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Chicago Blues Festival – Millennium Park – June 9, 2023

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You don’t even have to enter the park to hear the music. It was so loud it made my throat hurt and my skin flaked. But the couple acts I heard induced a lot of head-bobbing in the audience and sounded great – Lightnin’ Malcolm, representing his birthplace on the Visit Mississippi Juke Joint Stage, and Stephen Hull, from that hotbed of blues, Racine.

Unsurprisingly, I have no interest in visiting Mississippi, but who doesn’t love a juke joint, which, in turns out, is a term derived from the Gullah word juke, which means bawdy or disorderly. What that has to do with a basketball player juking a defender, I’m not sure.

Besides the music and the everywhere-you-turned, blues-related merchandise, including items from the foundations of Muddy Waters, Eddie Taylor, Little Walter, and Willie Dixon, in case you need something from one of them to fill out your collection, the big draw at the festival is the smokehouse meat, which, I’ve found, has its own section concerning emission factors on the EPA website, which seemed like a good reason for taking a wide berth from where the cooking was taking place.

Pippin – Music Theater Works – North Shore Center for the Performing Arts – June 7, 2023

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I’d never seen Pippin before. It’s a very strange show, but I was hoping at least to see someone being held upside-down hanging from a trapeze while singing No Time at All, ala Andrea Martin in her Tony award-winning performance in the 2013 Broadway revival, but that was wishful thing, although, just as in the Broadway productions, the song was a show stopper, this time performed by Kathleen Puls Andrade.

Pippin, or really, Pepin the Hunchback, was the eldest son of Charlemagne (Charles the Great), named after his grandfather Pepin the Short, in what can only be seen as a cruel generation-skipping continuation of family humor. He never played basketball.

With all the fun stuff of the wild and crazy 8th and early 9th centuries as background, this production cleverly mixes in aspects of current day news broadcasts, while maintaining its play within a play confusion where the protagonist searches, in both incarnations, for self-discovery, being too late to join the Knights of the Round Table in their much more entertaining quest for the Holy Grail a couple centuries earlier.

The plot aside, dancing carried the day, with complicated, high-energy movement generated by a dozen very fresh-looking faces and backed up by an excellent band. If there was any doubt that the original show was choreographed by Bob Fosse, that was removed in the scene the ensemble broke out the white gloves, but alas, no trapeze.

DAMN Yankees – Marriott Theatre – May 21, 2023

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Growing up as a White Sox fan, the concept of DAMN Yankees has always been one with which I could identify.

The only other time I’ve seen a theatrical presentation of this show was in 1996, featuring Jerry Lewis as Applegate. The only thing I remember about that production, and not as a highlight, was Lewis bringing the show to a grinding halt by totally breaking character in the second act and committing a crime against nature by going into a “comedic” monologue.

It’s unfortunate that that’s how I look back, but it’s at least partially Fortunato (Sean, that is), who is much better in the same role, letting his comedic acting speak for him, that will cause me to think back more fondly this time.

Add to that, one of my local favorites, Lorenzo Rush, Jr., as Van Buren, the team’s manager, who, as usual, was a strong presence throughout.

And then there’s a relatively new local favorite of mine, Erica Stephan, doing great work as reporter Gloria Thorpe in a role far removed from her recent tour de force as Sally Bowles at Porchlight Music Theatre.

A new face for me was Michelle Aravena, dynamic as Lola, though I will never understand how Who’s Got the Pain wound up in this show. (Apparently it “was a last-minute replacement to substitute for a weird gorilla-suit number.”) It’s much better served as “the only filmed example of Fosse and Verdon dancing together”, which I never tire of watching on YouTube.

Speaking of dancing, a shout out to Sam Linda, a ballplayer wearing number 16 and dancing in a way reminiscent of Ray Bolger.

Watching the players slide and dance across the stage kept the show moving right along, obviously another positive effect of this year’s new rules to speed up baseball games.

Ernest Shackleton Loves Me – Porchlight Music Theatre – May 11, 2023

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It’s been over 20 years since I saw the IMAX documentary Shackleton’s Antarctic Adventure, but it has remained frozen in my memory.

