CRITICS PICKS ClASSICAl Songs of Beethoven, et al.: Christian Gerhaher, a penetrating German baritone, gives a recital of German art songs, accompanied by andras schiff, the Hungarian pianist. may 12, 8 p.m. zankel Hall, 881 seventh ave. [Jay nordlinger]
Edited by Armond White
new York’s Review of Culture • CityArtsNYC.com
Sale of the Season: new york serves as a musical laboratory for six orchestras from around the country who share their artistic philosophies and unique programming concepts in the spring for music series at Carnegie Hall. a unique pricing structure allows complete artistic freedom. From may 7 to 12, tickets are $25, all six concerts for $100! [Judy Gelman myers] Free Your Faculties: the best things in life are free—like the 92nd street y faculty concerts. on may 11, 2 p.m., Columbia artists keyboardist John mcCauley plays a program of solo piano. 1395 lexington ave. [JGm] GAlleRIeS Looking for Home: origins, a new exhibit at Chambers Fine art, examines the work of two Chinese artists, Cui Fen and taca sui, as they explore what their homeland means to them after years spent living in the United states. Chambers Fine art, 522 W. 19th st., may 3 through June 15 [Kate Prengel]
Nicole Ari Parker makes Blanche sing.
Tennessee’s Quiet Storm transForminG tHe ClassiC ‘streetCar’ bY ARmond whITe
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icole Ari Parker has a triumph in A Streetcar Named Desire that our mainstream media and the cliquish Tony Awards are ill-equipped to handle. Parker’s ravishing, statuesque presence and intelligent skill make the play what it always ought to have been: a genuine contest between America’s sexual and political hypocrisies; social sense versus personal sensuality. In her own take on Blanche DuBois, the ultimate test for an American actress (bravo, Faye Dunaway; get outta here, Cate Blanchett), Parker shows the requisite physical strength and beauty and emotional instability. She is true to Williams’ archetype—so true that she complements Vivien Leigh’s awesome performance in Kazan’s 1951 film, yet brings something fresh. It is Parker’s freshness that makes this Streetcar noteworthy. Let no less an authority than Paul Mooney explain why. Mooney broke it down in a 2010 interview with PopMatters: “Tennessee Williams knew about the South, but he would clean it up and lie about it. He knew the women, he knew the
racial thing, he knew everything. He knew the incest, the child abuse, all that shit. He had to hide it because those white folks would get angry. A Streetcar Named Desire: Trust me when I tell you that Marlon Brando’s character [Stanley Kowalski] was a Creole, he was a black man. You see that movie or read that book, you’ll see it in between the lines. All Southerners know. Northerners won’t pick up on it, but we knew right away what it was about.” African-American Parker (best known as a light-skinned, light-eyed decoration in the TV series Soul Food) embodies the switch necessary for Mooney’s theory to work that producers could/would not find an actor to fulfill. So Parker makes Blanche bear the black American’s burden. She is every socially subjugated but personally brave black woman that the movie The Help turned into a clown. Parker finds the heroic, persevering woman inside Williams’ often over-pitied conceit—an even greater archetype than Bess in Porgy & Bess—because she captures what Williams so magnificently articulated about Blanche’s sexual/spiritual struggles. She’s a victim yet she is never weak. Recalling the legacy of slavery and racist miscegenation, Parker’s Blanche keeps going—despite the
social and patriarchal cruelties embodied by alpha male Stanley. Mooney’s interpretation requires a male actor who could exemplify black sexual swagger; the Broadway and Hollywood mainstream are not quite ready for that, even though Melvin Van Peebles put it onscreen in 1971’s Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasss Song. Are SamJack and Denzel the only black actors practiced in sexual threat? Unfortunately, gymmed-up Blair Underwood is not. So Parker and director Emily Mann call on our compassion for multicultural, ambisexual struggle. This Blanche works on two levels: feminine and racial. Like Audra McDonald in Porgy & Bess, Parker brings a cumulative cultural intelligence and recognizable passion to a classic part without succumbing to cliché. The key is in her readings, the authentic Southern lilt—the blues sanity—that evokes the sensibility of Bessie Smith’s “St. Louis Blues” and matches the love-wisdom in the finest, toughest, modern R&B music—that erotic realness radio DJs called “Quiet Storm.” Thanks to Parker, Williams’ great poetry (“It wasn’t the Flamingo, it was the Tarantula! The Tarantula Arms!” and “Suddenly there is God. So quickly!”) virtually sings like never before.
