Ranting Details

Latin Fire Devours the Dressing Room

One of my favorite parts about Met season was always the dressing room.  Only, I had a habit of spending a lot of time in Marcelo and David's dressing room rather than my own.  The accommodations for the corps are pleasant, but the Principal dressing rooms take the cake.  During breaks I would wander down to their cushioned, private corner of the Opera House and spend time with two guys who not only inspire me, but make me laugh unlike anyone else.   

It's rare that two Principal men are on for the same performance, so when I stopped by to catch David's debut in "Don Q" I couldn't help snapping a few photos documenting their preparation for the show!

Pas for Jenny

Last Saturday night marked ABT's memorial tribute to Jennifer Alexander.  Most of you will remember that Jennifer, a dearly beloved corps member of ABT for 13 years, passed away last December.  Included in the celebration of Jennifer's life was a piece that Marcelo Gomes choreographed for two of Jennifer and her husband Julio's closest friends, Isaac Stappas and Kristi Boone.  It was a simple and elegant pas de deux that celebrated the love shared between Julio and Jennifer; a perfect way to honor Jenny.

I had the chance to photograph the pas a few months ago. 

   

 

Gala 2.0

Walking up to Lincoln Center for ABT’s gala a few nights ago, I was filled with thoughts of my eighteen-year-old self on my first day of work.  There was a fountain then.  Now there is scaffolding devouring the majority of the plaza.   Construction workers danced their machines around the disarray on Monday night, drilling new foundation as patrons scattered and searched for a place to wait for their dates.  Fortunately I had the lovely Sterling Hyltin as mine. 

After wrestling with myself over whether or not to attend the annual opening of the season celebration, I found myself staring in the mirror, meticulously tying my new silver tie at 5:40 on the afternoon of the show; apparently I was going.  First the tie was too long, then it was too short, then finally, exasperated, I managed to get it just right and journeyed uptown for what I knew would be a bittersweet evening; in many ways this gala signals the beginning of the end of my time in the company.

One of the most difficult aspects of leaving ABT has been losing the day-to-day life I’d grown accustomed to.  As a young dancer right out of high school I found comfort not only in doing what I love with one of the best companies in the world, but also in the family that company created. 

Years passed and I developed relationships spanning the ranks.  Some continue to be fraught with tension, while others started as surface friendships that later revealed themselves to be trusted companions.  In many ways my work life was my social life.  Even though I always knew the difficulties of mixing work and play, I also felt lucky to find so much in one place.  Those comforts began to fade away when I was diagnosed with EBV.

(I almost wore that (you know, to avoid any tie drama), but then I heard she was and that would have been a DISASTER.  I would have looked so much better...obviously.)

Dealing with this illness has prompted a reorganization of my life on every level.  It simply isn’t possible for me to populate my life with only dancers when it acts as a constant reminder of what I’m unable to do right now.   But stripping away my work life meant taking away much of my New York family.  Therefore the gala ended up being a family reunion of sorts. 

After an overly long program (as is the case with galas) full of season highlights (and a few random selections, including the “Onegin” pas de deux danced by Marcelo Gomes and the incomparable Julie Kent), Sterling and I swirled down the stairs from the top tier of the Met where we’d been seated.  We pushed our way through the meandering patrons and finally reached fresh air, and a bundle of dancers, outside.  I took a deep breath and gave Sterling a hug as we parted ways; I would brave the party on my own.

(Sterling and I pose for the paparazzi after the show.)

Each year the festivities are held in a large tent resting in the shadow of the Met Opera House.  What looks like a haz-mat tent on the outside, all white tarp and rope, makes way to a cavernous space filled with round tables, two dance floors and a band.  A majority of the dancers are seated in the rear half of the room, and all I hoped for was to be at a table with a group of people I knew.

I scanned the seating chart, a piece of paper that resembled a disheveled game of tic-tac-toe, and found my name by table 25.  It was practically falling off the paper, as it was situated in the furthest corner from the entryway.  Another deep breath and I made my way through the crowd. 

It wasn’t long before I arrived at my table and felt a wave of relief as familiar faces welcomed me.  Sean Stewart, Daniel Keene, Kenny Easter, Eric Tamm; it was going to be okay.  Before I knew it we were catching up about the goings on in the company while I did my best to avoid talking about being sick.  In short, it’s draining to catch up with 80 of your family members about health struggles.  Yet somehow I thought a shirt detailing the most recent updates wouldn’t look flattering with my suit. 

