Updated at last!

A New Record

I'm camped out in the studio for the next three days editing and mixing the new Captain Smartypants CD titled UnderCover. We're mixing Downtown right now and I'm thinking, 'This is my favorite cut on the CD.' This Downtown that we've created is a dark and rainy place, where the neon signs flicker and buzz, and are missing key letters. You wander, lost, through one-way streets until you find yourself in a blind corner. There is an ancient trumpet player across the alley - his upturned hat is full of rainwater and a scattering of nickels. But he doesn't care. He is playing his heart out. Happy again.

There are fifteen cuts on this CD. Some of the songs are pretty straightforward, like Big Yellow Taxi, I Want Love and Fernando. Totally fun, with a really great band behind us, but pretty much what you'd expect from a group of musical gay guys. Then there are cuts like Downtown, Fire and Rain, and Killing Me Softly which tend to make people say, "What the --- ?" when they hear them. We brought in a hip hop beat artist known as B-Shorty who helped elevate our level of hipness on I Got You Babe/The Beat Goes On. Remember the days of vinyl when Cds would boast bonus tracks? Well, we have added Vitamin Q as a bonus track on UnderCover. It's our theme song, and it's nice to leave audiences with a bit of medical advice: "Take your Vitamin Q."

Here is a poem I just wrote:

Recording is rewarding.
Recording is fun.
Some day soon
I hope I see the sun.

UnderCover is being released on June 5. If you are in Seattle, come see our show that night at Benaroya Hall (in the recital hall). If you don't live in Seattle, this would be an excellent excuse for you to come and smell the coffee. The CD and/or tickets can be ordered by contacting Seattle Men's Chorus at 206.323.0750 or visiting the SMC web site.

And Then I Wrote...

New York City Gay Men's Chorus commissioned playwright Joan Lipkin and me to write a 45-minute choral piece based on the experience of the elders in the gay community. Joan spent months interviewing a select group of men who offered up their life stories for the purpose. What resulted was an 8-movement piece called The Sage Cycle, which received its premiere on March 8 at Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center. (In New York City, for those of you who never have been east of the Cascades) I must confess to feeling a thrill as I sat there in my Specially Reserved Box Seat. I mean, some very major performances have taken place there. I think it is scientifically accurate to say that I inhaled several molecules that were exhaled by Itzhak Perlman in his performance there in December of 1999. Writing The Sage Cycle was an enlightening experience. I found myself keeping the stories at arms' length, as if I could keep my own aging process at bay. But no amount of Neutrogena or Cartoon Network could keep me from the realization that each of us, from the moment of birth, is aging. Plus, the men's stories were so disarming and touching that I found myself really wanting to leap inside their skins in order to bring the right music to their experiences. I was very pleased to hear these men thank Joan and me for our writing of the stories (the men Joan interviewed are in the chorus) New York City Gay Men's Chorus will be presenting several movements of The Sage Cycle at the GALA Festival in Montreal this coming July. I look forward to other men's choruses around the country taking this work on.

Old People Make the Best Brownies

I think we have much to learn from the experiences of our elders. We as Americans tend to overlook our elders (I like the Spanish ancianos) to our great detriment. Not to mention theirs. I am hoping that we as a culture are moving into a greater awareness of the wealth of experience and wisdom our elders represent. I'm not just saying this because I'm on the other side of 40. I felt this way when I was a kid. I had the best time hanging out with our neighborhood's old folks on their porches. Mrs. Dannor was a particular friend of mine, as was Grampa Reeves, and a wonderful lady we called Aunt Dot. My clearest memory of Aunt Dot involves her potato salad. One summer day my brother and I wandered into Aunt Dot's back yard. We always went by Aunt Dot's house to see if we could play with her monkey. (This was an actual monkey, not a metaphor for something obscene) This day we happened upon Aunt Dot and her daughter (whose name I forget, but let's call her Frannie) having a picnic in their back yard. My brother and I sat down at their invitation and ate what I remember as the best potato salad ever. There was cold ham as well, and iced tea, and a plate of perfect frosted brownies. Several pounds of poatato salad later, our mother burst into the yard, frantic with worry. We had neglected to tell her where we were, having been distracted by all that potato salad and the possibility of the monkey. Mother sat down laughing with relief, and ate a brownie. Every serving of potato salad I have had is subconsciously compared with that über-salad. Every picnic table I have sat at since is a mere replication of that original picnic table. Every monkey I see is a relative of that monkey I was never allowed to hold. And I have a fondness for anyone named Dot.

What began as an admonition to respect our elders found itself wandering into the back yard too. It looked around, sat down, and ate sliced cold ham and potato salad. You, gentle, reader, may be worried as to where this is all headed. Come on in. Sit down. Have a brownie. Everything's okay.

Steam Shovel Comes to Town, Kicks Serious Ass

My agent called last year to tell me that TheatreWorks in New York City had requested permission to license the kids' show I wrote based on Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. Would I mind if they toured with it for two years across the USA? I had to think for quite a while on that one. If you would like to see if it is coming to a theater near you, check out their site for the tour schedule. This show packs a lot of fun and a few gentle lessons in 50 minutes. It is great for kids 4-10. The upper age limit depends on if your child has entered into her/his Uncomfortable Years in which everything you suggest automatically sucks. You will need to make that call...

