AISLE SAY CD Reviews

The disappointments first:

The new studio, opera/crossover recording of "Man of La Mancha" (Sony Classical SK 46436) is the second such rendering of the score by composer Mitch Leigh and, as far as I'm concerned, the show's largely unheralded hero, lyricist Joe Darion. This one features Placido Domingo in the dual role of Cervantes/Quixote, Mandy Patinkin as Sancho Panza, and Julia Mingues as Aldonza. (The all-star first studio recording, nearly twenty years old, largely forgotten, and which I've never heard, featured Jim Nabors, Jack Gilford and Marilyn Horne.) Musical director is the masterful Paul Gemignani, and the record's producer is cast-album guru Thomas Z. Shepard. Reportedly, though, this recording sat on the shelf for a year before it was granted a release date. What could have gone wrong?

Just about everything, really. Could you have predicted it? I think so, given twenty-twenty hindsight, but it's hard to say, because, on paper, especially to the money people, one can't deny that it must have looked like a really sweet deal. Who better than Domingo, a native Spaniard opera superstar to sing songs like "The Impossible Dream"? Who more winning than magnetic character-leading man Mandy Patinkin, riding high from his newfound fame as a concert entertainer (and a new Emmy for "Chicago Hope"), to plumb heretofore hidden depths of Sancho? And for the sultry firebrand of the low-rent inn, Aldonza...who more compelling than the sultry firebrand of the opera world, Julia Migenes?

Well, the deal does not equal the art. First of all, the role of Cervantes/Quixote is for a baritone; Domingo is a tenor; thus all the keys are changed to fit his voice, making the role sound unconvincing and lightweight. This might not be so bad if Domingo were any kind of an actor--in English, at any rate--but he's horrible. Every trap you might fear an opera singer taking to legit musical theatre might spring, is sprung. He has no visceral connection to the dialogue (yes, Thomas Shepard has actually assigned him a few scenes), so he reads his lines at a slow pace, with fevered, and forced intensity; and his only contribution to the songs is a generic passion, not truly related to the drama.

As for Mr. Patinkin: in duet, his keys are lowered, the better to create a balance with Mr. Domingo--rendering a tenor part into a baritone part, which is truly odd, considering how pure a tenor Patinkin is. Patinkin's solo songs ("I Like Him", "A Little Gossip") remain in their original keys, but here they suffer by way of simple miscasting. The role of Sancho is that of a comic foil, usually played by the kind of actor who has a natural, burlesque reflex. Irving Jacobson on Broadway, Bernard Spear in London, James Coco in the misbegotten movie. Mr. Patinkin, though, is a cerebral actor, intense and complicated--his kind of funny is a very different brand than Sancho's. And of course, his performance is overintellectualized. It doesn't come from a natural place; instead, he affects a teeny-tiny Spanish-accented voice--and it sounds like an affectation; thus, everything that follows is labored and disingenuous.

No keys were changed at all for Ms. Migenes, and that's the most bewildering thing of all, because she simply doesn't have the notes. Oddly, it isn't the high notes she lacks...it's the low notes. The role of Aldonza is not a true mezzo-soprano role (as Ms. Migenes is a true mezzo); it requires a serious alto-mezzo mix, much of it lying in an uncomfortable part of that range female singers call "the break." And, on this recording, at least, she can't negotiate it. She scoops down low, and achieves a kind of quiet, in-tune growl, but loses power, punch, beauty and musicality in the process.

Best on the album is Jerry Hadley as the Padre, who sings "To Each His Dulcinea" and "The Psalm" after Quixote dies--the latter of which has been padded to twice its show length, the better, I assume, to give Hadley more to do. Too little, too late. And one more needless distortion--though this one relatively harmless. This "La Mancha" is only for anal retentive collectors.

For entirely different reasons, the same might be said of "The Pointer Sisters in Selections from Ain't Misbehavin''. This record coincides with the national tour revival, slated to reach Broadway during the 1996-97 season. In most respects a re-creation of the original production, inoffensively tailored here and there to fit the talents of the singing group, it also features Eugene Barry-Hill and Michael-Leon Wooley, veterans of several "Ain't Misbehavin'" stagings in the male roles.

