and some 320 shots further down the road, we called it a night, both pleased with how things had gone.
Sharon is a delight to work with. She's one of the most enthusiastic people I know, and she loves what she does, and that's do much gun to be around. It's infectious and we had a great time. (At time of writing, I've already seen the proofs online, and I'm thrilled with them! I can't wait to start using them. I feel a website redesign coming on...)
England is so far behind America in terms if actors' headshots. We almost exclusively still use black and white, which is so silly, because although I can't speak for anyone else, I NEVER turn up to a casting or audition in monochrome! Surely it makes sense to see someone's colouring and how they truly look in a photograph? Oh, I know that there's a nostalgia and a romance attached to those old smoky black and white headshots from the 40s, but they were only used at the time because colour didn't exist yet! I'm looking forward to pushing that forward when using these wonderful pictures in the future.
I left Sharon and raced up to the Lincoln Center, at 66th and Broadway, where I had a ticket to see Seance on a Wet Afternoon, a new opera, yes, opera by Stephen Schwartz. Obviously, Schwartz is known for his contributions to musical theatre, notably Godspell, Pippin, Children of Eden and of course, the global sensation that is Wicked. So this was a fascinating curio indeed. There were only ten performances, and I took it as a sign that some of them were while u was in town, and determined not to miss it.
I wasn't disappointed. The subject matter is dark beyond belief: it's the story of a professional medium, whose spirit guide is the spirit of her own dead son. We are never sure if he is real, or just a grief-inspired delusion, but he convinces her to that to gain the recognition she deserves for her "talents", she should abduct a little girl, hold her to ransom, and then lead the police to where she and the money can be found, safe and sound. Her success would bring her fame and fortune. She justifies this to her husband by saying that they are only "borrowing" the girl, and he agrees to help her.
Things start to spiral out of control though, when the ghost of her son convinces her that he is lonely, and wants the little girl as a friend. Forever. It is decided that the little girl will have to be killed. Wow, I thought. They're surely not going THERE. But yes. The girl gets smothered, and now there is no turning back.
During the planned seance with the police, however, the medium is taken over by the ghost of the little girl, and it us revealed just what has happened.
Dark. Dark. Dark stuff indeed.
It was fascinating to hear Schwartz writing in a totally different tonal landscape from what we expect from him. Some of the music is breathtakingly beautiful, and there were some electrifying moments, particularly the aria from the little girl's mother, which brought the house down.
Once I had got used to the lack of amplification on the voices, which in my Philistinic opinion it could have done with, and the presence of the surtitles, which WERE in fact necessary, despite the fact that it was all sung in English (I'd be embarrassed if I needed people to be able to read the words I was singing!), and the operatic style of some of the acting (the lead tenor seemed to need to go up onto his toes every time he sang a high note!), I was totally captivated by the piece, and the dark brooding story it was telling. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Saturday for me was all about Broadway. I saw two shows, the first of which was the new offering from Frank Wildhorn (Jekyll and Hyde, The Scarlet Pimpernelle), Wonderland.
Although I was pleasantly surprised by the score: I had been expecting big dreary ballad after big dreary ballad, and in fact it turned out to be a fresh contemporary pop score with some great numbers, I could help feeling a little disappointed by the show as a whole. It was nice enough, but the story was utterly rubbish. (What story! Retorted my friend Frank when I talked to him about it last night!)
It's the tale of a woman, Alice, who us having marital problems, and hits her head on a pipe, the has a dream that she us taken down beneath New York, where a reimagined version of Wonderland exists. The hatter that we know and love has been sacked and an evil woman, the new hatter is in his place and wants to take over Wonderland from the red queen (played fabulously by Karen Mason). It then gets revealed that the bad hatter is actually the alter ego of Alice herself in a truly preposterous attempt to inject some plot into act two, but it makes no sense, so has no impact. It doesn't help that the evil hatter, while having an amazing set of pipes, blasting her way through one of the biggest songs ever sung(!), is about as menacing as the Andrew puppy! Ah well. It's all presented with panache, and I allowed myself to enjoy it, while secretly admitting to myself that I knew it wasn't very good.
My evening theatre visit took me to see Catch Me If You Can, by the writers of Hairspray.
Based on a true story, it tells the tale of a serial conman, (played charmingly by Next to Normal's Aaron Tveit), who makes a fortune by first cashing rubber checks, then passing himself off as a pilot for Pan Am, then as a doctor and a lawyer. The drama comes in the form of Norbert Leo Butz' police detective, who has been tracking him down for years, and finally gets his man. It's all told in flashback through the medium of a 1960s variety show.
