2008-02 Vital Source Mag – February 2008
Faith Healer
A scene from Friel’s play Faith Healer, as perfomed by Next Act Theatre. Irish playwright Brian Friel casts a piercing glance into the heart of truth and belief in his three-part drama Faith Healer. Three characters played by three remarkably talented actors speak four conflicting monologues in a thoroughly satisfying script. Next Act Theatre stages this fascinating drama on the intimate stage of the Off-Broadway Theatre through the end of the month. Jonathan Smoots opens the play speaking arcane names of ancient villages buried in the antiquity of the British Isles, creating an air of fantasy. Smoots plays Frank, the title character — a man somewhat uneasily saddled with his profession. Smoots, until now largely relegated to supporting roles, here has presence and a great deal of flair at center stage. The charismatic actor embraces the stage lights with a deep, friendly Irish accent. He tells of his shaky journey from village to village — speaking of his mistress and his agent with sunny tones shaded by a clever uncertainty of his own capabilities. He’s right there in front of us, but even as he speaks simple words as clear as day, there’s an air of mystery about him. Smoots’ deft performance includes a spot-on Irish brogue that shifts to perfect Cockney when the character does an impression of his agent. Smoots shows a casually impressive flair for moving between accents without slowing down, dropping a line or fading out of character. The fact that any classically trained actor with two decades of local stage experience should be able to do this doesn’t make it any less impressive. The second character to take the stage is the faith healer’s mistress Grace. Mary MacDonald Kerr strikes a sharp figure in the role of the educated solicitor who somehow fell in with a man who took her away from a respectable middle-class life. Kerr shows a shrewd strength that is a lot of fun to watch. More than simply contradicting some of the details of Grace’s life with Frank, Kerr renders a completely new dimension to the character that builds on what the first monologue explored. She draws attention to Grace with an understated integrity, working out her story with every word she speaks. The final character to take the stage is Frank’s agent Teddy. Next Act Producing Artistic Director David Cecsarini plays the witty Cockney gentleman who handles Frank’s business affairs as a friend and promoter. He speaks about his experiences with Frank peppered with tales of other acts he’s managed. It’s the more heavily comic end of the play and Cecsarini handles it expertly. His third perspective adds respectable depth to the rest of what’s been said onstage, setting it for one last encounter with Frank. Smoots’ final moments on stage end in a beautiful silhouette brilliantly painted by Lighting Designer Jason Fassl. The lights fade. The applause sounds out. Faith Healer‘s themes reverberate through the evening. VS Next Act’s production of Faith Healer runs now through March 2 at […]
Feb 7th, 2008 by Russ Bickerstaff
Glengarry Glen Ross
A scene from the Milwaukee Rep’s staging of Glengarry Glen Ross By Tracy Doyle Foul language. Crude behavior. Men being men. In the dark recesses of the underground parking garage, behind the open back doors of a parked van, a group of men bonded, argued, smoked the magic weed and emitted nearly tangible clouds of testosterone. At the same time, four floors above them, on the stage of the Quadracci Powerhouse Theater, an entirely different group of men were ruthlessly trying to claw their way to the top of a fictitious Chicago real estate office. Both clans demonstrated the most primal activities of mankind, yet the group above ground, with their suits and ties and briefcases, may have displayed the more animalistic behaviors. In the Milwaukee Rep’s staging of David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross, four salesmen resort to desperate measures to succeed in the harried world of real estate. Deception and manipulation are the tools of the trade, and over the course of the play we watch these men devolve in front of our eyes, following their most primal instincts to come out on top. Mamet may be best known for his unique stylization of dialogue; every “er,” “um” and “I …” is written out, and overlapping dialogue reigns supreme. Director Kate Buckley ushered this production to success through mastery of this difficult technique, known affectionately as “Mametspeak.” However, an even greater challenge of producing Glengarry Glen Ross is to create something original and not simply a lower-quality version of the beloved 1992 film version starring Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon, Alec Baldwin et al. It is tempting to parrot the film’s unforgettable performance, and unfortunately, too many of this evenings’ actors were reminiscent of the cinematic greats. James DeVita as Richard Roma has a quiet, almost Kyle Maclachlan-like energy to him, very boy-next-door. Yet consistently, he would inject near perfect imitations of Pacino into his role. These sharp contrasts to the character he had already