Being on the periphery of the tables gave me an opportunity to sit back and relax as dancers made their rounds once dinner was over.  The two dance floors filled up with couture-clad patrons and the occasional celebrity (Kelly Ripa, Donald Trump and Sigourney Weaver were in attendance) while I savored my dessert.   All the while I couldn’t help but reminisce about my first Met party when I danced the night away.  New company members flitted through the room with the same abandon that we all possessed at one point. 

The night wore on and I began to feel tired from just watching the dancers eat up the dance floor.  Coats were hooked around seatbacks, and ties began to come undone while the cover band continued their assault of elevator remixes of today’s pop hits.  I wove my way through the crowd and said my goodbyes before slipping out as quietly as possible. 

Once I made my way out of the tent I was confronted with the sight of a fountain-less plaza, once again. It occured to me that I had stopped to sit at the fountain after every one of the previous Met galas.  The hope is that the new fountain will be better than the old, but it’s hard not to miss it while it’s gone.

(Goddess Anne Milewski and I look sibling-y.)

 

(Marcelo and Anne cozy up with...Grant.)

(Eric steals some dessert.)
 

IN THE STUDIO: "Tacaca" 2

Here's the second batch of photos from Marcelo Gomes' world premiere ballet, "Tacaca," debuting tomorrow night at the Youth America Grand Prix Gala!  A huge merde to Marcelo, Sarwannee Tanatanit, and Blaine Hoven for tomorrow night! 

IN THE STUDIO: Meeting "Tacaca"

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR THE WONDERFUL SUPPORT ON MY LAST POST!!! IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME!

Wednesday was one of the busiest days I've had in the past year.  I managed to make time for all three of my passions: writing, dancing, and dolphin training photography. Even though my backpack made me feel like I was carrying a full-grown person on my shoulders, I was limber enough to sneak around the studio and capture some pictures from Marcelo Gomes' new piece, "Tacaca." 

The piece marks Marcelo's New York choreographic debut and will be performed on Monday night at the Youth America Grand Prix Gala.  Be sure to grab a ticket if you can get your hands on one! 

With such gorgeous subjects as Sarwanee Tanatanit (her hair!) and Blaine Hoven, it's hard to go wrong.  Many more pictures to come!!! 

All photos © Matthew Murphy 2008.

Birthday Bash

(Warning: Intense brain fog today...please forgive any issues with this post!)

I can't believe that it's already been a year.  This past Wednesday I celebrated my 22nd birthday and it was a bittersweet occasion.  The unfortunate fact of the matter is that my birthday now acts as a reminder of the last time I felt healthy.  Things went downhill rather quickly after I turned 21 in Minneapolis last year, and it wasn't even a month before I succumbed to the trials of Epstein Barr Virus.  I knew that this celebration was going to be emotional, but it also ended up being a wonderful in unexpected ways 

The day started out a bit boring; some apartment cleaning, a minor breakdown, and lounging around saving up energy for the night's festivities.  However, it wasn't long until Carson and our friend Melissa showed up to put a smile on my face and treat me to my first pedicure ever.  There's nothing like letting a random woman cut your toenails and gasp at your calluses; confidence booster indeed.  As pleasant as that experience was, it was all in preparation for the required footwear of the evening: bowling shoes. 

The guest list for the night was an eclectic assortment of my friends, many who had never hung out before.  I always get a bit nervous when mixing groups, but from the moment we arrived at Bowlmor, it was clear that everyone was in the mood to mingle. 

(All pictures by Timur Civan.) 

(My one and only girlfriend Ashley catches up with Carson as I loom in the background.  I make a good hat.)

(Carson looks grumpy that I chose to enter the picture.  Tough.  Just enjoying a crazy night out with my special celebratory birthday drink: Coca-Cola!  Craziness, indeed.)

(Not sure what I made Marcelo laugh about.  Obviously I'm hilarious.)

(The fabulous Erin picks out a ball that is bigger than her entire body.)

(Alec knows that the black light is the perfect opportunity to show off his pearly whites.)

(Julio gives bowling lessons to the onlookers.)

(Thinking about getting back together?  No, just talking about how fierce we looked in our prom photo.)

(Be careful...Melissa will eat your face.)

(Feeling my generous heart?  Or smearing beer on my chest?)

(Melissa celebrates the fact that she is wearing grey and white stripes...just like Carson and me!)

(Marcelo and Julio celebrating a strike?  Or the fact that Britney Spears has a new anime music video out? )

(Carson gets the coolest shot of the night and proves that she MIGHT be a speed skater.  Look at that form!)