The score is certainly a toe tapper, played onstage by a fantastic swing band, and the standard of the production is great. Mr Butz is truly wonderful in the role, borne out by the announcement of his Tony nomination for it yesterday. Every facet of his performance is quirky, slick and utterly captivating. A true class act. As he finished one song, to rapturous applause, not least from me, I found myself wanting to see the number all over again immediately, and I couldn't wait for his next appearance. Splendid.
On Sunday, I took a trip out to Fairfield, Connecticut, on the train from Grand Central Station (which is very aptly named, as it is both grand AND central!), to visit my friend Cary and meet his family there. We first met about three years ago, when I took part in one of the early workshops for Flashdance the Musical, which he co-wrote the book and lyrics for. We've been friends ever since, and although he's been to England several times, this is the first time ice had the chance to take a trip out of the city to visit him.
Fairfield and its neighbour, Westport, are ridiculously pretty. It is genuinely like wandering round the set of a Doris Day/Rock Hudson movie. All clapboard houses of enormous proportions, and white picket fences. Just bonkers!
Cary picked me up from the station, and drove me the short journey to his and his partner John's beautiful 1760s colonial home. As I entered the house, their adorable daughter, seven year-old Selina greeted me shyly with a picture that she'd coloured in beautifully, and written my name on in her neatest handwriting. The shyness didn't last long, however, and in no time at all, she was swinging on my arm, and showing me how she loves to climb her favourite tree, which happens to be a massive magnolia tree in the front garden, covered in gorgeous flowers. It was all too lovely!
My visit just wasn't long enough though, and before long, I was back on the train to the city, vowing to return for longer next time, as I know Ben would be completely enchanted by the place, and I can't wait for him to see it.
I hadn't made any plans to meet up with anyone I knew that night, and took myself into the West Village to find a cozy bar and have a few drinks: soak up the atmosphere and perhaps listen to some live music. Where better to do that than at Duplex, on the corner of 7th Ave and Christopher Street?
There is a grand piano, tucked into a tint corner if the downstairs bar, and you can often find whoever has been booked to play it for the night, playing whatever people want to hear, until the not-so wee smalls.
All the staff at the bar sing as well, many with incredible untapped talent (I'm reliably informed that the ability, nay, need to sing is a prerequisite of getting a job there!), and the punters are encouraged to get up and do a number or two as well, and many are struggling actors who bring their audition files with them specially, so you can always be guaranteed a good night of variety and fun.
This particular night, the man on the keys was the incomparable Steve Watts, who, incidentally, was only subbing for one of the more regular players, and he is fantastic. I swear he must have twelve fingers on each hand, or at least a third hand tucked away somewhere, because he makes the piano sound like a full orchestra. He also has a very fine singing voice, excelling in the Elton John/Billy Joel oevre, but turning his talents to just about anything you ask for with ease.
The pianists don't get paid for their often arduous and tortuously long sessions there, so a large clear plastic top hat periodically gets passed round for everyone to tip a few dollars, and this is how they make their money. People are usually very appreciative, and, I can only hope, generous.
I hadn't been planning to sing, but there weren't many people there, and it's such a friendly atmosphere, that before long, we were all chatting away like old friends, and I was finally urged to get up and do a song. I sang My Funny Valentine, and thoroughly enjoyed myself!
After Steve had finished his four-hour slot, I asked if I could buy him a drink, as thanks for his efforts. He came and sat with me, and two Scottish girls I had become pally with, and a new friend was made. Just like that! The Scottish girls, Jen, and her friend whose name I never caught, had never been to New York before, and had only just landed that morning, having survived the previous 40 hours or so with only about three hours sleep they were determined to live the Sex and the City lifestyle, though, and were happily throwing back the cosmos until Jen's eyes crossed, and her head very nearly smacked down on the table, and I suggested to her friend that it might be time to get her to a bed. This was after they'd been there for about four hours. They'd only dropped in to use the toilet, but loved the vibe so much, they stayed all night!
At some point in the early hours, Steve got a text message from a friend, and said I should read it. He looked pretty dumbstruck. I soon realised why. The text simply read: "Osama bin Laden has been killed. President addressing the nation in 15mins." It was a sobering moment I can tell you. We went upstairs to the bar up there, which has televisions, and you could see that word was slowly filtering through the crowd. The televisions were turned to the news, and the sound turned up, and we watched Barrack Obama's speech live. It felt like we were witnessing history. The strength of feeling in America about this man cannot be underestimated, and probably not understood very well by people in the UK, but I felt the weight if it all around me that night, and no mistake.
Monday dawned, and I had a plan to meet Sharon and walk up the Highline together. The Highline is one if New York's newest parks - indeed it still isn't finished- and is the most fascinating thing. It's an d disused section of an elevated rail road, starting in the Meat Packing District, and snaking its way north above the streets and buildings. It currently only goes as far as Chelsea, but the next phase will take it up as far as 34th St.