established made DeVita’s Roma difficult to follow and believe. A more successful invention of character was created by Peter Silbert, who was challenged to break the “Jack Lemmon” out of his character, Shelly Levene. Although Silbert shares physical and vocal qualities with Lemmon, he was successful in his own right. The monologue in which he describes his unbelievable sale of eight units of property to the Nyborgs was an impressive moment of dramatic clarity; it was impossible to look away from him. Jim Pickering as Dave Moss submitted another notable performance. The play is witty, fast-paced and a lot of fun to watch, although it leaves the audience with a pretty bleak picture of humanity, especially men. Upon leaving the theatre and heading back to the parking garage, we found our pot-smoking, van-dwelling acquaintances from earlier relieving themselves and grunting wildly, assumably having missed the performance all together. Although they were acting like animals, I had to question who the real beasts were. I think Mamet would agree that the answer is the fuckin’ salesmen. […]
Feb 7th, 2008 by Vital Archives
Video Games Live! at the Riverside Theater
When entertainment industry icon Tommy Tallarico met fellow composer Jack Wall while assigned to collaborate on the video game Evil Dead: Hail to the King back in 2000, the two shared their dream – to bring video game music to a larger audience and bring it into its own as a veritable art form. “In Japan for many years they put on a show, not just a symphonic concert of music but a hybrid of entertainment,” says Tommy Tallarico. Their friendship and partnership developed into Mystical Stone Entertainment, which teamed up with Clear Channel in July 2005 to hold the first major video game music concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. The overwhelming response prompted Clear Channel to order up an ill-fated tour, which they soon dropped. That was a big mistake for Clear Channel; it allowed the original team to regain control of the promotion and tone of what is now a famous world tour that played 29 dates last year, including a historic and huge three-day run in Brazil. In 2008 the tour includes 60 dates (in 2009, at least 200), one of which is Milwaukee, Wisconsin on March 1. “I get parents coming up to me after the show or emailing me saying, ‘I finally get it now. I get why my kid is into these games – they have these sweeping storylines and graphics and sound’,” says Tallarico. The show has found great success with renowned orchestras internationally after some measure of convincing music directors that the repertoire was more than just boops and beeps – music directors who might not buy the argument that the theme music from Pac-Man (which debuted stateside 28 years ago) is as much a part of the music lexicon as Ira Gershwin and Cole Porter. “The biggest challenge is convincing people,” states Tallarico. “Gamers get it. But it’s a small industry in the symphony world and so one concert master will tell another about it and the word of mouth spread.” But behemoths like the National Symphony in Washington D.C. or London Symphony Orchestra aside, most city symphonies have been looking for ways to bring younger audiences into the concert hall seats. With Video Games Live, each show’s set list is different, and the program is always trying out new gimmicks on stage. Tallarico and Wall’s team create an event that takes on the air of Cirque du Soleil or the Blue Man Group at times with full-scale Tron cycles, big screen displays coordinated with the music and audience participation or giveaways. Milwaukee’s performance will be tailored around the Pabst venue’s capabilities. Each city is emailed the sheet music and sent mp3s showing how the themes from Mario, Zelda, Metroid, Castlevania, Gauntlet and Earthworm Jim will be translated for epic scale with horns, strings and percussion. Some arrangements are symphonic interpretations while other more modern fare like Advent Rising (which Tallarico composed) and Halo already have their compositions set from the original. The response even from non-video game […]
Feb 5th, 2008 by Brian Jacobson
The line forms here
The line: the beginning of possibilities, the basis of all art, begins at Inova/Kenilworth in an adventurous and well-balanced exhibit, which I reviewed in two prior features this week (Read part one and part two). If this prelude to spring forecasts what’s on the Kenilworth horizon, those who moan about our “dismal” art scene are perhaps looking in all the wrong places. It wasn’t too long ago that if you yearned to view art, the choices were narrow: museums and a few privately owned galleries, plus exhibitions at universities. Now that we have a tide of technology, a tsunami of art experience is readily available via the internet. Locals can peruse Susceptible to Images, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel art critic Mary Louise Schumacher’s varied offerings, MKE, OnMilwaukee and any number of blogs and logs encouraging virtual space wanderers. There are seductive sites with excellent hi-res images and mountains of information, so why leave your cave