Im Cabaret, Au Cabaret, To Cabaret!
Again, I went out to see a show, on Friday night: Ute Lemper performed at UCLA’s Royce Hall. Not many know who she is, so if you are one of those souls (which I was, not so long ago), Ute (OO-teh) Lemper is a German singer who has made a name for herself singing (mostly) German pre-WWII cabaret songs, by the likes of Kurt Weill and Bertholt Brecht, Kander and Ebb (of Cabaret fame), and has also done musical theater and film, both in Europe and in the States. A born performer, she was graceful, powerful and...funny. She did a song called “Black Market”, made famous by Marlene Dietrich, and in it she pretended to pull out things for sale on the black market that the Bush Administration couldn’t seem to locate, like...say, WMDs. She also did a song called “Münchhausen”, about the lies told by politicians, and sang it how it might sound nowadays, with Bush and Cheney thrown into the mix. Most of the audience laughed and applauded mightily, but there were a couple of people who yelled out disapproval, and it looked like one couple stormed out in a huff. One guy yelled out, “what about the First Amendment?” I wanted to hug him. Sadly for me, she did not do “Alabama Song” (we all know The Doors’ version), but she did do a couple of songs by Edith Piaf (though not “La Vie En Rose”) and a medley that included “Mack the Knife” and “All That Jazz”, which made up for it. Sort of. For the most part.
Her voice was alternately smooth and strong, and she went back and forth between with the greatest of ease. When she sang in German and in French, I felt the blend of the beauty and the devastation that was Europe in the war years (pick your war—WWI, WWII). I felt how painful loss is. That got me thinking about cabaret. Cabaret was all about making people forget the misery of their lives, of the world situation, for awhile, by putting on outrageous, upbeat, and wildly theatrical song-and-dance numbers, grinning all the while. But inside, it can be a very dark and lonely place. There’s no people like show people, allright. Underneath the heavy makeup and costume and bawdiness and comedy routines, lay sadness. The tears of a clown, as Smokey sang. I see it even in some people I know, now. People who perform, who make us laugh, who are always on. Some of them are dying inside. They’ll never let anyone see it. I felt this strongly when Ute was singing a song in French, where the music got really wild and she was laughing hysterically, theatrically, and then she abruptly turned and sang, “Arrêtez la musique!” over and over, which means “Stop the music!”. Stop the music...I wanna get off...
I didn’t meet anyone this time. Didn’t even talk to anyone. The crowd was much larger than at the JK show, naturally, so I was just one bee in a beehive. Which was fine—I loved the show, and Royce Hall, as well as all of the UCLA campus, was a grand specimen of old architecture. I enjoyed soaking that in. A lot of people were dressed up in their finery—I love seeing people dressed to the nines. I did go in costume, again. Only no hats--I wore my hair in a period style, like so:
Normally, I can just bobby pin the bangs to the side when they're wet and as it dries, my natural curl will make cool waves, but it didn't work this time. I have yet to learn how to artfully arrange the front and sides with finger waves, to look more authentic. Maybe my hairdresser learned it in beauty school...a girl can dream, can't she?
All in all, a more pensive evening than the night before, but pensive is always good. It was a catalyst in crystallizing something I’ve been wanting to say in my art, so that, alone, was worth the price of admission.
Her voice was alternately smooth and strong, and she went back and forth between with the greatest of ease. When she sang in German and in French, I felt the blend of the beauty and the devastation that was Europe in the war years (pick your war—WWI, WWII). I felt how painful loss is. That got me thinking about cabaret. Cabaret was all about making people forget the misery of their lives, of the world situation, for awhile, by putting on outrageous, upbeat, and wildly theatrical song-and-dance numbers, grinning all the while. But inside, it can be a very dark and lonely place. There’s no people like show people, allright. Underneath the heavy makeup and costume and bawdiness and comedy routines, lay sadness. The tears of a clown, as Smokey sang. I see it even in some people I know, now. People who perform, who make us laugh, who are always on. Some of them are dying inside. They’ll never let anyone see it. I felt this strongly when Ute was singing a song in French, where the music got really wild and she was laughing hysterically, theatrically, and then she abruptly turned and sang, “Arrêtez la musique!” over and over, which means “Stop the music!”. Stop the music...I wanna get off...
I didn’t meet anyone this time. Didn’t even talk to anyone. The crowd was much larger than at the JK show, naturally, so I was just one bee in a beehive. Which was fine—I loved the show, and Royce Hall, as well as all of the UCLA campus, was a grand specimen of old architecture. I enjoyed soaking that in. A lot of people were dressed up in their finery—I love seeing people dressed to the nines. I did go in costume, again. Only no hats--I wore my hair in a period style, like so:
Normally, I can just bobby pin the bangs to the side when they're wet and as it dries, my natural curl will make cool waves, but it didn't work this time. I have yet to learn how to artfully arrange the front and sides with finger waves, to look more authentic. Maybe my hairdresser learned it in beauty school...a girl can dream, can't she?
All in all, a more pensive evening than the night before, but pensive is always good. It was a catalyst in crystallizing something I’ve been wanting to say in my art, so that, alone, was worth the price of admission.
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