Putting My Fandom on Ice: Without Exoneration of Kane, I'm Not Able to Root for Him or the Blackhawks

Little can impact one's psyche so much as something that has supplied great pleasure & pride coming to a premature end.

Likely even more jarring is when one's heroes are revealed to be tragically human and terribly, even criminally, flawed.

Especially when both threaten to occur concurrently, our natural reflex is to shroud the latter in disbelief or disregard so as to cling to the joys now facing extinction.

Like presumably every fan of the Chicago Blackhawks, whether deeply  troubled by the accusation of rape against star forward Patrick Kane or not much concerned by it (at least, theoretically, until the ongoing investigation is concluded and facts revealed), I wish this had remained a summer of unabashed revelry over the team's third Stanley Cup in six years, with nothing but anticipatory glee serving as a welcome mat to the 2015-16 NHL season.

It is not comfortably, and rather distressingly, that I have decided not to watch, follow or root for the Blackhawks so long as Kane practices and plays the team, short of his being truly "absolved of having done [anything] wrong." For it is also hard for me to fathom much wanting to watch the Blackhawks without Patrick Kane.

Sometime during the 2008-09 season, when the Hawks were again looking like a professional hockey club after failing to make the playoffs for 5 seasons (and 9 of the previous 10), I purchased a Blackhawks jersey for the first time in my life, even though I had gone to a good number of games throughout the lousy years.

Although Jonathan Toews was also already a star by then, without any hesitation I bought a #88 Kane jersey.

While my familiarity with all NHL players, and even teams, was--and largely remains--somewhat scant, the kid from Buffalo playing for my hometown Hawks seemed as reminiscent as anyone to #99.

Like Wayne Gretzky, whose brilliance even I could appreciate, Kane is a magician on the ice, as amazing for the way he handles the puck and makes passes as for his goal-scoring.

With no disrespect meant to the wonderful Toews, Marian Hossa, the now-traded Patrick Sharp or anyone else, for me, watching Blackhawks games during these glorious years has essentially been split between loving when Kane is on the ice and waiting for him to get back on it. The 3 of 4 shifts when #88 would be on the bench was a bit akin to watching a Catherine Deneuve movie when she's off-screen.

So in August of 2009, when the incident with Kane and his cousin assaulting a Buffalo cab driver came to light, along with a sense of disappointment in him--while appreciating he was just 20 years old at the time--I reflexively, and selfishly, wondered, "Is this going to be taken away from me?" and "Did I buy the wrong jersey?"

And while Kane and his cousin may have enjoyed the kind of judicial leniency often reserved for the rich and famous, I didn't burn my jersey and by the time PK scored the Stanley Cup-winning goal against the Flyers in June 2010, I screamed my head off in joy and exultation and all was forgotten and forgiven.

Abetted by a drunken episode in Madison, WI in 2012, Kane maintained his image as an avid partier, but as he remained brilliant on the ice, he seemingly matured over the years. Reveling in the 2013 and 2015 Cup victories--even as he celebrated his rambunctious past by pronouncing "I know you said I’ve been growing up, but watch out for me the next week" at June's victory rally"--I was an unabashed fan.

And let me state unequivocally that I do not know what occurred late on August 1 and early August 2, first at a Buffalo nightclub and then at Kane's Hamburg, NY home. (This Sports Illustrated article gives a good recap of what has been made public about the night's events and aspects of the investigation.)

Mr. Kane has not been arrested or charged with any crime; not only is he innocent until proven guilty (in the eyes of the law), he is a fully free man.

With my apologies for any flaws in terms of details, semantics or breaking news, it seems the Hamburg Police Department is continuing to conduct an investigation, with--as appropriate per Kane and his accuser--a high level of confidentiality and due diligence. As the SI article linked above explains, this can take awhile.

Read this article by Katie Klabusich here.

As a layman, rather than a lawman, I'm a bit puzzled by the seemingly laborious undertaking involved before deciding to arrest or clear Kane.

I get the need for investigation to ascertain if there is proper suspicion, evidence and cause to arrest him, or not, but as detailed in this fine piece by Katie Klabusich, immediately after the alleged incident...

"The alleged victim ... found her friend, left, and called a family member on her way to the hospital, where she submitted to an exam and reported the attack to law enforcement."

From what I've read--and as is well-summarized in the SI piece--along with the accuser and Patrick Kane, there are known to be four primary people investigators have (or will have) contacted to for information: a female friend of the accuser and a male friend of Kane, who seemingly accompanied them back to his house, an off-duty policeman who served as Kane's personal driver and is said to have transported the four from the bar to Kane's home, and the Buffalo bar owner who supposedly observed Kane and the women at the bar.

Between the results of the rape kit, which haven't been made public, and the accounts of the six main individuals cited above, shouldn't there be enough evidence to arrest Kane--with possible mitigating factors to his guilt, such as sexual consent, determined in a court--or to release him without further suspicion?

Click here to read article by David Haugh on ChicagoTribune.com

And if not, until the police or State's Attorney "absolves" Kane of any wrongdoing, doesn't the possibility of him having committed a heinous crime still very much exist?

It was announced that a Grand Jury would be convened last Tuesday, September 8, but on that day it was called off. Reports and/or rumors surfaced that attorneys for Kane and his alleged victim were working on a settlement, but that has since been denied, and rumored anew.