Molly Brown may have been unsinkable, but she couldn’t hold a candle, or, in the case of this show, a banjo, to Ernest Shackleton. Just two years after the Titanic sank, the Endurance went down in Antarctica, the beginning of an amazing story that is faithfully told through dialogue, song, and actual video from the expedition on loan from the British Natural History Museum, all in the middle of a show about a Brooklyn woman trying to make ends meet and keep her baby warm while the father tours the country with a Journey cover band.

It’s a strange combination indeed, and not your mother’s musical (you won’t walk out humming any of the songs), but one that works, in no small part thanks to the two multi-talented stars of the show, Elisa Carlson and Andrew Mueller (I have now seen all three of the Mueller siblings perform on stage), and, in the midst of a show about hope and optimism, a lot of laughs.

Museum of Contemporary Art – May 9, 2023

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My whole ignorant life I thought tepee was spelled like that, but it turns out it’s actually tipi, the conical tent that is, not the hygiene accessory used to adorn other types of abodes on Halloween.

There are no fully constructed tipis at the Duane Linklater mymothersside exhibit, but several animal pelts, plenty of poles and attractively-designed linen covers, and, for some reason (things his mother owned?), a Kenmore refrigerator, a flat screen television, and a mini Apple Mac. I guess the addition of these items qualifies the exhibit for an art, rather than natural history, museum.

The Enter the Mirror installation includes the work of 19 different artists that the curator scrapped together under one name from stuff the museum didn’t see fit to put on display before or for a really long time, sort of like what I made for dinner last night.

For me, the highlight was Sam Durant’s Partially Buried 1960s/70s Dystopia Revealed (Mick Jagger at Altamont) & Utopia Reflected (Wavy Gravy at Woodstock), a couple of piles of dirt on mirrors, simulating graves, which made me wonder, why not the appropriately-named Grateful Dead at Woodstock, especially in light of the band not making it into the movie or soundtrack album.

I can’t think of anything even remotely interesting to say about the other four exhibits, other than that Endless, gratefully, is not.

The 2023 Newberry Library Award Celebration – Venue Six10 – May 5, 2023

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Peter Coyote has been the narrator for 11 documentaries directed or produced by Ken Burns, but, it turns out, Burns can speak for himself, and did so quite eloquently in accepting the Newberry award and conversing about his career, and its genesis at Hampshire College.

But, as interesting as Burns was, the interview might have been a lot more fun if Coyote had been there for some sort of Billy Flynn/Roxie Hart “we both reached for the gun” moment.

After all, where would Burns be without Coyote? Speeding down a highway in New Mexico, unnoticed, with nothing chasing him? Regretting having chosen Gilbert Gottfried instead as his voice? Forgoing sound and following in the footsteps of 1922’s critically acclaimed silent documentary Nanook of the North? That might have worked for his film on The National Parks, but not so much for the ones on Jazz or Country Music.

The Stradivari Society Recital – A Private Club – April 26, 2023

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I slipped past the woman checking names unnoticed, which was a good thing, as there’s no telling what a background check might have revealed, and I didn’t want to miss the concert at the “private club”.

A word of explanation. According to its Social Media Policy, as stated on its website, “The Club’s name and location may not be used in post-event coverage in any format . . . whether in print, online, or in social media posts. In post-event coverage, the Club may be referred to only as “a private club.” Nothing about walking down the street shouting out its name.

While I doubt the club would have any recourse against me, a nonmember, for violating this policy, it amuses me to comply and keep the name and location a secret from my readers, who probably couldn’t care less, and, to put a spin on Groucho, probably wouldn’t want to join this club that probably wouldn’t want them as members.

That said, look for a building that is well over 100 years old, and apparently never got the memo about ventilation being important. There was none. The only oxygen in the room was provided by the spectacular 22-year-old violinist, Julian Rhee, on an instrument, the Antonio Stradivari, Cremona, 1699 “Lady Tennant,” much older even than the building, and by pianist Chelsea Wang, whose considerable talent was also on display.

The program included works by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Camille Saint-Saéns, Igor Frolov (the composer, not the road cyclist), and Howie Frazin, in the premiere of his Elegy and Rondo, which nicely held its own in this illustrious company.