when you can tour plopped in front of a computer, maybe with some wine and cheese? Parking space abounds, and you can Google and YouTube forever in your underwear. In effect, your home becomes your gallery, devoid of overzealous gallerists rushing forth to gush, “Isn’t this gorgeous!” Online touring makes me anxious and a nagging fear lurks, neurotic perhaps, that eventually the hi-tech will white-out the experience of standing in front of a work of art and exercising the brain. The Inova/Kenilworth show is a reminder of everything computer content lacks. Yes, the irony is that you are reading this at vitalsourcemag.com. It’s my hope that it will prod you into action. During my third and final visit, I duly noted that 160 souls attended the opening reception, and I spoke at length with a 21-year-old UWM senior, Nicholas Teeple. He just started as a “gallery guard” and is enrolled in DIVAS, the university’s digital imaging, video, animation and sound program. He hasn’t taken any courses in drawing, and remarked that the computer “doesn’t lend itself to drawing and perhaps makes it less relevant, I guess.” I asked him how he intended to use a degree from a program he believes is challenging, rewarding and “full of potential.” He is particularly interested in time-based media, in the “blossoming” video and mash-up culture, and down the road may get into performance and installation art. We talked about the anxiety/paranoia content of the exhibition. “By the way,” he asked, “just who are you writing this for?” For a moment, I thought maybe he was paranoid. “Fear-mongering is just another form of control,” he said as we discussed the show’s overall theme. “It’s a form of control embraced by the media.” Claire Pentecost, one of the two artists I was there to review, has 14 pieces in the exhibition, ranging in size from 64” x 52” unframed giclee prints to framed 10”x 8” palladium prints. She teaches drawing, critical theory and interdisciplinary seminars and the School of the Art Institute in Chicago and refers to her photographs as “extracted;” […]
Feb 4th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Twelfth Night
Alexis McGuinness and Molly Rhode in Milwaukee Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night Milwaukee Shakespeare’s impressively staged production of Twelfth Night only played for seven performances, a briefly realized event manifesting just long enough to register a reaction before its disappearance. Shakespeare’s quintessential gender-bending comedy came to the stage of the Sharon Lynne Wilson Center with a distinctly 20th century feel. Noele Stollmack’s set vaguely suggested a financial institution designed by Ikea, with minimalist stairs, platforms and bars. It provided a remarkable background for the production, and with some exquisite lighting, also by Stollmack, this production of Twelfth Night was a real pleasure to watch. The costuming by Mara Blumenfeld paired perfectly with the set, and with simple sports coats, secret service outfits, loud pinstripes and lace trim, the costuming promoted a greater period ambiguity. Brian J. Gill played a solidly charismatic Orsino, Duke of Illyria, who employs the services of a young man named Cesario – actually a disguised woman named Viola, played here by Alexis McGuinness. Viola loves Orsino, but is unable to show her love through the disguise, and unwittingly, Orsino dispatches Viola to woo Olivia — a countess played with subtlety by Molly Rhode. The plan backfires when Olivia falls for Cesario, who is of course only following the directions of the man she loves. The production fails to capture the full intricacies of the complex dynamic between Olivia, Viola and Orsino, but other aspects of the play more than made up the difference. It was a bit unexpected, for instance, to see the central action of the play upstaged by Mark H. Dold in the role of Olivia’s servant Malvolio. Dold, who has worked extensively in television, made Malvolio’s every detail sparkle with wit early on in the play. He carries himself with remarkable poise — a servant with exceptional aspirations who secretly pines for the woman he serves. His performance exemplified this production’s fascinating unevenness: the meat of the play seemed lost in exquisitely captured details from the periphery of the story. A considerably distracting subplot featured Viola’s brother Sebastian (Kevin Rich) and his good friend Antonio (Todd Denning). Rich was brilliant in the relatively marginal role, and Denning’s interaction with him carried a great deal of weight. There’s a bond between the two men that gets lost in the action of the play – perhaps because Shakespeare never found direct resolution between the characters. Under the direction of Paula Suozzi, that relationship received a well-executed resolution here that brilliantly shows a happy ending for some isn’t a happy ending for everyone. VS Milwaukee Shakespeare’s production of Twelfth Night closed February 3. Its production of Cymbeline opens March 22 for a considerably longer run at the Broadway Theatre Center Studio Theatre. For tickets or more info call 414-2917800 or visit Milwaukee Shakes online.