Then yesterday (Thursday, Sept. 17), Kane turned up at Blackhawks training camp at the University of Notre Dame, preceded by a press conference at which he, team president John McDonough and others were embarrassingly short of forthcoming.

Many better writers than I have blasted Kane, McDonough and the Hawks for a "tone deaf" press conference--including David Haugh and Steve Rosenbloom of the Chicago Tribune, Barry Rozner of the Daily Herald,  Sean Gentille of the Sporting News, Bruce Arthur of the Toronto Star--so although I too was dumbfounded, I don't feel a need for "I appreciate the question..." redundancy.

Related takes by female reporters JenLC and Melissa Isaacson are also well-worth a read.

From all this, everyone can decide how they feel about Patrick Kane and the Chicago Blackhawks. This morning, when he took the ice for a public practice at Notre Dame, Kane was heavily cheered.

I have no doubt that every Blackhawks game will be sold-out this season and Kane will be lustily cheered in every game he plays at home. (As have Kobe Bryant, Ben Roethlisberger and other stars who have been involved in similar situations.)

But not by me, unless I am convinced that he did nothing wrong. Not simply that he remains free, avoids arrest or reaches a settlement with the accuser, which I would view as an admission of guilt.

Honestly, I absolutely hope Patrick Kane is completely innocent. And I understand there have been cases involving false accusations.

But not until the investigation or a trial determines just that will I root for him or the Hawks--and given the abysmally low percentage of rape convictions (even given the low percentage of reported sexual assaults and those resulting in arrests) and the massive scourge of victim blaming and shaming, even then I will reserve the right to form my own opinion.

I believe I have resisted a rush to judgment, always try to avoid or reject knee-jerk tendencies and am not condemning Patrick Kane based on hearsay.

But I have also been given no reason to believe his accuser lied, "had it coming," gave consent simply by going to his house nor is "in it for the money."

Only Patrick Kane and the young woman know if she was raped, and even they may well disagree about what occurred. Yet the possibility that she was forced to have sex against her will seems just as realistic as the suggestions that Kane "did nothing wrong," especially when the latter is almost unavoidably abetted by fans' desire (not unlike my own) to see him perform his magic on the ice again and lead Chicago to another championship.

Given the rape culture in America, rampant misogyny exacerbated by social media and the resolve, effort, challenge, derision and humiliation involved in seeking & getting "justice" within the legal system, I would not blame the alleged victim one iota for taking a settlement payout, even given the vast ridicule haters would rain down on her rationale.

Click here for article

And make no mistake, doing so should not "absolve" Kane nor render him "innocent."

Truth be told, if Patrick Kane were just any poor kid, he almost certainly--and rightly--would have been arrested and, if the facts should corroborate the victim's accusations, be facing serious jail time.

If he were some 4th line role player for the Blackhawks, who didn't sign an $84 million contract that begins this season, he would likely have been cut or at least banned from participating while the legal process plays out.

Most people, for many valid reasons, see the Chicago Blackhawks as a classy organization with owner Rocky Wirtz and president John McDonough upstanding, virtuous leaders.

But I still recall, and rue, how Wirtz exiled reporter Susannah Collins for rather nebulous moral high-ground reasons (as I wrote about here) during the 2013 playoffs. And let us not forget that the Hawks continue to employ and honor a convicted domestic abuser in Bobby Hull, who also once said, "Hitler, for example, had some good ideas. He just went a little bit too far."

At a time when I believe the Washington Redskins team name should be excised, and in deference to the feelings of Native Americans, perhaps too the Indians, Braves and other such monikers, the Blackhawks have heretofore done a fairly good job of convincing me that their name, logo and community efforts benevolently honor the original inhabitants of our country. (I find it worth noting that original team owner Frederic McLaughlin actually named the team after the "Blackhawk Division" of the 333rd Machine Gun Battalion of the 86th Infantry Division during World War I, of which he was a commander. This battalion was nicknamed after the Sauk nation leader, Black Hawk, who fought against U.S. troops in Illinois during the Black Hawk War.)

rainn.org/statistics

Even in putting himself in a situation to face such awful allegations, I don't think Patrick Kane has made the Blackhawks team, franchise or those their mascot is supposedly meant to honor proud.

I do not speak for anyone but me, and am writing this mostly for my own benefit, but can only imagine what I may be feeling if I were a woman, rape victim or father of one.

Given not only Kane's ongoing freedom and lack of arrest, but legal avenues he and perhaps the NHL Players Association could take if the Hawks try to ban him at this point--as alluded to at the end of Barry Rozner's article--I really don't know what factors and constraints must figure into the Blackhawks' decision-making.

But so far it has looked bad.

Asked in Thursday press conference if he was worried about coming off as tone-deaf, McDonough bristled and replied: "I can assure you that I'm anything but tone-deaf."

Which, as Sean Gentille well-put it in his article: "That's understandable, and exactly what a tone-deaf person would say. That's the definition of tone-deafness."

Yet regardless of bad PR, perhaps the Blackhawks figure that, like most star athletes accused of wrongdoing, Kane will avoid incarceration or anything that will truly derail his spectacular career, while knowing plenty of fans will always be there to watch and cheer, regardless.

Sadly, I won't be, not even on TV.

