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      Barbra Streisand on Her Early Recordings: ‘That Girl Can Sing’

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      “Live at the Bon Soir,” a restored set of songs from November 1962, allows listeners today — and Streisand, herself — to rediscover the sounds of a star being born.For about 60 years, Barbra Streisand has had the same manager, Marty Erlichman. He’s 93 now and still remembers the night he knew there was nobody like her.It was 1960. She was 18 and had earned a gig performing at the Bon Soir, a small, chic club in New York’s West Village. Over the phone earlier this week, he recalled sitting at a front-row table with some other reps, including a guy from William Morris, and Jack Rollins, who managed Woody Allen at the time. When Streisand started her set, one of them leaned over and said, “See, it’s acts like that need someone like me.” She was doing it wrong. Why was she opening with a ballad? Why was she opening with a ballad in those clothes?Streisand’s two-week gig was extended to 11, then rebooked over the next two years, becoming a drag-your-friends, word-of-mouth must-see. The songwriters Alan and Marilyn Bergman caught it and had the same experience Erlichman did: cartoon birds flying around their heads. The Bergmans would go on to write the lyrics for the Streisand gems “The Way We Were,” “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” (with Neil Diamond) and the songs for her directorial debut, “Yentl.” But that night, they were simply in awe. Alan, who’s 97, told me over the phone that “the minute she sang less than eight bars, Marilyn was in tears.”What they all witnessed was a star, this singular source of incandescence — pillow-soft singing that was pow-right-in-the-kisser, too; phrasing that could turn a song into a literary event; and timing most stand-ups wish they had.Now, 60 years later, we can hear what they saw, on “Live at the Bon Soir,” a pristinely restored recording of three dozen songs from late November 1962 that’s due Friday. During the Bon Soir run, Erlichman got Streisand signed with Columbia Records, which arranged a recording of the show but shelved it in favor of an 11-song studio version, “The Barbra Streisand Album,” from 1963. So what was supposed to be the first Barbra Streisand album is actually the umpteenth.To Streisand, it’s just as well. “I was only, what, 20 years old, and I didn’t like the sound,” she said from her home in Los Angeles, describing speakers poised over her head the size of shoe boxes. “You could hear the hiss.” Now, technology can solve almost any sonic dilemma. So Streisand finally handed over the recordings from her vault to the engineer and musician Jochem van der Saag, who excavated the pure sound of the original show and restored what the Marty Erlichmans and Alan and Marilyn Bergmans of the world would have heard: something close to perfection.At 80, Streisand isn’t going out of her way to listen to music she’s already made. By her own admission, she’s too busy worrying about the state of the country to fuss over her work. But what she heard surprised her. “I didn’t realize, actually, that my vocals were that good ’til they played me the new one,” she said, before laughing. “I thought, ‘Oh my God. That girl can sing.’”That, of course, is the shock of “Live at the Bon Soir.” We’re hearing a voice that’s been at the center of American singing for more than half a century being heard for just about the first time. We thought we knew everything it has done, every way it could sound. And yet it’s mind-blowing to discover all it could do, in a little nightclub, with a crack four-man band and the crowd eating out of her hand — giddy and coquettish, yet accomplished and skilled, lunatic yet in control.Streisand is the kind of performer who, more than a year into her Bon Soir run, jokes to an audience, “People complain that I don’t do standards. Well, here’s a standard,” then launches into “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf” with an impossible featherweight world weariness. The range of her singing isn’t just a matter of octaves. It’s the diversity of characters the voice can find for one song. On “The Big Bad Wolf,” it’s story time and operetta, Big Mama Thornton and Ethel Merman. For “Lover, Come Back to Me,” it’s something to rival Ella Fitzgerald in the way she can already take a tune, especially in concert, from botanical garden to boxing match. That performance certainly ranks up there with the supreme Streisand interpretations of anything. By 20, she’d achieved this near-mastery all with, what, by 1962, were standards, grandma music.That, of course, was what made the suits nervous: a repertoire that included Tin Pan Alley and show tunes, those dreaded ballads and jazz; Oscar Hammerstein, Harold Arlen and Fats Waller. Where were the big pop songs? The contemporary stuff. The “Surfin’ U.S.A.” The “Walk Like a Man.” The “Be My Baby.” The “Fingertips.” The “It’s My Party.”When Erlichman took her to audition — live — for Capitol, RCA and Columbia, “Everyone said the same thing,” he recalled. “‘She has a good voice.’” (If he ever wrote a book, he said, he’d call it “Good Closes on Wednesday.”) Obviously, she was capable of great art. “She wasn’t singing commercial songs,” Erlichman said. And “executives, they’re frightened to break new ground.”But Streisand could appreciate the splendor of an old object. That’s what the vintage outfits she’d wear onstage were all about. “I always bought antique clothes,” she said, “because I thought they were so beautiful. I admired the craftsmanship.” The craftsmanship of the 1890s.“Opening night, I wore a black, high-necked velvet beaded top,” she said. “I had my tailor make me a little black velvet skirt that went with that top. But I didn’t know you’re not supposed to dress like that. I didn’t know that when you sing in a nightclub, you’re supposed to have kind of a gown or something elegant, made out of fabulous silks or satins.” At some point on “The Bon Soir,” you can hear her tell the audience that she’s wearing her boyfriend’s suit. She told me that “the masculine and the feminine was what felt comfortable on me.”That admiration she harbors for well-made things obviously extends to the Great American Songbook: superior craftsmanship. Its hundreds of dynamic, adaptable songs rely on characters, stories, wordplay and variations on a theme. For a singer, figuring them out is like doing math or the crossword or architecture. They’re also an opportunity to act, which is what Streisand says she wanted to do in the first place. During the Bon Soir run, she was splitting her days between nightclubs and Broadway, where she was loudly making a name for herself as the secretary Miss Marmelstein in “I Can Get It for You Wholesale.”The wit and drama of the Songbook lyrics lend themselves to a theatrical approach. An imaginative singer can phrase a standard any way she likes. And, in that regard, Streisand has one of the great imaginations. Each Bon Soir song, she said, had a different character for her to play. And what comes through now is a devastating understanding of tone, shading, pitch, diction but also emotional variability. At the Bon Soir, she makes “Cry Me a River” an exploding torch song. When she finishes, one of her musicians — the guitarist Tiger Haynes or the bassist Averill Pollard — says, “Let’s go home now, let’s go home.” Yes, because Streisand just burned the place down.“She wants to know every single word, and if a word doesn’t make sense to her, she’ll stop and go, ‘I don’t understand. Why this word?’” the composer, conductor and arranger Bill Ross said in a video call. He’s been collaborating with Streisand on live shows since the early 1990s, and said one thing that makes Streisand Streisand is that she’ll spend so much time, “just on the lyrics trying to make sure they make sense to her.” Once she’s got that down, only then can she ask what the melody is. “I’ve never seen any other artist like that,” he said.Streisand is such a rigorously engaged interpreter yet also a kind of Method performer that she can’t imagine herself doing anything the same way twice. “I want to be in the moment,” she said. “That’s what you learn as an actress, that you have to be in the moment. That’s why no two takes of mine are the same. You know, it’s hard to edit me because I don’t phrase it the same. If I’m in the moment, I can’t sing the same. That’s why when I did ‘A Star Is Born,’ I said I have to sing live.”With that approach, if the soundtracks, say, for “Funny Girl” or “Hello, Dolly,” get recorded months in advance, “Well, how do I know how I’m going to feel when I’m singing ‘My Man’ at the end of ‘Funny Girl’?”That spontaneity is what made an impression on van der Saag, the engineer who spent months deep inside the “Bon Soir” recordings. He told me a great vocalist ought to have superb intonation, phrasing and sense of melody. Besides Streisand being “absolutely the best” on those first three, she has “this other thing,” that’s probably a result of being an actor, what he calls transference of emotion.Someone can get a song technically correct, which is a feat. “But to be able to just sing to the listener wherever they are and make them feel an emotion,” he said, “and to that extent? That is another level. And, you know, it’s very rare that you come across vocalists who have that.”Streisand’s use of Jewish American humor, Jewish American vibrancy (throwaway lines, ba-dum-bum comedy, the border she permeates between Brooklyn and Buckingham Palace) is also an emotional transmission. “This next song is from a record-breaking show,” she says before doing a quickie called “Value.” “It lasted nine previews and one performance. It was called ‘Another Evening with Harry Stoones.’” Streisand extends the “o” in Stoones for a lick of derision then, lowering her voice a touch, buries her dagger: “No wonduh …” It’s expert comedy. The song is a riot so fast and moving, uninhibited and exhibitionist, that it’s as close as singing gets to streaking.Streisand said she grew up around all kinds of people and all kinds of life. She moved through the city with an open heart. “I lived as a young girl in Williamsburg,” she said. “You know, Williamsburg was not what it is today with highfalutin apartments and fancy shops. I was in a Black neighborhood with a church across the street. And I loved bowing to the fathers and the sisters because I didn’t have a sister or a father. And my best friend was Joanne Micelli, who was Christian. I mean, we had an Italian grocery across the street.”That’s what Streisand evokes on “The Bon Soir.” A single person doing the work of an entire neighborhood. Sixty years later, her neighborhood has become the world. And Streisand frets about its future. But there’s something else on this new album — some other emotional transmission. And it’s the opposite of catastrophic. It’s confidence and poise and security and daring and honesty and a belief in the power of a perfect song, great bandmates and raw talent.Barbra Streisand was giving all of that to people, first at the Bon Soir, then everywhere that was smart enough to book her. That’s what else you can hear on this album, what Streisand herself heard upon rediscovering this long lost self. It’s hope. More

