I listen to show tunes while walking around New York City, and I recommend it for everyone.
To paraphrase the first line of Goodfellas, as far back as I can remember I wanted to be a song and dance man. It started in high school where, after several abortive attempts at athletic endeavors (Like so many other things in life, I wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t great either. Where my straight-B students at?) I finally sought shelter within the goofy, high-energy self-expressive group known as the Theatre Kids. Two things I can’t do well - swim and sing. So I never really got The Big Part in any of the musicals. A lot of the people who did get the Big Part really didn’t sing that well either now that I think about it, but I wasn’t cast because I was also a little short for my age — NOT because the totally gay theatre director at the time thought some of the other boys were prettier than me. Or had longer legs. “I do terrific fan kicks!” Thats from A Chorus Line. Well, the roar of the rejection and the smell of the greasepaint was so intoxicating that after that, I decided to throw my life away, and Major In Theatre and — deciding to go all in on the I’ve always considered myself to be a lucky guy vibe I was rocking in those days — sure that everything would fall into place once I arrived in Times Square and set down my bags like Peggy Sawyer in 42nd St. — I enrolled in a third rate college with what today we would call a pop-up theatre program.
Positive spin? I got to take out a lot of school loans, so I definitely get to feel like I went to university as people from England say. Today I feel very much a part of the conversation about student loan debt and so on that you hear about in the media. So that’s cool.
Not to get off message. During all of this, I have been a constant, if closeted Show Tune Listener. There has always been something about the unconfined joy and sense of hope one finds in musicals, however silly-seeming it is out of context. Musicals are like Christmas in that way. For a little while, if you’re so inclined, you can lose yourself in a feeling that you know will go away — something that is better than everything else; Characters so sure of something they feel, that they burst into song with perfect voices that make you love it all for a little while. See: And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going from Dreamgirls… There’s no way — NO WAY I’m living without you… We rarely have occasion to feel so much in a few moments on an average day and that is why we seek out art. If I may say so.
In high school, I had a slick Alpine car stereo and big ass speakers in my old Ford from which I would blare Fiddler on the Roof and West Side Story and so on. Stopped a light with all the windows down with Les Miz bumpin…
Here comes the Pussy Wagon.
Much much later in life, not that long ago, I was having a bit of a bad patch with some depression and I was walking down the street on a particularly rainy afternoon under the Metro North overpass at 110th Street and Park and I had a crystal clear thought… I need to hear The Producers. Many years before I was lucky enough to see the OBC (Original Broadway Cast,) and that day under the train tracks, I needed Nathan Lane and I realized that thanks to technology I could push a couple of buttons on my phone and assuming I could remember my Apple password, be listening to The Producers !
And I did. And it was good.
It was my own little secret. To have this much joy in my ears brought me back to such a completely care free — dare I say clueless — period of my life. The unabashed emotion — the wit and humor! My god, the orchestra!
Soon I had moved on and I was pushing and shoving my way down the crowded subway stairs singing Guys and Dolls. I sometimes make up dance steps; Fosse on the four train. And if it’s raining and I’m carrying an umbrella — look the fuck out. I almost died once trying to sing along to Hamilton while running in the park.
One night, it was late and I was standing on the subway looking at a train full of half asleep, sad looking New Yorkers while What I Did For Love played in my ears.
Look my eyes are dry… the gift was ours to borrow…
Name me one thing in life that is any less of a lie.
Not long ago because I am old and my body has begun to rot, I was having a little flare up with my sciatic nerve. Don’t worry I’m fine. Besides I’m laid off and temporarily without health insurance so I’m TOTALY FINE. I was walking to the grocery store and — oh I found a broadway show tunes Pandora station — and I was enjoying the O.G. Liza Minelli recording of Cabaret.
I had my mask on and I was carrying my reusable cloth shopping bags in case there’s an Earth left to save, and right there on my way to the Food Bazaar outside the Criminal Court building that pain in my left leg came on with a vengeance. It was so bad I had to stop where I was. I couldn’t move. Trying to go grocery shopping, bent over in pain — was this a glimpse of the future? But then Sally Bowles got to the big finish…
I made my mind up back in Chelsea…
When I go…I’M GOING LIKE ELSIE…
Start by admitting from cradle to tomb
It isn’t that long a stay
Life is a cabaret ol’ chum
And I love a cabaret.
After a minute, I straightened up and kept going.