Never Forget- The Musical

I don't know that I'm qualified to comment on this musical because most of the people I went with were British and thought it was pretty entertaining but I couldn't help thinking that it is, bar none, the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen.

For those who aren't up on their 90's British music; Never Forget is a musical using the songs from the boy band Take That. I was hoping it be semi biographical and I would get some useful insight into British culture. But instead of creating a stand-alone story around the existing catalogue of music, they tell the story of some blokes from Manchester who decide to audition for a Take That tribute band in order to win the £10,000 prize to save someone's mother's pub.



So I spent the first half of the first act wondering which one was supposed to be Robbie Williams and not "which one is pretending to be a bloke from Manchester, pretending to be Robbie Williams. " If you're not already familiar with the boy band and their history, you just won't be able to keep up or appreciate some of the banter. Heck, if you're not familiar with at least 4 different types of Northern English accent you won't be able to understand half of them.

I will admit to laughing a LOT- but it wasn't always when they would have been expecting it... During the lead actress's one big solo number, the atmosphere in the theatre was that of a karaoke bar, with people talking and giggling while others sarcastically waved their lit lighters. But at least she inspired a big whoop and holler during the obligatory key change.

Check out those red pleather man undies!! with belt!

I think the biggest problem I had was that everything seemed pretty sub-par. The sets consist mostly of two big boxes which are shifted around the stage to create a bar, a salsa club, a strip club (no, seriously...) an alley, an office etc... The only exciting features of the entire show had to be the pyrotechnics during the ridiculous "Relight my Fire" scene (see above) and the rain to end Act I. It's probably a big spoiler to tell you that not only do the actors get rained on during a "heartfelt" ballad, but the engineers have somehow managed to make the rain spell out "Never Forget". I want to know who woke up in the middle of the night thinking that was a good idea.

In the end, although I managed to see this gem for free, I'd say the show is worth about £10.
As my colleagues explained to me later- this show is far too "camp" for words.

Just a quick word

To say that I love this portrait which has been shorlisted for the National Portrait Gallery's 2008 Prize.

Bag by Hendrik Kersten

Beautiful Inside My Head Forever

Doesn't that title alone make you go "ick"? Doesn't it sound slightly pompous and self-involved? Well it's the title of the sale of work by Damien Hirst organized at Sotheby's this week. The event was split into an evening sale and a day sale featuring about 200 items overall and from what I can tell, all made within the last year. That's one busy artist. *furrows brow*

I mean, look at him up there. Kinda smug, non? Almost like he knows he's full of shit. I didn't really know what to expect having never seen his stuff first hand. We've all heard about his pickled sharks, the diamond crusted skull, the spin art etc. but finally seeing them in the flesh made it all very clear to me. Hirst is a businessman.

Although the butterfly works were breathtakingly complex and delicate, all I really saw was the effort behind it. Hirst has a studio of slaves. A factory full of artists at his disposal. I can't even fathom what it must have been like to be given a doodle, several thousand butterflies and some paint and told to put it all together with minute precision.

Hirst believes that Art is in the conception, not the execution- which I respect to a point. One of my biggest "Ah ha!" moments was understanding the concept behind Mondrian's work as it related to the war and bringing the world back to basics: primary colors and straight lines at 90 or 180 degrees. But Hirst seems to pluck his concepts out of already established ideas. Case and point: his Midas pieces. Seriously- how ground breaking is that? Diamonds and gold to symbolize the materialistic society we've become. Throw is some butterflies to tie it into the other works- it's more like designing for Target. One small and reasonably priced piece had been executed in about 8 different colors, giving the budding collector a chance to own a "real" Hirst in his favorite hue. Hirst might as well be printing his own money. I can just imagine him getting a call from Sotheby's saying that this piece would have been great as a pair flanking the doorway and Hirst saying he could just whip up another one. *ka-ching* that's another £60,000.

Love Bite: Autumn, 2008- £58,850 /Love Child: Winter, 2008- £73,250/ Love Bite: Spring, 2008- £73,250

What I'm really saying is that we often ask ourselves the question: "Is this really Art?" and we turn to the critics for assurance. I think Hirst managed to fool the critics early on and has stopped trying to produce anything worthwhile. It's either a re-hash of an old idea or something akin to the art at Habitat. I think Hirst knows that his work is bullshit and he's loving it.

Skimra lamp shade, Ikea- $6

The two day sale made over £110 million- of which Hirst is donating a whopping £1.4 million to a children's hospital. I honestly believe he's only doing this so people don't judge him and his millions. To sum it all up- Although I really like the below painting (which was surely painted by an intern) I can't think of anyone who makes me roll my eyes more than Damien Hirst.

