Arts & Entertainment

U students might not have been able to beat down apartheid during the 1988-89 school year, but they did celebrate the culture and music of black South Africa.

Ladysmith Black Mombazo led off a week of anti-apartheid events sponsored by the Indiana Memorial Union Board with a concert Oct. 28 in Alumni Hall.

The group, composed of native South Africans, gained national fame in the United States when they appeared with Paul Simon on his 1986 album, "Graceland." Their deep, rich vocals and haunting, native rythms captured album listeners and captivated American audiences — including the one at IU — more accustomed to black performers such as Prince and Whitney Houston.

Dressed in brilliant costumes woven in traditional South African patterns, the group made audience participation mandatory. Although many songs were sung in African dialects and many of the instruments were native to the group's homeleand, the music, like all music, spoke the audience's language.

No one could deny the obvious — most of the audience was white and the group was black. But that was part of the reason for the performance; to bring whites and blacks together to share a culture repressed by the white minority in South Africa.

Despite pressure from students and faculty, the IU Board of Trustees refuesed to rescind its 1985 decision not to pull IU's investments out of companies that do business in South Africa.

But the culture of country's native people, displayed by the concert and other events, such as South African speaker Donald Woods and a black heritage weekend, was a powerful tool to keep the spark of South African spirit alive in Bloomington.

Jackie Dulen

hen the Australian band Midnight Oil arrived in Bloomington Oct. 14, the group was prepared to convince IU that the land down under has more to it than just kangaroos and koalas.

Using the stage as a political platform and music as a means to trumpet their message, Midnight Oil was on a mission to educate, inform, and entertain.

Unlike the campaign speeches of the 1988 presidential race, however, when the band opened with the compelling "The Dead Heart," a successful single from their latest album, most of Assembly Hall abandoned their seats for the dancable music rather than the hard-hitting lyrics about giving the Australian land back to the Aborigines.

No doubt, Midnight Oil's music has purpose. For years the band had been at the forefront of environmental, social, political and anti-nuclear campaigns, with lead singer Peter Garrett generating respect as both a politician and author, as well as a musician.

The Oils dedicated their tour and the album, "Diesel and Dust," to the Aborigine people of the Australian Outback, the true natives of the continent. Crowded out of their homeland by white settlers, the Aborigine plight bears a striking similarity to that of American Indians.

The band was the first white group to tour extensively in the remote Aborigine communities deep in the Northern Australian wetlands. Shocked and disgusted by the poverty-level conditions the Aborigines lived in, the band decided to add fuel to the fire over the already smoldering Aborigine issue.

Two appropriately chosen acts opened the show. Yothu Yindi, an Aborigine rock band, and Graffiti Man John Trudell, a Native American musical poet, set the mood for the conscious raising evening.

Dressed in tribal costumes complete with warpaint, Yothu Yindi performed a set that included authentic Aborigine dances and instruments.

Garrett could not resist getting in a few jabs at American politics. He let loose a tirade of humorous criticisms of then-vice presidential candidate Dan Quayle, saying that someday the planet would forgive the United States because "we didn't know what sort of person he was."

Most of the audience, fortunately, couldn't be accused of not knowing what sort of band Midnight Oil is.

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aybe it was meant to age a few years anyway. But when the reggae-influenced band UB40 recorded a cover of "Red, Red, Wine," on its 1983 album, "Rat in the Kitchen," it probably never thought the song would hit the charts in 1988.

Nevertheless, the song enjoyed a surge of popularity that also boosted the English group's profile in the United States. The Indiana Memorial Union Board brought UB40 to a healthy, if not capacity, crowd at Assembly Hall November 15, in the midst of a nationwide tour.

The band didn't push a political agenda like Midnight Oil, or represent a supressed minority's native music like Ladysmith Black Mombazo. But it did bring along almost a decade of reggae songs, helping to carry the torch of such late Jamaican greats as Bob Marley and the Wailers and Peter Tosh.

Never mind that UB40's roots are settled almost an ocean away from that Caribbean island. Taking its name from the number of a British unemployment compensation form, the group's sunny, laid-back music belies its somber beginnings, when England's economic outlook was particularly bleak.

Amid a flood of tropical colored lights, UB40 opened with "Dance with the Devil," and continued with a mixture of songs from several albums, such as "Sing Our Own Song." The crowd was on its feet for most of the show, but became most appreciative when the band sang "Red, Red Wine" and "I Got You Babe," with a female backup singer substituting for Chrissie Hynde, who joined the band for a remake of the Sonny and Cher single in 1985.

Cowboy junki

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mid a whirl of critical attention from drooling rock media, Cowboy Junkies, widely held to be one of the best new bands of the year, brought its sedate live show to Jake's in February.

The Toronto-based quartet was hyped internminably by music critics and fans alike after releasing its second album, "The Trinity Session," in late 1988.

Major music magazines featured the band in articles and reviews, almost unanimously glowing. Television was not quite so eager to host the band, but when it did, it was big. Two nights before appearing in Bloomington, Cowboy Junkies performed two songs on NBC's "Saturday Night Live."

The four Junkies — singer Margo Timmins, guitarist Michael Timmins, drummer Peter Timmins and bassist Alan Anton — were augmented by guest musicians on accordion, mandolin, slide guitar and harmonica. A tightly packed crowd was held in rapt attention by the band's hypnotic sound, which ranged from dark blues to country to rock.