Feb 4th, 2008 by Russ Bickerstaff
Drive-By Truckers
A departed band member can make the advent of a new album nerve-wracking rather than exciting for an ardent fan, but the absence of Jason Isbell, Drive-By Truckers’ singer of seven years, brings out a return to roots, as well as new directions. Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, the band’s eighth album, features contributions from band members who normally play the wallflower (bassist Shonna Tucker penned three shimmering beauties) paired with crunchier contributions from Patterson Hood, Mike Cooley and John Neff, with ‘icing on the cake’ keyboards by legendary Spooner Oldham. Southern rock had a glaring exterior when Lynyrd Skynyrd brought it to the mainstream, but today, one regularly hears the signature layered guitars, pedal steel, lazy drums and pretty keys channeling crusty stories of booze, drugs and hardships of alt-country on commercial radio. On Brighter Than Creation’s Dark, the Truckers juxtapose their personal brand of southern rock against established tradition. Their soft songs shine bright as the lights on a country wedding dance floor, while the gritty, raucous snarlers make the slow dancers shake their sleepy feet. Stories paste this album’s nineteen songs together. Cooley’s country-washed songs add humor with “Lisa’s Birthday” and “Bob,” the tale of a man whose mom is the only one “she lets call him Robert” and who “has always had more dogs than he ever had friends.” Hood pens staunch southern rock with such vigor and drama it draws goose bumps. “The Man I Shot” is chilling, a strong contrast to Tucker’s gentle writing and Cooley’s ‘aw, shucks’ style. Hood’s slower ballads veer into Eagles territory at times, which can either please – in the case of the amazing “Daddy Needs a Drink,” made stellar by heart-wrenching pedal steel – or annoy, as on “The Home Front,” which is lite rock at best. Brighter Than Creation’s Dark is an album to be traveled through, soaking in all the odd twists and turns, corners and dips. There are some bumpy spots, but the unexpected beauty will sink the listener like a stone, and the buoyant humor will lift the mood and ease the listener into reality, as the best stories often do.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
You don’t get a medal for showing up
At VITAL, our new year begins in February. I’d like to thank everyone once again for their support. It used to be a thrill just to write the rent check that proved we weren’t just a home office vanity project; as we’ve matured, though, my view of this whole endeavor has evolved. I have a thousand examples, but it all comes down to one idea, perfectly put by Thomas Jefferson: “I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.” I now understand that our willingness to work our asses off is ultimately the reason we’re still here, far more than any visionary thinking or single lucky break. I was born in the ‘60s and influenced by both my grandparents’ work ethic and my father’s disdain for it (to be fair, he got over it later in life). Some of my peers joined Generation X. The rest of us went to work. Mine is the generation that brought about both the ubiquity of cocaine-derived drugs and many of the amazing technological advances that shape our world. The two extremes are actually closely related, both born of an inherent relentlessness, a desire to always move at the greatest possible speed, freed from barriers – of fatigue, social awkwardness, geography, even time itself. I’m not saying this is an entirely wonderful way to look at life; the socio-cultural fallout may not be fully measured in my lifetime. Even so, the ‘80s and ‘90s were a gas, a wild ride followed by a hard crash when the middle class economy slowed way down in the first years of the 21st century. But even before that I think there was collective pause, fueled in part by the regret of our parents, now missing the grandkids a thousand miles away, who saw what had become of their latchkey, Kraft dinner-consuming, Alex P. Keaton-channeling offspring. We had it all, but we traded too much to get it. The solution was clear: the next generation would be cared for with a vengeance. Sometime in the late 20th century, the desire to give one’s children “more” took on a new meaning: with the highest percentage of “affluent” Americans in our history, the trappings of attainment took on a nurturing mantle. It was the dawn of the age of the Soccer Mom, the bicycle helmet and the mentality that reasoning was a viable parenting philosophy. I admit it; I was initially swept into the new world order. My kid had a sticker chart that he filled up by performing such amazing feats as picking up his clothes and saying thank you. He actually earned toys for meeting the minimum expectations of socialization! But eventually, I saw what I, his teachers, his soccer coach and the rest of his network of support had wrought: a kid who expected to be rewarded for taking out the garbage. He’s a good boy: naturally nice, smart and funny. On the surface, he looks like […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Jon Anne Willow
Collections of Colonies of Bees
By Charlie Hosale The central aspect of Milwaukee natives Chris Rosenau and Jon Mueller’s musical projects has always been accessible experimentation. Collections of Colonies of Bees, thanks to an evolving and expanding lineup of musicians, have had a number of dynamically different sounds over the years. This new release finds the band on a new label with a filled-out lineup consisting of Jim Schoenecker, Daniel Spack, and Thomas Wincek. From the record’s first note, the change in the Bees’ sound and approach is palpable. Customer, released in 2004, found the group experimenting with free forms and electronics, with a focus on floating melody. Those influences are still present on Birds, but the band has shifted to a much more structured process. Instead of trying to see how far music can go, like the unconventional structure and melodic re-imaginings of Customer, they attempt to break music down to its simplest emotional form. Birds shifts to pulsing rhythms and delicately structured melodic layering to create a musical catharsis—something that, before Birds, the Bees hadn’t really done. Birds is an entirely different record for the Bees, but it still sounds like everything their listeners have come to love about them. Their songs have always sounded like instances of beauty, like a friend smiling or a tear dropping, and on Birds those pictures are still there; it just sounds like now the Bees are ready to take on the whole story, instead of only living in the moment.