The Last Night of Proms

As I dragged my boyfriend last year to the Last Night of Proms, I knew that I would have to continue the tradition this year with the surrogate boyfriend, Colin. (Hi Colin!) When I first considered going to this huge event, I thought I should look into how exactly one gets tickets that aren't £2,200. The ushers weren't able to really tell me, but the box office said to show up on the day at about 8am with a lounge chair and picnic and that I should be able to get a ticket for a fiver. And so we did. And that's really the trick folks! It's that easy. You're not guranteed a ticket- but at about 10:30am they hand out numbered "raffle" tickets (so as to keep an ordered queue) and tell you to be back in the queue for a count at 3pm. At which point you can pop over to the Kensingon Gardens for a picnic or if you're lucky enough, just head home for a couple hours.


There are in fact two queues for arena tickets. One for season ticket holders and one for everyone else (ie: me and probably you too). The season ticket holders get to buy their tickets first and then *if* there is still more room, they start letting in everone else. But I've never heard of people not getting in . I'm sure they run out of room eventually- but I've never actually witnessed this.... In any case, my raffle ticket was No.68, my actual ticket was No. 467 and I remember reading somewhere that they have about 750 tickets up for grabs.


What I'm trying to say here is that you should make the effort to go if you happen to be in London at the begining of September. I'm sure every Brit knows about it but thinks it's too difficult or expensive to get into the Hall- which is fair enough considering it already costs £25 to go see the Last Night in Hyde Park, which isn't even the "real" thing. On the other hand, most foreigners who aren't in tune with the goings-on of the classical music world won't even know what the Proms are!

The Proms are the world's largest classical music festival, running from mid June to mid September every year, culminating in the famous Last Night which usually features some of the newest, best and/or most promising classical musicians in the world. And if I had access to Youtube I would now link you to videos of last year's proms, featuring the gorgeous and hilarious opera singer Anna Netrebko.

The Last Night of Proms might be the most patriotic event I've ever attended and even though I'm in no way British (in fact my American and French blood quite possibly makes me the opposite of British) you can't help but wave your union jack, learn the melody to "Jerusalem", sing along to "Rule, Britania!", stomp along to the sailor's song and shake hands with your neighbors during "Auld Lang Syne" at the close of the night. I'd say it's really something worth seeing at least once.

Sylvia at the Royal Opera House

Last year one of my college friends had the ingenious idea to have a Birthday Week. So she spent the entire week having a good time and proclaiming to anyone who would listen that it was her Birthday Week. We made fun of her pretty harshly during that time, but by the end of it I think we all realized that we too wanted a Birthday Week. So this year I kicked off my Birthday Week by going to the Ballet (and yeah, I know- it's not quite like getting free tequila shots at El Charros).

Look at that view! Boyfriend did good with the seats

I coulnd't tell you the last time I went to the ballet. For years I've been begging my mom to take me to see the Rocketts and that has yet to pan out- and it's not even ballet.. so that's as close as I've been since I wore pigtails. But seeing those dancers on the stage last night was completely hypnotic. The music was so soothing and delightful that Kris fell into a trance halfway through the first Act and just about fell alseep. And I don't blame him either because the experience was similar to watching the music visualizer on Itunes: random colorful squiggles that move to the music and all of a sudden make total sense. What didn't make sense was the story, but I really didn't care. I gathered that it probably had something to do with mythological gods... Lots of women warriors with bows and arrows.. and they worshiped a statue... Also there was a couple dressed like goats. I think the main plot revolves around a woman(diety? warrior?) named (and im gonna go ahead and guess here) Sylvia falling in love with this guy, who I could have sworn, she shot in Act I. In Act II she is taken to what I called "The little Aladdin Under the Sea" (which Kris did not find funny) and is held hostage by a vilain who is easily identifiable by his stereotypical villain-mustache. Meanwhile all the guys in this production were wearing the gay-est outfits maybe ever. I mean- look at him! Now don't take offense please- watching these guys jump, no float, about the stage put the biggest grin on my face. But maybe that's because everytime a guy leapt into the air with his arms so gracefully held over his head, my mind made him say "I'm gayer than you aaaaaare!"

But I think this flying Eros really won the imaginary competition in my head. So well done.

And now I give you pictures I took during the 12-20 minute applause where every mildly important dancer came out for an individual bow.

A Quick (Musical) Interlude

I just had to jump in during this rant on Amsterdam and post about my night at Ronnie Scott's where I saw a Tribute to Oscar Peterson. I'd been before and absolutely loved it, but they somehow managed to surpass themselves this time.

My mom is visiting from China and her best buddy from High School flew in as well so when at 6pm, with only the early birds at some surrounding tables, the boyfriend and I were escorted to a long skinny bar overlooking the actual bar- I was a bit miffed. We were really far from the stage and I don't know how they expected us to actually converse during our pre-show dinner while sitting in that stupid line-up. Prepared for the worse, I grabbed my stuff and went over to confront- no, kindly approach, the head hostess- but I was intercepted by the waiter first

"Is anything wrong?" he asked. "Well, yes actually" I said with a big sigh.

