Why is this song such a tour de force? It's a grand statement of Sondheim's Credo of Ambivalence. Amy is a self-loathing mess. She is like the Woody Allen joke: "I'd never join a club that wanted to have me as a member." She won't marry--but she also won't tell her husband-to-be. ("Clear the hall....and don't tell Paul....but I'm not getting married today.") Sondheim writes with such compassion for this oddball. (I was trying to write earlier today about a nutty colleague, and it wasn't working, because I wasn't summoning the insight that Sondheim seems to have always at his fingertips.) And then there are all the details. "Take back the cake, burn the shoes, and boil the rice." "I telephoned my analyst about it, and he said to see him Monday but, by Monday, I'll be floating in the Hudson with the other garbage..." "Thank you, all! Now it's back to the showers." "Look: perhaps I'll collapse in the apse right before you all...."
I also love that there's a progression within the chorus. The first is standard boilerplate: "Bless this day, pinnacle of life! Husband joined to wife!" The second is far bleaker, while keeping the pretty choir-of-angels sound (and the discord is a source of humor). "Bless this day, tragedy of life! Husband yoked to wife..." And then the last hits the nail on the head: "Bless this bride, totally insane! Slipping down the drain..." And then--a third plane: Paul seems fully at peace. "One more thing, softly said. With this ring, I thee wed..." And then I always loved that the show had the courage to make Amy walk away; this was shocking to me. It seemed unconventional for Broadway--the Broadway that I had grown up on.
The other thing I enjoyed in this song--in adolescence: Amy is fleeing not because of reservations about Paul. She's leaving because of her own inner issues. "I wouldn't ruin anyone as wonderful as he is." Not to beat a dead horse, but: What a wake-up call! To hear these fine dissections of madness in verse! Poetry and most novels didn't often speak to me in my teen years, but Sondheim really, really did. How I studied the cover of the revival album! So many important names: LaChanze, Veanne Cox (later to make a splash in "Caroline, Or Change"), Boyd Gaines, who is sort of unobtrusive and quiet, but who has won basically more Tony Awards than anyone who isn't Audra McDonald. (Do you want a litmus test for determining whether someone has more than entry-level knowledge of Broadway history? Use the words "Boyd Gaines.")
When it wasn't "Company," it was Audra McDonald's wacky debut CD that would fill my ears. Do you remember this? Audra--savior of musical theater, and of America, generally--chose to try on some weird hats for her first solo outing. No Gershwin. No Richard Rodgers. She sang dark, sometimes tuneless songs by struggling off-Broadway composers, unknown to the entire country, more or less. One was about a lynching. Another tackled abortion; the young lady observed her surroundings in the clinic. "There's a vintage ad for Jell-O on the wall--real quaint. " At other times, Audra tackled the inequality of the sexes: "We are bartered and traded, along with cattle and cotton. We have to be beautiful. And it helps to have a dowry of some kind!" And then, in the thrilling climax, Audra discussed suicide: "And everywhere good men contrive....good reasons not to be alive..." I'd listen with my headphones, or with my boom box, arms flung out, overwhelmed by the exquisite sadness. For her follow-up, Audra cast herself as a miner trapped underground; her foot was lodged permanently under a rock, and as she considered the unpleasantness of dying slowly from starvation, the violins swelled, various yodel-ish sounds trickled in. I had very few friends. These were years sixteen to eighteen.
I also love that there's a progression within the chorus. The first is standard boilerplate: "Bless this day, pinnacle of life! Husband joined to wife!" The second is far bleaker, while keeping the pretty choir-of-angels sound (and the discord is a source of humor). "Bless this day, tragedy of life! Husband yoked to wife..." And then the last hits the nail on the head: "Bless this bride, totally insane! Slipping down the drain..." And then--a third plane: Paul seems fully at peace. "One more thing, softly said. With this ring, I thee wed..." And then I always loved that the show had the courage to make Amy walk away; this was shocking to me. It seemed unconventional for Broadway--the Broadway that I had grown up on.
The other thing I enjoyed in this song--in adolescence: Amy is fleeing not because of reservations about Paul. She's leaving because of her own inner issues. "I wouldn't ruin anyone as wonderful as he is." Not to beat a dead horse, but: What a wake-up call! To hear these fine dissections of madness in verse! Poetry and most novels didn't often speak to me in my teen years, but Sondheim really, really did. How I studied the cover of the revival album! So many important names: LaChanze, Veanne Cox (later to make a splash in "Caroline, Or Change"), Boyd Gaines, who is sort of unobtrusive and quiet, but who has won basically more Tony Awards than anyone who isn't Audra McDonald. (Do you want a litmus test for determining whether someone has more than entry-level knowledge of Broadway history? Use the words "Boyd Gaines.")
When it wasn't "Company," it was Audra McDonald's wacky debut CD that would fill my ears. Do you remember this? Audra--savior of musical theater, and of America, generally--chose to try on some weird hats for her first solo outing. No Gershwin. No Richard Rodgers. She sang dark, sometimes tuneless songs by struggling off-Broadway composers, unknown to the entire country, more or less. One was about a lynching. Another tackled abortion; the young lady observed her surroundings in the clinic. "There's a vintage ad for Jell-O on the wall--real quaint. " At other times, Audra tackled the inequality of the sexes: "We are bartered and traded, along with cattle and cotton. We have to be beautiful. And it helps to have a dowry of some kind!" And then, in the thrilling climax, Audra discussed suicide: "And everywhere good men contrive....good reasons not to be alive..." I'd listen with my headphones, or with my boom box, arms flung out, overwhelmed by the exquisite sadness. For her follow-up, Audra cast herself as a miner trapped underground; her foot was lodged permanently under a rock, and as she considered the unpleasantness of dying slowly from starvation, the violins swelled, various yodel-ish sounds trickled in. I had very few friends. These were years sixteen to eighteen.
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