Displaying items by tag: Ghost Quartet

As the Chicago premiere of Dave Malloy’s Ghost Quartet was set to start, a cast member walked across the stage, stopping to thank us for attending before adding, “See you on the other side,” in the spookiest voice and with the spookiest face, setting the stage for more than an hour of spooky musical and musicality to come.

I was not too familiar with the content of Malloy’s “song cycle” before the show, only aware that he’d also penned the renowned Tony winner, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812. I’d also given a preliminary listen to some of Ghost Quartet’s soundtrack during morning train rides, finding a favorite here or there among the play’s songs, but leaving myself in the dark as to its story.

Having seen the show now, I’m still not sure the story is any clearer, but I’m pretty sure that’s purposeful (and why it’s referred to as a “song cycle”). And I’m pretty sure that titling it a “Quartet” is a perfect label. Because over the course of an hour-and-a-half (with no intermission), the story (or stories, as Poe and Scheherazade and Thelonious Monk and a telescope and a bear and a subway and, I think, Little Red Riding Hood, are all mashed up together) became secondary to everything else the audience was offered. And because over the course of said production (directed by Ed Rutherford), the four-piece cast acts much as a classical or vocal quartet does — playing with and off one another to deliver a delightful and disparate musical program.

The feel of a musical program (as opposed to a musical musical) is highlighted with the introduction of each of the 20 tunes — each “track” presented as part of an album or a mixtape. Some of the songs are part of a greater whole (perhaps this could be described as a “concept album”?), but many stand alone on their own musical merits. The ethereal “Starchild” is equal parts Bowie and ballade. “Any Kind of Dead Person” rollicks and frolics into Klezmer territory. “Fathers and Sons” is a duet, both vocally and via cooperative percussion. And “Four Friends” is one of the better drinking songs I’ve heard in quite some time (seriously, I wish I’d known that chorus back in my whiskey-drinking days!).

But each of those songs, and the other 16 that make up the show, are only as powerful or playful or seductive or stunning as the four extraordinary talents who give them life. And what extraordinary talents each of the four cast members possesses.

Possessed of extraordinary talent both vocally and physically, Amanda Raquel Martinez (the one whose spooky salutation greeted us) brings the chills throughout. At times displaying an operatic soprano, at others displaying the ability to contort her face into a possession that’d make Linda Blair’s head spin, Martinez had my focus through the show, and my musician’s admiration, as well, as she played ukulele, guitar, accordion, and percussion throughout.

Martinez’s counterpart Rachel Guth earned my equal admiration, come to think of it. Going from vixenish to virtuous, from gangly and girlish to sultry and seductive, Guth displayed an acting range only bolstered by her timeless look and her ability to sing anything from heartbreaking ballad to boozy barroom belter.

But if it seemed I couldn’t peel my gaze from Martinez or Guth, I think the cast member I watched with the most awe was Alex Ellsworth. Ellsworth played the cello for the entire show, grounding the quartet in its stringed roots. And while he played various roles (and some percussion), it was Ellsworth’s ability to make the cello just about anything but a cello that kept drawing my eyes and ears to his corner of the stage (decorated eerily and beautifully by Jeremy Hollis, I should add). At times it was a violin, at others a fiddle. When needed it provided ethereal sound effect. And at one point it was held on Ellsworth’s lap like a giant banjo and strummed with a pick. About the only thing Ellsworth’s cello didn’t do was harmonize with the other three actors — thankfully its owner’s got an enviable knack for vocal harmonies that turned a trio into a foursome.

And the fourth of the foursome, T.J. Anderson, I’d liken to that oft-forgotten stepchild of the string quartet, the viola, if you don’t mind me keeping on with that analogy. While his castmates might have gotten the juiciest parts to play (remember, this story’s made up of many stories, so each actor fills quite a few roles) and the choicest songs to sing, Anderson holds the whole thing together. He does so on the piano, which he plays for most of the show (accompanied here and there by man-behind-the-curtain musical director Nick Sula). He does so while pounding a tom-tom or while donning a black leather jacket. He does so by making each of the other three better and the sum of their parts greater.

So, if you’re looking to see four of our city’s talented actor/singer/musician types who I hope we all come to know better tackle a “song cycle” that you’ll leave knowing better, catch Black Button Eyes’ Ghost Quartet at Stage 773 from now until August 17.