Well Shook, All Night Long: With a Hell of a Show, AC/DC Leaves Wrigley Field Thunderstruck -- Chicago Concert Review

Concert Review

AC/DC
w/ opening act Vintage Trouble
Wrigley Field, Chicago
September 15, 2015
@@@@@

Although I was only 13 at the time, and not yet going to rock concerts save a few with parental accompaniment, I'll always kinda rue not seeing AC/DC when they played three shows at the Rosemont Horizon in November 1981.

That stand came just days prior to the release of For Those About to Rock, the band's first U.S. #1 album, about a year after their classic, Back to Black, and just two years after Highway to Hell, AC/DC's last album with original frontman Bon Scott, who died in February 1980. 

Not only did this trio of albums forever cement the Australian band as superstars in America, but circa 1981, AC/DC were about the coolest band in my junior high school existence. 

More realistically, I should have seen their 1983 show at the Horizon as some friends did, but late to the live party as I was, I eventually caught AC/DC at the United Center in 2001, in 2008 at the Horizon (by then named Allstate Arena), at Milwaukee's Bradley Center in 2010 and on Tuesday night at a sold-out Wrigley Field. 

And although three of the longstanding band members--founding guitarist Angus Young, singer Brian Johnson (who replaced Scott in 1980) and bassist Cliff Williams--are now in their 60s, and two others have been replaced since their last tour (guitarist Malcolm Young due to dementia and drummer Phil Rudd due to legal issues), other than the Friendly Confines as a setting, I don't imagine all that much has changed from the show I would have seen in 1981. 

Angus still prances around in a schoolboy uniform, winds up taking a good portion of it off by night's end and occasionally rolls around onstage. 

Sporting a bit of paunch--hey, who isn't, especially among the well-matured crowd, many wearing flashing devil's horns bought on the way into Wrigley--Johnson remains a genial frontman whose singing sounds essentially as it always has. 

The rhythm section, with Williams now accompanied by guitarist Stevie Young (nephew of Angus and Malcolm) and drummer Chris Slade, was almost literally rock solid as they barely moved at the back of the stage (and nearly blended into it). 

Of the 20 songs played at Wrigley--see AC/DC's Chicago setlist on Setlist.fm--13 were also heard in 1981 at the Horizon, including most of the major ones: "Back in Black," "Shoot to Thrill," "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap," "Hells Bells," "You Shook Me All Night Long," "T.N.T.," "Whole Lotta Rosie," "Let There Be Rock," "Highway to Hell" and erstwhile show-closer, "For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)."

And despite the historic setting--likely my favorite place in the world, and lately my favorite concert venue--Johnson did little talking between songs, even before the seemingly apt new tune, "Play Ball," without a single mention of the Cubs. Angus also eschewed the opportunity to come out for the encore in a Cubs jersey, instead sticking with his thoroughly sweat-drenched shirt. 

Noting my @@@@@ rating, some may wonder what could be so great about a somewhat patched-up old band playing the same old songs in the same old way--"the same three chords" being the running gibe--while making no particular reference to the novelty of their doing so within a legendary ballpark with an atypically winning team. 

But that, in essence, is exactly what was so great. 

Adding a few decent cuts from 2014's Rock or Bust album--including the title song to open the show after an intergalactic and largely incoherent introductory video--and mixing in a few different aged album tracks ("High Voltage," "Have a Drink on Me," "Sin City"), AC/DC faithfully delivered the best of their beloved canon, and as they have for decades now, fired actual cannons during "For Those About to Rock." 

Certainly, there is a Spinal Tappish aspect to it--including such kitschy  trappings as the AC/DC bell for "Hells Bells," the lewd inflatable woman for "Whole Lotta Rosie" and a catwalk & riser for Angus to spasm upon during "Let There Be Rock"--but there is something to be said for doing what you do, rather simply and repetitively, but incredibly well. 

And God bless 'em, AC/DC still does.

It was a bit odd to have a mammoth outdoor concert end by 10:00pm--supposedly due to a city ordinance--and there were weirdly long pauses between songs, but on a beautiful night in a wonderful place with a legendary band, alongside my friend Paolo who made a point of returning from a European vacation in time to make the show, even from the second-to-last row atop the upper deck, I was thoroughly delighted that AC/DC shook me all night long.

And if you weren't there, no worries (a phrase I learned appropriately enough in Australia) as I've read that the show was recorded for future DVD release.

But for now, and for those about to rock, here's a clip of "You Shook Me All Night Long" from a kick-ass Tuesday night at Wrigley (not shot by me):

Made From Good Bialystock: Even in Scaled Down Production, the Joys of 'The Producers' Remain in Full Bloom -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

The Producers
NightBlue Performing Arts Company
at Stage 773, Chicago
Thru October 11
@@@@@

No stage show has ever made me as happy as Mel Brooks' The Producers.

And nearly 15 years after I first saw it, early during the musical's pre-Broadway 2001 Chicago run with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick, then on Broadway shortly after it won a boatload of Tony Awards, in Cleveland early on the first National Tour, in Los Angeles with Jason Alexander and Martin Short, in London with Lane (replacing an injured Richard Dreyfuss) and Lee Evans, on return Chicago engagements, again on Broadway with Richard Kind and Roger Bart, on a tour stop in Aurora, in regional productions in Munster and Lincolnshire, at a community theater in Wilmette and--for the 13th time--just this past weekend in a small but stellar staging by the NightBlue Performing Arts Company at Chicago's Stage 773...