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      For ‘KPOP,’ a Broadway Transfer Is More Like a Reinvention

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      The show’s creative team talks about revamping the immersive Off Broadway hit so that it moves “around the audience” at Circle in the Square Theater.Back in 2017, the musical “KPOP” had the kind of Off Broadway premiere that showbiz dreams are made of. The buzz around the production — which had the rare distinction of being about a specifically Asian pop-music style and having a largely Asian creative team — was so intense that desperate New Yorkers were pleading for tickets to its sold-out run at the small A.R.T./New York Theaters in Midtown Manhattan.Talk of a Broadway transfer started quickly thereafter, but, for a variety of reasons including the pandemic, it took five years for “KPOP” to finally make the jump. Now, at long last, the show is in previews, with an opening night set for Nov. 20.The musical Broadway audiences will see, however, is a very different beast from the one that opened in 2017: This is not so much a transfer as a reinvention.The original Ars Nova production, presented with Ma-Yi Theater Company and Woodshed Collective, was an immersive spectacle in which audience members followed a bunch of artists from room to room on two floors, and discovered how the Korean music industry relentlessly drills its stars (called idols) into poptastic precision.None of the 41 Broadway theaters could accommodate this sort of staging. But at least the one the show finally grabbed, Circle in the Square Theater, has a unique asset: It’s in the round.“I like to say it’s the world’s smallest arena — it’s a postage stamp of Madison Square Garden,” the director, Teddy Bergman, said. “For a show that traffics in pop, that collective energy and that collective effervescence felt like something we could capture like lightning in a bottle.”To preserve the sense that the audience is getting behind-the-scenes insights, the book writer, Jason Kim, altered the framing device: The show is now set up like a mockumentary about an upcoming American tour for a K-pop entertainment company’s roster — the boy band F8, the girl group RTMIS and the solo singer MwE.“At Ars Nova, the audience moved around and in this production we’re very much trying to move the piece around the audience,” Kim said. “I think the spirit of the show has been preserved, although it is a different format, and we are trying to engage the audience in very much a different way. We loved that the new theater casts an extra member, which is the audience.”The show is now set up like a mockumentary about a K-pop label’s roster, which includes the boy band F8, the girl group RTMIS and the solo singer MwEF8.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesKevin Woo, center, in “KPOP,” now in previews at Circle in the Square Theater. There’s a “whole new appreciation and understanding and reception of this music in the States,” the show’s director said.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAnother reason for the transformation is the fact that the moment “KPOP” originally aimed to capture has changed dramatically. In 2017, most Americans had no knowledge of K-pop, save perhaps for the song “Gangnam Style,” by Psy. Nowadays, Korean acts like Stray Kids routinely top the U.S. music charts and in May a K-pop artist, AleXa, won NBC’s “American Song Contest” on behalf of Oklahoma, where she was raised.Over the past five years, Bergman said, “BTS happened and ushered in a whole new appreciation and understanding and reception of this music in the States.”He added: “We wanted to focus on what is the journey, the cost, the joy, the exhilaration, the sacrifice of these pathbreakers who are journeying into new territories and spreading this music. I didn’t have to come from a position of having to explain much, or really anything to the audience. It really freed us up to be able to dig deeper psychologically, emotionally.” (The show’s close relationship with South Korea means the deadly crowd surge in Seoul was deeply felt; the Broadway production made a curtain speech last weekend and had a moment of silence, and posted a statement on social media.)One beneficiary of this change in focus has been the character of MwE, played Off Broadway by Ashley Park and now portrayed by Luna, a South Korea-based actress and former member of the K-pop girl group f(x).“What I’m very excited about in this version is the examination of the female characters,” said Helen Park, who wrote the bilingual score with Max Vernon, and orchestrated and produced it for Broadway. “They all have different ambitions, different journeys, different histories, different characteristics. As an Asian woman, that’s something so special.”While MwE, only in her mid-20s, is already a battle-hardened music-industry vet, the new character of Brad is at the start of his idol career and struggling because he is being shunned by his F8 bandmates. Not only was he the last to join the band, but his being mixed race becomes a factor as well. The role had resonance for the actor playing him, Zachary Noah Piser, who has Chinese and Jewish roots: This spring he became the first Asian American actor to play the title role of “Dear Evan Hansen” full time on Broadway.“Brad’s whole situation is very kind of meta because it was very me — I was a newcomer to the Broadway production of ‘KPOP’ and he is the Asian white boy from Connecticut who gets plucked up and placed in this group,” Piser said in a video chat. Brad acts as an entry point into issues centering on identity — which were already present in the first version, but have since been retooled.“When we first started writing, the main idea behind the show was ‘How could K-pop cross over in America?’ — it’s what these Korean artists have to sacrifice in their authenticity in order to be palatable to an American market,” Vernon said on the phone. “Obviously K-pop crossed over, so we asked different questions, like, ‘What’s going on in these artists’ mental state behind the scenes? What kind of pressure is that exerting on their psyche, on their relationships with other people in their band?’”Luna, who got her start in K-pop before turning to musical theater in South Korea (starring in shows like “Legally Blonde,” for example), pointed out that “KPOP” nails the genre’s emphasis on rigorous training.“There are such detailed scenes that are really rooted in the reality of that world,” Luna said via an interpreter in a video conversation. “I feel that people who are actually K-pop singers or who are trainees will really relate. It also gives a sense of consolation for the immense amount of effort and hard work put into creating K-pop.”From left: Park, Kim, Weber, Bergman and Vernon.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesSUCH AN OVERHAUL of the show’s concept and characters also required a reshaping of the score, which The New York Times’s Ben Brantley described as being “as synthetically sweet and perversely addictive as the real thing” in his review. When asked about the balance between old and new songs, the creative team agreed that it was about half and half — “maybe more new than old,” Park said.She and Vernon also had to reflect the changes in the genre at large: The acts that were popular when they started working on the show, back in 2014, are different from the current ones, and fans were sure to notice dated references.“We were responding to Exo, 2NE1, Girls’ Generation, Psy, Big Bang, but K-pop music changes every three to four years so it would be like doing a show called ‘Pop’ and all the music sounds like Britney rather than Billie Eilish or whatever the great artists are that you’re listening to right now,” Vernon said on the phone. “Sometimes by the time musicals are on Broadway, it feels like they’re lagging 15 years behind the culture — we did not want that.”Similarly, the choreographer Jennifer Weber, who is also handling the Max Martin jukebox musical “& Juliet,” had to work within the specific parameters of K-pop dancing. Key elements are point moves, which are the visual answers to the songs’ hooks (one of the most famous remains Psy’s horse-riding gimmick in “Gangnam Style”).And because members of a group trade vocal lines at a quick pace, careful integration is needed to make the choreography work. “You have to almost break it down mathematically about who’s singing at what time,” Weber said on the phone. “You need to constantly be revealing who’s singing, so that person needs to pop out of the formation for their line — and that line could be as little as two bars.”Another way to assure that the show recreates the wondrous, kinetic excitement the best K-pop acts generate was to hire performers who had spent time in the trenches and could share their experience: In addition to Luna, the cast includes BoHyung, a former member of the girl group Spica; Min, formerly of Miss A; and Kevin Woo, once in U-KISS.“A lot of my questions in the first weeks were like, ‘How do you breathe? How do you execute this incredibly intricate choreography?’” Piser said. “The biggest response I got from the K-pop idols in our show was, ‘You’ve got to be patient, you’ve got to be good to yourself and you’ve got to trust the process.’”With “KPOP” now on Broadway, its creators are aware that the show is not just going up against other musicals but against actual K-pop artists — and this time again, the intimacy of Circle in the Square could come through.“We’re competing with Blackpink and BTS,” Bergman said, laughing, “but I don’t know where else you’re going to see BTS with 600 other people. Unless you’re Jeff Bezos or something.” More