Lit only by a few dimmed spotlights and a number of candles placed onstage, the band played most of the "Trinity Session," as well as a handful of covers, including "Blue Moon," blues giant Robert Johnson's "32/20" and Bruce Springsteen's "My Father's House."

For most concertgoers, the highpoint of the evening came when the band played its much talked-about remake of the Velvet Underground classic "Sweet Jane," which Lou Reed, the song's writer, said was the best and most authentic version he had heard. Throughout the show the band received a wildly enthusiastic response.

After playing through its hour-long set, the band was called back by an appreciative crowd for two encores. As the group hit the final notes of the the last song of the show, the entire audience leapt to their feet in a spontaneous standing ovation.

Months after the band's Bloomington show, the Junkies hysteria had all but died down. But for a few weeks critics, stumbling over themselves trying to describe the band's sound, applied names like "hypnotic countryblues-rock," and "country-punk" euphoria.

Whatever name you give it, the band produced some of the most interesting and arresting music heard in recent years.

arl Bernstein the persona is a powerful man. In the early 1970s the journalist exposed the Watergate scandal to the public, announced President Richard Nixon's involvement and wrote "All the President's Men," the book that detailed the investigation leading to Nixon's downfall.

But the man himself was less than impressive when he lectured at IU in April 1989. Appearing rumpled and and much older than his 47 years, Bernstein looked like a relic of an earlier time. And all he had to say about the current state of the press is that it stinks. "Since 1973-74 the press has been in an orgy of self-congratulation," Bernstein told the audience of about 300 at the IU Auditorium. "No attitude could be more unjustified."

Writing for the Washington Post, Bernstein won a Pulitzer Prize in 1972 for his coverage of Watergate. He and his partner Bob Woodward are credited with bringing down the administration of Nixon in 1974. In 1976 a movie version of his book was made starring Robert Redford as Woodward and Dustin Hoffman as Bernstein.

Many people in the media, Bernstein said, cite his and Woodward's coverage of Watergate as the turning point at which members of the press began to regard themselves invincible. He said their reporting practices are noted for changing journalism by making it acceptable to question nearly everything about government.

But Bernstein said the press did a poor job of covering Reagan for 8 years, treating him as if he were untouchable. The press should have delved deeper into the Iran-Contra affair, he said. "We didn't do our job well enough then and we don't do it well enough now," he said. Especially bad is the emphasis on fluffy news and features like the kind in USA Today, which he discussed with a sneer.

Many audience members were disappointed by his seemingly pompous attitude. Bernstein brushed off many of the audience's questions or gave part answers. People were left wondering why Bernstein did not do more to investigate the Iran-Contra affair himself.

Another complaint was that Bernstein did not look anything like Dustin Hoffman.

Brad Sultan

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ame or predictable the Violent Femmes are not. Most of their songs, written and sung by born-again Christian Gordon Gano, bring sexually frustrated and quietly, maniacally violent lyrics to depths that might have better have been left undiscovered.

But instead of the disorganized folk-rock-country-punk mayhem many fans had come to expect, the band put on a show March 29 that was just plain disorganized.

Lead singer and guitarist Gano and bassist Brian Ritchie spent much of the hour and a half show conferring on which song to play next while drummer Victor DeLorenzo stalled for time romping around the stage.

The lighting and sound men had no time to showcase the beginning of most songs because they never seemed sure what was coming next.

Musically, the Milwaukee trio played a clean set, including most of the songs from its latest album "3." Many of the 800 people in the crowd recognized the album's first single, "Nightmares," but it took until the first notes of "Add It Up," an underground hit single about one man's quest for sex, for the audience to warm up.

An absence of chairs in the hall provided ample dance space, but most songs were marked by the slow, soft rhythm of Ritchie's bass and DeLorenzo's brushes on a snare drum. The crowd opted for swaying, punctuated occasionally by an outburst of energy and light during a few faster-paced numbers.

Lora Wagers

omedian Dennis Miller treated IU to "The Best of Saturday Night Live" when he took the Auditorium stage Feb. 28 for the finals of the Campus Comedy Competition. Not only was Miller's routine as caustic as his "Weekend Update" spots on "SNL," it was filled with many of the same jokes—and a generous helping of the profanity NBC censors get ulcers over.

Some of the recycled material, like reruns of the shows, were just as good the second time around. And while those expecting a completely new act were disappointed, probably a third of the show was new material.

Miller relied heavily on three small talk no-nos: sex, politics and religion.

The Ayatolla Khomeini's death threat against author Salman Rushdie for his novel "The Satanic Verses" offered all three. Miller explained his theory of Khomeini's celibacy as the root of the problem, making the Iranian leader frustrated and edgy. "He's ready to go to war if his eggs aren't cooked right."

Nothing in society was safe from Miller's biting commentary or mischeivous snicker. He gleefully poked fun at everything from Marilyn Quayle's outdated hairstyle ("Last time I saw hair like that it was cooking dinner for Rob and Richie Petrie") to childhood prayers ("If I should die before wake ... wait a minute. Get cable, mom. I'm up.")

Miller also threw a few barbs at IU basketball coach Bob Knight, particularly Knight's middle-aged paunch. "He looks like he swallowed a cash register."

Miller's act followed the finals of the comedy competition. Kevin Burke, a 28-year-old junior, won the audience over with a fire-eating routine and a kazoo rendition of the theme to "Gilligan's Island."

