There is life before--and life after--Barbra.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-uqPHLX4Kg
I fell in love in high school. Barbra had released a duet with Celine Dion. "Tell Him." "Hooooold him cloooose to feeeel his heart beaaaaaattt!" TIME Magazine made some observations. TIME said that Celine was a pale imitation of Barbra. Celine did not know how to build a song. Celine started at 11 and stayed at 11. If she wasn't at the top of her lungs, then she was forgettable; her attempts at "quiet" were a nasal, unpleasant whisper. Whereas Barbra could build. She could start soft and scintillating. She could then become loud and scintillating.
I would put Barbra's "Back to Broadway" on the tape player, and then I would close the door of my bedroom. And then I would become Barbra. Several aspects of "Back to Broadway" were frustrating, and this was just part of becoming a Barbra acolyte; in love with Barbra, one must contend with exasperation. For example, the album's title was misleading. Barbra has never been "back to Broadway." After "Funny Girl," she turned quickly away from the type of house that had made her a star--the theater. Whereas Audra McDonald makes a point of returning to Broadway, and of championing little-known theater composers, Barbra can't be bothered with that shit. She would rather record bizarre spoken-word interludes with, say, Jamie Foxx. Barbra doesn't actually deserve Broadway.
The other thing that enraged me about Barbra: the way she would require Stephen Sondheim to write new words for her. Who on Earth would do this? It's like saying to Michelangelo, "Actually, that far corner of the Sistine Chapel doesn't work for me. It's a bit too subtle. Could you repaint it with moonbeams and pink Care Bears?" You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about "Children Will Listen."
But then there were the moments of brilliance. Barbra did a fierce version of "Everybody Says Don't." Her voice was actually like a laser. It seemed capable of slicing through diamonds. And she was so forceful, so imperious; you actually wanted to follow her directions. "I say DON'T! DON'T BE AFRAID!" And: "Make just a ripple! Come on, be brave! This time a ripple! Next time, a wave!" The experience was like listening to a particularly effective preacher. You wanted to be the person Barbra thought you could be. You wanted, more than anything, not to let her down.
And then some old-school sexiness: "Maybe I will meet him one day....Maybe Monday, maybe not....Still, if I could meet him one day....Maybe Tuesday will be my Good News Day...One day, he'll come along....The man I love.....And he'll be big and strong....The man I love...." (Songs written after a certain decade--say, the sixties--can now never get away with a rhyme like "Tuesday/ Good News Day." You will never hear, e.g., Cardi B, exclaiming, "This verse I've started seems to be the Tin Pan-tithesis of melody!" And the world is weaker for that.)
Barbra became a lesbian for "Luck, Be a Lady," and she sang it with such ferocity, it seemed appropriate as the soundtrack for a thriller, like Harrison Ford's "Air Force One." "A lady doesn't leave a restaurant! It isn't fair, it isn't nice!" You listened and believed that Barbra was truly on the verge of losing her shit. Exhilarating.
My favorite moment was "As If We Never Said Goodbye," and I could listen either to Patti LuPone or to Barbra. The choice didn't really matter. I'm pretty sure I would do the dramatic gestures. How exciting to imagine the caftan! And Hogeye, with the spotlight! Barbra was a kind of lifeline--a line that extended all the way to North Tonawanda. She was like (a not-scary version of) the Spider-Woman--and her dazzling web had reached, reached, reached all the way to Western New York.
And that's how I spent my adolescence. Barbra never made another album as great as "Back to Broadway," as far as I know. And like many other young gay men, I learned to make do with the surrogate that was Audra McDonald. Audra was like a more-tasteful version of Barbra. She did a few Barbra standards--as a kind of cultural ambassador to the twenty-first century. It's because of Audra that I know "Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home." And "The Man That Got Away."
Recently, I learned that Barbra had a kind of palpable disdain for Audra, when they first met. And that's most certainly a Ryan Murphy show I'd very much like to see in the near future.