Singin’ in the Gallery: dana schutz leads a merry and mad dash through her fertile imagination. Colorful and edgy, the paintings will change your day. dana schutz: Piano in the rain is at Friedrich Petzel Gallery, 537 W. 22nd st., through June 16 [melissa stern] Arnold’s Kingdom: everything old is new again in the 40-year career retrospective of contemporary sculptor anne arnold, whose extremely expressive cats, dogs, pigs and other assorted animals are on display at the alexandre Gallery in the Fuller building, 41 e. 57th st., though this upcoming week and into early summer. not strictly representational, but you’ll recognize the genus, something rare in the art world these days. [marsha mcCreadie] JAZZ Undead Jazz Festival Alive: no jazz subgenre—only the word “edgy”—covers all 70some intrepid ensembles catchable for one low price at neighboring Village venues le Poisson rouge, Kenny’s Castaways and sullivan Hall from early eve to the wee hours of Wednesday, may 8, plus smaller shows at brooklyn masonic temple, may 9; seeds (near brooklyn’s Grand army Plaza) on may 11; and 92y tribeca, may 12. [Howard mandel] Jazz Foundation’s Greatest of Nights: the Jazz Foundation of america is the most righteous of organizations, saving and enriching the lives of musicians in need. buy tickets now for its annual fundraiser, a Great night in Harlem, with Quincy Jones, randy Weston, James Carter, the treme and rebirth brass bands, macy Gray, Geri allen and many more donating performances to inspire generous financial support. apollo theater, may 17 [Hm]
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Colors That Speak From Classics to Lloyd Martin
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ith his latest solo exhibition, Mettere at Stephen Haller Gallery, Lloyd Martin continues to explore the rhythms of the industrial architecture By JOHN GOODRICH around his Provincetown studio. To the ichael Rosenfeld Gallery’s busy artist’s great credit, his paintings are never and exuberant installation of merely descriptive. They could just as easily works on paper (…On Paper) be aerial views of city scenes, in the manner reflects the sheer diversity of American of Mondrian’s “Broadway Boogie-Woogie,” art in the 1940s through ’70s. The three only paced by large planes of scraped and dozen drawings, collages, mixed media streaked color. The artist’s recent work has taken on boldworks and paintings on paper cover a lot of ground—everything from Gaston er colors and juicier textures, as evidenced Lachaise’s breezy line drawing of a nude in the nearly 6-foot-square canvas “Check” to Nancy Grossman’s tightly wound draw- (2012). Martin is a shrewd colorist, and vivid ing of a leather-bound head. But the bulk hues animate this composition of sturdy, of the show presents an intriguing mix of repetitive horizontals divided by subtler vermid-century trends, from abstract expres- ticals. The artist knows how to set a brushy sionism to geometric abstraction to figu- scarlet against a warmer, more buoyant red, rative images ranging from the surreal to or a heavy, stilled ochre-green against an electric greenish yellow. As slim horizontal the socially conscious. Celebrated artists such as de Koon- rectangles, laid one above the other, climb ing, Krasner, Baziotes and Stamos ably up the canvas, they move through such contrasting notes, occasionrepresent the New York School, but Anne Ryan’s Pavel Tchelitchew’s ally encountering a long off-white rectangle that abstraction—a remarkwatercolor of an compels a sideways shift, ably atmospheric collage artery-enclosed where the climbing begins of off-white bits of paper and fabric—seems most head eerily combines anew. If a Mondrian is kind of comfortable with the usu- the sensual and the visual haiku—a contained ally smaller scale of works psychedelic. poem, with each note on paper; its meditative, deliberated design seems closer in spirit findings its own indispensable weight and to the spry geometric abstractions by Bur- location—a painting like “Check” is more like a prose poem. Martin may not attempt goyne Diller and Charmion von Weigand. Among several surrealism-tinged Mondrian’s elemental velocity of form, but pieces, Pavel Tchelitchew’s watercolor of his interests are wider, encompassing texan artery-enclosed head eerily combines tures, passages and surfaces. At points, though, his paintings also the sensual and the psychedelic. It could hardly differ more from Morris Graves’ achieve a Mondrianesque climax of rhythm. serene paean to nature, a painting in tem- In the 2-foot-square “Shim Series (5)” (2012), pera of a stylized falcon, on view in the a pair of thin reds, differentiated in temperature, are pressed to the canvas’s edges by gallery’s office. Other figurative works include brightly broadly competing planes of brilliant yellow colored collages by Romare Bearden and and earthy green at the center. Little prisms Benny Andrews that pointedly address of color, not bright in color but crucial in racial issues. But the most biting com- their locations, sputter in the