Jackie Dulen

ETEMi ang

huck Mangione and his band needs sex therapy. At least that's what Mangione decided after meeting his audience Oct. 15 at the IU Auditorium.

In the middle of his show, Mangione ventured into the audience as members of his band played on. While dancing with one woman from the audience, the jazz horn player burst out laughing, tears from his eyes.

As it turns out, Mangione, already feeling insecure about being a great deal shorter than the woman, and considering himself an awful dancer, asked the woman her occupation. After she told him she was a sex therapist, the musician immediately decided he and his band should make an appointment with her after the show.

The episode was only one of several entertaining banters with the audience during the performance. But the show's real highlight was the great music from one of the most exciting and talented jazz horn players still performing, and his more than capable band.

Mangione's band opened the concert on their own, strolling nonchalantly into the limelight in dark street clothes, then blasting the audience away with a hard-rocking tune.

After some time, the main attraction made the scene in a tan hat, purple leather pants and a psychedelic T-shirt from the musical "Hair."

Mangione joined in with his flugel horn, "Once Upon a Lovetime," a new, albumless song, turned into a sweet melody. The mood continued to switch between the driving rock of the band and the soft sound rotated through the horn, keyboards, flute, tenor saxophone and vocals.

Promoting his latest release, "Eyes of the Veiled Temptress," Mangione then played the album's title song. When saxophonist Chris Vadala joined in on soprano saxophone, he conjured up the image of a venomous snake rising from a wicker basket.

Mangione played the title tunes from several other albums, including "Land of Make-believe," "Bellavia," "Children of Sanchez," and "Feels So Good."

The two-time Grammy Award winner from Rochester, N.Y., created sometimes sweet and sometimes upbeat, but consistently inspirational music. His smooth playing style nonetheless builds an intensity that allows listeners to become almost as passionately involved with his music as he seems to be.

wo grand Steinway pianos wrapped around each other, the shimmering ebony mingling as if both were one instrument. The stage of the IU Auditorium was set like a simple yet elegant table for a night of piano jazz in January. Ramsey Lewis and Billy Taylor served a feast of classic jazz standards interpreted as only each could, in styles all their own.

Taylor, known for his excellence in educating us about jazz comes from the the bebop tradition of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. But he has earned a voice in the American art scene as an eloquent spokesman for the music called jazz. This night Taylor again played educator in introducing each piece and through his sheer and obvious joy in playing.

Lewis, like Taylor, was classically trained as a pianist at the Chicago Music College. The music was of Chopin and Bach. Then came his 1965 hit, "In With the In Crowd," the piece that marked Lewis as a funky jazz pianist. It led him to electronic music and away from the pure piano he played this night.

In the late 1970s Lewis returned to his first love, plain piano, played elegantly, played straight. He has pulled away from the jazz/rock music inspired by "In Crowd" without abandoning progressive electric sounds that mark its appeal. His playing with Taylor reflected the artistry of his latest album "Fantasy," where electronic technology has not destroyed Lewis' acoustic sound.

The two-hour concert was a conversation, each player bringing a different and yet complimentary understanding to "Moten Swing," "It Don't Mean a Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing" and to more subtle pieces like, "Mood Indigo" and "Quiet Now."

Watching these men play was as essential as hearing their music. Their knowing smiles, and scattered laughter tell us the communication is happening. The giving music that is jazz is working between two players and their audience made welcome at a feast of elegant sounds.

Judy Cebula

hatever Butch Thompson has, it must be catching. But it's unlikely that many people would object to getting infected. Because after jazz pianist Thompson appeared at the IU Auditorium in September, a continuous stream of talented jazz performers, including Chick Corea and his Elektrik Band and Ramsey Lewis, couldn't seem to stay away.

Thompson's endless supply of corny, lighthearted and sometimes silly jokes made his show one of the most truly enjoyable — for Thompson himself as well as his audience.

The jokes kept the audience laughing, but Thompson's playing, accompanied by bassist Bill Evans and drummer Hal Smith, kept them applauding. The first number of the evening was Scott Joplin's classic "Maple Leaf Rag," followed by a mix of regional jazz from New Orleans, Chicago and New York.

Joplin's music appeared again with "Elite Syncopations," but it was hardly a one-composer show. Thompson reached across the wide spectrum of great jazz and also played selections by W.C. Handy and Pete Johnson.

An encore performance of Fats Waller's "Breezin" rounded off the show.

Jazz Re mon at 2nd Story

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t was billed as the "The IU-Naptown Reunion," and promised to serve jazz patrons an evening of "hot bebop." But when some of the country's most legendary jazz performers team up for a night anywhere, there's more to it than just your average jam session.

And that's exactly what happened for three hours February 28, when trombone legend Locksley "Slide" Hampton, pianist Michael Weiss, drummer Otis Ray Appletione and bassist John Hurtebise had a rare reunion at Second Story with special guest cellist and IU distinguished professor of music David Baker.

Hampton, noted for his collaboration with Charlie "Bird" Parker, Dizzy Gillespie and Dexter Gordon, transmitted intense trombone solos during the group's smooth rendition of Parker's "All for Bop," and "Confirmation."

Baker's stage presence highlighted the show. His improvisation was inspirational, particularly during Thelonius Monk's "Round 'bout Midnight," which received enthusiastic approval from the near sellout crowd at Second Story.