Feb 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Bob Mould
Singer/songwriter/punk icon/former pro-wrestling scripter Bob Mould has (obviously) worn many hats during his career. With his latest solo offering, District Line, the ex-Hüsker Dü and Sugar guitarist continues hisbalancing act between modern rock balladeer and DIY wunderkind. Mould plays every instrument on District Line besides the cello, provided by Amy Domingues, and the signature drumming of Fugazi’s Brendan Canty. Canty’s distinctive dub-enhanced syncopation shines on the leadoff track “Stupid Now;” for most of the album, though, he’s content to simply lay a solid back beat. His playing echoes Mould’s songwriting; flashes of the work that made them both legends occasionally shine through what is essentially an album of sometimes competent, often excellent, generally straightforward alternative rock. Mould’s solo work is intensely personal and relationship-based. “Again and Again” recalls his 90’s alterna-pop incarnation, Sugar, with symphonic guitar driving a melancholy suicide note of dysfunctional love – “I took the bullets from the carport/tossed them in my backpack…I left the title to the house inside the piano bench/And my lawyer’s got the will.” This track, and the up-tempo (and equally Sugary) “Very Temporary,” shows the material at its strongest and catchiest. A strange fascination with vocoder (which, let’s face it, Cher ruined for everyone) threatens to undermine “Very Temporary” and otherwise fascinating tracks like the alterna-rock/disco mash-up “Shelter Me.” It’s frankly distracting to hear the voice behind incendiary punk classics like “Something I Learned Today” dabbling in NYC Eighth Avenue club music. Still, Mould’s determination to straddle the line between alternative and dance pays off more often than it stumbles on District Line. Now if only Bob would find the time to start scripting wrestling matches again. Lord knows the WWE could use him right now.
Feb 1st, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
Checkers or Chess?
