Weekend Reviews

'Blown Sideways' takes a breezy look at work

Theater: "Blown Sideways through Life"
Music: Tift Merritt
Dance: "Dance Carousel"
Music: Austin Symphony Orchestra
Music: Arcade Fire
Theater: "Pericles"
Music: Two Guy Trio
Theater: FronteraFest Best of Week 2
Music: Stepbrothers

Web posted: Jan. 24, 2005

Anyone who hasn't held down at least three crummy, customer-service jobs and who hasn't been fired from one or more of them doesn't know a thing about real life. Given that playwright and actor Claudia Shear held 64 jobs before age 35, she probably knows a little bit more than most mortals about the ways of the world.

"Blown Sideways Through Life," which premiered in 1993 and is currently playing at Zachary Scott Theatre, recounts many of Shear's employment predicaments, her weight problems and her self-esteem roller coaster. She had been a Wall Street proofreader, pastry chef, nude model for an artist, brothel receptionist and, of course, a waiter, a waiter and, yes, a waiter.

Austin actor Barbara Chisholm makes Shear's experiences her own. With a touch of Brooklyn in her voice, she stands on a set of blown-up want ads and fills our ears with her background and her desire to fit in. At times the script climbs up on a soapbox, but in the end it testifies to the resilience of the human heart.

Chisholm, it should be noted, is wife of Austin Chronicle arts editor Robert Faires. While it could be awkward writing about a fellow critic's partner, Chisholm is one of those actors who makes reviewing easy. She has big energy and a speaking voice that could easily fill a concert hall. Then, in an instant, she pulls all that external motion in and wraps it around an intense whisper. She's also darn funny.

Facing the job market soon? "Blown Sideways" might help put those interviews into perspective.

("Blown Sideways Through Life" continues 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, 2:30 p.m. Sundays through March 6, Zachary Scott Theatre Whisenhunt Arena Stage, 1510 Toomey Road, $26-$35, 476-0541, www.zachscott.com.)
— Jamie Smith Cantara

Music

TIFT MERRITT MERITS HIGH MARKS

"Bramble Rose," Tift Merritt's major-label debut, was so self-conscious that its follow-up, the fairly swell "Tambourine," seemed like a sucker punch. But the fact is that, despite the album's merits, Merritt's most comfortable in front of a crowd. And at Stubb's on Saturday for the second gig in as many nights, the North Carolinian indeed seemed plenty comfortable, channeling Dusty Springfield, barreling through the bulk of the new album and pitting upstairs and downstairs crowds against each other in a contest to see which part of the house could buy the band the most drinks. (Winner: upstairs.)

So can this be the voice that saves Americana? Possibly. She's certainly earthier and more interesting than Sheryl Crow. But if I were Tift, I'd be disposed to nightmares about turning into a latter-day Bonnie Raitt — heartfelt but doomed to blandness. The best of Saturday's set — "Wait It Out," say, and "Good Hearted Man" — carried an authentic soulfulness that strongly suggested she deserves — and is on her way to — a substantial career. This woman is not yet 30. She will get knocked around a little, and write stronger and deeper songs. Her formidable voice will get some bark on it. And she'll still be so distractingly gorgeous you'd pay to see her balance her checkbook. (You didn't actually think I'd get through the review without mentioning her looks, did you?)
— Patrick Beach

Dance

'DANCE CAROUSEL' GOES UP AND DOWN

Ellen Bartel started a clever thing a few years back when she devised "Dance Carousel" for FronteraFest's Long Fringe: Give independent choreographers the chance to present four one-minute dances each and give the audience the dance equivalent of a Whitman's Sampler. Indeed, there's a little bit of everything from abstract modern pieces to near-sketch comedy based on dance.

But it's a challenge to create a sequence of movement that grabs attention, develops and impresses in just a minute. Not everybody in this year's "Dance Carousel" was up to that challenge. A few, though, stood out.

Bartel herself delivered a hilarious solo wearing a gorilla mask and a suit, jostling around the stage like a Dean Martin-style stand-up comedian. And her "Crystal Leaves No. 2" was a potent tableau with three dancers draped in fabric slowly moving across the stage.

The five-member group Sheep Army annoyed with their initial dance (they just sat on the stage and screamed), but their very fast, athletic stylings and interesting couplings got more intriguing in later pieces. Sharon Marroquin created a sophisticated solo sequence for an older male dancer that grew delicately in intensity and drama.

Amy Cone used foreign language lessons as a soundtrack to interesting and humorous effect. And Caroline Sutton Clark riffed on the irresistible charm of babies with a quartet of pieces for mothers and their tots. Cute.

