John McCain, my dog is more equal than you.

1984 fans everywhere raised an eyebrow as John McCain, author of the doublethink masterpiece, The Internet Freedom Act, was proposed to Congress. Obviously, the man has no understanding of net neutrality, nor its implications. According to his wife, he doesn't even know how to send an email, and yet he proposes legislation that would allow ISPs to control or eliminate content. The information highway, brought to you Google free by MSN. Awesome.

One thing I have to give to conservative thinktanks; they understand Orwell better than we do. If we'd have named the public insurance option the Freedom Option for Liberty, we'd have single payer healthcare by now.

On being a comprimario.

I have a friend, an excellent singer and actor, who decided to quit singing because noone would hire him to play leads. They only wanted him to be the funny little sidekick. He refused. I could never wrap my brain around that. Character parts are so much more fun than leads. Have you ever had the experience of working for hours and hours on a project, only to have someone come in at the last minute and totally steal your thunder? That's what comprimarii do. Coming in for 5 minutes, blasting it out, and then leaving with the furniture is so much more rewarding than the slog of romantic melodrama. I'll let the skinny shits work like dogs and deal with the crazy divas. I just want to be a pirate, or a chef, or a retard, or a soldier, or a toady.

And give me my motherfucking check.

Of course, there are a few pitfalls. One downside to being a secondo is being treated with a lack of respect. I guess people are so used to small parts being performed like shit, they get used to the idea that the people that do them are in some way diminished. I had quite a few people come up to me after the last performance and tell me they have never heard my role sung that well. Seriously? I feel horrible for people that had to endure a bad Antonio, or Remendado, or Magician, or Li'l Bat. Companies are so used to young artists playing these roles for no money, they get dismissed half of the time. That really is a shame.

Sometimes is can be a disadvantage to one's career to be good in small parts. Anton Coppola told me many times he couldn't hire me as Don Jose because he would have a way harder time casting the gypsies. He said having people in small roles whom he doesn't have to worry about is worth its weight in gold. Having seen how a bad walk-on can derail an entire production, I can see his point.

I sincerely hope there are more henchmen in my future. I have a Beadle and another pirate coming up, not to mention the giant garbage pail kid in the ring cycle. This big performer loves coming in small packages. Wait, that didn't come out right. There are no small roles, only small actors, and I am in no way small. Wait...aw fuck it. You get the point.

Waiting for direction.

I have worked with hundreds of directors in my lifetime. I can count the number of them that actually knew what they were talking about on one hand. Apparently, the only criteria for being a stage director are 1) a healthy loathing for music and/ or theater 2) a bucket of contempt for actors and singers 3) A reasonable amount of dupes so that one can pad the resume.

I was in a production of Carmen where the director thought it would be great if we did the Les Miserables march step in place during the finale of the act 3 chorus. Gypsies marching in lockstep, seriously. The director of Lucia di Lammermoor, right after the first musical read through ended, asked the cast to gather around the piano so that he could "hear how the first scene went". Direct quote. A very famous director, during a new production of Porgy and Bess, decided to the make entire cast sit on the front of the stage with their legs dangling off during their rousing rendition of "Oh, I can't sit down." My wife asked her if she was being ironic and the director asked her to take her poodles out for a pee. I have had numerous directors in numerous shows shove me into a scene that I was not supposed to be in, for the direct purpose of singing in the chorus, even if I wasn't chorus. In one of them, I had died in an earlier scene.

Recently, I had a Shakespearean director make an impassioned, hour-long speech about character preparation and motivation. We would be tested, he said, on the reasons we made certain choices, and not knowing was not acceptable. In the next rehearsal, he had us beat up a character for no reason, out of nowhere. "Grab some stuff, put it on him, twirl him if you want, tie him up, leave him." I asked if we could add something earlier in the show that would set up this seemingly random action so that it would make sense. "Yeah, that would be great. Do whatever." Three days of "whatever" later, we had an impassioned, hour long speech about only doing what the director tells you. Improv is not acceptable. Thanks, Shakespeare guy.

Now I'm doing a musical with a director who thinks the show is crap, and therefore we must nod and wink ourselves through the entire production. Hey audience, we GET it! It's CRAP, see? Wink, wink. Have a hackneyed cliché and some choreography from Music Man! Oh, and by the way, we need you to sing in the chorus.

What the fuck is wrong with these people? If they hate the art form so much, why do they do it? What's wrong with a tiny bit of research, and maybe just a teensie bit of continuity? I love anachronisms as much as the next guy, but I loathe it as a directing style.

Of course, this leads to the question, "OK, dipshit, if you know so much, why don't you direct?"

Frankly, I'd love to. I don't know how to get started, but I think I have the requisite amount of contempt, especially if I had a couple of directors in the cast.

It's been a long time...

I shouldn'ta left you

without a dope rhyme to step to.