Come on, Ryan. I say DON'T. DON'T be afraid.....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-uqPHLX4Kg
I fell in love in high school. Barbra had released a duet with Celine Dion. "Tell Him." "Hooooold him cloooose to feeeel his heart beaaaaaattt!" TIME Magazine made some observations. TIME said that Celine was a pale imitation of Barbra. Celine did not know how to build a song. Celine started at 11 and stayed at 11. If she wasn't at the top of her lungs, then she was forgettable; her attempts at "quiet" were a nasal, unpleasant whisper. Whereas Barbra could build. She could start soft and scintillating. She could then become loud and scintillating.
I would put Barbra's "Back to Broadway" on the tape player, and then I would close the door of my bedroom. And then I would become Barbra. Several aspects of "Back to Broadway" were frustrating, and this was just part of becoming a Barbra acolyte; in love with Barbra, one must contend with exasperation. For example, the album's title was misleading. Barbra has never been "back to Broadway." After "Funny Girl," she turned quickly away from the type of house that had made her a star--the theater. Whereas Audra McDonald makes a point of returning to Broadway, and of championing little-known theater composers, Barbra can't be bothered with that shit. She would rather record bizarre spoken-word interludes with, say, Jamie Foxx. Barbra doesn't actually deserve Broadway.
The other thing that enraged me about Barbra: the way she would require Stephen Sondheim to write new words for her. Who on Earth would do this? It's like saying to Michelangelo, "Actually, that far corner of the Sistine Chapel doesn't work for me. It's a bit too subtle. Could you repaint it with moonbeams and pink Care Bears?" You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about "Children Will Listen."
But then there were the moments of brilliance. Barbra did a fierce version of "Everybody Says Don't." Her voice was actually like a laser. It seemed capable of slicing through diamonds. And she was so forceful, so imperious; you actually wanted to follow her directions. "I say DON'T! DON'T BE AFRAID!" And: "Make just a ripple! Come on, be brave! This time a ripple! Next time, a wave!" The experience was like listening to a particularly effective preacher. You wanted to be the person Barbra thought you could be. You wanted, more than anything, not to let her down.
And then some old-school sexiness: "Maybe I will meet him one day....Maybe Monday, maybe not....Still, if I could meet him one day....Maybe Tuesday will be my Good News Day...One day, he'll come along....The man I love.....And he'll be big and strong....The man I love...." (Songs written after a certain decade--say, the sixties--can now never get away with a rhyme like "Tuesday/ Good News Day." You will never hear, e.g., Cardi B, exclaiming, "This verse I've started seems to be the Tin Pan-tithesis of melody!" And the world is weaker for that.)
Barbra became a lesbian for "Luck, Be a Lady," and she sang it with such ferocity, it seemed appropriate as the soundtrack for a thriller, like Harrison Ford's "Air Force One." "A lady doesn't leave a restaurant! It isn't fair, it isn't nice!" You listened and believed that Barbra was truly on the verge of losing her shit. Exhilarating.
My favorite moment was "As If We Never Said Goodbye," and I could listen either to Patti LuPone or to Barbra. The choice didn't really matter. I'm pretty sure I would do the dramatic gestures. How exciting to imagine the caftan! And Hogeye, with the spotlight! Barbra was a kind of lifeline--a line that extended all the way to North Tonawanda. She was like (a not-scary version of) the Spider-Woman--and her dazzling web had reached, reached, reached all the way to Western New York.
And that's how I spent my adolescence. Barbra never made another album as great as "Back to Broadway," as far as I know. And like many other young gay men, I learned to make do with the surrogate that was Audra McDonald. Audra was like a more-tasteful version of Barbra. She did a few Barbra standards--as a kind of cultural ambassador to the twenty-first century. It's because of Audra that I know "Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home." And "The Man That Got Away."
Recently, I learned that Barbra had a kind of palpable disdain for Audra, when they first met. And that's most certainly a Ryan Murphy show I'd very much like to see in the near future.
Come on, Ryan. I say DON'T. DON'T be afraid.....
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