("Dance Carousel: 40 One-Minute Dances by 10 Austin Choreographers" continues at 9:15 p.m. Friday at the Blue Theatre, 916 Springdale Road, $8, 479-7529.)
— Jeanne Claire van Ryzin

Music

SERKIN'S WIDE-RANGING TONE FILLS HALL

Having eminent pianist Peter Serkin as guest soloist with the Austin Symphony Orchestra in Mozart's Piano Concerto in C minor was a good reason for approaching Friday's performance in Bass Concert Hall with eager anticipation. Serkin's distinguished if restrained manner indicated his respect for the work at hand as well as his own stature. His wide-ranging tone was clearly capable of reaching the back of the hall, and there was no question whether he had a technical grip on the music.

The questions arose in regard to what transpired artistically. Tempos in the outer movements of this dark Mozart jewel lacked urgency, and Serkin's seemingly inconsistent weighting of phrases broke up the linear flow of the music. Serkin was nevertheless gracious in sharing his first bow with the ASO wind section, who made elegant, chamberlike music in their extensive solo passages.

Surrounding the concerto were brightly colored showpieces conducted by Peter Bay. Michael Torke's "Javelin," which opened the program, is 10 minutes of well-crafted fluff that received a pleasant, sweeping reading. Rachmaninov's Symphonic Dances, an intricate and demanding masterpiece with frequent, subtle inflections of tempo and mood, didn't fare as well. Half of the performance was tentatively paced, played accurately but without much life. Saxophone soloist Harvey Pittel (not credited in the program) brought a mellow tone and vocal phrasing; among the other soloists, David Herbert on English horn was consistently excellent in many brief "licks." Bay mustered the forces persuasively for a rousing conclusion.
— David Mead

Music

ARCADE FIRE LIVES UP TO HOT MONIKER

Friday at a long-sold-out Emo's, The Arcade Fire started its show with a gleeful, triumphant shout. There is no question that it was well earned.

The Montreal band's debut album "Funeral" (Merge) received some of 2004's most remarkable words of mouth. Out of nowhere, this experimental indie rock quintet (augmented on tour by two string players) has become one of the hottest bands in North American rock. Like Emo's, nearly every date on the septet's triumphant U.S. club tour sold out.

Fronted by 24-year-old, Houston-born singer/guitarist Win Butler and his rich, quavering voice, the band drifts toward mildly Gothic, 1980s British rock — think Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure or the contents of any John Hughes movie soundtrack you could name. They treat it as folk music, received wisdom from older siblings that becomes a sound as common in their emotional landscape as the Stones or Led Zeppelin. These kids translate that music's stately, icy mope into shambolic melodies full of guitar, strings, glockenspiels, keyboards and yells of joy that cut through the melodrama.

After an opening set by a one-man violin quartet (amazing what a sampling pedal can do) calling himself Final Fantasy, The Arcade Fire took the stage at 11:30 p.m.. Ever since the dramatic chamber rock nontet Godspeed You Black Emperor broke big six years ago, Montreal has been lousy with giant rock bands, seven members and more, capable of making a racket both massive and nuanced. Opening with the triumphant "Wake Up," the band careened through a remarkable set of rolling rhythms and weird harmonies. They even showed their roots with a cover of Magnetic Fields' "Born on a Train." Dressed in dark suits — or a dark dress, in the case of emotional centerpiece Rθgine Chassagne — everyone played everything, the band trading off instruments seemingly at will, giving the show an inclusive feeling. Fiery children of the New Wave, the eyes of Texas — and everywhere else — are upon you. Shout away.
— Joe Gross

Theater

'PERICLES' WORKS HARD TO PLEASE

Different Stages' production of Shakespeare's lesser-known romance "Pericles" is much like the Bard's early 17th-century script: Moments of unsuspended disbelief in both are forgivable for a prevailing sincerity of purpose. A nearly unanimous commitment from the cast and crew facilitated an impressive and coherent presentation of unquestionably dense material.

"Pericles" concerns the adventures and misfortunes of the titular Prince of Tyre. Over five hyperbolic acts, he deteriorates from a nobleman of matchless resolve to one of catatonic resignation. Having gained and presumably lost both a bride and daughter, Pericles enters a state of desperation that could rival even the most despondent housewife. His fascinating descent is neatly resolved by a quick succession of consequences in the last few minutes.

Avoiding the trappings of melodrama, the creative team, led by director Norman Blumensaadt, carved out a complex character study. As Pericles, Scott Tesh captivatingly embodied dueling notions of regality and fragility. He conveyed genuine conflict between familial and monarchal duties. The juxtaposition of Tesh's commanding voice and gentle features complemented the prince's dichotomous convictions.

Susan Poe Dickson, who portrayed the contemptible Dionyza, was like a poison dart frog; her exotic beauty masks a toxic subsurface. Dickson relishes her wicked role, attacking each line with the combined ferocity of Alexis Carrington and Erica Kane.

Certainly not every actor matched such sophistication. In two separate roles as a murderer, Nicholas Ivan appeared roughly as menacing as a paralyzed fruit fly. He sloshed through his lines with the exuberance of a man on heavy doses of Quaaludes.

