Aah, the magic of off-off-Broadway!  Saturday afternoon I went to the matinee performance of Kaspar Hauser: A Foundling’s Opera at the Flea Theater.  It is always a roll of the dice when you go to off-off-Broadway theater.  I have been to my share of duds, but I have also seen some gems.  Knowing this, it is always best to go into it with rock-bottom expectations.  As such, Kaspar Hauser was better than expected!  What a surprise!

The play is based on the legend of a feral boy who wandered into Nuremburg over a century ago.  The details and the truth of the story are apparently somewhat murky, so the play is actually based on a book that is based on the legend.  Confused yet?  Anyhoo, the story is interesting enough that I did not feel compelled to turn my dart back on myself after hitting it.  However, the first 15 minutes of the first act set a rather dull precedent.  It appeared that this opera was going to be a play where the characters just sang out what they were doing at the moment, repeating Kaspar’s name, and otherwise being cheesy and out of cadence.  However, the story started picking up steam and the second of two acts was much more engaging.  Many of the musical numbers began making sense while still being entertaining.  Just enough intrigue was tossed into the mix to keep the audience engaged.  In the end you actually care about the kid.

The Flea Theater is a small venue, as you might imagine.  I counted just under 50 seats in the theater and the room was about as big as many reasonably priced lofts in New York.  This makes for quite an intimate setting, especially given that the cast and crew of the production amounted to more than half of the size of the audience!  Unfortunately, within the 25-odd cast, there were only a few who could hit the big notes when they sang, and some were downright dreadful.  Thankfully they were given smaller parts, likely in recognition of that fact.  Kaspar himself reminded me very much of Mr. Peepers, Chris Kattan’s character from Saturday Night Live… all the way down to the spitting and drooling.  I felt sorry for those in the front row.  The actor who played the Duke had an excellent voice and demeanor (wish I knew his name), while Kaspar’s mother always seemed to hit the big notes exceptionally well but sounded flat and uneven when just singing along.

Overall, I cannot say I did not enjoy the afternoon of theater.  My low expectations were exceeded by a wide margin and I was entertained for 80% of the show.  I’d call that a success for the producers.

Since I was unable to attend the burlesque show last Thursday (I’ll make it up to you), I did the next best thing… I went to see Jonathan Coulton play at Symphony Space on the upper west side. 

Looking around the audience at the show, one could not help wondering who was out there manning World of Warcraft.  There was easily enough programming knowledge in the room to take over the world and enslave everyone in it.  Thank god they are all too socially inept to make friends and get organized.  I can’t really talk, as I felt quite at home there.  There was zero pretentiousness, everyone was amped up and ready to have fun.  Nerds are by far the most fun people to hang out with on the planet.  At one point the opening band told the audience to get out their lighters for a slow song.  They then corrected themselves, asking the audience to fire up the app that made a flame.  Over half the audience did so.  I for one downloaded the Zippo app and did my part to rock out.

The opening band was velvet-clad self-professed nerdy duo Paul and Storm, who opened with a song called "We Are the Opening Band."  It only got better from there.  Their songs included a heartfelt tribute to the inventor of chicken McNuggets, an imagination of what an Ultimate Fighting match between nuns would sound like, and numerous super-short-form songs that each lasted one, maybe two lines.  While all of their songs were amusing, their dialogue and banter between songs was not to be missed.  Off the cuff remarks, doling out girl scout cookies to audience members, and shamelessly hawking their T-shirts were among their hijinks.  They also spent a good deal of time ribbing Coulton.  Their act culminated by getting the audience to start growling "Aarrrrr!" like Pirates and then singing a song called the "Captain’s Wife’s Lament"… I highly recommend going to their site and listening to it to truly appreciate it.

