This is a picture of the Monotone Assassins, performing Saturday night at Santos Party House south of Canal. They rock. They sing songs you've never heard from the Ramones to the Beach Boys. And they taught me a lesson about musical theater tonight. How? Read on.
What on earth were Sherry and I doing at the Santos Party House south of Canal in the first place? (I am not making this up: The Santos Party House does not have chairs. One stands. One drinks. One listens to music. Women dance. Some men, too. Not me. Dancing does not happen. Wish it did. It never will.)
We were there because Sherry's good friend from the Commercial Theater Institute, Theresa Wozunk, producer of Liberty, A Monumental New Musical (click here, learn more), Porgy and Bess and more, asked us. Her husband, Jere Hester, a member of the Monotone Assassins, a former city editor of the New York Daily News (and, as a former city editor myself, surely I know this is one of the hardest jobs on earth) and currently a professor of journalism at the college level.
I loved their music. But here is what they taught me. At the end of their set, the last song, the Assassins rolled into a version of Since I Saw Her Standing There. The room, quite literally, erupted. The crowd was with them before. They OWNED the crowd with that song. Fans from age 16 to my age were going wild, singing, dancing (I was singing, not dancing). And I learned a lesson.
Musical theater writer: Do you want to own, move, inspire, change, captivate your audience? Then be the Beatles. Write Since I Saw Her Standing There. Bring your "A Game." Be the best. Write something worth singing 60 years later. Write something that blows up a room in New York City six decades from now.
I know. It's impossible. It can't be done. Except that it can. It is. Showboat. Oklahoma. West Side Story. A Chorus Line. Les Miz. On and on and on and on. I could name a hundred. You could name a different hundred. Somehow, somewhere, someone keeps coming up with music, lyrics and dialogue that stand the test of time. It can be done. Someone is doing it now. Why not you . . . or me. Don't settle. Unsettle. Do your best . . . then do better.
Hey, if it were easy, everybody would do it.
OK. That's it, and that's enough.
What on earth were Sherry and I doing at the Santos Party House south of Canal in the first place? (I am not making this up: The Santos Party House does not have chairs. One stands. One drinks. One listens to music. Women dance. Some men, too. Not me. Dancing does not happen. Wish it did. It never will.)
We were there because Sherry's good friend from the Commercial Theater Institute, Theresa Wozunk, producer of Liberty, A Monumental New Musical (click here, learn more), Porgy and Bess and more, asked us. Her husband, Jere Hester, a member of the Monotone Assassins, a former city editor of the New York Daily News (and, as a former city editor myself, surely I know this is one of the hardest jobs on earth) and currently a professor of journalism at the college level.
I loved their music. But here is what they taught me. At the end of their set, the last song, the Assassins rolled into a version of Since I Saw Her Standing There. The room, quite literally, erupted. The crowd was with them before. They OWNED the crowd with that song. Fans from age 16 to my age were going wild, singing, dancing (I was singing, not dancing). And I learned a lesson.
Musical theater writer: Do you want to own, move, inspire, change, captivate your audience? Then be the Beatles. Write Since I Saw Her Standing There. Bring your "A Game." Be the best. Write something worth singing 60 years later. Write something that blows up a room in New York City six decades from now.
I know. It's impossible. It can't be done. Except that it can. It is. Showboat. Oklahoma. West Side Story. A Chorus Line. Les Miz. On and on and on and on. I could name a hundred. You could name a different hundred. Somehow, somewhere, someone keeps coming up with music, lyrics and dialogue that stand the test of time. It can be done. Someone is doing it now. Why not you . . . or me. Don't settle. Unsettle. Do your best . . . then do better.
Hey, if it were easy, everybody would do it.
OK. That's it, and that's enough.
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