Solo

Stratford, Ontario, Canada takes after its namesake in England, hosting a citywide theater festival for most of the year.  With three (sometimes more) performance sites, Shakespeare was the staple of the festival for many years, until, for reasons that surprised more than a few, Stratford decided to add a full-blown, big-stage musical to its roster every year.

The featured musical became the talk of the festival, easily doubling the number of chartered busses of students, seniors, and stage wannabes who made the trip from throughout eastern Canada and a good chunk of the US, including the two-plus drive faithful from Detroit.  I was among them one summer, when I went up to see their version of South Pacific.

I was a very active high school musician, and even majored in music in college, until I heard you could make up to $10,000 a year (gasp!) as a teacher.  Along the way, I played, and fell in love with, many a musical—but South Pacific wasn’t one of them.  Even when it’s done in its correct content, there are just too many white people in bad makeup playing the natives that rubs me the wrong way.

I was doing the best I could to find value in the Stratford performance when the moment came for the showcase ballad of the show, Bali Ha’i.  A petite woman who, until then, only had a few unremarkable lines and an almost apologetic stage presence, uttered the few lines you can tell served as an introduction to a song in an American musical, took center stage, and the lights dimmed.

Performers will tell you there is nothing better than the moment they become one with the audience.  They are absolutely wrong.  The real oneness comes when, in the middle of a note, the utterance of a line, or the turning of a pirouette, you become one with the creativity in yourself that urged you to give oxygen to the art that is within.  In that moment, your entire life makes sense, the etudes, throat exercises, and hours at the barre both become relevant and fade away—along with the dishes in the sink, your dinner plans for after the performance, and yes, even the audience.  It is you and your muse, and it is the reason you do this.

Of course, the audience doesn’t really go away—and that’s good.  When these moments occur, the audience knows it, instantly realizing this is something that doesn’t happen with every performance.  Children stop fussing in their seats, the driver of the tour bus involuntarily wakes from his nap, and hundreds of purses with Kleenex at the ready just for moments like this remain shut, because no one Wants. To. Go. Anywhere.  You have waited your entire life to feel this oneness, this alive, and you don’t want it to end.  Ever.

This petite singer (who, thank goodness, was in fact from the South Pacific) gave the audience exactly that, owning the stage, our hearts, and the answer to the riddle of the universe.  I stayed for the rest of the performance, but the show was really over; at this very moment, I can’t even tell you how the show finished, because once the spotlight turned off on her solo, that was the end.

Moments like this exist on video, with Dame Judi Dench, Yo Yo Ma, and more.  Best of all, they also exist  on ball fields, in the office, and in the drive thru.  Watch the videos, and listen to your life.

Oh, and why no video of Bali Ha’i?  Nothing comparable exists. 

Enigmas

The blue lines in hockey
The bowers in euchre
The infield fly rule.

Two pints in a quart
Four quarts in a gallon
Three teaspoons in a tablespoon.

I before E, except…
Left turn traffic signals
The Electoral College.

And we’re in charge?

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