After Paul and Storm worked their nerdy magic, on came JoCo.  If you are not familiar with Coulton, give some of his music a listen.  On the surface they are all amusing songs that get your toe tapping.  Dig a little deeper and you will find an underlying sadness in each.  One of the songs in his setlist was "Shop Vac," an amusing ditty about suburban life.  Listen closer and it is a sad tale of losing one’s soul to routine.  Another song, one of my personal favorites, is called "Code Monkey."  Anyone who has ever written code for money will hear it’s truth ring.  At the show, Coulton did an interesting slowed down version accompanied by an online contest winner with a ukelele.  His classic song "Re: Your Brains" garnered a great deal of audience participation.  The highlights of the night were his soulful slowed-down ukelele-accompanied cover of Sir MixAlot’s "I Like Big Butts" and his performance of "Mr. Fancy Pants."  Coulton went through a period when he wrote a song each week, and Mr. Fancy Pants was an apparent product of burnout.  He stretched the song out to over six minutes with the aid of a device hanging from his neck.  This was an electronic soundboard that resembled a Simon on steroids.  It was preloaded with riffs, shouts, and even a rickroll!

If you get the chance to see Jonathan Coulton in concert, I highly recommend you go.  It has to be experienced to be believed.

I owe you a review.  Now bear in mind that my dart hit an Irish pub because the magazine opened to an article about St. Patrick’s day.  This is why I ended up at an Irish bar on the Saturday before St. Paddy’s.  I was not too keen on seeing a place overrun by drunken frat boys, I’d much prefer to see it in its natural habitat.  With this in mind, I went at 7 PM in the evening.

And oh, what a habitat!  Paddy’s bears the same aged wood paneling that can be found in just about any Irish bar in the world.  It bears the scars of years of scuffs, grease fires, apills, and general debauchery.  The paneling combined with the low ceilings and dark lighting give the place a very cozy feel.  The ancient china in a display case on the wall give it a bit of a grandma’s-house vibe; a mixture of soothing and creepy.

OK, get to the beer!  Paddy’s is touted to be the first and only all-Guinness Draught bar in the world.  It was rumored that they had at one time had *shudder* Budweiser, but the waitress dispelled that rumor.  I do not have the steadiest hand with the iPhone, but this is the picture I took of their taps:

As you can see, that is just a whole bunch of Guinness on tap.  There are lots of other beers in bottles, but there is no reason to come here if you are looking for a bottle.

As for the food, I was in heaven.  Paddy Reilly’s serves pies from Dub Pies, a place I used to order from when I lived in Red Hook, Brooklyn.  I just had to order the Shephard’s Pie.  It felt a little bit like a pot pie that had been frozen, but tasted serviceable.  You really should not expect too much from a place whose entire food menu consists of four items from a different place.  So here it is, part of a complete breakfast:

As for the entertainment of the evening, I truly wish the iPhone could take a picture of a song.  There was what I believe to be an open mic (it may have been pros), and the singing was well above average.  When we arrived there was a young Irish woman on stage playing a guitar and singing.  I assumed it was the Jukebox, but sure enough what I was hearing was not canned.  She was followed by another man who sang Irish folk songs and other tunes, many of which may well have been originals.  The music was not overpoweringly loud, making for a very pleasant environment in which to chat with friends.

All in all, this was a nice place to relax and have a foamy pint of thick, murky guiness served by bartenders with thick, murky Irish accents.  Next time you are in the neighborhood, it is worth a stop-in.

 And the winner is…

Paddy Reilly’s Bar!  My dart happened to hit a St Patrick’s Day guide page, so I’ll be going to a place that has live Irish music 6 nights a week and is billed as the "World’s Only All-Guinness Draught Bar."  Should be cool to see some Irish music in an Irish neighborhood in an Irish bar.  I’ll let you know how all the fights play out.

Following the dictates of the almighty dart, last night we made our way to the Ziegfeld theater to see the Jonas Brothers Concert Experience in 3D.  Arriving at 6:30, right at showtime, I expected us to have to wade through gaggles of screaming tween girls to find two of the last seats in the house.  As we entered the Ziegfeld lobby, we were greeted by the shouts of a seemingly crazy person.  It turned out he was the ticket man and he worked there.  His attempts at flambouyant charm came across as insane and aggressive shouts.  We gave him our tickets and then bolted upstairs to secure seats.

The Ziegfeld is a huge and majestic theater.  Built in 1969 to replace the original 1927 Broadway theater by the same name.  At 1,131 seats, the Ziegfeld is one of the last "Movie Palaces" still operating in Manhattan.  A throwback to the age of cinema, this theater feels out of place in a movie age with its gold trim, lush red carpeting, and fine oak paneling.  It is truly a beautiful venue, one which lends itself well to great epic movies and sweeping period pieces.