interstices mentary of all comes from Robert Cole- between these larger forms. Why, if colors and shapes could only scott’s loopy, mock-cheerful sketch of a prancing, top-hatted pair: a leggy blonde speak … but of course they do, once you closely tailed by a limber black youth. get beyond the basic feats of style and techBeneath appears a line from a Robert Louis nique, and in a painting like this you’re liable Stevenson poem: “I have a little shadow…” to find an earful. And then there’s the gouache by Bob Thompson, who, before his death at 30, …On Paper, through June 29 at Michael produced a body of paintings uniquely Rosenfeld Gallery, 24 W. 57th St., 212-247-0082, inflected by Pop, surrealism and folk art. www.michaelrosenfeldart.com Charged with vibrant but measured hues, his image of fantastical creatures—they Lloyd Martin: Mettere, through May 12 at appear to be erecting a wall—adds to the Stephen Haller Gallery, 542 W. 26th St., 212-741show a singular note of funky classicism. 7777, www.stephenhallergallery.com
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The Price of Jazz Jazz Gallery’s Legacy and Ledger By HOWARD MANDEL
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atest music organization to enter the tight local real estate market: the Jazz Gallery, which lost the lease on its loft at Hudson and Spring streets after 17 years. Moving an ongoing venture at any time is painful, but seldom worse than right now in Manhattan, where the Gallery wants to stay. Still, the can-do spirit that has exemplified the Gallery since its founding prevails. Executive director Deborah Steinglass takes the task as an opportunity for growth, calling the effort “A Home Run.” The Gallery is a unique venue that has introduced scores of progressive musicians at modest prices to local audiences while also exhibiting jazz-related visual art. It’s a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, neither bar nor restaurant but lowkey listening room, with good sight lines and folding chairs. It’s larger than The Stone, its nearest relative aesthetically speaking (but way across town), and the vibe is more relaxed. It was established in 1996 by Dale Fitzgerald, who retired three years ago to work as business manager to trumpeter Roy Hargrove (also present at the Gallery’s birth), and has been booked since 2000 by Rio Sakairi. From its start, the Gallery’s focus has been on emerging artists—many of whom have been émigrés, lending the place an international cast—plus experimentation and large ensembles. It’s hard for little-known big bands to find rehearsal space, a stage, open-minded curators or curious listeners, yet the Gallery has even commissioned large ensemble works (with grants from private funders and government agencies). Darcy James Argue’s Secret Society had its “jazz venue” debut there in 2007; pianist Orrin Evans and his Captain Black Big Band performed there in early April; and Karl Berger’s Improvisers Orchestra is nearing the end of its twice-monthly residency, during which open-to-the-public rehearsals are followed by full concerts. Alto saxophonist
Steve Coleman has enjoyed a long-running Monday evening workshop, recently in alternation with composer/reeds player Henry Threadgill. Trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire, drummer-bandleader Dafnis Prieto, pianist Jason Moran, saxophonist Miguel Zenon, guitarist Lionel Loueke, singer Gretchen Parlato and bassist Linda Oh are Gallery favorites who’ve graduated to gigs at the Village Vanguard, Jazz Standard, Jazz at Lincoln Center, the Kennedy Center, MacArthur fellowships and far-reaching tours. They return to the Gallery for special events. Impressed and want to be the Gallery’s new landlord? “We are looking for a new space that will maintain the intimacy and warmth of our current venue,” reads a communiqué from Steinglass on the Gallery’s website. “It must provide musicians with great performance room acoustics, rehearsal space, and the ability to record and stream live music. We are committed to continuing to offer more than 180 performances a year, residency commissions, and The Woodshed, which provides free rehearsal space to musicians who have performed here.” The place may get noisy sometimes, so those with tender eardrums need not apply. However, potential lessors are probably less worried about the noise level than the bottom line. The Gallery has launched a $250,000 capital campaign to support the move and provide a cash reserve (donate through JazzGallery.org or send checks to the Jazz Gallery, 290 Hudson St., New York, NY 10013). If $250,000 sounds like a lot, consider that Jazz at Lincoln Center raised $3.6 million—14 times as much—with its midApril gala that showcased Paul Simon with Wynton Marsalis’ LCJO. The National Jazz Museum in Harlem has begun a $22 million campaign to build a facility and a $2.5 million endowment. Roulette spent $3.5 mil opening its new home near Atlantic Yards, with $447,000 from the office of Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz. The Gallery should survive.