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      For Ghana’s Only Openly Transgender Musician, ‘Every Day Is Dangerous’

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      Maxine Angel Opoku has found a new audience for her music with songs opposing a proposed law that would make it illegal to identify as gay, transgender or queer.ACCRA, Ghana — When Maxine Angel Opoku was still an upstart musician, relatively unknown and struggling to stand out in Ghana’s competitive music scene, she sang about love, romance and being sexy.Then, in August 2021, lawmakers in the country’s Parliament introduced a bill that would imprison people who identify as transgender, as Ms. Opoku does, and her art urgently turned to advocacy. Her music began to attract both legions of new fans as well as powerful adversaries.“Dear Mr. Politician, fix the country right now. The people who voted for you, are disappointed in you,” Ms. Opoku sings in one of her latest songs. “Kill it, kill it, kill the bill.”The subject of the song is the “Promotion of Proper Human Sexual Rights and Ghanaian Family Values Bill,” which, if passed, would make identifying as gay, transgender or queer a crime punishable with a maximum prison sentence of five years.As Ghana’s only openly transgender musician, Ms. Opoku, who is known on stage as Angel Maxine, is one of the most visible targets of the proposed legislation in a country where the gay and transgender community is largely closeted.Ms. Opoku, preparing for the day last month in Accra, Ghana.Francis Kokoroko for The New York Times“Music is the tool for my advocacy,” Ms. Opoku said in an interview in Accra, the capital of Ghana. “This is the only way my voice can reach the politicians, the president, the homophobes, the layperson.”Same-sex sexual acts are already criminalized in Ghana, in part because of a British colonial-era law, but it is currently not a crime to publicly identify as gay, transgender or queer.In response to the proposed legislation, Ms. Opoku released a song called “Kill the Bill” and, shortly before that, another song, “Wo Fie,” which means “in your home,” in the Akan language, one of the most widely spoken in Ghana.“Wo Fie” talks about how L.G.B.T.Q. people may be part of every family, and calls for tolerance and respect. In the lyrics, Ms. Opoku sings about being unapologetically herself.Ms. Opoku, the oldest of five children, was born in Accra on Sept. 3, 1985, to a fashion designer mother and a civil servant father.“Everybody that saw her would say: ‘Hey, you have a beautiful girl,’” her mother, Faustina Araba Forson, 60, recalled. “Then I would say: ‘No, it’s a boy.’”“She loved wearing girls’ dresses, playing with the girls,” her mother added. “She was a girl trapped in a male body.”Still, it took Ms. Forson many years to accept her daughter’s identity. Ms. Opoku recalled that mother and child would frequent churches to hear pastors, including the controversial Nigerian preacher T.B. Joshua, seeking to “cast the gay out.”“One day I was praying, and I heard God say, ‘I created her in my own image and I love her,’” Ms. Forson said.Ms. Opoku started out singing at home during morning devotional prayers with her family, and as a teenager shadowed members of a now defunct girl group. She began performing music as a woman in 2008 while studying hospitality management in Koforidua, a city north of Accra. It was a dangerous endeavor. Once, during a set, a bottle was thrown from the audience, striking her in the head, she said.With no label to back her or to sponsor recording sessions, she put her music — whose sound is a fusion of Afropop, dance hall and the increasingly popular Afrobeats — on hold and instead moved between jobs in the hospitality sector as a cook and waitress, where she faced issues such as misgendering.Ms. Opoku and her mother, Faustina Araba Forson.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesEven before the threat of prison in the impending legislation, to be openly gay or transgender in Ghana was extraordinarily risky, with those identifying — or perceived to be — as such facing acts of violence from both strangers and their own families. Employment and housing discrimination is common.“Some get forced into marriages, get thrown out of their homes; some of them drop out of school because they no more have support,” said Leila Yahya, executive director of One Love Sisters, Ghana, an advocacy organization for L.G.B.T.Q. Muslims, and a friend of Ms. Opoku.Ms. Opoku returned to music in 2018, and while defiance has won her followers online at home and abroad, it has also marked her out. Her home was ransacked and looted by a mob last year, forcing her to scale back on public appearances. Ms. Opoku was not at home when the mob attacked.“They could have taken me to the police station, maybe I could have even died,” said Ms. Opoku, who now performs rarely, and only in private. “I could have been lynched.”After Ms. Opoku’s home was attacked, the maverick musician Wanlov the Kubolor and his sister, known as Sister Deborah, helped her find a safe space and began a professional and personal relationship. The siblings, long viewed as social contrarians in Ghana’s music industry, are featured on both “Kill the Bill” and “Wo Fie.”“It blew me away, the stuff she was living with from day to day: financially, psychologically, physically,” said Wanlov the Kubolor. “I don’t think I could have survived that life.”Ms. Opoku said she also wants to be known for music unrelated to her activism. But that has been an unrealized ambition, so far. A completed mini-album of non-advocacy songs remains unreleased because of a lack of sponsorship, she said.Ms. Forson with a picture of Ms. Opoku as a child next to her aunt.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesFor Wanlov the Kubolor, the recent rise in Ms. Opoku’s public stature has been equal parts joyful and painful.“It is painful because she could have bloomed much earlier, because she has a super talent, and she could have been a world star already,” he said.Recently, the song “Wo Fie” went viral on TikTok outside Ghana, and he believes Ms. Opoku’s increasing international visibility — although fraught with safety risks — could also serve as a protective factor for her.But Ms. Opoku isn’t so sure. “Every day is dangerous for me,” she said. “I cannot walk on the street as a normal person.”Taking a bus is out of the question, she said, as is going to the market. “I cannot do a lot of things,” she said.Her daughter’s safety is front of mind for Ms. Forson, too. “I fear for my daughter a lot,” she said. “She is a vociferous person and so she is a target, and I always pray that God should protect her.”If passed, the bill would criminalize positive portrayals of queer life in the media, codify the widely discredited pseudoscience of conversion therapy and compel the families and neighbors of L.G.B.T.Q. people to report them to the authorities.Those who are arrested can avoid prison by undergoing psychiatric and endocrinological treatment “to overcome their vulnerabilities.” The bill also states that allies who give any form of assistance to L.G.B.T.Q. people, such as housing, could be sentenced to between five and 10 years in prison.Ms. Opoku, with friends, at a hotel before a workshop she facilitated for people in Ghana who identify as transgender.