That Hampton and Baker had collaborated previously was clear. Hampton, who studied trombone and attended high school with Baker, blended easily with Baker's cello sound.

None of the group's musical arrangements had been rehearsed. Baker later attributed this to the players' common bond: "a sharing of instinctive knowledge about certain tunes and a basic understanding of musical gestures."

They played to an audience of music students, middle-aged Bloomington residents and a few of the group's musical contemporaries. Some of the latter even were invited onstage for the final number. Pookie Johnson, an old Indy veteran, ended up on saxophone and Pherez Hampton, Slide's nephew, picked up the trumpet. "It was truly exceptional," Baker said after the show. "From years of performing experience, rarely have I seen so much magic generated throughout the course of one evening."

Jack Kenney

Ida

ajun chef Paul Prudhomme might be called the king of Louisiana hot sauce, but Queen Ida proved she was the reigning monarch of hot music from the bayou.

Ida and her Bon Temps Zydeco Band stormed, stomped and stamped their way across the IU Auditorium stage March 25, leaving her tracks smoking and the audience's heels kicking.

For those in the audience who weren't familiar with Ida or zydeco music, the show flung open the door to the cajun way of doing things: hot and fast.

Even the backup sounds were too good to keep turned down low. At first, the combination of fiddle, triangle, guitar, bass, drums and even a washboard might seem ungainly and oddly matched. But the instant the first note was struck, every ear within distance was converted.

A former bus driver, Ida Guillory has been a force in the zydeco music scene for only a few years, her popularity rocketing with the same momentum that has driven cajun music to the forefront of the American scene. The style has featured prominently on the soundtracks of such popular movies as "Rain Man" and "The Big Easy."

For Ida fans, the entrance of the lady with the accordion on her chest and the peacock feather collar was a rare treat. Although Queen Ida had played Bloomington before, her shows were limited mainly to small nightclubs, such as Jake's, where they almost invariably sold out.

But the Auditorium gave Ida plenty of room to breathe, and gave her audience plenty of room to dance. Recognizing the inevitable — that people can't sit still around zydeco — the University opened the orchestra pit floor and encouraged dancing.

ot only Peter, Paul and Mary stepped onto the IU Auditorium stage April 7 — so did the 60s. "We're very grateful to you," Mary Travers told the audience. "Thank you for continuing to share and for sharing your children with us."

Thanks is exactly what the timeless trio received from the capacity crowd. It took several songs to establish full rapport, but from the time the trio sang "Puff the Magic Dragon," to its encore, "This Land is Your Land," the mostly middle-aged crowd raised the roof with song as the three longtime friends onstage raised their fans' spirits.

Accompanied mostly by Peter Yarrow and Noel "Paul" Stookey's guitars, the group proved its simple style still works and that the 60s' message of activism and hope remains viable two decades later. "There was a period when people believed some folk songs had hidden meanings," Travers said. "They attributed some nasty things to "Puff." It was not true. It is not true. If we had some covert song, we would have told you about it."

The 2-1/2 hour concert was punctuated with humor, intimate monologues and, of course, the songs that made Peter, Paul and Mary one of the most enduring forces in folk rock history: "Leaving on a Jet Plane," "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" and "Blowing' in the Wind."

The group still sang songs with teeth, just as they did in the politically turbulent times when the group first became popular. But instead of singing about Yippies, it was Yuppies, sung to the tune of "Ghostriders in the Sky."

With such lyrics as "condos for sale, condos to buy," and expressions such as Yuppie, the song had a light-hearted, self-deprecating tone.

One song from the group's latest album, inspired by a trip to El Salvador, was reminiscent of earlier times, when the target of young people's protest was U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War instead of in Central America.

After the intermission, each member of the group took the stage alone, spending about 10 minutes improvising, presenting personal glimpses of their lives since they last visited Bloomington in the late 1960s. "It's been too long," Stookey said, "some of you have gotten your doctorates."

Ruth Hamburg and Eric Staats

Big Ba d Extravag

s always, it was extravagant. Marble pillars, chandeliers and red and white IU band stands filled the stage. Sheer pale curtains draped rear stage with the look of a night sky. The Musical Arts Center Stage looked like the Lawrence Welk Show. But the music was better. It had heart and soul. The night was pure glitz and hype, all for the music called swing. And we loved it.

The sold out house knew to expect the best from the annual Big Band Extravaganza, a showcase for the music school's jazz players and a feast for swing lovers.

Wearing white ties and tails, white tuxedo shoes and cumberbunds, band leaders David Baker and Dominic Spera led us through the swing era, from Count Basie to Chick Webb, Spike Jones to Benny Goodman. They led their bands through nearly three hours of hard, pushing renditions of the classics - "String of Pearls," "Margie," "Caldonia," "Two O'Clock Jump."

The players, Spera's in pacific blue dinner jackets, Baker's wearing deep mauve coats, entered the stage from opposite ends, like fighters to the ring. They swapped tunes all night, pushing out songs like "Well Git It" with the same energy and dedication to the truth as in ballads, like Billie Holiday's "God Bless the Child." They were competing, fulfilling the event's unspoken subtitle, Battle of the Bands.

In typical spry Spera style, he led his band through glitzy, warm favorites, his sax and trombone sections moving to the music like dancers in a chorus line. His love for the music translated by his young musicians striving to play the music the way it was meant to be.