The significant other hates it when I go up to argue or complain, but I insist that it's a necessary evil and I know that I'm always very polite and I do try to be as nice as possible. Empathy is the way with these situations, people! I used to be a hostess in a fancy DC restaurant, so I know how easy it is to hate an unreasonable client in a nano-second. So I carefully laid out my cards: Mother visiting from China, girlfriend from Michigan, hadn't seen each other in aaages, LOVE to chat and gossip, although never during the actual show, would be absolutely crushed to have to sit in a line-up, is there anything that can POSSIBLY be done? maybe? please? *puppy-dog-eyes-to-mean-I-am-a-reasonable-and-understanding-customer, I swear!*

And you know what? They took us to an actual table for four, right up front next to the stage entrance and the massive grand piano. I coulnd't have been happier.

When I had been last time I'd treated myself to a week's salary worth of cocktails so I hadn't actually tried the food and Ronnie Scott's, for some reason, seamed like the kind of place where the food would sound great and taste.... meh? So I ordered the duck with trepidation. I've had two really bad experiences with duck recently, but I just love it so much that I'm willing to put my physical well being on the line. And I was SO not disapointed. Holy crap was it good! Duck has long been my favorite dish. Last meal before the electric chair? Duck a L'orange without a doubt, but the Confit of Duck with Sweet Potato Mash was killer (har, har). The skin was crispy and sweet while the leg meat just fell right off the bone. Kris got it too and we've vowed to do our best to recreate this too-good-to-be-true dish.

I also need to figure out that ratios for their delish cocktails. I was treated to a Jelly Roll Julep (which has nothing to do with jam), a Caffe Coco and Ronnie's Sting which might have been my favorite. And direct from their website we have:

Caffè Coco
Shaken and strained into a chilled cocktail glass, chocolate dusting. Havana Club añejo blanco rum, Koko Kanu coconut rum, Kahlúa coffee liqueur, Coco Lopez, cream. Recently created by master drinksmith Tim Halilaj. A sweet and silky digestif.

Ronnie's Sting
Shaken and strained, lemon twist. Hennessy Fine de Cognac, mint leaves, lemon juice, sugar. Created in memory of Ronnie Scott. Based on the late 1800’s cognac cocktail. Our Sting carries fresh mint and lemon juice.

The Jelly Roll Julep must be a secret as it's not on the website...But here's a recreation for you- just imagine a large lemon peel sticking out of the back-

Ronnie Scott's did post the description of the Fitzgerald which I had last time and is pretty divine:

The Fitzgerald
Stacked, coated and charged. A flourish of orange to finish. Laborie calvados, crème de peche, absinthe-laden white sugar cube, Moët & Chandon champagne. A fruity version of the classic cocktail, created for Ella Circa 1950. Respect!

And the music wasn't bed either- Two pianos battled it out trying to immitate Oscar Peterson's quick handywork. "Hymn for Freedom", a tune written by Oscar was a real delight. They brought out 2 ADDITIONAL pianist for a rendition of "Cottontail" which was pretty freaking awesome. A new kid on the block (and I do mean "kid"- he's younger than me for God's sakes!) was brought out as one of the 4 pianists and he was absolutely stunning. Kit Downs was just as good as anyone else up there and even showed them up a couple times just taking over the entire piano for himself. All in all- a fabulous show. One that'll make go hunt down some Oscar Peterson tunes and keep a eye out for Kitt Downs.

D.A.N.C.E.

It's theology meet technology, devotion meets commotion, it's Jesus meets JUSTICE!!! Last night the boytoy and I went to see Justice who might as well be Daft Punk jr. with a bit more of an edge. Who says digital distortion doesn't rock?? From the pictures, you might think that we were attending a satanic cult gathering:



But I assure you that the cross's only purpose is to look cool. And believe me; it works. Most people in the crowd were wearing necklaces with clear plastic crosses lit with either a green, red or blue LED light. Seriously effective cool tools. I really wanted one. But honestly, what does one do with a light up cross after Justice?

One of the highlights of night was the dancing fool next to us that we affectionatly named Lars. Lars spent the entire 35 minutes he spent at the concert dancing uncontrolably with his back to the band. He did that sort of dance that might suggest he's a "douchebag" or a "tool"; pointing at girls in the crowd and then trying to seduce them with his moves, humping the air or even moshing with himself. Maybe I should mention that we were in the balcony, where there is a bar, with chairs and tables. Lars' pants were so tight that he was constantly sporting a plumber's buttcrack (which we tragically failed to capture on film).


Lars: Eastern European Dance Master