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesThe proposed legislation is backed by the country’s powerful religious leaders, politicians from the two leading parties and large sections of the local media. It also has broad popular support in a country where a 2019 survey found that 93 percent of Ghanaians would dislike having a homosexual neighbor.The bill has also galvanized outspoken opposition from a small but influential coalition of local academics, lawyers and rights activists.Last month the Speaker of Parliament, who has previously expressed support for the legislation, said it was a priority and would be passed before the next elections in 2024.Thanks in part to the L.G.B.T.Q. antipathy fomenting around the bill, Ms. Opoku said it was difficult to see a future for herself in Ghana. It’s nearly impossible for her to perform freely in public now; the bill would make it legally impossible.“I don’t see a life here for me,” she said. “If I cannot come out openly, go on the streets to move about my daily life, if I cannot get a job, how do I sustain myself? This is no life.”Despite the difficulties, she remains resolute about speaking up for Ghana’s L.G.B.T.Q. community in the face of this rising hostility.Her next song, she said, will encourage at-risk people to sign up for the H.I.V. prevention pill PrEP.“I feel like it is a responsibility,” Ms. Opoku said. “If I win, people like me will also win.”She added, “People like me will also be happier, people like me will also feel free.”Ms. Opoku, at home.Francis Kokoroko for The New York TimesReporting for this story was supported in part by the Pulitzer Center. More

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      Christine Farnon, ‘Guiding Light’ of the Grammys, Dies at 97

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      Present at the creation, she guarded the awards’ independence and integrity but “never received the recognition she deserves,” one record producer wrote.Christine Farnon, a quiet force behind the Grammy Awards who was credited with shepherding the event from a private black-tie affair to a telecast seen by tens of millions, died on Oct. 24 in Los Angeles. She was 97.The death was confirmed by her daughter, Joanna Shipley.The National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, which hosts the Grammys, was conceived partly in Ms. Farnon’s kitchen in Hollywood Hills. That was one place where her husband, Dennis Farnon, a musician who became a music producer and record executive at Capitol and RCA Records, met with other musicians and music executives in founding the Recording Academy. While they deliberated, Ms. Farnon took notes.She was eventually promoted from unpaid volunteer to paid staff member, the first, and from local to national executive. She organized the first Grammy ceremony, on May 4, 1959, which included a black-tie dinner with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin at the Grand Ballroom of the Beverly Hilton Hotel. She remained with the organization until 1992.The Recording Academy is the music industry equivalent of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which puts on the Oscars, and it similarly performs a number of professional functions. But it’s best known for its annual awards ceremony.Bill Ivey, who held high-level positions with the Recording Academy, including president, for more than 20 years, and who later ran the National Endowment for the Arts, said in a phone interview that the Recording Academy’s history could be defined by a division into “two eras.” There was Ms. Farnon’s tenure, when the Grammys were a fledgling event, and there was everything that came afterward, with the Grammys now the music industry standard for achievement.In the early years, “Chris was the person who internalized the values of an artist-driven academy and created a set of rules that were applied vigorously,” Mr. Ivey said.She ensured that voting privileges for Grammy Awards were restricted to those who had substantial credits as musicians, and that the same criteria were applied to presenters of the awards on TV. To honor all nominees, she fought successfully for the presenters to say, “The Grammy goes to…,” and not, “The winner is…,” arguing that the former phrase better captured excellence among equals.Ms. Farnon was just as watchful about how Grammys were used outside the ceremony itself. She scrutinized the backgrounds of movie scenes for any unauthorized appearances of Grammy trophies. When she heard that Willie Nelson was in trouble with the Internal Revenue Service, she made sure that he knew that his Grammy trophies were technically owned by the Recording Academy and thus could not be seized as his. Mr. Nelson kept his trophies, Mr. Ivey said.As the Grammys became more prominent, record companies and television producers sought to exert greater influence on the awards show, but Ms. Farnon stood firm in trying to protect the Grammys’ independence.“She built an asset that was incredibly valued because it was very legitimate,” Mr. Ivey said. “It was the kind of leadership that succeeded by tapping the brakes more than by pushing on the throttle.”Pierre Cossette, the producer who first persuaded television executives to broadcast the Grammys, described Ms. Farnon similarly in a 2003 memoir, “Another Day in Showbiz,” writing, “Christine has never received the recognition she deserves for everything she did to make the Grammy Awards show the huge success that it has become.”Toward the end of her tenure, in 1984, the Grammys attracted its largest-ever audience, more than 51 million viewers, according to Billboard.When she retired, Ms. Farnon became the first woman to receive a Trustees Award, the highest honor the ceremony bestowed on non-performers. A tribute to her in the program book for that year’s ceremony was titled “The Recording Academy’s Guiding Light.”Christine Helen Miller was born on June 24, 1925, in Chicago. Her father, John, was a businessman, and her mother, Caroline (Caspar) Miller, was a homemaker.The family moved to Los Angeles when Christine was a teenager. She graduated from Los Angeles High School in 1941 and attended a public business school in the city.She and Mr. Farnon divorced in 1960. Her daughter is her sole survivor.When she received the Trustees Award, Ms. Farnon retained her characteristic modesty.“I thank God for staying so close to this wonderful organization through the years,” she said, “and for being such a good listener.” More