UIC Wind Ensemble – Logan Center for the Arts – April 16, 2023

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The composer, Alan Theisen, did such a great job of describing what we were about to hear in the six movements of the world premiere of AMP, his piece for piano and wind ensemble, that we weren’t overly (just a little bit) distracted by what appeared to be LED running lights on his shoes.

But the shoes weren’t the main glittering attraction. Nor were the interspersed red and blue strings on the harp, which signify, respectively, C and F notes (had to look that one up). Rather it was the guest artist, piano soloist, Marianne Parker.

I’ve written glowingly about Parker’s concerts before, but this was different, another level. This commissioned piece featured not only great artistry on her instrument, her hands flying across the keys in a relentless, graceful, rhythmic manner, like a championship prizefighter pounding a speed bag into submission, but also talents not normally associated with the piano.

In one movement, per the arrangement articulated by Theisen up front, Parker led the audience in providing a finger-snapping pulse for the band, playing the piano with one hand while snapping with the other, and then switching, back and forth, forth and back, while also waving encouragement to the participating attendees, showwomanship at its height.

Leading into another movement, which was reminiscent, energy-wise, of the USC marching band performing Tusk, Parker leaned back like a drum major, and let rip a loud, pure tone on the whistle she had surreptitiously placed in her mouth during a moment when she had a hand briefly available to do so. I could only envision the Trojans running onto the field, but I could actually see the UIC band members bouncing in their seats, and, in response to Parker’s solos, wiggling their fingers and shuffling their feet as a way of saying “great job”.

Get (Green) Lit: Mini Golf, Big Vibes – American Writers Museum – April 11, 2023

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Though I recently decided to give up golf for all of eternity and beyond, and, accordingly, donated my clubs to a charity supporting the children of incarcerated white-collar criminals, an oft-overlooked, downtrodden minority, I decided, after consultation with, and advice from, numerous anonymous philosophers who are committed to agreeing with whatever I say, that it would not be in conflict with my commitment to golf celibacy if I engaged in miniature golf, an offshoot of the sacred Scottish pastime that emerged in the early 20th century and that still flourishes today, governed internationally by the World Minigolf Sport Federation (WMF).

So it was that my first time at one of the American Writers Museum’s new Get Lit series events was to tee it up with a large, joyous crowd of fellow competitors amidst the AWM exhibits and try my hand at bouncing the ball off walls, typewriters, books, and crumbled first drafts strewn on the floor around the premises while toting a drink that provided the double meaning to Get Lit and proof that bibliophiles can have as much fun as real people, and, presumably, more than even the most advanced artificial neural network (remember Lieutenant Commander Data’s travails regarding the emotion chip on Star Trek: The Next Generation).

I shot one under par for the nine-hole course, but, alas, ran out of time to meet the evening’s guest, Tom Coyne, who has written several books about golf, including one regarding his attempt to qualify for the PGA tour, though, perhaps, I would be better served by meeting Craig Bass, author of How to Quit Golf: A 12-Step Program.

The Book of Mormon – Cadillac Palace – April 5, 2023

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I try to imagine what an edited-for-TV version of The Book of Mormon might look like. I can’t. There’d be nothing left except commercials.

This is the third time I’ve seen the musical, but the first since some shut-down-for-Covid revisions were made by the authors to, according to the New York Theater Guide, “center and deepen the Uganda characters . . . clarify satirical points; and remove ‘white savoirist’ depictions of the Mormon missionaries.”

If you loved it before and haven’t seen it for a while, don’t worry, the actors work it and the dancing’s great, and either you’ll like the changes or you won’t notice them, as you’ll be too busy laughing and shaking your head in disbelief once again at the dialogue and lyrics, none of which I choose to repeat in this space. Let’s just say, somewhere, George Carlin is smiling.

I think it’s more a statement about mainstream acceptance than softening that I didn’t see anyone walk out of the theater this time, not even during Hasa Diga Eebowai, a made up phrase (which is apropos given that one of the other songs is Making Things Up Again) that accidentally translates, in a combination of Portuguese and Japanese, I am told, as the nonsensical “just tell picture ebony”, but, trust me, means something totally different in the show.