Contact the author at jazzmandel@gmail.com
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Vuillard Confidential Master of Intimism Gets Intense By MARIO NAVES
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ong gone, I hope, are the days when the French painter Édouard Vuillard (1868-1940) was pooh-poohed as being insufficiently radical or, if you prefer, overly bourgeois—as if art steeped in domesticity and comfort somehow precluded pictorial innovation. If Édouard Vuillard: A Painter and His Muses, 1890-1940, an exhibition at the Jewish Museum, doesn’t put that avantgardist trope to bed, nothing will. Actually, make that the first three galleries. In them, we encounter an artist of brooding intensity and startling economy. The standard telling of Intimism underlines how a select group of painters brought Impressionist facture out of the sunlight and into the dining room. Dubbing themselves the Nabis—from the Hebrew and Arabic, meaning “prophets”—these artists looked for inspiration in the color-laden symbolism of Paul Gauguin, the decorative
flourishes of Art Nouveau and the flat spaces found in Japanese prints. The resulting imagery spoke (as the novelist André Gide had it) “in a low tone, suitable to confidences.” Low, confidential and given to unnerving moments of introspection. New Yorkers familiar with MoMA’s “Interior: Mother and Sister of the Artist” (1893), a cornerstone of the permanent collection, know Vuillard wasn’t inspired by hearth and home so much as haunted by them. In the best paintings, familial complexity is distilled into images of daunting psychological nuance. (Not for nothing is Proust’s name bandied about when speaking of Vuillard’s art.) A blunt emphasis on pattern and architecture reinforces a signature strain of emotional pressurization. The curators insist on the theatricality of “Marie Opening the Window” (1893), a portrait of Vuillard’s sister, as if its cloistered drama were somehow diminished by it. The organizing conceit of A Painter and His Muses is the role Jewish patronage played in the Parisian art world—a fascinating historical fillip and as good an excuse
as any to mount a summer crowd-pleaser. But a truer title might be What’s Love Got to Do With It? It was, after all, about the time Vuillard began an extended relationship with his dealer’s wife that the art slackened, its gains in scale, vigor and sumptuousness being a lousy recompense for a marked loss in tone, pith and bite. Which is no reason to forego the astringent pleasures shunted toward the front end of this handsomely mounted, if lopsided, exhibition.
Édouard Vuillard: A Painter and His Muses, 1890-1940, at the Jewish Museum, 1109 Fifth Ave., until Sept. 23.
Édouard Vuillard, “Misia and Vallotton at Villeneuve,” 1899.
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Citizen-Artist A NoËl Coward Film Series to Remember By ARMOND WHITE
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n a Noël Coward-worthy lyric, a pop singer-songwriter once mused about “the stillness of remembering what you had and what you lost.” Seeing some of the newly restored 35mm prints of classic Noël Coward films in the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Coward on Film (May 11-13) inspires such wistfulness. As part of the citywide Noël Coward tribute Star Quality: The World of Noël Coward, the film series at the Walter Reade Theater makes it evident that current pop culture has not produced the kind of multitalented demi-giants like the 20th century’s Coward, Jean Cocteau, Orson Welles, Melvin Van Peebles. Very possibly Michael Jackson and R. Kelly might have joined their ranks, had scandal, opprobrium and racism not intervened. And George Clooney certainly doesn’t rate—no matter how relentlessly the media celebrates him or how egregiously he fails. Coward’s output as writer, composer, performer and filmmaker typifies a lost era of doubling on brass; the expectation that an artist should be good at more than one thing, even if only to create vehicles for himself. Coward’s inventiveness is nothing like today’s preening self-promoters. His film work reminds one of how an artist’s engagement with the arts also services a society’s spiritual needs—a culture in the largest sense. Note the rich, deep vein of patriotism that runs through the movies In Which We Serve and This Happy Breed as well as the social authenticity of Blithe Spirit and the magnificent Brief Encounter. Coward’s
plays-into-film suggest a debt to the civilization that formed him, paid back with a genuine reflection of its habits and voice. The dramatic family pageant of This Happy Breed (first filmed as Cavalcade, the Academy Award-winning Best Picture of 1933) puts national portraiture and critique in proper perspective—not the polarized, obnoxious mess to which our contemporary PC entertainment has sunk. The Criterion Collection contributes to the Coward remembrance with an extraordinary box set. “David Lean Directs Noël Coward” collects the four major films made during the polymath and cinema auteur’s WWII-era partnership. Nothing else in film history is like this superb mesh of two distinct sensibilities, a clever traditional craftsman (Coward) elevated by a pioneering visionary (Lean). The Criterion box refurbishes Brief Encounter and finally makes available the three hard-to-find treasures. These movies give a fascinated view of a nation’s traditions that is so familiar it may seem superficial; yet the films transcend the trends of their time by penetrating their familiar domestic surfaces. Coward and Lean’s perceptions have stood the test of being popular, then unfashionable and now impeccable. Their influence on Terence Davies (The Deep Blue Sea), Mike Leigh (Happy-Go-Lucky), André Téchiné (Scene of the Crime) and Steven Spielberg (Schindler’s List) is clear proof of Coward and Lean’s indestructible artistry. Of course, the Lean package is just part of the Coward oeuvre; his lighter musicalcomedy work (from Bitter Sweet to Design for Living) is also represented in the Lincoln Center retrospective. Coward’s film output preserves the idea of a citizenartist as an artist of civilization.