I must have started this blog about twenty years go. I began it in the quaint delusion that I might one day carve out some kind of career in the theatre, either as a playwright or as a critic, perhaps both; about ten years ago I dropped all this, however, for a number of reasons both good and bad. I was reminded of this early ambition when I recently received word that Megan Vaughan’s book Theatre Blogging: The Emergence of a Critical Culture is scheduled to be published by Methuen next February. Some time ago Megan interviewed me for the book, a pleasurable experience; a more amusing experience was to find recently that in the promotional material for the book Methuen wrote:
The work of prominent and influential early adopters such as Encore Theatre Magazine and Chris Goode in London; George Hunka and Laura Axelrod in New York; Jill Dolan at Princeton University and Alison Croggon in Melbourne is featured and considered alongside those who followed them.
That I had followers of any kind produced a bemused smile. I suppose I was sort of prominent at the time — the blog led to a stint as a freelance theatre reviewer for The New York Times and theatre essayist for The Guardian — but influential? This produced more a laugh than a smile.
As I said earlier, I haven’t been going to the theatre for a while. But when I did, I was most impressed by the work of Richard Foreman, and my blog featured quite a bit of writing about the avant-garde playwright and director. Like myself, Foreman’s been away from the theatre for more than a decade now, though he continues to work in film. (Some of his recent activity, along with his films, can be found here.) I’ve collected most, but far from all, of my writing about Richard’s work here, for the sake of the archive. Richard was truly prominent and influential, and his work continues to be the most powerful I was privileged to see and write about during those theatre years of mine. I haven’t had the opportunity to polish, organize, update, or revise any of this writing — 12,000 words of it, apparently — but as a reminder of my checkered past I thought it appropriate at least to keep it all in a safe place.
Over the past couple of weeks I’ve written a few sentences about The Book of Weirdo, a new history of the magazine by Jon B. Cooke; flogged an upcoming concert from my lovely wife Marilyn Nonken and an upcoming appearance at the Jalopy Tavern by the East River String Band; and enjoyed the first few pages of Gilbert Seldes’ The Stammering Century. I should probably also note that on Monday night Cooke’s history will be honored at a Columbia University discussion and reception. I’ll be there — the event is sold out, but I understand it’s being recorded and will be made available at a later date.
I’ve been listening to a few old 78rpm records these days and came across the below recordings of “Give Yourself a Pat on the Back,” performed by Jack Payne and his BBC Dance Orchestra on an old Columbia disk in 1929 or 1930. When I was ten years old I came across a stash of old records at my grandmother’s house — this was one of them, and swear to God I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since I first heard it. I imagine this is a fairly obscure recording, but oddly enough, I came across a second version as well — a cover version done up as a novelty comedy song. To be honest, I don’t know whether the non-comedy or the comedy version was the original. The first version below is the version I remember from my youth; you can hear the Spike-Jonesy version in the player below that one. I can’t vouch for the quality of either the song or the performance, but it sure has endured, at least in my memory. I’ll be toasting to the song this afternoon during my Friday sojourn to Cafe Katja. Give yourself a pat on the back, and have a good day today.
I’m about a hundred pages into Gilbert Seldes’ 1928 study The Stammering Century and find it quite a hoot. Seldes’ quacks, mountebanks, and frauds are still swarming over the continent, as American as mom and apple pie. Highly recommended. Richard Hofstadter (Anti-Intellectualism in American Life) called it “one of the most perceptive and entertaining studies of the American spirit in the nineteenth century.” Good enough for me.
More about the book below, courtesy of its publisher, New York Review Books.
Gilbert Seldes, the author of The Stammering Century, writes:
This book is not a record of the major events in American history during the nineteenth century. It is concerned with minor movements, with the cults and manias of that period. Its personages are fanatics, and radicals, and mountebanks. Its intention is to connect these secondary movements and figures with the primary forces of the century, and to supply a background in American history for the Prohibitionists and the Pentecostalists; the diet-faddists and the dealers in mail-order Personality; the play censors and the Fundamentalists; the free-lovers and eugenists; the cranks and possibly the saints. Sects, cults, manias, movements, fads, religious excitements, and the relation of each of these to the others and to the orderly progress of America are the subject.
The subject is of course as timely at the beginning of the twenty-first century as when the book first appeared in 1928. Seldes’s fascinated and often sympathetic accounts of dreamers, rogues, frauds, sectarians, madmen, and geniuses from Jonathan Edwards to the messianic murderer Matthias have established The Stammering Century not only as a lasting contribution to American history but as a classic in its own right.
I’ve sung the praises of (and been inspired to take up the guitar by) Eden & John’s East River String Band before. Unfortunately their local appearances are rare, but you’ll have a chance to see and hear Eden and John (as well as Ernesto Gomez) on Tuesday, November 5, at the Jalopy Tavern in Brooklyn. The trouble begins at 8:30, though if you miss it, you’ll have another chance to catch them on December 10. Join them for a casual evening of fine American music — stretch out your legs and stay awhile. To whet your appetite, listen to “He’s Funny That Way,” the 1929 standard by Neil Moret and Richard Whiting, from their most recent album Coney Island Baby below; that’s Eden Brower on vocals, John Heneghan on guitar, and special guest R. Crumb on ukelele. More information about the lovely evening can be found on Facebook.