Like Cab Calloway, on one selection Baker played band leader and singer, sweet talking us with "Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens." His players have a punch, a crisp sense of the music. They carved sound from air, like intricate sculptors.

The rows of the MAC were filled by a cross section of listeners, students of jazz, lovers of swing. Cries of approval from the house were reflections of what was going down on stage.

The bands joined for the finale, Benny Goodman's driving "Sing!Sing! Sing!" Eight trombones, 10 saxophones, 11 trumpets and a 12-member rhythm section, together became as loud and brassy and hopping as swing bands ever were. May they always swing that sweetly.

IU Sing ng Hoosiers

heir name might say where they came from, but the Singing Hoosiers' performances have let audiences around the world know that there is no greater bond holding the world together than music.

And in 1989 the Hoosiers, under the direction of music professor Robert Stoll, began to reach out to more people than they ever had. As many IU students struggled to make it through their last final or blissfully caught up on foregone sleep, most of the Singing Hoosiers were aboard vans en route to Cincinnati.

The group received an invitation to perform and record with the Cincinnati Pops Orchestra — not exactly an invitation turned down lightly.

Although some conflicts with exams were unavoidable, most of the Hoosiers were able to participate in at least some of the performances and recording sessions. The music was mostly medleys from Walt Disney productions, including "The Jungle Book," "Cinderella" and "Snow White." And if past successes prove foreshadowing, the Pops' record could top the charts in its area of music.

Non-singing Hoosiers didn't have to wait for the record to come out to get a taste of the group's talent. The Hoosiers annual performance was in March at the IU Auditorium. That concert paid tribute to decades of American pop music, including songs by Marvin Hamlisch, Gershwin and a medley of gospel songs.

he touring company of "My One and Only" came to the IU Auditorium in early February, bringing first-rate singing and dancing to George and Ira Gershwin's score.

Billed as the "new" Gershwin musical, the show actually was a collection of songs from a number of other Gershwin musicals, among them "Funny Face," "Strike Up the Band" and "Delicious," strung together with a light-hearted plot.

The tone of the show was set with the opening number "I Can't Be Bothered Now," performed by the show's all-purpose tap dance group, the New Rhythm Boys.

As the original Broadway choreographer and star Tommy Tune conceptualized it, the emphasis was on first-rate tap.

Though slightly down scaled for the road, it was a solid production that appeared to be as much fun performing as watching. The cast of obviously seasoned performers danced their way across the globe from New York to Morocco to a "deserted" Staten Island. Each location was recreated with ingenious made-for-travel sets, such as protagonist Capt. Billy Buck Chandler's airplane hangar — provided with no more than a hanging overhead light and a stage plane.

Abe Reybold filled the 6'-8" Tune's shoes admirably as Capt. Billy Buck, a daring young Texan who longs to be the first to fly across the Atlantic. He's also looking to fall in love, and no sooner says it than the beautiful Edythe Hebert comes to town. Edythe also is looking for romance, as she sings in the Gershwin love melody, "Boy Wanted."

Throw in her nefarious Russian manager Prince Nikki threatening her chance for happiness with Billy, and the show is off and dancing.

We learn that Edythe has a bit of a checkered past, documented in pictures that have fallen into Prince Nikki's hands. Since he doesn't want to lose his "Little Fish," who also is his meal ticket, he blackmails Edythe. She flees with Billy. She finally runs from both men when Billy finds out about the pictures.

Through it all Billy is counseled by the Rev. J.D. Montgomery of the Uptown Chapel, who tells Billy when to strike a "High Hat" attitude and when to tell Edythe she's his "One and Only."

Billy and Edythe must forgive each other "for being human," which, of course, they do. Gershwin wouldn't have had it any other way.

y One and Onl

Les Mi erables

‘Will the future ever arrive? ... Should we continue to look upward? Is the light we can see in the sky one of those which will presently be extinguished? The ideal is terrifying to behold, lost as it is in the depth, isolated, a pinpoint, brilliant but threatened on all sides by the dark forces that surround it; nevertheless, no more in danger than a star in the jaws of the clouds."

Victor Hugo

Unlike Victor Hugo's ideal world, the Broadway musical based on his epic novel, "Les Miserables," was not small or lost in the depths of darkness.

The production represented more than simply Hugo's view of the perfect world — promising, but far way; perhaps forever out of reach. A bright, shining example of theater without flaw, it went beyond what might be and illustrated what can be. "Les Miserables" brought to life Hugo's Jean Valjean, who learns honesty and mercy after serving years of hard labor for a petty crime. However, he must assume a false identity because others have not learned the same virtues. The story chronicles his financially successful life, the adoption of his daughter and their relationship with a group of rebellious Parisian students. Throughout the play, the virtues of defending one's beliefs and shielding loved ones from harm prove paramount. "Les Miserables" was only one of many Broadway shows that toured nationally — and stopped at IU — during the renaissance of the musical in the 1980s. But when the company took the IU Auditorium stage February 18-23, it stood alone.

The show's success proved the whole greater than the sum of its parts. It wasn't simply the Tony Award-winning score by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schonberg. It wasn't the detailed, period costumes or the intricate set that varied from a grassy estate courtyard to the seamy underside of Paris' slums. Neither was it the cast's vocals, at times heartwrenching and at others capable of uplifting the soul. It was each aspect of the production working together as tightly as the plot of Hugo's original classic.