It still does.

Although I believe Les Misérables, West Side Story, The Music Man, My Fair Lady and Cabaret to technically be "better" musicals, The Producers is undoubtedly my favorite.

Not only is it funnier than any musical ever created--and it was delicious to hear abundant exuberant laughter on Saturday from audience members who were presumably hearing each joke and lyric anew--but Mel Brooks not only created a series of fantastic scenes based on his 1968 movie, he wrote several really terrific songs.

Having been so smitten the first time I saw the show--before I had ever seen the movie, in fact--so early in its existence, I've made something of a study (or obsession) of seeing The Producers in various iterations, including the 2005 musical movie.

Though some stagings, and actors, have been better than others--no one has ever quite matched Lane and Broderick--I've enjoyed every version I've seen, including the 2012 community production in Wilmette, which I wrote about as representing the end of the theatrical life-cycle (Pre-Broadway, Broadway, National Tour, London, subsequent-but-still-producer-controlled tours, non-Equity tour, initial regional productions, local productions, community theater productions) short of high school and college versions. And given its ribald nature, I'm not sure how well The Producers would be welcomed within the walls of academia.

Upon noticing a new local staging happening in Chicago, I didn't even take much note. The Producers is, seemingly,  no longer an event when it gets presented, just another work among the great canon of musical theater that troupes of any size, anywhere, can stage upon attaining the rights.

But without other plans on Saturday, when I saw The Producers listed on HotTix (and Goldstar) and found a pretty positive review, I thought "that could be fun."

Boy was it ever.

At the unlikely start time of 4:00pm on a Saturday, within a half-full, roughly 120-seat space in a multi-stage venue, with actors who at 8:00pm would in large part perform in Victor/Victoria (being done in repertory by the same troupe), the NightBlue Performing Arts Company--from whom I've only seen one previous work, which I didn't love--kept me smiling for 2-1/2 straight hours, despite my knowing every line, joke and lyric of a show I've seen, repeatedly, on a far grander scale.

My @@@@@ rating isn't to suggest that the NightBlue staging was as good as I've ever seen The Producers, but that the material holds up wonderfully and I was tremendously impressed by all aspects of this production.

To wit, at intermission, I was sharing with an usher how amazed I was by the stage crew, who rapidly changed the scenery for the musical's myriad scenes.

It really does astonish me, not only the amount of on-stage talent there is in the Chicagoland theater community, but the dedication of musicians and tech crews who likely receive rather sparse remuneration for their estimable efforts.

While Tommy Novak, in playing scheming, down-and-out Broadway producer Max Bialystock, isn't going to make me forget Nathan Lane, he was funny, well-sung and probably more reminiscent of Zero Mostel's take in the original movie than any other Max I've witnessed.

All my Producers' tickets

Although an understudy (for Ryan Stijmiger) as nebbishy accountant Leo Bloom, Casey Hayes was also terrific. His version of "I Wanna Be a Producer" was especially lots of fun.

But beyond the two leads, much of what makes The Producers so great are all the supporting roles that get star turns, as Max and Leo go looking for the worst possible show to produce in order to "make more money with a flop than with a hit" in one of the greatest premises ever devised.

And supported by a rather impressive scenery and costume budget, especially given the small space and repertory run, Cara Chumbley, Andrew Sickel, Billy Dawson and Dominic Rescigno are all strong as Ulla, Franz Liebkind, Roger DeBris and Carmen Ghia (if you don't know who these characters are, that's another reason to see this production).

Several members of the ensemble are also quite distinguished, whether in embodying showgirls, agitated accountants, little old ladies or members of the show-within-the-show, "Springtime for Hitler."

Whether you've seen The Producers or not, and perhaps are wondering if a little local theater company you've never heard of can do it justice on a small scale, as an aficionado I can tell you that not only is the acting, singing, dancing, costumes and scenery impressive, but great scenes such as when Max & Leo meet Franz on his rooftop, when Max visits Little Old Ladyland and the staging of "Springtime for Hitler" with dancers wearing LOL costumes are truly done splendidly.

The crowd's guffaws sounded as rich as I remember my own back in February 2001. (And even if you know all the jokes and gags, the show remains a musical delight, thanks in part to a 6-piece band that also backs Victor/Victoria.)

Yes, I've seen fuller, richer and better renditions of The Producers. But not only was I truly delighted to see it yet again, given how awed as I was by the level of quality and commitment demonstrated by NightBlue's cast and crew in light of spatial and presumed financial constraints, I'm really not sure if my favorite musical of all-time has ever made me any happier.

Great Briton: Ronald Keaton Ministers a Prime 'Churchill' as Local Reign Nears End -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

Churchill
Adapted and performed by Ronald Keaton
The Greenhouse Theater Center, Chicago
Thru September 13
@@@@1/2

50 years after his death, Winston Churchill continues to cast a large shadow over not only Great Britain and Europe, but the United States as well.

In London, I have enjoyed visiting the Churchill Museum & Cabinet War Rooms (now simply called Churchill War Rooms), hearing the Prime Minister's stout wartime leadership extolled on a tour of St. Paul's Cathedral and seeing a signature hat Sir Winston left behind at the James J. Fox cigar store. 