Aside from several minor gaffes, the show was technically clean, if somewhat obvious. Elegant white sheets accented the stage, underscoring the central quest for peace and purity. Kyle Sigrest's score, unfortunately reminiscent of the "Home Alone" soundtrack, failed to elevate the action. Despite such setbacks, honest performances and handsome aesthetics collaborate to make this show a gorgeous night of theater.

("Pericles, Prince of Tyre" continues 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays through Feb. 5, with a matinee at 2 p.m. Jan. 30. Arts on Real, 2826 Real Street, $13-$18, 472-2787.)
-Tommy O'Malley

Music

MATH IS HARD; TWO GUY TRIO IS FUN

Don't let their name fool you. The Two Guy Trio is neither a trio nor two guys. In fact, the Austin band consists of four college-age musicians: frontman Stephen Alford, lead guitarist Evan Gamble, bassist Jay Cesak and drummer Joey Bruno. These sarcastic pop-rock punksters might not sound like anything fresh and original, given the already vast supply of college bands. But they are, especially in concert.

Saturday at Maggie Mae's, Alford stepped on stage in big sunglasses, a leather jacket and tight jeans (ladies and gentlemen, meet Austin's own Bono). What followed was an electric Aderol-charged set that was as much fun as drinking a Red Bull on a trampoline.

Alford and Gamble complemented each other like yin and yang in songs such as "Fumes From Downtown." While echoing each other with guitar and vocals, they refrained from overlapping each other — which is hard on such razor-sharp timing. Gamble's volatile riffs never overrode Alford's hot-blooded vocals and Alford kept a modest composure that didn't upstage Gamble's surprisingly impressive back up vocals. Their emo-trendy rendition of "California Girls" deserves almost as much praise as the original.

Cesak proved that playing bass isn't as simple and restricted as everyone seems to think (and he does so while holding a cigarette). Bruno more than fulfilled his duty as the group's new drummer. In fact, Bruno seemed to be having the most fun on stage, making his percussion renaissance that much more impressive.

I'll admit some of the songs fell into the formula that has a place on the "O.C." soundtrack (and I wouldn't be surprised if they made it that far). And many of their upbeat songs sounded too much alike and often ran together. But when the formula worked like musical Prozac, is that such a bad thing?
— Jeff McCrary

Theater

'MY CHILD' DESCRIBES PARENTING WITH POWER

Thankfully, FronteraFest's Best of Week 2 on Saturday ended on a high note with Zell Miller III's alternately funny, alternately moving solo, "My Child, My Child, My Alien Child." Using part straight-up monologue and part slam poetry, Miller related his experiences as the father of a five-old son and the joys and difficulties of being an African American raising a child in a society that is still rife with racism. Miller is powerful and effective writer with astute sense of dramatic timing.

The Austin Theatre Club's presentation of an excerpt from Dael Orlandersmith's "Yellowman," a finalist for the 2002 Pulitzer Prize, also proved a highlight. Orlandersmith's story of two African American children — one dark-skinned, one light-skinned — growing up in the South facing black self-racism was movingly acted by Jamel Thomas and Valoneecia Tolbert.

Unfortunately, the rest of evening didn't impress. Sharon Sparlin's "My Own Little Empire," while it may have started interestingly with current affairs, ended up just a silly jumble of bouncy movement and supposedly philosophical, though actually less than profound, language. "Chicken and Ice Cream," Jason Tremblay's one-act about two prisoners on death row, was essentially well-crafted, but ultimately packaged too neatly and therefore a little too predictable. And Patton Quinn's monologue, "Impetuous Argot," failed to engage on any level.

(FronteraFest Short Fringe continues at 8 p.m. Mondays-Fridays through Feb. 12 at the Hyde Park Theatre, 511 W. 43rd St., $10-$15, 479-7529.)
— Jeanne Claire van Ryzin

Music

SIBLING REVELRY FROM THE STEPBROTHERS

The Hole In The Wall felt like a house party Saturday night, with The Stepbrothers moving their soul-tinted rock out of the garage and into the front room, where everyone in the crowd seemed to know most everybody else.

In-demand producer Mike Mariconda (New Bomb Turks, etc.) may be the band's best known name, but he's hardly the sole attraction here; his fellow guitarist Sean Morales makes a fine frontman, full of sullen energy, even if he shares singing chores with keyboardist Pat Pestorius. The enthusiastic rhythm section made his job easy, pumping out beats that would surely have had more people dancing, had there been room for it. (The revived Hole's exposed rafters may make things feel less claustrophobic, but they don't add square footage.)

Like the band's recent full-length debut, "Baby It's Over" (Licorice Tree), the set's edges were just rough enough to make a unifying sense of songs that have a little bit of everything — punk and soul, twang and sea spray — thrown into them. The Stepbrothers' name may suggest a cobbled-together musical parentage, but the family, like this weekend's crowd, is a happy one.
— John DeFore