For those who don't know, "Ain't Misbehavin" is a revue of Fats Waller songs, conceived and originally directed by Richard Maltby, Jr. Like most revues, it was heavily influenced by the idiosyncrasies of its original cast--which, in 1978, included such extreme types as Nell Carter, Andre DeShields, Armelia McQueen, Ken Page and Charlaine Woodard. Stepping into those shoes--into roles defined more by persona than dramaturgy--can be a thankless task indeed, because it obligates the new performer to quickly fabricate the sense of spontaneity, interplay and ensemble that had previously been a product of weeks of professional intimacy, discovery and exploration. With rare exceptions, the best that can be achieved under these circumstances tends to be a performance that is clean and respectable, but lacking the depth and authenticity of the original--often perfectly satisfactory for the audience member who has never seen the original, but by comparison almost always a paler copy.

Even allowing for the fact that, according to the CD booklet notes, director Arthur Faria (who choreographed--and, theatre lore has it, as good as co-directed--the original), took time with his new company to reexamine the material, and let them find their own way, the new "Ain't Misbehavin'" nonetheless falls into the "paler copy" category: the patter, which is supposed to sound like improvisation, often sounds scripted, and the performances lack the naughty insouciance of their Broadway predecessors. (The Sisters themselves do better in this regard than the men, who sounded to me like very good understudies.)

That said, it's perfectly understandable that this tour should have a record of its own. It is nearly 20 years later, the Pointer Sisters are major recording stars, and it's foolish not to capitalize on their participation, for a whole new audience--who, as I say, may be perfectly satisfied by the album on its own terms.

But, speaking purely about the æsthetic of the show itself, it does seem silly to settle for a good natured approximation, when the down and dirty original is still in print and so much better in almost every respect. Remember, too, that this new recording is a one disc highlights album, and does not feature the whole two-disc score. (Missing are the numbers "How Ya Baby", "Jitterbug Waltz", "Yacht Club Swing", "When the Nylons Bloom Again", "Cash for Your Trash", "Off-Time", "Entr'acte", "Spreading Rhythm Around", "Lounging at the Waldorf" and "The Viper's Drag".) So as a lesser effort it is even...a lesser effort.

The 1995 Broadway Cast Recording of "Company" (Angel 7243 5 55608 2) is yet another recording that doesn't stack up against the original--like the Broadway revival of the Stephen Sondheim-George Furth musical that spawned it, it's kind of okay; as produced by Phil Ramone, it is clean, respectful of the material, theatrically viable. Yet, almost across the board, the cast is lightweight, missing the authority and richness of the originals.

Which brings us to the orchestrations by Jonathan Tunick revised and reconceived for a smaller ensemble. Ideally, a recording will bring out the hidden treasures in the new orchestration by a master--but it merely emphasizes that the qualities that seemed missing onstage--depth, detail and excitement--are still missing. More than anything, the new orchestration sounds hungry, and wanting.

There are some exceptional moments, despite the overall lukewarm-ness of the experience. Danny Burstein as Paul and Veanne Cox as Amy have the persona, instincts and skill to make the manic "Getting Married Today" very much their own and quite wonderful. Also splendid is the inclusion of the number "Marry Me a Little", formerly a trunk song (one of the abandoned precursors of "Being Alive"), which keeps Bobby's emotional through-line alive at the end of Act One (the one decent revision and genuine coup of the Scott Ellis staging). Since it has never been sung in the context of the show before, Boyd Gaines (as Bobby) gets to make it his own--and since Jonathan Tunick is not, here, adapting/approximating his previous orchestrations, but orchestrating newly for the smaller group, the orchestration for this number is much hotter, and avoids the emaciated sound of the rest. But in general, again, this album is more valuable as a document of the revival than as a representation of the show at its finest. For that, the 1970 album is still in print, and still capable of making you remember, with accompanying goosebumps, that when "Company" first made its presence known, it was astonishingly revolutionary.