But just as enlightening, in 2006 I augmented a road trip to St. Louis by visiting the Winston Churchill Museum in Fulton, Missouri.

Wonderfully housed in a relocated and rebuilt 16th century Christopher Wren-designed English church, the museum is on the campus of Westminster College, commemorating the 1946 "Sinews of Peace" speech Churchill delivered in the school's now-landmarked gymnasium.

That speech, in which Churchill famously used the term "Iron Curtain" in the context of Soviet-dominated Eastern Europe, was given at the invitation of U.S. President--and Missouri native--Harry S Truman after Churchill had failed to win re-election as British Prime Minister in 1945. (He would again serve as PM from 1951-55.)

Though Churchill had visited the United States as early as 1895--his mom, Jennie Jerome was an American--and, despite battling both a lisp and stutter, was sufficiently regarded for his oratory skills that on a 1900 speaking tour of the U.S. he was introduced to and by Mark Twain, the 1946 speech in Fulton serves as the jumping off point for Ronald Keaton's fine one-man play, Churchill.

Keaton, a veteran Chicago actor with the baldness and girth to well-embody his subject, had a nice run with the Kurt Johns-directed SoloChicago production in 2014 at the Greenhouse Theater Center on Lincoln Avenue, where it has returned after running for several months Off-Broadway in New York earlier this year.

I have no good reason why, despite stellar reviews, I had not gotten to Churchill until noting its Chicago reprise is ending this Sunday, but availed myself of a HotTix discount for last Sunday's matinee. (Discounts remain for the few upcoming performances.)

Thanks to a hefty amount of history and humor, the 2-hour biographical showcase is largely a joy.

Adopting an effective British accent, Keaton begins painting his portrait of Churchill by sitting at an easel as the multi-talented politician engages one of his most relished pursuits: painting.

Soon, Sir Winston tells of being invited for the "Sinews of Peace" speech, and I wondered if a theatrical reciting of the actual address would follow.

In some regards that may have been cool, but Keaton uses the conceit of speaking to a gathering in the Westminster College gym to deliver a fuller overview of Churchill's life, accomplishments and famed witticisms.

Though some of the facts I had come upon before, including on Wikipedia, I valued hearing Keaton as Churchill speak of his beloved nanny, military service in Cuba (where he developed his love of cigars), Sudan, India and elsewhere, great respect for Irish leader Michael Collins even as England and Ireland were at odds, how Winston met his wife Clementine and his adherence to a Golden Rule:

"Do what you like; like what you do."

Keaton also delectably works in Churchill's famed retort upon a political rival saying to him, "If you were my
husband I'd put poison in your coffee" before powerfully ending Act I on the cusp of World War II.

As one might assume, Act II references Churchill's ascendancy to Prime Minister and makes mention of Franklin D. Roosevelt, Adolf Hitler, Charles De Gaulle and Generals Patton, Eisenhower and Montgomery. I found an anecdote about American Ambassador to the UK, Joseph Kennedy Sr., and his advice to Churchill especially revelatory, and even among wartime remembrances great quips continued to abound from the great man.

While I won't reveal who it derided, "He was a modest man with much to be modest about," is just one example of how Keaton--who, through exhaustive research, adapted (i.e. wrote for the stage) all the words he spoke--captured the spirit of Winston Churchill while making a history lesson a whole lot of fun.

Excepting perhaps Abraham Lincoln, Churchill is likely the historical world leader I most admire, in part because--like (non-politicians) Twain, Oscar Wilde, Will Rogers, Yogi Berra, etc.--of how eminently quotable he remains, but also due to what I've learned about the morale-boosting resiliency with which he led during the most troubling of times.

Keaton is to be highly commended for conveying both aspects--and many more--of Winston Churchill in a way that comes off as engaging, not laborious or dryly professorial.

I'm sorry I took me so long to see it--and thus review it--but if you can get to the Greenhouse Theater Center before the current reign of Churchill comes to an end this Sunday, I suggest you do.

"Blood, toil, tears and sweat" have rarely been offered more winsomely--or Winstonly. 

While Well-Enacted by AstonRep, 'The Lyons' Winds Up Only Halfway Decent -- Chicago Theater Review

Theater Review

The Lyons

a recent play by Nicky Silver

Directed by Derek Bertelsen

AstonRep Theatre Company
at Raven Theater Complex

Thru September 27

@@@1/2

"My life has been one big parade of disappointments. You're the Grand Marshal." 
-- spoken by the character Ben Lyons
    in Nicky Silver's The Lyons

Dysfunctional families have forever been a mainstay of dramatic (and comedic) theater.

Whether in classics like Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey Into Night and Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes, a modern masterpiece such as Tracy Letts' August: Osage County or any number of plays that can be seen in Chicago throughout any year, including a fine 2014 piece called The Humans by Stephen Karam, skilled writers have commonly made theatrical spectator sport out of kinfolk spewing vitriol at each other.

But as the above examples--and many others--attest, excellent and entirely distinctive plays can be forged from a seemingly familiar premise or scenario.