Rounding the corner from the foyer, I was struck by what I saw before me.  Over one thousand empty seats.  Huh?  I thought the Jonas Brothers were the new Hannah Montanna!  Squinting in the darkness, we saw a small gaggle of maybe 10 people clustered around the center of the theater.  We donned our plastic Harry Potter-esque glasses and took a seat among the tiny group.  A few moments after we chose the best vantage point, a group of four twenty-something girls sat down a few rows behind us.  More on them later.

The 3D technology was breathtaking.  I had been to 3D movies before, notably to a 70s softcore porn on a lark with some college roommates in Seattle (not recommended!), but this was like nothing I had experienced before.  The first previews were for animated features from Pixar and others.  The characters seemed not only to jump off of the screen, but appeared to have real depth.  The 3D glasses were not the regular blue-red cereal box variety.  They appeared to have clear lenses.  Alternating between glasses and none, I guessed that they were skewing the viewing angle of one eye to mimic the effect of ever so slightly crossing your eyes.  The doubled images on the screen then merged in your newly aligned vision.  The effect is surprisingly realistic without feeling too gimmicky, aside from the occasional finger pointed at the screen or guitar pick thrown at the camera.

Now for the stars of the evening: The Jonas Brothers.  I fully expected the 3D to stand for "3 Douchebags", but the backstage footage portrays them as a couple of "golly-gosh-and-gee-whiz" Eddie Haskell types who are just as bewildered by the tens of thousands of prepubescent girls mobbing them as we are.  Once onstage, the brothers switch into full rockstar mode.  The eldest and least talented is the frontman, gyrating and kicking like a young Mick Jagger who looks like a young Tom Cruise.  The youngest (I think)  stands with his guitar at the ready, strumming away and pointing at the girls in the audience and eliciting cries of what can only be pain.  He looks like a young Tom Hanks.  The middle brother plays his guitar like it is an Uzi, jumping around stage like a young Angus… Young.  Unfortunately for him, he came out looking like a young Tom Sizemore.  The concert opens with a shot panning the crowd of screaming girls wielding thousands of multi-colored glow sticks.  Now anyone who has been to a Phish concert before probably feels a bit robbed at this perversion of the traditionally trippy glowstick.  They were never intended for uses this wholesome.

The onstage antics of the brothers includes being raised on high podiums and taking turns blowing kisses to the audience that included no males or adults as far as I could see and being rewarded with shrill cries.  The effect was of a macabre symphony of teen fanaticism.  My wife leaned over to me during one particulary embarassing audience shot and asked, "Still think children are our future?" to which I replied, "God, I hope not."  A few minutes later, the brothers pulled large hoses out onto the stage and began spraying the audience with white foam.  The 3D effects for this stunt were an eyefull, and the effect on the audience was to leave them covered in white goo.  Symbolism aside, I wondered how many of those kids were vowing to never wash their hair again.  I also wondered what the brothers could get away with.  Could they hack off all of the left hands of the girls in the front row and have the second row hold theirs out screaming, "Me too!"?

By no means would I say that the appeal of the Jonas Brothers is limited to tweens and confused, idol-worshping adolescents.  In fact, the twenty-somethings a few rows behind us were singing along to every song!  They were screaming right along with the on-screen fans… and I did not feel they were doing so to be ironic.  They seemed particularly fond of screaming for a pudgy bass player in the backup band, and I was hoping that one of them knew him.  That would at least justify this behavior.  At worst, I am likely to see those girls on To Catch a Predator before too long.

Overall, I actually found that the music played by the brothers was poppy, catchy, and full of completely bland and derivative lyrics.  This is apparently Disney’s recipe for success of late, and I see no reason for them to let up.  Exhasparated parents will continue to pay good money to see bad music by cute kids, and their daughters will one day grow up to be ashamed of themselves.  At least I sincerely hope so.  Otherwise there is no hope for the future of America.

So the first dart is in the books!  As I had hoped, I did indeed experience something I never would have without the invisible hand of fate (or with my very visible but not very accurate throwing hand).  Tune in over the next week as I find a new and exciting thing to do.  I know I can’t wait to find out what I am doing next weekend.  Can you?