(It's possible that my leg is asleep in this picture.  Or made of wood.  That being said, I did beat everyone .  That's right...blogger AND bowling champion.)

(Hence the Evita pose.)

Goodbye New York

(With Blaine and Marcelo saying goodbye for a few months.)

Setbacks are frustrating, whether they are professional, romantic, mental, or physical.  Over the past eight months I seem to have encountered just about every kind of setback there is.  With the recent addition of a horrible cold into the blender of my life, I’m confined to my apartment for what were to be my last triumphant days in New York until Spring. 

The past week has been extremely emotional for me.  As my departure to Montana draws nearer and nearer, there is no doubt that I am a little bit in denial about it.  While my friends assure me that it is just the type of thing I need right now, I am scared for a variety of reasons. 

Most pressing of those reasons is my health.  After eight months of trying almost everything except drinking my own urine (urine was the answer to every ailment to one of my Russian teachers in high school) I seem to be inching, rather than leaping along to full health.  Over the past two weeks, I was bouncing around more than ever and reveling in the fact that people were taking note of my improved spirits.  But every time someone noted the improvements, I heard silent thunder echoing in my brain.  What I’m starting to learn, as I ride the ups and downs of my illness, is that I always have an impending sense of doom.  I have started to live a bit in fear that for every good day I have, there will be a horrible day in the near future.  So far, I’ve been right. 

Even as I type this, I can logically say to myself that this is no way to live.  People in peak health have ups and downs.  To have every day bring constant sunshine and singing birds would become nauseating in its own right.  Yet, after eight months of fighting a sickness that still lingers, I have adopted this negative mindset, much to my dismay. 

With the arrival of my Dance Spirit article, I am elated to finally have a (fairly) definitive and concise account of my battle.  All of the friends who have stood in front of me, bewildered by my seemingly healthy self, will begin to have a sense of what has gone on beneath the surface. 

When I started writing the article, and working on different drafts, my editor and I joked that by the time the issue hit newsstands I would be living a normal life again.  Unfortunately, that isn’t the case.  If I were healthy, I wouldn’t be surrounded by two large bags and piles of books that I’m transporting to Montana tomorrow. 

I haven’t lived at home with my parents for more than a month since I was thirteen.  Suddenly I’m dependent on them monetarily, and leaning on them more emotionally than I wish to be at twenty-one.  Again, I’m able to see the foolishness of the words I type.  Parents are there for you to lean on and I’m fortunate to have fantastic parents that can support me through this difficult time.  Yet after years of working towards financial and emotional independence, it’s jarring to know that I need them more than ever. 

It will be nice to spend time with my family and a variety of friends who I haven’t seen much since jetting off to boarding school at thirteen.  I’m looking forward to working on photography, writing, and perhaps I’ll even start breeding dogs, or capturing leprechauns; there are so many possibilities.  Whatever I’m doing in Montana, there will always be the fact that my friends in New York are continuing on their own journeys.  The other night I had to say goodbye to Marcelo, Jackie, Blaine and David which was harder than I imagined.  Walking home through the wind as snow attacked my face, I noticed how much my inner mood matched the outer tumultuous night air.  Let’s hope that my mood and health will match the spring flowers upon my return to New York in March.

HERE IS AN ARTICLE THE MISSOULA PAPER DID ABOUT ME LAST WEEK:
A Bittersweet Homecoming

Last Night

I haven't felt this type of stress in over eight months.  Today I was talking to David about how I feel like I've forgotten what it feels like to do a full rehearsal day; it's almost unfathomable to me in my current state.  Even though that feeling is lost to me, I'm learning all about the stress brought on by writing assignments.   I've been having extreme ups and downs health wise (especially emotionally) over the past week.  In addition to writing for Dance Spirit, I was recently asked to do a little writing for the next issue of Movmnt Magazine. 

This is a wonderful challenge for me because it's forcing me to step outside of my comfort zone.  Quite frankly, I'm used to writing about myself or at least a topic that I have decided.  With my assignments for Movmnt, I'm writing one about the star of the upcoming "Center Stage 2" (you read that right) and another on the fantastic composer Nico Muhly.  I'm flexing my reporting muscles, but you'll have to pick up the issue when it hits newsstands in late January to read all about it. 