Sorry, oh snark worshipping folk. After a bout of month long ho hums followed by an insanely large, terribly directed and overwhelmingly talent-filled mega-musical, I feel like I'm back in the saddle of my life. So, now I can truly get back to bitching about it.

The show went great for me, and not only did I meet a fabulous casting agent, but I got back in touch with a lot of people in the singing biz. For a while there it didn't look like moving back to Cali was a very good idea career-wise. There is no opera here outside of crappy "Guffman goes to the opera" organizations, or the really bigguns, which I am already affiliated with to some capacity. But I remembered something about myself these last couple of months. I like musical theater. I always forget that, until I do another show. I would rather do Gypsy than Boheme any day of the week. And Cali has got MT coming out of its disneyfied cornhole. There is nothing like it in NY. There is opera and there are musicals and by design, the twain shall never meet. I think that is why I found myself doing new American opera so much; it was the closest I could get to campy musical theater without being a twink.

I've found that operatic training goes a long way to forgiving my weight on the CLO circuit. I have already landed my next two gigs, which will pretty much take me right up to the time I start ...

Götterdämmerung.

.

5 reasons why Gandalf is better than Jesus

I have often thought that what we worship is mostly luck and timing, and if The Lord of the Rings was printed on the Dead Sea Scrolls we would be worshipping Gandalf, Sam and Frodo instead of Isaiah, David and Jesus. That being said, I just think Gandalf has it all over Jesus in a head to head comparison. Let's break it down:

1) Gandalf was resurrected and actually completed his task.

Jesus promised his disciples he would return within their lifetimes (Mark 9:1). Whoopsie. Gandalf came back in the middle of the second book. Take that, Mormons!

2) Bread, fish and wine vs. weed and fireworks? No contest.

I'm sure both these gentlemen were fun at parties. Anyone who can keep the party going after the food and drink has run out has hero potential. However, fireworks that turn into life-sized dragons, especially on a halfling leaf bender? I think the wizard gets the edge on coolness.

3) Jesus' friends were all kinda douchebags.

You think Aragorn would have fallen asleep in Gethsemane? You think Gimli would have denied Gandalf 3 times? You think Legolas would have gone to Saruman for 30 pieces of silver?

With friends like Peter, John, James, and Judas, who needs enemas?

4) Gandalf slew his demon, Jesus just moved his into pigs.

Gandalf fell through multiple planes of existence to kill the Balrog. Jesus didn't eat for a couple of weeks in the desert. I mean, come on. Jesus only lasted 3 days on a cross. It usually takes weeks to die.

Jesus was sort of a pussy, seriously.

5) Sermon on the Mount vs. advice in Moria.

Well, the sermon on the mount is pretty good. I'll give ya that one. I won't bore you with the details of it, but Gandalf wins just on succinctness.

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

Very Zen, very Yoda-esque, and he didn't need a mount nor a multitude, just a word from the heart and a stalwart example.

So, there you go.

Movie recommendation: Rachel Getting Married

Usually, I hate rehab films. "When a Man Loves a Woman" made me want to kill myself and "28 Days" made me want to kill Sandra Bullock. I am a huge fan of Augusten Burrows, but the ending of Dry ruined the entire book with AA preachiness, much like Brideshead Revisited's ending was polluted with Catholic drivel. So when my wife brings home "Rachel Getting Married", I spent a good five minutes wondering if I would be better off watching "Hell's Kitchen" in the other room. 

I'm glad I didn't.

Yeah, this movie had the same old predictable, simplistic, manipulative, dysfunctional plot, but what was really interesting and different was the functional wedding. From the rehearsal dinner through the wedding reception, the party was wild, heart-felt, multi-cultural, comfortable, loving, and wicked fun. It was a wedding I wish I were invited to, and I don't say that very often, if ever. Jonathan Demme took a page from Robert Altman in the filming, but added unbelievable musical moments, including two performances by Robyn Hitchcock, and the lead singer of TV on the Radio crooning Neil Young for his bride-to-be. That's just cool.

Do yourself a favor: Rent it, take a lot of breaks, and ignore the plot. You won't be disappointed.

Hey Mormons, my gay dog is better than you...but probably not as gay.

Few know the actual reasons for our relocation to California because Butterbean wanted to keep it low profile. He left his band and his gay lover of 3 years, Rupert McNoodle (a self-loathing gay republican, unapologetic racist and scheisse fetishist), in order to campaign against Proposition 8 at a grassroots level. No longer could he sleep idly by and let this injustice stand. We could get on board, or he would go it alone.

