A Dream Debut: "Ingenue You When" at 54 Below
I have never felt anything like what I did when I walked out onto the stage of Feinstein's 54 Below on the night of September 8, 2021. It was...surreal. Enervating. A little unnerving. And moving. Incredibly, achingly moving. Of course every moment from that evening has stayed with me, but this one most of all; I've mulled it over, I come back to it in the middle of the night when I can't sleep from anxiousness. Here's what happened:
At 54, you wait to go on near the kitchen. You can see the stage: it's wide across but not terribly deep; my music director Howard Breitbart was at the grand piano with his back to me, Saadi Zain and his upright bass were next to him. Small cafe tables are scattered in the front with larger banquettes lining the back and sides of the room, and there's a bar with stools for patrons. You can see the backs of heads; maybe you also see your husband trying to get your attention, if you see anything because really you're a bit sick with fear. The lights are low; the stage has that signature red-gold- purple "color and light" gleam to it. The kind kitchen staff is trying to keep their bustle to a minimum in deference to me trying (and failing) to focus, and my amazing director Julia Murney teaches me the 54 Below trick of storing my for-the-elevator-ride-only sneakers in the bathroom when I put on my show pumps. She takes my hands and looks me straight in the eyes. "You can do this," she says firmly (or something to that effect - I was blurry with nerves), squeezes my hands and goes to her seat.
The announcer says my name, and there's a whoosh of applause. Howard's hands fly across the keys - also very blurry. I stagger through the tables trying not to catch eyes (I did) and trying not to fall down (I didn't). When I get to the three little steps leading to the stage I panic a bit - my shoes! my knees! - then put my hand on the shoulder of the person at the first table (remember?) to calm myself. Somehow I get up on that stage and...
The rush of emotions went right to my core. All of us, in one place, about to experience something new, together. It was the most perfect Christmas morning - first play kitchen - "look Ma, no hands!" - moment.
Everything that came after that was magical; long rehearsals with Howard and his artistry and meticulousness in arranging; writing, re-writing (and re-re-writing) the script; practicing, practicing, practicing; it all paid off. The audience clapped a lot. I received the most meaningful review of my life. Even the bartender said it was one of the best evenings she'd seen there, and she's seen a lot.
But nothing will touch that first moment for me - that first moment of togetherness, of live performance since the start of the pandemic. And I realize it's why I do this; it's why I can't wait to see my family at Thanksgiving and Christmas, why I Facetime my nieces every night and get freaked when I don't hear from my son. It's why I laugh with my friends, why I love a glass of wine with my husband in the evening. It's why I made my album.
Playwright Tracey Letts talks about why people become performers: "Most artists, if they're honest, will tell you that when they first get into it they're looking for some kind of acceptance, approval." That was true for me once, too, but now it's different. Art brings us together, music communicates, and without the depth of that exploration we're bereft. Being in communion (thanks, Catholicism) with one another is a beautiful thing. We can’t escape from the realities of the pandemic, but we can connect. Art gives permission to hope. It reminds us that we can love being human.
Afterwards at the bar, despite best efforts, I felt like I didn’t get a second to spend with anyone. And early the next morning we ran back to DC to real life; I jumped into the busiest semester of my teaching life. Oh, there were some quick hugs and seriously moving comments, but I would have preferred to sit with each person who came so I could express all of this - so I could tell them how much it meant that they were each in that moment with me. And of course the pandemic continues - there is no escaping that reality, matter how magical the moments. So let me say some thank you's:
To my everything: my Silver Fox. You make it easy to do this.
To Julia Murney, Howard Breitbart, Saadi Zain and Vibecke Dahle: thank you for sharing your artistic genius, your smarts and your encouragement; without your hard work it wouldn't have happened, much less been so incredible.
To Megan Sikora and JD Webster - the story doesn't work without you. Good thing we met. ;)
To 54 Below - thank you for reopening. Let's do this again sometime.
Thank you to my dear friends Matt Conner and Stephen Gregory Smith of Nevermore Records, who have stood by me as friends and artistic colleagues and make it all outrageously fun and silly and awesome.
To Warren Freeman, my music producer, occasional arranger, sounding board, fellow professor and haver-of-good-hair; you hold my hand when you don't really have time and that is worth your hair's weight in gold.
To Vanessa - UIA has worked tirelessly throughout the pandemic to keep their artists afloat. To have one's agent in the house when there are so many artists who deserve attention was an honor.
To Dan Thaler, my voice guru - I'm so glad I kept those barstools.
To my best friend Megan O who dropped everything and traveled in the middle of the week with sister-in-law and cousin in tow; thank you for the PJ party. Post-show breakfast bagels are always a good idea.
To my dear mother-in-law Myla and to the Dinar's: you did the heavy lifting by standing in for all the family who couldn't come. Thank you - I love you.
To my friends who came north from the DMV (that's DC-Maryland-Viriginia)- my #DerryImportantPeople - wow. What a kindness you did; I will never forget it.
And to all of you: how joyful to have you all there whooping and hollering. I loved witnessing this coming together of the factions of friends from my life - the Northwestern table, my grad school friends, Phantom people (thank you Lori for laughing at the "Think Of Me" story!). I always say I know amazing people and that night was a testament to that truth.
But seriously, 54 Below, let's do it again sometime...