Thanks to a dirt cheap ticket offer on Goldstar, two excellent shows I saw last year by the AstonRep Theatre Co.--Wit and The Lieutenant of Inishmore, both directed by Derek Bertelsen, who also helms The Lyons--and the comfort, convenience and easy parking offered by the Raven Theatre Complex, the truth is I wasn't greatly concerned about subject matter in opting to attend on Saturday night.

Nor, in taking my seat while noting the well-rendered hospital room stage set, was I in any way put off by the following statement by playwright Nicky Silver--with whose previous work I was unfamiliar--in an interview with Bertelsen published in the show program:

"With my new play, I wanted to go back to basics -- to write something that was as simple stylistically as possible. And that meant putting a family in a room and having them talk to each other."

Though the play begins with a comedically preposterous bit--one hopes--involving a motormouth wife named Rita (well-played by Susan Fay) discussing her desire to re-do the living room while sitting at the bedside of husband Ben Lyons (a properly exasperated Scott Olson) as he is in the end stages of cancer that has ravaged much of his body, and also involves the seemingly "for theatrical purposes only" decision by the couple not to tell their two grown children about Ben's illness and likely imminent demise until they come to the hospital, the first act of The Lyons is rather entertaining, engaging and even identifiable.

I realize the need for playwright Silver to imbue the dramedy with some hyper-realism for entertainment purposes, but for the most part the dialogue between Rita, Ben, their divorced, alcoholic daughter Lisa (Aja Wiltshire) and gay son Curtis--who brings overt resentment of his derisive father and his own relationship issues--was believable enough for me to truly enjoy The Lyons in its own right.

I found it a bit odd that Silver makes a point of the Lyons' being Jewish yet barely references it throughout the narrative, and Rita--who openly (and not kindly) tells Lisa that she thinks one of her young grandkids may be slow--gets to be a bit much, but Act I is well-paced and there are some really great lines, like the one I quoted at top and Curtis' comment to his dying dad:

"I forgive you for making sure I knew I wasn't the child you wanted." 

As the lights came down for intermission, I jotted in my notebook that despite some familiar tropes and easy hysterics, the play felt fresh and even managed to shock.

With genuine anticipation, I was looking forward to what would unfold in Act II.

And then proceeded to be disappointed by it.

Rather than keeping the play focused on the four members of the family talking to each other, Silver splinters them up, with Lisa attending an AA meeting, Curtis going apartment hunting and Rita engaging in especially unseemly behavior given the circumstances.

The cheap theatrics and unwieldy complications Silver had avoided so well in Act I essentially--IMO--ruined Act II.

Though I didn't mind some changes of scenery simply for variance, and accept a bit of farce, I really wanted to see the same 4 characters carry on their discussion.

Which isn't to say I wanted everything tightly resolved with tears, hugs and forgiveness, but the chosen denouement really didn't do anything for me.

This is a shame because the actors--particularly Fay--continued to be quite good. (In addition to famous fighting theatrical families, the characters in this play also reminded me of the Jonathan Tropper book and recent movie, This Is Where I Leave You.)

So especially for the right price, The Lyons could still well be worth seeing for Act I--after which point I was thinking @@@@ or even @@@@1/2 could well be merited--and to see if you have a different take on Act II.

As it was, I was again impressed by AstonRep--Jeremiah Barr's set design was strong in a small space and in addition to the performers already named, Amy Kasper and Drew Wieland were quite good in small parts--and admired Bertelsen's direction, albeit in service to a script that took some turns for the worse.

Perhaps akin to what football fans in Detroit have long-known--not that the Bears have been much better--The Lyons are only good for a half.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot Glass: Highlighting a Vast Collection Built 1.5-oz. at a Time

Earlier this year, I had problems with my Comcast service and the first technician who came to my home  indicated that he would need to access the cable outlet feeding into my condo unit.

This probably doesn't sound like an unreasonable request, but the jack was behind two bookcases that had been set in place for 7+ years, filled with books and abundantly adorned with souvenirs, art pieces, satellite speakers and much else.

But my biggest chagrin was due to each of the bookcases--and a third, which I wouldn't need to move--holding hundreds of shot glasses.

As expected--and necessitating the initial tech leaving and another service call having to be scheduled for a different day--it took me several hours to take down and safely box 500+ shotglasses I have been collecting for 20 years, so that I could sufficiently move the bookshelves to allow access to the outlet.

Although order was restored months ago now, I took my time putting the shot glasses back on the shelves, in part for fear that recurring technical difficulties would require follow-up visits from Comcast, but also so that I could photograph several groupings of the 1.5-oz. glasses, many which wind up hidden 2, 3, 4 and 5 rows deep on their shelf and stacked up to 5 glasses high.

One of my most recent acquisitions.

I can't tell you exactly why I collect shot glasses, especially as I rarely drink hard liquor and have never actually used any of myriad souvenirs that I have purchased around the world--or which friends and relatives have brought back for me from their expeditions.

But I'm pretty sure that beginning my collection--largely on a whim--dates to the fall of 1995, when I moved into an apartment in Glen Ellyn, IL.

This was after I had graduated from college, lived in Los Angeles for 3 years, returned to my parents' home for more than 2-1/2 years and went to Europe (mainly London and Paris) for the first time in 1993...without bringing home any glasses.