Mr. Sondheim--and his erstwhile collaborator, Leonard Bernstein--are represented with much more brio in an odd novelty album called "The Songs of West Side Story" (RCA Victor 09026-62707-2). In this album, conceived and produced by David Pack, pop stars have their way with the various songs in the venerable score. The songs are sung out of sequence, and there is no stylistic through-line connecting the tracks; yet the record is powered by a raw energy and enthusiasm that is not unlike that of an original cast album, despite there being little in the way of theatrical savvy.

I think I can explain why. The songs themselves are intrinsically theatrical, so--in this context, anyway--they don't need added help in that regard. Which leaves the various pop artists room to simply do their thing, and interpret the songs through their diverse filters and sensibilities. These sensibilities, being young (at heart if not of chronology), gutsy and iconoclastic--just like the Jets and the Sharks--are so refreshingly free of artifice that they invest the score with a freshness it hasn't had since...well, perhaps since it first appeared.

Subsequently, "Maria" is sung as a trio by Michael McDonald, James Ingram and David Pack; "Gee, Officer Krupke" is assayed by rappers Salt-n-Peppa and Def Jef with assistance from The Jerky Boys and Hispanic comedian Paul Rodriguez. And "The Rumble" is reinterpreted as a battle of the bands: Chick Corea's Elektric Band vs. Steve Vai's Monsters, to be precise. There are appearances by Kenny Loggins, Wynonna, Patti LaBelle, Sheila E., Phil Collins and the late Selena--among others--as well.

Favorite track on the album: "I Feel Pretty" sung by Little Richard. I won't describe it--it's too outrageously funny, and I'd feel remiss ruining it for you--but it lays to rest the retroactive qualms Mr. Sondheim has expressed about the song being "too sophisticated"; Mr. Richard brings it right on down to street level.

Now of course, this is not an album that should introduce the score of "West Side Story" to anyone. Nor is it meant to. But what's important is how stirringly alive this version is. (As opposed to, say, the famous Deutsche Grammophone recording Bernstein himself conducted over a decade ago. Technically brilliant, artistically dead.) The love of the artists for what they're doing, the unbridled passion, communicates. And it's infectious.

Finally, there is yet another CD of Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Sunset Boulevard". After Patti LuPone on the London album and Glenn Close on the American, both representing the show in unabridged, two-CD recordings, there is Dihann Carroll heading the Original Canadian Cast Recording (Polydor/Canada 314 529 757-2), which is a single CD highlights treatment. Clocking in at nearly 74 minutes, though, it misses none of the crucial stuff, tells the story well and--more importantly, for those who get impatient with Mr. Webber's oft-unearned reprises--trims away much of the fat.

As produced by Nigel Wright, this one is a terrific cast album, at least in terms of having a theatrical identity all its own and a dynamic cast that is beholden to none who have come before.

In some ways, listeners may find Ms. Carroll the most satisfying Norma Desmond on record of the three (that is, the three in English: foreign-language versions are starting to proliferate as well). Personally, I loved Patti LuPone's heartfelt rendering, but many found it too mannered; and Glenn Close, no matter what one thought of her colder, more grotesque, performance, sang it unattractively, which was only amplified on record. But Ms. Carroll strikes a nice balance--she enters into the character's madness theatrically but without distracting indulgences; and she sings it with the assurance of one who is in total control of her vocal technique.

Also surprisingly effective is Rex Smith as down-and-out screenwriter Joe Gillis. Mr. Smith himself has had something of a me-too career. He's a rock star who never quite cracked the inner circle, a TV star who flopped, and a musical theatre novelty who has rarely been taken seriously. Strangely--or perhaps not so strangely--that second-rate resumé may be the very thing that allows Mr. Smith to connect with the role in a way that no other Joe Gillis on record has. He doesn't sing it as prettily as his forebears, but he sings it with edge and desperation and anger; and--to coin a phrase--you can't take your ears off him.

Anita Louise Combe is just fine as Gillis' romantic interest, and Walter Charles provides his usual stalwart service in the role of Max von Mayerling...fitting, as the character is also notable for providing stalwart service.

I'm not the biggest Andrew Lloyd Webber fan, and the mercenary merchandising of his product does nothing to help my enthusiasm. But I'll say this for him: he knows how to protect what's his. And you can't argue with that kind of quality control. Would that all who seek to revisit familiar material take a lesson from this album.

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