Feeling like I needed a little night of relaxation, I headed over to Marcelo's yesterday for a mini-boys night.  We finally had our long-discussed marathon of the brilliant (and canceled) "The Comeback."  Marcelo, Blaine, Sean and I were laughing up a storm but it was short lived.  I had to return home to my assignments which kept me up well into the night.  Right now I'm taking a step back before I go in for a round of editing.  In the meantime, enjoy some pictures from our impromptu photo shoot. 

(Blaine shows off his hand modeling skills.)

(Lua isn't buying it.)

(Perhaps if we do a photo shoot Lua will love us?)

(Hell yeah she will!  Call US Weekly!)

(Let's take a moment to collect ourselves.)

(Family portrait.)

(Family portrait gone wild.)

(Oh no.  The props have entered the picture...)

(Lua's still not buying it...back to "The Comeback!")

My Name Is Matt, and I'm a Xanaholic

Let's clarify one thing...I'm not addicted to Xanax, I'm addicted to Xanadu!

After my fourth visit to "Xanadu" last night, I am close to renaming "Ranting Details" "The Xanadu Fanadu."  My obsession has reached critical mass and as the increasingly endless strike rages on Broadway, the time to see "Xanadu" is now!   Just about  everything else has been forced to close down for the time being so head to the Helen Hayes theater immediately.  That's an order. 

Walking down 44th Street with Marcelo in the frigid New York air, the sights of the bustling street lined with several large Broadway houses was anything but typical.  Where theater marquees usually illuminate hordes of tourists and theater fans clamoring to their seats, last night all they illuminated was an endless barrage of strikers  Armed with signs, snack stands and news media covering the different groups outside each theater, the strikers weren't enough to stop Marcelo and I from making our way to the little theater that could: the Helen Hayes. 

From the moment we stepped into the lobby, where groups of tourists fought for the few remaining tickets to the sold-out show, I could tell it was going to be a different experience than my previous visits.  The crowd seemed especially revved up, the ushers were donning explosive wigs of neon colors usually reserved for Elmer's glue, and then Cheyenne Jackson took the stage in his booty shorts. 

To call this show a frivolously good time is a severe understatement.  From the moment Jackson takes the stage with his aloof valley boy portrayal of an artist in search of inspiration, it gets me belly laughing like Santa with a few scotch's in him.  After four visits to the show, I'm amazed that it still elicits genuine laughter from me for almost every moment.

Kerry Butler leads the cast as the goddess Clio, forced to take on an Australian accent, don leg warmers and change her name to Kira to help poor Sonny find artistic inspiration.  Somehow I've managed to see Butler in everything she's done, and she's never been better.  Paired with the god-like Jackson, whose voices seems to grow stronger and capable of hitting higher notes (perhaps the booty shorts are squeezing things just a little too tightly) with each time I see the show, I'm more than willing to put up with the very occasional lags in the proceedings.

(A blurry crowd of strikers.)

Belting their way through a pop-rock score that is bound to have you clapping along and dancing in your seat by the end,  each member of the ensemble is a comic star in their own right.  Part of what I've enjoyed so much about my repeat visits to the show is that their interactions with the audience (some of which are seated on stage) are so spontaneous.  They are incredibly endearing as they make their way through the fantastically cheesy, and wonderfully musical choreography.  Half of them aren't dancers but it just adds to the comic joy that the show creates.

It's a testament to the cast, which is one of my favorite ensemble to ever rock the Broadway stage, that they are capable of keeping it fresh for themselves and the audience.  They were obviously thriving off of the extra energy last night- stretching out their hilariously hideous Australian accents or putting an extra jolt in their battements.  Jackie Hoffman and Mary Testa, who steal the show with their rendition of "Evil Woman," were ad-libbing up a storm.  At one point Hoffman stopped a line to run over to one of the audience members seated onstage, (who had been slouching the entire show) shake him and ask him "What is wrong?  Can you sit up already?! Jeez." 

Even though there are the momentary lags in the show(heightened last night by Tony Robert's absence in the role played by Gene Kelly in the movie) I still think this is the most fun I've  ever had at the theater.  When Clio/Kira makes her case for the "human experience made capable through art," I can't help but  be thankful for this show.  Sondheim it's not, but a comedy this tight and superb doesn't come around too often.  Who says good art needs to be serious?  At this point in my life, I'm more than happy to just have a great time.  I even managed to convert Marcelo to a Fanadu.  How many days until I can get my next fix of this disco magic?! 

Picture(s) of the Day: 10/28/07

(Does anyone have any clue what is happening here?)

(Swoopy arms and unitards.)