The story would be easier to imagine in a 19th century opera than a 20th century Broadway musical. One man's struggle to embrace truth, honesty and unconditional love in the face of despair squallor isn't exactly something people usually burst into song about. But for the 80s generation, seemingly obsessed with immediate fame and fortune, "Les Miserables" must have struck a nerve.

Perhaps vengeance and greed, and other vices Jean Valjean sought to overcome, really weren't as attractive on others as compassion — at least when those people are on stage.

0n the most primitive level, the name of the Japanese group Kodo, is an example of onomatopoeia. The short, two-syllable word, pronounced with gutteral, hard consonants, echoes the dominant drumbeats in the band's music.

In a broader sense, the group's name represents unique percussion, movement and synchronization.

The eight-man group performed at the IU Auditorium February 25 in perfect harmony and contrast to the rhythm, moving and playing with smooth, fluid motion. Such contrast became an even greater feat as each new percussion instrument appeared on the stage.

From the opening sounds of wooden clackers, or hyoshigi, to the 120 centimeter drumhead of the miyadaiko, (which required two men to play) Kodo captivated the audience, keeping them waiting for each number.

Not only were many drum and rhythm pieces unusual; so were the way they were played. Not content with simply striking the heads, the musicians found virtually every sound that can be made with a drum by using the rim and sides.

The varied sound of the drums also was offset by a sprinkling of bamboo flute music and high-pitched, traditional Japanese singing.

Many of the instruments were played simultaneously or in tandem, each player perfectly synchronized, even when their strokes quickened until their hands were mere blurs.

Kodo

ove is not always a celebration.

Love can be rough; love can be Langry; love can be tears. But when love is dance, it moves and floats; it celebrates. The IU Ballet celebrated love with its 1989 Spring Ballet at the IU Auditorium April 1.

In an annual production that brightened rather than mellowed with age, the performance illustrated the dancers' love for ballet, and the ballet's love of talented and worthy dancers.

This year's music was an eclectic mix featuring Ravel's "The Valse," the classic "Giselle" and in the final piece, "Menage a Quatre," each thread together with the universal theme of love. "Menage a Quatre," with costumes and staging borrowed from the Pennsylvania Ballet Company, was an interesting choice of finale, with its comical characters and nearly slapstick story. But robust scenery and costumes left the audience with an indelible image.

Since arriving at IU four years ago, choreographer Jean-Pierre Bonnefoux finally was able to call most of the dancers his own. And it showed. Although the performance had its share of missteps and inexperience in the corps, the seniors and graduate students, particularly Heather Lockwood and Anthony Wozniak, showed grace and maturity.

emember Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Eloisa and RAbelard? Each couple shared a fateful bond of tragic love, for the lovers' fates were sealed by evil family members who ostensibly were championing notions of family heritage, decorum and tradition.

The same problem thwarts Noriena and Ernesto in Gaetano Donizetti's opera "Don Pasquale," the opening production of the 40th opera season of the IU School of Music. But wait; the ending is happy, the scenery playful and the characters entertainingly mischievous. Where is the tragedy?

There is none. Donizetti exchanges it for three hours of amusement.

Vivid backdrops, with pinks and green reminiscent of a Matisse painting, set the tone for the production, carried by the flawless streams of the orchestra.

The story of the two lovers also throws the formula tragedy plot to the wind. Ernesto loves Noriena, yet Don Pasquale, his aged uncle, threatens to disinherit Ernesto if he marries her. In a clever scheme to secure the inheritance, Noriena, Ernesto and Doctor Malatesta fabricate a pristine sister of the good doctor who consents to marry Don Pasquale in what, unknown to Pasquale, is a mock ceremony with the fiesty Noriena masquerading as his betrothed, a fabricated paradigm of sweetness and virtue.

The qualifiable dirty old man, Pasquale falls for the scheme, and the outcome approximates what many women must wish for Hugh Hefner: Noriena's metamorphosis transforms her into a complusive shopping monster who dominates Pasquale into a state of sheer terror.

Pasquale, on the brink of both insanity and poverty, happily discovers that the marriage was a farce. His hand clutching his wallet like a heart attack victim clutching his chest, Pasquale eagerly consents to Ernesto and Noriena's marriage, waiving any thought of disinheriting Ernesto.

The young lovers are free to be young lovers, old Pasquale returns to his old man habits and the moral is learned: act your age.

Ellen Swain

ozart's opera "The Magic Flute" mixes elements of a fairyland, political satire and Freemasonry lore into an entertaining melange that delivers moments of sheer pleasure to a music-hungry audience.

A magical fairy tale suited for both children and adults, "The Magic Flute" also tantalizes the more sophisticated mind with tests of character, loyalty and fortitude, forstalling a label of sheer escapist fantasy.

The IU Opera Theater's production of "The Magic Flute" (or "Die Zauberflaute," as it's known in German) didn't let Mozart down.

The Temple City of the Sun and the Realm of the Queen of the Night are diverging domains struggling for complete control of the protagonists. Fantastic things happen in these fairylands: The malevolent queen bursts from a monolithic rock-like shell, charcters fly across the stage and a magic flute has the power to charm even the wildest beasts.

The "beasts" in this case were played by children in such ornate, fanciful costumes they drew ooh's and ahh's from even the sophisticated in the Musiacl Arts Center.

