Sunday, January 25, 2009
A+E, Theater

Mic check

‘Smokey Joe,’ ‘Jesus’ bring too much noise

BY BERT OSBORNE
 
Another New Year’s resolution bites the dust. So much for vowing to not subject my readers to any more recycled rants in ’09. Who among you, for instance, doesn’t already know what I think about body miking and overamplification in nine out of 10 musicals I see? Didn’t I go off on that (again) a few months back? In how many different ways can I sing the same old song? Why should anyone keep listening? If it’s up to me to throw away that broken record, to deal with it or get over it, what better time than the start of a new year?
 
Just on technical terms, Atlanta Lyric’s “Smokey Joe’s Café” is such a vast improvement over the debacle of design and execution that was last month’s "Beauty and the Beast" (the company’s inaugural production in its new home at the Strand in Marietta), that’s ample reason to rejoice. Kudos, then, to Jonathan Foucheaux (set), Bradley Bergeron (lights) and Clint Horne (costumes). Better yet, as smoothly staged by artistic director Brandt Blocker—under the sharp musical direction of Michael Fauss (leading a five-piece band) and the sassy choreography of Jen MacQueen and Elizabeth Neidel—the show also happens to be a highly enjoyable and vibrantly performed revue of pop songs by the team of Leiber & Stoller ("Stand by Me," "Spanish Harlem"). Theresa Cunningham stands out in a uniformly talented ensemble.
 
Sure enough, all nine of them are miked, and isolated bits from a few bigger crowd numbers are louder than need be, to the point that some of the lyrics are unintelligible. It’s a minor distraction, as opposed to a persistent drawback, so I told myself I wouldn’t make another issue of it. Alas, that was before I caught the Alliance’s "Jesus Christ Superstar GOSPEL," a self-explanatory revamping of the biblical 1971 Andrew Lloyd Webber/Tim Rice rock opera (conceived and arranged by Louis St. Louis, directed by Susan Booth, with musical direction by Michael Mitchell). The segue is unavoidable, however predictable.
 
There’s a difference between pop and rock, of course, and between the volume level of an electronically enhanced chorus of nine and an electronically enhanced chorus of 49. But the problem cuts deeper than that. The "Smokey Joe" cast isn’t playing characters or serving a plot. They’re singing random songs, and if you can’t make out the words to this one, chances are you’ll recognize the next one by heart, anyway. Conversely, my only exposure to "Superstar" was seeing the movie version 30 years ago, but I hardly committed the score to memory.
 
I left the Alliance as though I’d been to a concert by a group I barely knew; a couple of the greatest hits were familiar, but most of the repertoire was lost on me. Granted, you’d have to be a heathen not to know the general gist of the story to begin with. Still, these principal actors are playing characters, after a fashion—Herod resembles a blaxploitation-era pimp in a purple crushed velvet cape (with gold lame lining)—and their lyrics further the plot and express thoughts and feelings that presumably say something profound and spiritual. When they could be singing in a foreign language for all their (lack of) verbal clarity, what does that really say? Or does it basically reduce a bunch of the music to so much noise (albeit rousingly performed)?
 
I know, I know. You’ve heard it all before, which is precisely why I wasn’t even going to mention all the out-of-town stars of the show, and how a lineup of local luminaries—including Chandra Currelley, Bernardine Mitchell, Eric Moore, Valerie Payton, Glenn Rainey and Eugene Russell—are relegated to glorified extras. Wish me better luck keeping next year’s resolutions. SP