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      The ‘Kimberly Akimbo’ Creative Team on Assembling Their Quirky Puzzle

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      The toilets wouldn’t stop flushing. The playwright David Lindsay-Abaire was trying to talk about his collaboration with the composer Jeanine Tesori and the director Jessica Stone on their musical, “Kimberly Akimbo,” and in the background, the janitorial staff members of the Booth Theater were cleaning the bathrooms.“I said to Jeanine,” he said, trying to keep a straight face as another toilet flushed, “I wish we could write a musical the way that I write a play, where there’s not a team of other people involved.”Another flush.Tesori stood up, muttering, “I have to close that door myself.” Which prompted Stone to bend over in laughter.“Thank you,” Stone said, as Tesori returned to her seat in the basement lounge of the Broadway theater.“It is on theme,” Lindsay-Abaire said. “Nothing better.”“Isn’t that enough?” Tesori responded. “Doesn’t that say everything?”For the creative team behind “Kimberly Akimbo,” the chaotic energy of this morning fit the musical itself, whose concept seems — on the page, at least — too off-kilter for a shiny Broadway marquee.Victoria Clark, center, as Kimberly with Alli Mauzey, foreground left, and Steven Boyer, foreground right, who play her parents.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesA musical dramedy set in New Jersey, “Kimberly Akimbo” tells the story of a teenager named Kimberly (played by Victoria Clark) who has a disease akin to progeria, which causes her to age at a hyperspeed. At 16, she looks 72.It’s far from a tragedy, though, thanks in part to the quirky characters: Kimberly’s pregnant mother is a hypochondriac; her best friend, Seth, loves anagrams and plays the tuba; and her aunt is trying to persuade her to commit some white-collar crimes. Through it all, even though people with her condition have an average life expectancy of 16 years, Kimberly learns to be young and unafraid after years of taking on adult responsibilities.“I love stories that weave together pain, and hilarity and absurdity. And that, to me, is David and Jeanine, and their work and their sensibility,” said Stone, 52, who has been attached to the musical since 2019. “It’s exhilarating.”When the show premiered Off Broadway last winter at Atlantic Theater Company, Jesse Green, the chief theater critic for The New York Times, called it a “funny and moving new musical.” Led by the producer David Stone (no relation to the director), the show sold out its run, and a Broadway transfer was quickly announced. (As the producer of musicals like “Next to Normal” and “If/Then,” Stone is no stranger to an out-of-the-box concept.) Now “Kimberly Akimbo” is in previews, and scheduled to open on Nov. 10.Tesori, 60, and Lindsay-Abaire, 52, first worked together on “Shrek the Musical” in 2008, and for the past seven years, transforming Lindsay-Abaire’s 2001 play “Kimberly Akimbo” into a musical was their passion project. The focus and intimacy of that partnership, he said, made the musical “the easiest thing I’ve ever written.”He compares writing a musical to working on a puzzle. (He loves puzzles and word games; the show’s title is an anagram.) “It is like dumping a bunch of puzzle pieces onto the table,” he said. “It’s hard when you say, ‘Hey, 20 people, come on in and let’s do this puzzle together.’ But if it’s just the two of you — ‘I have this corner’; ‘I’m working on the edges; let’s get to the middle’ — then it comes into focus. And seldom does that happen with a musical.”Stone, Tesori and Lindsay-Abaire gathered to discuss their process on the first day of previews. These are edited excerpts from the discussion.Clark and Justin Cooley, who are reprising their roles on Broadway. “The two of them give each other really beautiful gifts,” the show’s director said of the actors.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesDavid, what were the instincts that led you to write “Kimberly Akimbo” 20 years ago?DAVID LINDSAY-ABAIRE I was writing what I hoped would be a great part for an actress that I loved and adored: Marylouise Burke [who starred in the play Off Broadway in 2001]. I wrote a part for her because she and now Vicki [Victoria Clark] have such an amazing young spirit about them, even though they’re actresses of a certain age. And so I wanted to write an amazing part for a great actor. But I also wanted to explore mortality and what it means to truly live in the moment. What I probably didn’t know at the time was that I was also writing about my family in many ways, and things that I was afraid of and angry about.How do you mean?LINDSAY-ABAIRE Uh oh …JEANINE TESORI I don’t know if you can open that door.LINDSAY-ABAIRE Look, I love my family very much. And they messed me up just enough for this play to be what it is. [Tesori pats Lindsay-Abaire’s arm, remarking, “Wow.”] I don’t feel messed up by them. But I feel messed up just enough to be the writer and be the person that I am.TESORI That’s what makes you a storyteller. Healthy enough to write, damaged enough to want to write.The play didn’t have monologues for Kimberly, but it did have monologues for her parents. Was creating the musical a way to create more interiority for her?LINDSAY-ABAIRE During “Shrek,” I said to Jeanine, “I would love to write a musical the way that I write a play, where it would just be us figuring it out for as long as we needed to figure it out.” And then Jeanine said, “Well, how about one of your plays? I think ‘Kimberly Akimbo’ could be a musical. It has a really deep, complicated inner life. Those characters want to sing to me, their emotions are deep. And I like how funny it is.”By making it a musical, we had a way into the characters that the play did not have. We could crack open Kimberly’s heart, and let her express all of those feelings and emotions and fears and desires and longings, that are only subtext in the play.TESORI I feel it in my body when something sings, I can’t put it into words. And these characters, they reminded me of people I grew up with, they reminded me of people in my family — and not always people who are center stage, especially in a musical.Jessica, how did you direct Victoria Clark, who is 63, and Justin Cooley, who plays her boyfriend, Seth, who’s now 19? They come across as being the same age.STONE: It actually is thrilling because you have two people on opposite ends of the spectrum. The skill that Vicki brings to the process of exploration can’t be created in Justin. I watch him being elevated by the discipline and skill, and her surgical approach to figuring out Kim and mapping out Kim’s world and behavior. He starts to sort of mimic that work ethic and he starts to explore and basically copy that approach.His complete honesty, tabula rasa, complete truthful, youthful, wide-eyed innocence and sweetness — it’s really hard to create that once you’ve lived, you know, 35 more years. So the fact that she’s in his orbit, this beautiful, innocent, youthful presence also washes over her. So the two of them give each other really beautiful gifts.Speaking of teenagers, there’s a duality to the show. It’s about youthfulness, but it’s also about mortality. As experienced artists, how do you keep that youthful tone intact?TESORI It’s part of being of a certain age, and what we have all experienced at this age. I’m older than these two. We share the same sensibility of humor. But there’s also this sense, like, we’ve been through some [expletive]. And our friends have been through some [expletive], and we’ve lost people. And if you’re lucky, you’re able to bring both of those things to an audience so they can recognize it. Because I think sometimes because musicals have artifice, they can seem artificial. And they’re not. They are the greatest art form.STONE We’re all parents. And we all have been close observers to adolescents. That adds a little bit to the glaze of authenticity, and a little understanding of the behavior, needs and pitfalls.LINDSAY-ABAIRE The first time in, I was really accessing my teenage years and stuff about my parents and my family, but really homing in on the Seth character who is very close to me in very many ways. I’m now the father of teenage boys, and I just had access to the parents in a way that I didn’t have when I wrote it. I understand much more acutely the fear of losing a child. The whole dynamics between parents and teenagers that I was sort of making up 20 years ago, now I know it deeply and personally. And I also got the chance to put all of my high school friends up onstage. Those four kids in the show choir were not in the play.“If you can have a gaggle of teenagers skipping out of the show, and then this grumpy old man with tears in his eyes — that’s victory,” said Lindsay-Abaire, right.Victor Llorente for The New York TimesDo you imagine this as the kind of show that parents can take their teens to?STONE ​​My kids, 13 and 15, were here, and they loved it. Because I’m so invested in the parent side of the story, and in the mortality side of the story, and in the how-do-you-choose-to-live-your-remaining-days-on-this-planet side of the story, I forget about the delight, the tremendous luxury of hope and time, that teens have. And that enables so much in terms of imagination and promise. [My sons] think it’s hilarious. They love Deborah [Kimberly’s aunt, played by Bonnie Milligan], because they love a rule breaker. They also thought it was really moving. They were really intrigued by the relationship between Kim and Seth, not because it’s a traditional love story. But they really responded to that deep friendship.LINDSAY-ABAIRE Nothing has made me happier than seeing gaggles of teenagers really love the show. But at the same time, at the end of the Atlantic run, a grumpy old man was walking up the aisle and he looked at me and I thought he’s going to criticize the piece. And he said, “I just want you to know that I’m going to go out and live life more fully tomorrow.” My eyes welled up and then he was gone into the night. If you can have a gaggle of teenagers skipping out of the show, and then this grumpy old man with tears in his eyes — that’s victory.In the musical, Kimberly’s aunt sings an upbeat number about how to commit mail fraud. Jeanine, how did you write a catchy song about white collar crime?TESORI [laughs] It’s exposition, which is generally not great for a song. But then I thought, “Oh, if we make it really sort of furtive, and it’s got a little bit of a muted guitar thing, and it’s sort of like Peggy Lee, but maybe on a very, very off day …” It’s having it be fun, so that she can convince the teens to be part of it.LINDSAY-ABAIRE It’s a teaching song. We were talking about “The Rain in Spain” [from “My Fair Lady”], but it’s about check washing. It’s just messed up enough. More