Maybe no one will win this election By Donald Kaul American elections are nothing if not amusing; solemn rituals laced with equal measures of irony and hypocrisy, with a touch of absurdity thrown in for taste. The victory speeches alone are worth the price of admission. Take for example the statement of Mitt Romney after he’d been declared winner of the Michigan caucuses: “Tonight is a victory of optimism over Washington-style pessimism,” he said. Implicit in that statement is the belief, widely held, unfortunately, that optimism is a good thing in and of itself, and that to be pessimistic is somehow un-American. Balderdash. Hogwash. Fiddle-faddle. There, having exhausted my supply of 19th Century rebukes, let me tell you why the idea is dangerous nonsense. A little optimism is fine, necessary, even. It helps one get up in the morning and face the day. When it reaches the point of self-delusion, however, it masks the real problems one faces and makes a solution impossible. Romney’s victory took place at the precise moment that the national economy seems poised to plunge into a full-blown recession and in a state that has been living that recession for the better part of a decade. Michigan’s unemployment rate, at about 8 percent, is the highest in the country; its chief economic engine, the auto industry, is reeling from foreign competition and shows little sign of recovering any time soon. Plants, one after another, keep closing. It doesn’t need optimism; it needs rescue. Romney says he can bring Michigan’s lost jobs home. By cutting taxes, of course. That’s the Republican answer to Hadacol. It cures all ills. Let me say this about that: Cutting taxes does not necessarily create jobs. Rich people and corporations do not invest in plants and equipment simply because they have the money to do so. There has to be some expectation of profit. And if there’s nobody out there with money to buy anything, that expectation does not exist. I will never know how Democrats keep losing elections to Republicans. The GOP has controlled Congress for most of the past dozen years and the presidency for the past seven. Having inherited a budget surplus, a boisterous economy and a healthy dollar, they’ve managed to squander those advantages and run the economy into a ditch. And now we’re seriously considering keeping a Republican in the White House? That’s like hiring Michael Vick as your dog walker. On second thought, I think I know how Democrats keep losing elections. Their ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory is all but supernatural. Take, for example, the decision of the national party to ignore the Michigan caucuses. Michigan, seeking to achieve some relevance in the presidential selection process, had moved its caucuses up right behind Iowa and New Hampshire. This so offended the leaders of the Democratic party that they punished the state by stripping it of its delegates at the national convention. The major presidential candidates went along with the gag (most […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
VITAL turns six with Puzzles + Games
By VITAL friends and family Download PDFs of all of our puzzles & games! Just print and play! Coloring page by Natalia Rubanov: VITAL’s birthday girl! Coloring page by Dwellephant Coloring page by Tim Edgar Hidden picture puzzle by Coth Paper doll by Tea Krulos Coloring page by Kristopher Pollard Coloring page by Jeff Noise Find the differences puzzle by J. Jason Groschopf Giant word search Giant crossword Kris kross puzzle, anagram jumble and mega-sudoku
Feb 1st, 2008 by Vital Archives
Guitar Hero
Growing up in a small, semi-rural town where broomball and shining deer were considered high entertainment (if you’re unfamiliar with these provincial pastimes, please, don’t ask), I was keenly aware of a strange, terrifying sub-set of my peers. No, not the girls who harbored abnormal crushes on Channel 12’s Jerry Taft, or even the kids who looked like circus animals (my graduating class alone had three pandas), but something much more puzzling, much more insidious: 13-year-olds with facial hair. For the most part, these freaks of nature were farm kids who drank at least four cartons of milk during lunch, had nicknames like “Goatsy” or “Yummers” and were almost always excellent bowlers. So enamored were these mutants with their precious little dirt-staches that they never once shaved them, instead opting to savor each scraggly whisker for years on end as if it were manna from heaven. Of course, much like a farmer’s field, if you fail to cultivate the land (or, in this case, your upper lip), you deprive your crops the chance to flourish and grow, leaving you with nothing but dirt. And that’s exactly what happened here: all throughout high school, these redneck goons sported the same ill-formed, uncultivated facial hair. Occasionally running into them now during drunken jaunts back to my hometown, I always take a certain amount of pleasure in seeing these grown men still rocking straight-up peach fuzz. I bring up this disturbing phenomenon because I harbor something of an ill-formed mustache myself: my sub-standard guitar playing (in the realm of facial hair, I still remain as smooth and ridiculous as a baby bird). Technically, I’ve been playing guitar for nearly half my life; this statement is entirely misleading, however, when you consider that in my case, “playing” roughly translates to “learning some basic chords when you’re 16 and strumming them to death for the next decade-and-a-half.” Perhaps it was my early frustration with never figuring out that goddamn opening riff to “Come As You Are” (something most eight-year-olds could probably lick in ten minutes) but after a while, I simply gave up. This piss-poor attitude was recently thrown into sharp relief when local tunesmiths The Danger asked me to fill in for their recently departed lead guitarist. It was understood this emergency substitution would be for a single show at the Cactus Club (opening for the criminally underappreciated Dark Horse Project), and that we would only have a few weeks to rehearse. It was also understood that I would be expected to play some of the leads – nothing complicated, I was assured – but leads nonetheless. Would I do it? After carefully considering my utter lack of time, energy or talent, I immediately said yes.(A side note: if The Danger happens to be playing near a venue near you, do yourself a favor and check them out; it’s nice to hear a band that doesn’t rely on chamber-pop chanting or lyrics about robots and zombies to get their point across.) Rehearsals went well, […]
Feb 1st, 2008 by Matt Wild