The songs of "The Magic Flute" are a mix of folklike pieces, elaborate coloratura arias, ensembles, choruses, a chorale and a long, accompanied recitative, where Mozart finds an appropriate musical declamation for the German language.

The subtitle, "A German Opera in Two Acts," reveals the reality Mozart was facing in presenting the light-hearted production: to create a new expressive musical language for the German stage.

Ellen Swain

The Magic Flute

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t was a double bill of the most unusual kind. The IU Opera

Theater performed a combined production of Bela Bartok's "Bluebeard's Castle" and Giacomo Puccini's "Gianni Schicchi." Not only did the musical style of each opera differ significantly from the other, so did just about everything else about them. "Bluebeard's Castle" tells the tale of Bluebeard and Judith, his fourth wife. It was a perfectly gloomy, solemn show, with Stephen Meyer as the domineering Bluebeard and Nancy Maultsby as the wife who, despite flashes of angry independence, succumbs in the end and passively takes her place behind her husband, which we learn her predecessors also did.

Although both performances were strong, the fact that they were the only singing characters in the show meant they were often lost in the orchestra's shadow.

Of much lighter fare was "Gianni Schicchi," a farcical, clever comedy examining the greed of a family and the irony when their plan to recover their fortune backfires.

In "Gianni Schicchi" Thomas Barrett was likeable even as his character, Schicchi, spends most of his time conniving his way into the fortune of a recently deceased man.

The sets for both shows gave each a distinct character and further contrasted the mood. "Bluebeard's Castle" was dark and mysterious, almost evoking a feeling of dampness found in old stone castles. The colorful Italian villa in "Gianni Schicchi" blew fresh air across the stage, giving the production a light, summery air, conducive to the humor of its story.

Not all operas should receive double billing or be combined with another work. But the IU Opera Theater took a chance, and got lucky.

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he IU Opera Theater production of "Man of La Mancha" didn't need a windmill, or a jousting horse. The musical adaptation of the story of Don Quixote had only to rely on the performances of key players to give the audience a glimpse of a man whose unflappable (if unrealistic) faith in the ideal left him lost in a world of if only's and would be's.

The tale of Quixote as originally told by Juan Cervantes translates well into opera. The orange glow of lanterns, the dismal prison walls and the majestic, though primitive, castle settings transformed the Musical Arts Center stage into a Spain centuries ago.

Senior David Narducci was inspirational as Quixote, able to convey his struggle with the limits of reality, even if the role itself prohibits those watching to understand.

His loyal companion, Sancho, can't comprehend why Quixote refuses to give up his dreams. But in Sancho, played by graduate student Walter Ulrich, there is no despair or scorn at his master. Rather, the tale turns bittersweet at times with the relief of the squire's comical antics.

The laughter always must die, or at least fade away. In "Man of La Mancha" the smiles are replaced by the horror of watching a man lose his mind. Perhaps the pain was lessened, if only a bit, by knowing that man would someday find his peace, without windmills or jousting horses.

Tales o Hoffman

n April 1948, the IU Opera

Theater opened its doors for the first time with a garish, immensely elaborate production, Jacques Ofenbach's "The Tales of Hoffman."

In 1989, the School of Music again staged the three-and-a-half hour long beauty to celebrate of 41 years of opera excellence.

Principle players from the original cast made it home to Bloomington to watch another generation of musicians capture Ofenbach's comedic musical poetry.

Like the repertoir of all opera house classics, "The Tales of Hoffman" is at the center of training for musicians and at the heart of happy audiences. Reinterpretations through new stagings, fresh set designs and the energy of young players keep century-old works new. "The Tales of Hoffman" is a comedy laced with the pain of heartbreak as it tells of the triumph of art and emotion. Hoffman, a poet, has loved three times, losing his heart each time. His muse, the protector of the artist, has fallen in love with him and becomes his earthly companion to prove that art is his saving grace.

In a student drinking hall Hoffman tells friends of his lovers, the process of falling in love and of surviving the heartbreaks. We are taken through each affair, the first with a life-sized wind-up doll, the second with a frail but beautiful singer, the third with a Venetian beauty.

Hoffman's muse is at his side through each, catching him as he falls, soothing his pain with her presence.

It is art that triumphs in Ofenbach's last major work and most acclaimed operatic piece. The muse tells Hoffman, "I have loved you." Despite the pain of earthly love there is creativity, and the eyes and ears of an artist's serving as a witness to beauty. Love of art, love of life is the essential.

Judy Cebula

he energy 1 have is an energy that our black foremothers had. They had to find a way out of nowhere. Both famous and unknown women had it — even those slaves who strangled their children at birth so they would not have to go through what they did." Vinie Burrows, actress

Vinie Burrows is Everywoman.

She is the woman giving birth, at the same time cursing and welcoming the pain of motherhood. She is South African activist Winnie Mandela, separated from her husband for the past 25 years. She is the teenage slave, struggling with the concept of racism that has stolen her freedom.

Burrows was each of these women and others when she brought her one-woman play, "Sister, Sister," to Whittenberger Auditorium March 21. Her performance was one of several events that celebrated National Women's History Month.

The play also used dramatic emotion and dry humor to commemorate the most basic achievements and struggles of women — motherhood, rape and discrimination.