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      Toshi Ichiyanagi, Avant-Garde Composer and Pianist, Dies at 89

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      A former protégé of John Cage who was once married to Yoko Ono, he was part of a lively experimental music scene in New York and became a leading modern composer in Japan.Toshi Ichiyanagi, an avant-garde pianist and composer whose works mixed international influences, made unusual use of musicians and instruments, and combined music with other media, died on Oct. 7 in Tokyo. He was 89.The Kanagawa Arts Foundation, where he was general artistic director from 1996 until last year, said he died in a hospital. No cause was given.Mr. Ichiyanagi came to New York from Japan in the 1950s to study at the Juilliard School. While there he met Yoko Ono, whose parents had moved the family from Japan to Scarsdale, N.Y., in the early 1950s. Ms. Ono was also interested in experimental music and had studied briefly at Sarah Lawrence College.She and Mr. Ichiyanagi eloped in 1956 and immersed themselves in the experimental art and music scenes of the era, including the radical Fluxus movement. Mr. Ichiyanagi took a course taught by the composer John Cage at the New School (Ms. Ono sat in on the sessions), absorbing many of his Minimalist ideas.Mr. Ichiyanagi and Mr. Cage toured together, sometimes with Ms. Ono, and Mr. Ichiyanagi was instrumental in bringing Mr. Cage to Japan in 1962, introducing his music there. In the same period, Ms. Ono and Mr. Ichiyanagi hosted performances at their loft in TriBeCa that included music, dance and poetry. (“THE PURPOSE OF THIS SERIES IS NOT ENTERTAINMENT,” an announcement for one program said.)The marriage lasted until 1962. Ms. Ono later married John Lennon.In the early years of his career, Mr. Ichiyanagi staked out his claim as one of the most adventurous composers and performers of his day.In May 1961 he gave a recital at Carnegie Hall. His program included works by Mr. Cage, Morton Feldman and others, as well as one of his own pieces. Eric Salzman, describing Mr. Ichiyanagi’s performance of his work in a review for The New York Times, wrote that “a high, distant, cold glissando rubbed somehow out of the innards of the piano and a furious rumble of elbows and fists on the keyboard.”He was gaining attention beyond New York as well.“Tokyo music circles are buzzing about a recent concert which featured Toshi Ichiyanagi’s ‘IBM,’” The Star Tribune of Minneapolis reported in February 1962, “an electronic composition which had several novelties: a boy striking matches and dropping them into a bowl, which he proceeded to smash with a hammer; a man kicking a chair and scraping it on the floor; and finally another man stringing paper tape about the stage and into the audience, making a giant spider web.”Later that year, The Honolulu Star-Bulletin covered Mr. Ichiyanagi’s performance at the University of Hawaii.“Toshi Ichiyanagi’s ‘Music for Piano No. 4’ explored the harmonics of hand-stroked piano strings,” the newspaper reported, “and apparently, though frequently inaudible, the sounds to be derived from thrumming on the instrument’s wooden framework.”In 1966 Mr. Ichiyanagi joined with the conductor Seiji Ozawa and the composer Toru Takemitsu to create Orchestral Space, an annual festival that introduced new, mostly experimental works in Japan.“The experience called ‘Orchestral Space ’68’ mapped some new territory for the audiences,” Edmund C. Wilkes of The San Francisco Examiner wrote of that year’s festival in Tokyo. “Not all of it is habitable, but there were prospects that pleased.”Mr. Ichiyanagi’s works were not all experimental. As his career advanced he wrote operas, orchestral and chamber pieces, and other more conventional works. He also took an interest in traditional Japanese music, and in 1989 he began touring with his Tokyo International Music Ensemble — the New Tradition, a group that performed contemporary compositions played at least in part on instruments like the koto, an ancient member of the string family.The group became less active as its members aged and gave its last performance in about 2000, according to Tokyo Concerts, Mr. Ichiyanagi’s management agency.He continued to create new works into his 80s. His Ninth Symphony, which had its premiere in 2015 in Tokyo, was a meditation on the nuclear disaster at the Fukushima power plant in Japan in 2011 and on the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.Mr. Ichiyanagi received numerous honors throughout his career, including Japan’s Order of Culture in 2018.The Asahi Shimbun via Getty ImagesMr. Ichiyanagi was born into a musical family on Feb. 4, 1933, in Kobe, Japan, and grew up in Tokyo. His father, Shinji Ichiyanagi, was a cellist, and his mother, Mitsuko, gave piano lessons in their home and was Toshi’s first piano teacher.He later studied composition, first in Japan and then at Juilliard.After several years in New York, Mr. Ichiyanagi returned to Japan in 1961. He stayed there for most of his life.In 1963, he married Sumiko, a writer, and they had a son, Kei, in 1964, who survives him. Ms. Ichiyanagi died in 1993.Mr. Ichiyanagi composed more than 200 works and made a number of recordings for Japanese record labels.He often composed with his own notation system, spurning the traditional five-line Western sheets, and his imaginative scores could be considered artwork. Several are collected in the Museum of Modern Art.Having studied piano as a child, he first turned to composition as an inadvertent consequence of World War II.The family had to evacuate Tokyo when it was under bombardment, and young Toshi did not touch a piano for three years. When the family returned to the city after the war ended, they found that much of their property had burned down but the piano was still standing.“We had virtually nothing else left — no scores, nor anything else for studying music,” Mr. Ichiyanagi said in a 2016 interview for an oral history project conducted by the Kyoto City University of Arts. “So I just played it on my own in whatever way, and that turned my interest to music composition. It wasn’t like I started it with any clear ideas or plans.”Hisako Ueno More

