By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
I don't mean CDs of current Broadway shows, of course: The ones I mean live beyond that Boulevard of Disneyfied Dreams, in that vast area where people sing, feel, think, and try things in order to convey some meaning to other people, instead of just spewing out platitudes.
The Broadway of the past is our best starting point, on Sony Classical's extensive new digital remastering of Columbia's huge library of cast albums from the great days. Most of the items in the series, called "Columbia Broadway Masterworks," have been available on disc before, but the new versions come with dollops of dessert in the form of bonus tracks alternate takes, cut numbers, performances by the show's creators. For instance, the South Pacific original cast CD now comes with Mary Martin singing two songs cut in tryout and Ezio Pinza's cover of "Bali Ha'i." (There's also a "Symphonic Scenario" of the score, which you'll probably want to skip.) For unheard material, the most important of these after-show treats is on Cabaret: four cut numbers in a demo performance by the songwriters, Kander and Ebb. And people with memories like mine will find satisfaction at being able to hear Larry Kert, on the cast album of Company, sing the climactic "Being Alive."
The one new disc of a recent Broadway musical is enough to make you bury your head in the Columbia archive forever. Triumph of Love (Jay) commemorates one of the most quixotic notions in history: the attempt to turn a rather convoluted 18th- century comedy by the philosopher-playwright Marivaux into a commercial property. You can virtually hear the nervous confusion this notion aroused. While Jeffrey Stock's music wants to understudy G&S, the earsplitting orchestration and vocal performance seem to be dragging him toward heavy metal, with Susan Birkenhead's lyrics dashing frantically in between, trying to bridge the gap. Without the cast's visible charms, the one likable performance improbably belongs to the nonsinger in the lot, F. Murray Abraham, who must have been out the day everyone was told to screech.
Not that a contemporary performance automatically means torture for the musically sensitive. Take two classic unworkables: The Arlen-Mercer St. Louis Woman (last year's Encores! concert, caught on Mercury) and Stephen Sondheim's Follies (last winter's Paper Mill Playhouse revival, plus addenda, merits two discs on TVT). Both scripts are hopelessly unwieldy; both scores are imperishable. St. Louis Woman, newly orchestrated by Ralph Burns and Luther Henderson, sounds fresher because so much of it has been unheard for five decades. The Encores! cast may not exactly replace Pearl Bailey and the Nicholas Brothers in your hearts, but they recorded more of the music, much of it powerfully, especially Vanessa Williams, Chuck Cooper, and Stanley Wayne Mathis. There are weak spots, but this is a score you're gonna love come rain or come shine.
As we love the score of Follies though I confess Sally and Ben's lugubrious nonlove affair bores me in song and out. Laurence Guittard's Ben, always sliding off key and having to be hauled back on by Donna McKechnie's Sally, doesn't help. It's some kind of comment on this recording that the two best vocal performances are by dancers: Besides McKechnie, the applause goes to Ann Miller, whose "I'm Still Here" is the only one, other than Nancy Walker's, I ever plan to listen to again. The eight numbers discarded during Follies's various outings contain some of Sondheim's best work, but skip "Bring on the Girls"; its two singers sound like dogs yowling. The album's conductor, longtime Sondheim orchestrator Jonathan Tunick, handles the score's complex twists with unmagical but thorough exactitude. This is the only recorded Follies I know in which the three counterpointed numbers in the "Broadway Baby" sequence actually finish together.
But the archival prize goes to RCA Victor, where, in the mid '70s, they were wacky enough to record Promenade, the cheerful dadaist musical by Al Carmines and Maria Irene Fornes that leapt over Midtown, from Judson Church to West 76th Street, where they named a theater for it. The lush, bubbly score offers treasures in plenty most memorably Alice Playten's rendition of a torch song with the refrain "You heel, you cad, you treated me the way I treated others." The LP was a mess, with tracks speeded up to make room for an instrumental cut the company hoped would get airplay; the CD puts everything at the right speed. Buy it after two hearings, you'll wonder how you ever lived without it.
Similarly, I wonder how I found hope Off-Broadway before Jeanine Tesori. Violet (Resmiranda) is a flawed show; the CD shakes the score free of the somewhat contorted story, but points up some of its musical shallows. Yet the beauty and the breezy assurance of Tesori's work, conveying both the characters and their region as she travels from genre to genre a musical equivalent of the heroine's bus trip from Carolina to Oklahoma fly past all the flaws to stick with you. The whole cast, under Michael Rafter's musical direction, sounds terrific, as do the orchestrations by Joseph Joubert and Buryl Red. The show's slipups, like its heroine's, only seem to increase its attractiveness.