Lady Organists Wreak Harmony on Unsuspecting Audiences

Last November (or maybe a November and a half ago, I forget) we presented a workshop version of The Stops at Thumper's. The show did quite well, but when it came to thinking of remounting the show we found ourselves wanting a more theatrical space. I found myself wanting to find a book writer who could help me strengthen the plot and character development. So producer Karen Kinch (with fledgling Drama Queen Productions) began seeking out appropriate theater spaces and I began - yet again - looking for a good book writer with whom I could collaborate.

An aside. I have heard from fellow lyricist/composers how difficult it is to find a good bookwriter/playwright with whom to collaborate. Think about it and it makes sense. What playwright wants to see his best scenes turned into songs? And who ever thinks of Hugh Wheeler when they think of Sweeney Todd? People tend to think of the composer when they think of a musical show. Which is a shame, because a musical is only as good as its book. If your characters aren't well-drawn, if they don't say believable and interesting things, then no one will care how good the songs are.

I began my search anew for a funny, smart collaborator who knew a lot about structure and had experience writing books for shows. S/he needed to be understanding, compassionate, well-read, well-traveled, an excellent cook and fluent in at least four languages. Where would I find such an animal? In Drew Emery, that's where. I had met Drew shortly after moving to Seattle; we had batted the idea of The Stops around but I found myself dreading the inevitable: he wouldn't be interested, we would have completely different visions of the show, he would have no concept of what makes a good chocolate dessert exceptional. We sat down and talked in earnest about it one day, and my dread turned into amazement, and then into joy. Not only did we have a blast rewriting the show, but the end product is exactly where I'd hoped it would be. To top it all off, Drew makes transcendent chocolate desserts. And perfect popcorn.

Those of you who have seen the earlier incarnations of The Stops will be happy to know that the characters remain largely the same. Ginny drinks. Rose controls. Euglena prays. And somehow it all works out in the end. Some songs are gone, but they have been replaced with new songs. Act I ends with The Ballad of Pig Boy, and Act II begins with a whole new Dale Meadows medley.

I am utterly pleased to announce that The Stops (songs by Eric Lane Barnes, book by Drew Emery and Eric Lane Barnes) is 'going up' in August of 2004 at The Empty Space in Seattle's delightful Freemont neighborhood. Stay tuned for details!

ELB in EU

I was in France for 3 weeks last summer, taking a choral conducting seminar, swimming naked, speaking French, eating rustic terrines, and discovering that the French are simply amazed at how we could let a chimpanzee run loose in the White House. Despite forewarnings of some friends, I found the French to be absolutely charming: warm and welcoming, smart and funny. Speaking the language does help. Even just trying to speak the language helps. A few times I was mortified seeing Americans shouting English phrases at frustrated waiters or shop keepers. It is most likely these people who come back to the States complaining that the French are so rude. I confess that I fell in love with the country, especially the south region where I spent my first two weeks. I quickly learned a very big difference between the American way of life (work is the most important thing. Eat in your car on your way to work) and the French way of life (life is the most important thing. Drop everything and have a great meal) I found great pleasure in the simplest of moments. There was a boulangerie three doors down from my hotel; every morning there was a line of locals winding around the block. I joined the line on my second day and bought what the woman in front of my bought: a baguette and a 'pain raisin.' The baguette I wanted to save for my Basque lunch, but the pain raisin I ate then and there. It was small: it fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. It was simple looking: no frosting, no hunks of sugar or bright colors of any kind. I took my first bite, and I suddenly had a greater experience of France. I am not joking. I thought of all the Cinnabons I'd eaten in my life, all the neon-colored cookies and supermarket cupcakes topped with gritty shortening frosting. These things were pale cardboard representations of the real thing. It's like when you've been to Disneyworld, suddenly every other theme park you've visited looks shabby and sad. The flavors in the 'pain raisin' were simple but perfectly balanced. Butter, raisins, apple chunks (I think) and a little bit of cinnamon. Not overly sweet. Perfectly moist. I can remember it still. The next day I talked with Alain who owns the boulangerie and told him of my revelation. He hugged me. We became fast friends.

Now, what I am saying here is not just that the French make great pastries, although this is certainly true. No, what I realized in that first bite of 'pain raisin' is how we have settled for convenience over taste in America. Time must be saved at all costs in order to get to work. Or to get to our next job. Or to get to the store before it closes. Or to ... whatever it is we are rushing to get to in order to save all this time. I saw myself, there on that street in Biarritz, as an American blur. Rushing to My Important Tasks, eating in my car, stocking up on Lean Cuisines, convincing myself that one day I would be able to settle back and enjoy life. But in the meantime I needed to hurry. On that Biarritz street I saw the fallacy in that empty thinking. All I have is this present moment. If I don't enjoy this present moment, what makes me think I'll be able to enjoy the next? Finishing the 'pain raisin' I made a vow to never rush through a meal again, and to choose real food over super processed food whenever I could. I wish I could say that I have kept this resolve sacred. I haven't. I still eat too many Lean Cuisines. But I will say that the meals Paul and I have served this past year have taken on a new warmth, and we enjoy the company of our friends all the more. And I made a really great pork loin roast the other night.

Food and friends aside, I did learn much about choral conducting from the mind and arms of Rodney Eichenberger. The two most important things I learned were: 1) My conducting training in college was virtually useless, and 2) I am my biggest roadblock. I think #2 is true most of the time with most things. But it is comforting to know that roadblocks can be used to lay foundations for new houses. How's that for a concrete metaphor?

Staving off the Midlife Crisis Even Further

All content copyright 2004 Eric Lane Barnes, Seattle, WA