No sign of Sharon.
I had got the date wrong! I was supposed to be meeting her the next day. Not to worry: Christopher came and joined me and before I knew it, I found myself at the press reception for all the Drama Desk nominees. That was surreal! I was horribly underdressed, and felt rather conspicuous. Christopher had to go off and face the press photographers, and I told him not to worry about me. I'd be fine. I took my camera out, and joined the ranks of the snappers! I felt it justified my scruffy attire!
While Christopher was be
ing interviewed by a squillion people, I noticed that the artwork on the walls of the Indian restaurant where the event was taking place, was absolutely filthy! There were loads of wooden carvings of quite pornographic subjects. I was shocked! No one else seemed to notice, which amused me. I imagined some dear old lady watching one of the interviews in her living room, and catching sight of something untoward in the background...
I got talking to Richard, Christopher's agent, who I hadn't seen for ages. We promised that we will get together for drinks when he is next in London. I'll hold him to it!
We stayed only as long as necessary. It was crazy crowded, and Christopher could wait to get out. Still, I found it fascinating.
The next thing that happened to me was quite astonishing. It has happened to me a fair bit in New York, yet never fails to amaze me. It also makes me very happy, as it confirms that New York is very definitely becoming "My Patch."
I was walking down 10th Avenue, when a hand tapped me on the shoulder, and I heard my name being called. I turned round to see Gavin Creel standing there looking amazed to see me. Gavin is a phenomenally talented Broadway performer, who has also worked in London a few times, playing Bert in Mary Poppins, and the lead in the Broadway production of Hair that transferred to the West End. We became friends back when I was doing Spamalot, and he, Mary Poppins. I hadn't seen him for ages, and it was great to catch up. More promises to meet up
In London next time he is in town! I'll need a bigger diary at this rate!
On Tuesday, Sharon and I finally made our trip up the Highline. It's beautiful, and the trees are starting to look really established. It's so strange to be in a park with benches and trees and grass and a new water feature for dipping hot, city-tired toes into, in such a tranquil setting, while the bustle of the city happens beneath you. It was just lovely.
Sharon inevitably had her camera with her, and couldn't help herself: every time we went somewhere with interesting light, she demanded that I pose for a picture. I happily acquiesced, and we had a lot of fun. We hadn't really had the chance to chat while doing my photoshoot, so this was our time for that.
Where to spend my last evening in the city? Where else? Steve was playing at Duplex again, so we met up for a bite to eat, then headed straight to the bar.
I was joined (variously) by Christopher, and my friends Frank and Ailsa. They couldn't stay for too long, and drifted away one by one, but I was feeling right at home, so stayed til about two in the morning. There were some great singers there that night. One of the bar staff, Katie Kass has the most remarkable voice. She sang everything from pretty ballads to rap, and has a very impressive range. I loved her.
I asked Steve if he knew I'm Going Home, from Rocky, as, appropriately, I was going home the next day. He did, so I got up and sang it. I've always loved singing that song, and got bitten by it again when I sang it in my cabaret with Matt the other week, so it was great to dust it off again. Steve knows a bit about my past, and as I was leaving the stage, he started playing the intro to Wig in a Box, from Hedwig. I protested that I hadn't sung the song for over ten years, and wouldn't remember the words, but he said he'd help me through it if I got stuck. I'll let you into a little secret: I LOVED singing it! Hedwig was such a special experience for me, and I NEVER get the chance to rock out like that anymore, so it was an absolute joy! It seemed to go down well, and then it was time to leave.
Today has been rainy, and after Christopher left early this morning to fly to Minnesota, then Kevin left for work, I really felt that the holiday had come to a natural end.
I went for pancakes again in Tom's (This time with sausage as well ad the butter and maple syrup - it sounds gross to our English tongues, but don't knock it: it's actually a delicious combo), then took myself for a short walk around the top end of Central Park. It was raining though, and my right shoe was soon soaked through, so I went back and packed.
In trying to say goodbye to Khoi Khoi (the temperamental African Grey parrot) she didn't want to know, and tried to bite me when I went near her. I'm used to that, though so I wasn't too offended. As I was passing the cage though, suitcase in hand, to get to the front door, she came right over to me, and lifted one of her feet to me. I offered her my finger, and she stepped right up, and onto my shoulder. We spent a few minutes nuzzling each other, and she really didn't seem to want to get off when the time came for me to put her back on her cage. I think she secretly likes me.
Nothing to report about the journey to the airport, except the usual pang of sadness and ennui that always grabs me as I leave my favourite city. I know I'll be back before too much longer though, and now, here I am, sitting on the plane, on my way back to my life. It's nice to get away from yourself sometimes, isn't it?
So this is me, signing off.
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