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      Seymour Press, a Behind-the-Scenes Fixture on Broadway, Dies at 98

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      He started playing in Broadway orchestras in 1957, and eventually he began recruiting those orchestras as well.Seymour Press, who for more than 60 years served an important role — though one that went largely unnoticed by audiences — in dozens of Broadway and Off Broadway shows, first as a member of pit orchestras and later as the person who assembled those orchestras, died on Monday at an assisted living facility in Hackettstown, N.J. He was 98.His daughter, Gwynn Press Anidjar, said the cause was advanced myelofibrosis, a bone marrow cancer.Mr. Press, known as Red because he had red hair in his younger days, played multiple instruments, including saxophone; he first sat in a Broadway pit for the 1958 musical “The Body Beautiful,” one of the first shows to feature music by Jerry Bock and lyrics by Sheldon Harnick. In the mid-1970s he began taking on the demanding job of musical coordinator (also called music contractor), although he continued playing in orchestras well into the 2000s.His primary duty as coordinator was hiring orchestras for shows. But he also scheduled rehearsals, made sure musicians were paid, handled issues between their union and management, and ironed out all manner of problems.“The guy who waves his arm is the music,” he said in a 2018 episode of the podcast “Behind the Curtain: Broadway’s Living Legends,” referring to the conductor. “Everything else that has to do with the orchestra is me.”For 28 years, he filled that role for the Encores! revival series at New York City Center; he announced his retirement only this spring. He was also working on Broadway until just a few months ago, receiving the coordinator credit on the current productions of “The Music Man,” “Funny Girl” and “Into the Woods,” all of which opened this year.In 2007, he received a Tony Honor for Excellence in Theater, which recognizes outstanding achievement in theater by those who do not qualify in a traditional Tony Award category.Mr. Press in 2016. He was the music coordinator for the Encores! series at New York City Center for 28 years before announcing his retirement this year.Walter McBride/Getty ImagesSeymour Press was born on Feb. 26, 1924, in the Bronx. His mother, Rose (Guttman) Press, was a homemaker, and his father, Arthur, was a salesman and “a frustrated musician,” as Seymour Press put it in the podcast. His father’s cousin, he said, played the saxophone and introduced him to the instrument; Mr. Press later added flute, clarinet, piccolo and others to his arsenal.Mr. Press graduated from DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx. In his second year at what is now the City University of New York, he enlisted in the Army. He had expected to be drafted, he said, so when he saw a poster recruiting for the Army band, he bit.He spent his service playing for troops as they shipped out of Newport News, Va. It was, he said, both a safe assignment and good music training.“I went in an amateur saxophone player,” he said on the podcast. “I came out a professional.”After mustering out in 1946, he toured with various bands, small-time ones at first and eventually those of Tommy Dorsey and Benny Goodman. But by the mid-1950s, big-band music was fading; “the musical style I thought would last my lifetime was gone,” he said. He married Nona Gwynn Holcomb in 1957 and began looking to trade life on the road for something at least somewhat more stable.“The Body Beautiful” didn’t last long, but in 1959, Mr. Press found himself in the pit for a show that did: the original production of “Gypsy.”“Not only was it the first hit show I had,” he said, but it was also “the first time I could look at myself and say, ‘I’m going to be working 52 weeks a year,’ which was a big thing.”Mr. Press’s wife died in 2021. In addition to his daughter, he is survived by a stepson, Edward Finkenberg, and two grandchildren.In his decades as a pit player and musical coordinator, Mr. Press saw lots of change: orchestra sizes and instrumentation varied, the pits moved (often to create more seats), and sound engineering became more sophisticated. He also fielded his share of odd requests. On the podcast, he recalled being asked to recruit a trio for one production: cello, violin, piano. But, the director told him, not just any players would do.“He wanted one to be tall and thin, one to be overweight and one to be very short,” Mr. Press said. “That was a problem.”Mr. Press got an insider’s view of countless shows, but his tastes weren’t infallible. He remembered working on “Annie 2: Miss Hannigan’s Revenge,” a sequel to the 1977 smash “Annie.” He first heard it at a backers’ audition.“I left that and I called my wife and said, ‘It’s going to be a giant hit,’” he said.Audiences at the pre-Broadway tryout in Washington in 1990 disagreed.“I watched them walk out — in throngs, not just four people, not just five people,” he recalled, adding, “We opened in Washington and closed in Washington.” More

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      Avant-Garde Theater, or a Musical: Who Says You Need to Choose?