Thanks to the machinations of the Mormon church, the struggle for equality in the most progressive state in the U.S. has been endlessly frustrating. Preying on the small-mindedness of its constituency has always been the church's strength, and the funneling of tax exempt monies, bullying and fear-mongering have seemed to achieve the desired result. I tried to explain to the dog that I had lived in Salt Lake City for a number of years and still can't understand why a male culture that was so openly embracing of the gay lifestyle (deep-seated obsessions with thinness, grooming, and light-hearted musicals) would be so outwardly hostile to it. I mean, think about it. They take male youths at the peak of their sexuality, ship them off to foreign lands and proselytize about dirty, sweaty sins to nubile youths in banana hammocks. Butterbean thinks there is a little more to it. He has surmised that Mormons don't want the state involved in the definition of any marriage. Why, you ask? Because they are all pissed off about having polygamy outlawed. If they can't marry who they want, then Moroni-damn-it, noone can. It's an interesting theory, but I don't think another wife or 4 would make mor-men want a cock in the pooper any less.

Butterbean struggles on. He has met a nice chihuahua mix (named Coach) who shares the same passion in equal rights for all dogs; gay, straight, or polyamorous. They are in the preliminary stages of marketing their new product: The Harvey Milkbone. "Change their hearts and minds with commerce!" Coach has been known to shout, when he's not licking his own balls anyway. 

If Jesus sang like Ted Neely

I think I would have an easier time believing in Jesus if he sang like Ted Neely. 

In 1993, the 20 year reunion tour came to my college town, with Neely and Carl Anderson in the starring roles. The Jesus was immaculately sung, with powerful high notes and untouchable rock licks. After the show, I talked with Mr. Anderson about how the both of them could keep singing like that after all of these years. His response, after a healthy tug of his 3rd beer, was simply, "clean living."

Think about this Jesus though, Tim Rice's Jesus; a man with a quiet dignity that people latch onto, who is thrust into a position of power. His words gets twisted and used on both sides, and yet he stays on message with a cool, wry fatalism. Then, just when you think the guy is on the brink of becoming a soulless automaton, he opens his veins on Fs above high C. No girly locks and rosy, pseudo-gay-mormon Jesus cheeks hanging on the wall feigning penitence. This motherfucker is raw. This is a man with a message of healing. This is a man who is resigned to follow through on his promises no matter what the personal cost. This is a man. 

What the hell happened to that guy? Did he ever exist until he was put on the stage? Could Andrew Lloyd Webber and Nikos Kazantzakis be the only people who ever got both Jesus and Judas right? I don't have any answers to that, but 35 years plus, and this Jesus is still relevant to me; the atheist in a foxhole. 

Guess what, extended family? My dog listens to Jim Lehrer.

I just had to listen to an hour long explanation of why the stimulus package is going to ruin this country, from my Uncle...who is president of a UNION, for dick's sake! Why, you ask? Because Sean Hannity told him so. Yeah, soak that nugget in. 

Why is it that conservatives have no problem dumping billions on a fake war, but balk at spending a few bucks on Americans who don't run conglomobanks? The disconnect makes me want to shake a baby.

Pops is cool.

So we're in the Starbucks grabbing a much needed 9th cup of coffee,when suddenly the muzak went from the normal vanillafied, sensitive ponytail eco-folk crap they usually lump together on their hemp cd/coasters, to bonafied Soul with a capital S. The guy making his 43rd white chocolate latte behind the bar would be little help solving the mystery of the band, as his indignant shrug and harumph indicated, so we started yelling out guesses: Wilson Pickett! Ike! Eisley Brothers, maybe? Dad suddenly gets the fever and starts to move. "Ow! Good God! I did it again! Awwww, shit y'all!"

Turns out he just spilled hot coffee on himself. Poppa needs a brand new shirt!

One part wife+three parts wine= magic.

Darwin vs Jesus: To the death! NO! TO THE PAIN...

-Hey dad, I really believe in Santa

-That's great, son.

-No, dad, I really believe in Santa.

-That's wonderful. The idea behind Santa is one we could all learn from.

-NO, dad, Santa is real and I believe in him.

-Uh, son, you're 23 years old...

-Dad, I believe in Santa and I'm gonna tell the world!!!

-Wow, son. Just wow.

-Dad, I think you should believe in Santa because he's real.

- Son, I really like the idea behind Santa, and I think that he might have been real at some point. The idea of charity he espouses is admirable, but hero worship is dangerous. The message is more important than the man.

-Dad, why are you discriminating against me? You're so mean! That is hateful rhetoric. I believe in Santa and want everyone else to as well. What's the big deal?

-The problem, son, is that he is not real. He is a composite of myths and folklore.

-You're going to hell, dad.

-You're a whack job, son.

Dear George W. Bush, my dog is better than you.

Polls for people who want you and your merry band of douche-nozzles investigated for war crimes is now at 38% and rising. Waterboarding may no longer be legal, but at least anal rape is still popular with the 3 hot and cot set! Don't forget to sag those pants, nuckah.

This is my dog. He is better than you.

In the following few weeks, I will explain why Butterbean is superior to you in every way. Get ready for the hurricane, bitches.

My dog is better than you.

Dear barking neighborhood dogs, 

Why is it that the only time you decide to bark is when my car is not being broken into? You suck.