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From Genesis to Revolution....
May. 9th, 2019 12:22 pmI don't know why it didn't occur to me until I got there last night, but finally seeing Hamilton in Rochester was a homecoming of sorts for me. I had never been to Rochester, or anywhere in New York west of Cayuga Lake in my life (save one vaguely remembered trip to Niagara Falls ON when I was maybe five) until June of 1980, when my college roommate Jim and I got the chance to see Peter Gabriel at Rochester's Auditorium Theatre. The setlist's on the Internet, because of course it is; it was a lot from his second solo album (titled, like all of his first four, Peter Gabriel, but generally known as the "Scratch" album on account of the cover), but he also included several from the one he'd just released, known as "Melt."
For years, I bucket-listed that show at this Auditorium as Best Ever Seen; perhaps only Simon & Garfunkel here, or Bruce at the War Memorial, have topped it since. The venue is a classic old performance hall, with the painted ceiling and true proscenium stage; but it's a bit outside the center city of Rochester, the backstage areas aren't up to the bigger bus-and-truck touring standards, and they've been talking about replacing it with a Downtown Development Magic Bullet Performing Arts Centre for most of the 35 years since I finally arrived in Rochester in my own car and decided to stay.
Getting to this place, on this night, was the usual adventure. Recall that my pair of on-Broadway tickets for the kids got derailed by them moving out of state, and then my second effort four months ago turned into a weather-and-airline cluster. But for me at least, this round went smoothly. I scored four seats, intending to sell two and take Eleanor, on the day they went on sale to verified human beings. The two went to friends (same ones who'd gotten the first Broadway pair), and until I got home yesterday, Eleanor and I were on target to catch a friend's piece in a Park Avenue art gallery, have dinner, and then see the performance.
Then the Curse of Aaron Burr struck again. Or in her case, Painin Butt. Here's how she unfortunately described it to a friend who was wishing her healing thoughts about her condition before prematurely hitting the "send" button:
Hey. I've been called worse;)
Suddenly holding an extra ticket, I put out a distress call to the friends who'd bought the other two- and got it claimed in minutes. One of Scott's public radio co-workers, who'd been dying to see the show, took their call and took the ticket. The Shot was with her; Julia was actually on-air at the time, and heard her phone go off, saying, I should've turned that off. No you shouldn't have:) She turns out to be friends with not just our seatmates but at least three other people from completely different circles of this life.
From there, it was the same as planned, just short a beloved. Saw Phyllis's piece and the other almost 60 on the theme of Metamorphosis; then headed to where I'd planned our dinner for two, now joined by Scott and Lisa. This was the corner a block away:
Hey, I'm gettin' close.
Wood-fired pizza half-eaten, half-stored, I headed over, met my plus-one and cleared the last hurdle. Ticketmonster essentially requires you to download their app on your phone as the only means of entry if you didn't buy a paper ticket at the box office, and I was worried, given prior luck, that the battery would die, the screen would crack, SOMETHING would keep me out of this thing- but all of a sudden, there we were:
Still a painted ceiling and true proscenium stage, yo.
No photography during the show, of course, but spoiler alert: as good as advertised. The touring cast nailed every note, every landing, every rap and every laugh. (I think the King George actor was the one who voiced the "no photography" warning, fitting because he largely stole the show in his brief mostly solo musical numbers.)
After three hours of revolutionary magic and an hour's drive home, it was back to my own city, century and reality. After work today, I have a poetry reading at another friend's art exhibit I am definitely attending, and there's the chance to see the remaining Two of The Who playing in downtown Buffalo tonight. Cheap seats for the undersold show are going for around $20- barely above what I paid to see The Who outside in 1982 (with the Clash and others). It's not bucket-list, since I've already seen them, but Pete and Roger are supposedly doing a lot of Tommy and Quadrophenia. Hell, there's probably a setlist out there (because of course there is).
Hmmmm....
I'm One (At Least). As in One Ticket in the nosebleeds.
For years, I bucket-listed that show at this Auditorium as Best Ever Seen; perhaps only Simon & Garfunkel here, or Bruce at the War Memorial, have topped it since. The venue is a classic old performance hall, with the painted ceiling and true proscenium stage; but it's a bit outside the center city of Rochester, the backstage areas aren't up to the bigger bus-and-truck touring standards, and they've been talking about replacing it with a Downtown Development Magic Bullet Performing Arts Centre for most of the 35 years since I finally arrived in Rochester in my own car and decided to stay.
Getting to this place, on this night, was the usual adventure. Recall that my pair of on-Broadway tickets for the kids got derailed by them moving out of state, and then my second effort four months ago turned into a weather-and-airline cluster. But for me at least, this round went smoothly. I scored four seats, intending to sell two and take Eleanor, on the day they went on sale to verified human beings. The two went to friends (same ones who'd gotten the first Broadway pair), and until I got home yesterday, Eleanor and I were on target to catch a friend's piece in a Park Avenue art gallery, have dinner, and then see the performance.
Then the Curse of Aaron Burr struck again. Or in her case, Painin Butt. Here's how she unfortunately described it to a friend who was wishing her healing thoughts about her condition before prematurely hitting the "send" button:
Hey. I've been called worse;)
Suddenly holding an extra ticket, I put out a distress call to the friends who'd bought the other two- and got it claimed in minutes. One of Scott's public radio co-workers, who'd been dying to see the show, took their call and took the ticket. The Shot was with her; Julia was actually on-air at the time, and heard her phone go off, saying, I should've turned that off. No you shouldn't have:) She turns out to be friends with not just our seatmates but at least three other people from completely different circles of this life.
From there, it was the same as planned, just short a beloved. Saw Phyllis's piece and the other almost 60 on the theme of Metamorphosis; then headed to where I'd planned our dinner for two, now joined by Scott and Lisa. This was the corner a block away:
Hey, I'm gettin' close.
Wood-fired pizza half-eaten, half-stored, I headed over, met my plus-one and cleared the last hurdle. Ticketmonster essentially requires you to download their app on your phone as the only means of entry if you didn't buy a paper ticket at the box office, and I was worried, given prior luck, that the battery would die, the screen would crack, SOMETHING would keep me out of this thing- but all of a sudden, there we were:
Still a painted ceiling and true proscenium stage, yo.
No photography during the show, of course, but spoiler alert: as good as advertised. The touring cast nailed every note, every landing, every rap and every laugh. (I think the King George actor was the one who voiced the "no photography" warning, fitting because he largely stole the show in his brief mostly solo musical numbers.)
After three hours of revolutionary magic and an hour's drive home, it was back to my own city, century and reality. After work today, I have a poetry reading at another friend's art exhibit I am definitely attending, and there's the chance to see the remaining Two of The Who playing in downtown Buffalo tonight. Cheap seats for the undersold show are going for around $20- barely above what I paid to see The Who outside in 1982 (with the Clash and others). It's not bucket-list, since I've already seen them, but Pete and Roger are supposedly doing a lot of Tommy and Quadrophenia. Hell, there's probably a setlist out there (because of course there is).
Hmmmm....
I'm One (At Least). As in One Ticket in the nosebleeds.