I guess in having a new home I wanted something to collect and display, and while to a lesser extent I've gathered refrigerator magnets, emblazoned golf balls, souvenir baseballs, t-shirts and various other tchockies from my travels, shot glasses are what I have most regularly and steadfastly sought and bought on domestic and international trips--a good handful always wind up rolled within shirts and slacks in my suitcase on return--or even just from local restaurants and attractions that sell souvenirs.

But especially with my own acquisitions slowed a bit due to spatial limitations, I'd guess that at least 20% or more of my collection represents places I've never actually been, thanks to others who are kind enough to keep me in mind when venturing somewhere cool (and often perhaps finding themselves wishing to rid themselves of leftover foreign currency at the airport).

A couple recent gifts from Memphis, a (Pro Football) Hall of Fame shot glass
and a shot glass from Guantanamo Bay, Cuba for I don't recall my benefactor

I'm not as obnoxious about requesting that jet-setting pals bring me back a shot glass as I once was, but until the book shelves actually begin to crack--believe me, they've been sagging for years--I'll be more than happy to welcome any new additions into my collection.

And much as I spotlighted my collections of neckties and autographed Playbills earlier this year, I'm glad to share a good smattering of my shot glasses online--many of which even fairly frequent visitors to my condo would never see.

It's been awhile since I took the photos, and besides 10-20 new acquisitions that I haven't bothered including, I seem to recall aborting initial attempts to photograph shot glasses grouped by themes. And other than a massive "full shelf shot," I never bothered with the glasses on the 3rd bookcase.

Yet I'm hoping to depict not only that I have a lot of shot glasses--if not quite 1,000, close to it--but also have tried to feature many that I think are fairly unique or otherwise notable.

Hopefully this won't be a kena hora (Yiddish for "jinx" or something close to it) but not only have I never used one of my souvenir shot glasses, to date I've never broken any.

Anyway, without further ado, here are:

The Shot Glasses Herded Around the World

(Click on photo to enlarge)

Sonic (Highways) Blast: With Local Influences in Tow, Foo Fighters Fervently Rock Wrigley -- Chicago Concert Review

Concert Review

Foo Fighters
w/ opening acts Cheap Trick,
Naked Raygun and Urge Overkill
Wrigley Field, Chicago
August 29, 2015
@@@@@
(for Foo Fighters and full show)

With one of my favorite bands of all-time playing for 2-1/2 hours in my favorite place on Earth, preceded by a classic band I like even more and two other storied local acts, a @@@@@ concert review seems almost automatic.

And even with hyperkinetic Foo king Dave Grohl relegated to sitting on a throne of his own design (see pictures below) after breaking his right leg falling off a stage earlier this summer, the Foo Fighters successfully translated the combination of fun, power and ferocity that has long made them one of my favorite live acts--I first saw them at the Riv in 1997 and now 12 times since--to a completely full Wrigley Field, which Grohl noted as the first stadium they sold out in America.

Having launched their Sonic Highways HBO series--the name doubling as the title of the band's latest album--last October with an intimate gig at the Cubby Bear bar across the street, forever cherished by Grohl as the place where he saw his first rock concert, at age 13, with his Evanston-based cousin Tracy and by nascent Chicago punk rockers Naked Raygun, the Wrigley show was clearly a special one for the Foos.

And me.

I didn't particularly rue not getting to go to the Cubby Bear show, but the concert at Wrigley Field--home of my beloved Cubs and, over the past decade or so, my favorite live music venue--sold out nearly as fast and tickets remained rather exorbitant on the secondary (e.g. StubHub) market.

So I was thrilled to be able to score a single, face value, really good upper deck seat when a small allotment of extra tickets were put onsale just a few weeks ago.

Keeping with Sonic Highways' theme of spotlighting bands that inspired Grohl & co. in 8 cities across America, the outdoor extravaganza featured three opening acts with deep Chicago ties: Urge Overkill, Grohl's treasured Naked Raygun and Cheap Trick, who technically hail from Rockford.

Taking advantage of an atypically unmobbed souvenir stand in the upper deck to buy an exclusive Foo Fighters & Guests @ Wrigley Field t-shirt--for $15 less that the standard concert t-shirt rate, yet another reason to love Dave Grohl--I took my seat just as Urge Overkill took the stage at 5:30pm, with a light rain throughout the night never more than a minor nuisance.

Launching into "Positive Bleeding" from their great 1993 album, Saturation, UO played a brief but terrific set with original members and co-vocalists Nash Kato and Eddie Roeser sounding swell years after splintering and more recently reuniting.

Even with a 2011 album, I hadn't noticed Urge since their cover of Neil Diamond's "Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon" was featured in Pulp Fiction, so it was great to hear that one and two other Saturation gems ("Back On Me," "Sister Havana") among their seven song selection.

Next up was Naked Raygun, a band I've long heard of thanks to their great name and Grohl's reminisces perhaps going back to his days as the drummer in Nirvana, but whose material I've never really known. Had I, I may have been effusively rocking out at the front of the upper deck like a nearby fan, but as it was I appreciated what I heard, even without a direct connection or being able to name the songs (though you can see the setlist here)

Although I would consider myself a rather serious, longstanding Cheap Trick fan--Cheap Trick at Budokan being the first record I ever bought, in 1979--they prompted "WTF?!" marvel (in both a confused and admiring way) by beginning their highest profile Chicago set in ages with 3 songs I didn't recognize, one I barely did ("Stiff Competition") and a Velvet Underground cover ("I'm Waiting for the Man") that was sung by bassist Tom Petersson.