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      In Germany, a sonically daring Chekhov adaptation and a post-apocalyptic western “opera” are breaking down barriers between genres.FRANKFURT — Ever since Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill served up “The Threepenny Opera,” their “play with music,” in Berlin in 1928, the dividing line between spoken and musical theater in Germany has been remarkably porous.Music is everywhere in contemporary German theater, often used to heighten or subvert emotional effects. Some of the credit or blame goes to Frank Castorf, the influential East Berlin director, whose long, demanding productions at the Volksbühne owed much of their unique, frenetic energy to the eclectic soundtracks devised by the theater’s longtime music director, Sir Henry.The quota of live music on dramatic stages here also seems to be increasing. Recent memorable examples have included the furious drumming that provides a rhythmic backbone to the Trojan War segment of Christopher Rüping’s monumental “Dionysos Stadt” and the dronelike chanting in Ulrich Rasche’s takes on classic works.And two of last year’s most discussed shows — Bonn Park’s “Gymnasium” and Yael Ronen’s “Slippery Slope” — were bona fide musicals, with impressive scores and singing, although they were a far cry from your typical Broadway or West End fare. Watching both productions, I felt we might be on the cusp of a breakthrough, with serious theater makers here channeling the vulgar and gleeful tunefulness of “Avenue Q” or “The Book of Mormon.”Such thoughts swirled in my head as I sat down to watch “Burt Turrido. An Opera” in Frankfurt this month. A four-hour post-apocalyptic western, it will travel to Hamburg and Berlin in the coming weeks.Behind the show is Nature Theater of Oklahoma, an influential American avant-garde theater collective that was founded in New York in 2006 and has become increasingly prominent on European stages in the past decade. The troupe’s co-founders, Kelly Copper and Pavol Liska, are serious artists whose shrewd approach and mischievous creative drive combine elements of European and American avant-gardes. Formally daring, energetic and unpredictable, their work is hard to pin down precisely because it encompasses so many genres and styles.From left, Bence Mezei, Robert M. Johanson, Anne Gridley and Gabel Eiben in “Burt Turrido.”Jessica SchäferSadly, the theatrical exuberance and innovation that characterize Copper and Liska’s best efforts are in short supply in “Burt Turrido,” a loopy mock-opera whose silliness would be bearable if the meandering libretto had anything to say, or if the canned score was not a succession of immediately forgettable folk and country tunes.The title character (a bewildered-looking Gabel Eiben) is a red-bearded castaway with amnesia who washes ashore on a barren island. He is rescued by Queen Karen (a scene-chewing Anne Gridley) and King Bob (Robert M. Johanson, who also wrote the music), petty despots who seized control of the island after it was swept by waves of environmental catastrophe, war and genocide. Burt is pursued by Karen, who wants his child, and a lovesick ghost named Emily (Kadence Neill, the cast’s best singer). Oh, and there’s Joseph (Bence Mezei), Emily’s ex-husband and Karen’s ex-lover, who has more than a little in common with his biblical predecessor. (For starters, he’s thrown into a pit.)The characters circle one another in an endless dance of romantic intrigue, suspicion and shifting power dynamics. Copper and Liska keep the tone light, with some silly sci-fi and horror effects (ghosts in sheets; a chintzy U.F.O.) and only a handful of genuinely moving scenes.This is a show with legs: It has already been performed in the Netherlands, Austria, Switzerland, Norway and Greece. (So far, however, no U.S. dates have been announced.) And it does seem to have been devised and designed for maximum portability. Luka Curk’s set consists of little more than flat, hand-painted backdrops, cutout waves jerked back and forth by the performers, and a shimmering blue cloth to represent the sea.Of course, a certain level of flimsiness is precisely the point of this winking, knowing operatic sendup: It’s decidedly a bargain basement production, and Copper and Liska’s ability to create a convincing and clean theatrical aesthetic out of the bare-bones staging is their main achievement here. Yet at even half its current length, “Burt Turrido” would be excruciating. Its 14 scenes (and epilogue) feel like a goofy sketch that has metastasized to operatic proportions.I would have felt bad for the performers who needed to drawl, warble and dance their way through the overlong evening, except that they appeared to be having more fun than the audience, a large portion of which fled at intermission. Beyond the spirited performances, there’s little to recommend “Burt Turrido,” which mostly feels like a joke that goes on far too long. Perhaps the biggest disappointment is how little the music adds. Here, too, the constant singing registers mostly as a gimmick, and there is little flair to Johanson’s score. The result is an impoverished “opera” where neither the music nor the drama is enriched through their combination.The cast of “Waiting for Platonov,” directed by Thom Luz, at the Residenztheater.Sandra ThenFor a sly and haunting marriage of those two elements, turn to “Waiting for Platonov,” an arrestingly musical production by the Swiss director Thom Luz at the Residenztheater in Munich. The title character of Chekhov’s early play, a womanizing schoolteacher who broods on his life of failure, never materializes during the production’s two and a half hours. Instead, a troupe of 10 actors recite snippets of dialogue drawn from the Russian writer’s work and break out in song while performing an energetic choreography that is precisely timed to a witty, inventive sound design.The title, with its nod to Beckett, can be interpreted in several ways. First of all, it proposes the Russian dramatist as a sort of precursor to the Irish Nobel Prize winner in his examination of futility as an existential component of human life. Chekhov’s characters cavort in dachas, while Beckett’s take up residence in trash cans — but they all feel the stifling dread and purposelessness of existence. The title may also refer to the fact that it took over four decades for Chekhov’s 1878 work to be published. The actors’ excitement and increasing exasperation over Platonov’s impending arrival parallels the writer’s frustrations with the play, which was rejected by Maria Yermolova, the great Russian actress to whom he sent the manuscript.Luz, an in-house director at the Residenztheater, brings a compositional rigor to his work that is occasionally reminiscent of the style of Christoph Marthaler and Herbert Fritsch, two influential older directors with keen musical sensibilities and a penchant for absurdity, but his enigmatic and astringent style is entirely his own. The show’s soundscape, devised by Luz, is full of popping mics, uncanny reverberations, sustained clusters of discordant notes and an out-of-tune mechanical piano. As the actors ascend and descend two large onstage staircases (also designed by Luz), their footfalls describe musical scales.Luz balances between the production’s abstract, aural elements and Chekhov’s decontextualized dialogue, which takes on a musical function as well through chanting. Although it is as far from traditional musical theater as “Burt Turrido. An Opera” is from “La Traviata,” “Waiting for Platonov” is a fusion of music, sound and text that is hypnotic, compelling and utterly fresh.Burt Turrido. An Opera. Directed by Kelly Copper and Pavol Liska. Oct. 27-29 at Kampnagel, in Hamburg; Nov. 3-5 at HAU — Hebbel am Ufer, in Berlin; Nov. 11-13 at Espoo City Theater, in Espoo, Finland.Waiting for Platonov. Directed by Thom Luz. Through Dec. 7 at the Residenztheater, in Munich. More