Although she paid tribute to all women, Burrows could have singled out herself to receive recognition. She began her theatrical career as a child on Broadway, and has appeared in plays, movies and television. Fame and widespread critical acclaim came when she created her first one-woman show, "Walk Together Children."

Speaking before the show to a women's history class, Burrows broadened her focus to include the problem of racism.

We need to cooperate, we need to make coalitions and we need to work together," she said. "Get your allies, form a coalition and struggle together."

Vinie Burrows

woman, ravaged by time, wealthy in every way but happiness, seeks compensation for a transgression committed decades earlier. A man, comfortable with his life in the same small town as he was born in, is forced to confront a mistake he made when he was a foolish youth.

In Friederich Duerrenmatt's "The Visit," the story of these two people settling their past is a story of vengeance, morality and greed. It is not a pleasant story, but like most tragedies, people find it difficult to turn their eyes away.

The University Theater's November production of the classic German play starred MFA student Tim Curtis as the man whose village must decide whether to accept an offer of financial security for his life, because of the grief he caused a woman years before.

When he and the old woman were both young lovers, he spurned her when she became pregnant, literally forcing her out of town. Since then, the old woman has become the richest woman in Germany through marriage. Money, however, cannot heal her wound — it has festered since she left. She offers the town, which is in financial ruin, millions of dollars in exchange for his life. It is a difficult decision for the townspeople, hungry for food and security, yet unwilling to have a hand in the murder.

The children in the IU production gave the play an especially gruesome aspect, their naivete reflecting the greed in their parents' hearts. The set too, stark and depressingly similar to all towns whose residents have given up hope of prosperity for a shallow, daily existence, gave the production an Everyman feel, as if the horror the town experienced could happen to many other places.

With a strong cast and sharp direction of Duerrenmatt's electrifying play, "The Visit" was entertainment in its basest form. It gave the audience a chance to look at what they might themselves become, if put to the same test.

ith a title like "Taking Steps," one might expect a poigniant drama about major, life-altering decisions. But the biggest steps taken in this Alan Ayckbourn comedy performed by the University Theater were the pounding ones when the actors went up and down two sets of imaginary stairs.

A farcical British comedy about mistaken identity and misinterpreted situations, the play's three-story set was built on the level mainstage. The actors scurried frantically from room to room, pretending to move up and down stairs drawn on the floor, while their characters remained unaware of happenings in other parts of the house.

The plot revolved around the steps taken by Roland and his wife Elizabeth to improve their lives. Roland, heir to a bucket manufacturing company, is in the process of closing the deal on the purchase of the house he currently rents. Unknown to him, however, Elizabeth is in the process of leaving him to pursue what she believes is her calling — dance.

Ayckbourne, who many regard as the British Neil Simon, has written a witty, entertaining script, despite the tired mistaken identity plot.

With the ingenious set, and a cast who complimented, never outstaged, each other, the play worked. And with all that running up and down stairs, so did the players.

ever known for timidness, T300 chose a variety of both controversial a n d dramatically challenging plays in 1988. Probably the most successful production was "Crimes of the Heart," a story of three sisters and their bittersweet, and sometimes hilarious, struggles with sexuality, adulthood and the men in their lives.

A double bill of August Strindberg's "The Stronger" and Anton Chekov's "The Proposal" combined an odd yet surprisingly complementary combination of slapstick, mime and monologue.

Directed by doctoral student Klaus van den Berg, "The Proposal" was one of Chekov's first dramatic successes. The one-act play centers on Lomov, a young man in love but uncomfortable and at a loss for words when it comes to speaking to the family of his love, Natasha, about land ownership.

A reflection of the discontent of people in Chekov's time with life's tedium, "The Proposal" has no clear ending, leaving the audience to their own devices in imagining a future for Lomov.

While "The Proposal" took a humorous look at a man's weakness, Strindberg's "The Stranger" focuses on a power struggle between two strong-willed women over the attentions of one's husband.

The T300 production of "The Stranger" brilliantly pitted the most basic of human qualities against each other: love against hate, space against confinement and happiness against despair.

T300 also performed Sam Shepard's "Tooth of Crime," a slightly offbeat look at the drug culture and the world of sadomasochism.

T300 Theatre

g g A Chrous Line" stepped across the University Theater stage in April, rounding out the 1988-89 season with the award-winning score by Marvin Hamlisch. One of the longest-running musicals on Broadway, the play was a challenge that the actors took up with a flourish.

Although "A Chorus Line" was the only musical of the season, it didn't show. Months of rehearsal and intensive work on dance must have left the actors exhausted before the first curtain. Such exhaustion would have fit the part, however, of nearly every character in the play.

Cassie, the woman young by nearly everyone's standards except Broadway's, knows her career is over if she doesn't get the part. And Ritchie and Mike, the male rivals, who each must come to grips with their identity, be it either proud Hispanic heritage or newfound, intimidating homosexuality.

In just one day, they all must show the director that each is better than the person dancing, singing and sweating next to him.

Directed and choreographed by George Pinney, the show was marked by fine performances, particularly Michael Knese as Ritchie and Daniel" Proctor as Mike. Meera Popkin as Cassie also acted and danced well, and gave life to the touching number "The Music and the Mirror." "A Chorus Line" twists the play-within-a-play technique into a play-behind-the-play. The audience is given a glimpse behind the curtain, before the roles are cast, before the makeup is put on, before the costumes are fitted.