Lead vocalist Robin Zander resumed his duties as he, guitarist Rick Nielsen, Petersson and Nielsen's son Dax--now playing drums in place of Bun E. Carlos--placated the crowd, or at least me, with stellar runs through "I Want You to Want Me," "Dream Police" and "Surrender," followed by the lengthy "Gonna Raise Hell," during which Zander dared to tred down the Foos' catwalk.

All of this made for a rather tasty appetizer before the main course, and a comfortable seat allowed me to savor the sonic blasts much more than I would have in a festival setting.

With the stage still shrouded by a FF curtain, Grohl's delirious screams foretold a wild night as the Foo Fighters began their set with "Everlong," a tune long used to close concerts (and, recently, David Letterman's late-night run). From the same 1997 album came another favorite, "Monkey Wrench," followed by a third pre-2000 gem, "Learn to Fly."

It was a rather tremendous way to open a concert, with the flip side being that little of the subsequent material outshone the opening salvo, even with abundant highlights.

As on the Sonic Highways album and TV episode, Rick Nielsen accompanied the band on "Something From Nothing," the best cut from a so-so record that lent just two other tracks to the setlist. (See the Foo Fighters' full Wrigley Field Chicago setlist on Setlist.fm)

Four songs from 2011's Wasting Light--most demonstrably "Walk" and "Arlandria"--revealed that to be a much stronger effort than the current album, and while Grohl has penned a good sprinkling of 21st century songs (such as "The Pretender," "Times Like These," "All My Life" and "Best of You") that enable the Foo Fighters to remain one of the few contemporary bands capable of rocking a stadium in 2015, the band's relative lack of songwriting progression or variance was reiterated.

I said much the same thing last time I saw & reviewed the Foos (in 2011), suggesting that "Grohl could stand to dig quite a bit deeper as a composer and lyricist. But perhaps to get closer to Nirvana, he'd have to go to places in his psyche he'd rather not mine or reveal."

Thus, while it was a wonderful evening and in most aspects a terrific headlining performance, for me it didn't match the emotional resonance I've felt in seeing U2, Pearl Jam and Arcade Fire over the past year, or Bruce Springsteen, Paul McCartney and Pearl Jam in the same revered (and friendly) confines.

But that's rather heady comparison, so giving the show @@@@@ isn't overdoing it even with some shortcomings revealed or rehashed.

And though the Foos' catalog hasn't become considerably more hallowed since their days playing the Metro, Riviera and Aragon, it was undoubtedly an emotional and nostalgic night for Grohl.

Noting early on that "if it wasn't for your fucking city I wouldn't be here right now," Grohl later brought not only his cousin Tracy to their stage, but his mom Virginia (which also happens to be his home state) as it was both their birthdays--and the adoring crowd properly serenaded.

Though only drummer Taylor Hawkins complements Grohl as a focal point (especially from the top of a baseball stadium), the fondness the singer/guitarist has for those who have long fought Foo with him--bassist Nate Mendel, guitarists Pat Smear and Chris Shiflett, keyboardist Rami Jaffe and Hawkins--was readily apparent. While a bit hackneyed, it was fun to hear snippets of multiple Van Halen songs, Yes' "Roundabout" and Alice Cooper's "School's Out" during the band introductions.

It seemed a bit askew when, at about the show's 2-hour mark, the loquacious Grohl received the crowd's fervent blessing to ditch the "stadium rock show" for "keg party" vamping, only to abruptly revert to the former after a run through the Rolling Stones' "Miss You."

I also thought Grohl missed the perfect chance to jam with several members of the opening acts or even welcome other Chicago legends like Buddy Guy or Steve Albini, who both were featured in Sonic Highways. (Albini produced Nirvana's In Utero, was in Big Black with Naked Raygun members and recorded "Something From Nothing" in his Chicago studio.)

And while I was glad to hear "This Is a Call," the first song on the Foo Fighters' 1995 debut--derived from demos Grohl had recorded during downtime with Nirvana--I wish it was followed as on the album by "I'll Stick Around," long missing from setlists despite being one the band's best songs.

Regardless, I appreciated Dave Grohl graciously thanking those who have stuck around in supporting the Foo Fighters over a rather remarkable 20 years--he also mentioned Nirvana having played the nearby Metro and, as attended by yours truly, the Aragon--and I couldn't help but be a bit verclempt myself when he got choked up in introducing show-closer, "Best of You."

Though Grohl has rarely traipsed in the political and social onstage commentary espoused by his contemporary Eddie Vedder--preferring to champion the power of rock 'n roll itself--there was a clearly identifiable subtext to his explanation about why he didn't let a broken leg abort the current tour:

"I actually like my job."

And I actually loved the job Grohl and his band did on Saturday night in the old ballpark.

I would prefer for them to write some killer new songs, perhaps with a deeper sense of distinction and self, but I nonetheless look forward to seeing how good the Foo Fighters can be yet again.

Especially when Dave is back on his feet.

To paraphrase the next band I'll see at Wrigley Field, "For those about to rock--intensely, despite injury--we salute Foo."