When Ira Aldridge Became the First Black Actor to Perform Shakespeare in England (1824)

The ways that Oth­el­lo, Aaron the Moor from Titus Andron­i­cus, and Shy­lock from The Mer­chant of Venice—Shakespeare’s “explic­it­ly racial­ized char­ac­ters,” as George Wash­ing­ton University’s Ayan­na Thomp­son puts it—have been inter­pret­ed over the cen­turies may have less to do with the author’s inten­tions and more with con­tem­po­rary ideas about race, the actors cast in the roles, and the direc­to­r­i­al choic­es made in a pro­duc­tion. To a great degree, these char­ac­ters have been played as though their iden­ti­ties were like the cos­tumes put on by actors who dark­ened their faces or wore stereo­typ­i­cal mark­ers of eth­nic or reli­gious Judaism (includ­ing “an obnox­ious­ly large nose”).

Such por­tray­als risk turn­ing com­plex char­ac­ters into car­i­ca­tures, val­i­dat­ing much of what we might see as overt and implic­it racism in the text. But there are those, Thomp­son says, who think such roles are actu­al­ly “about racial imper­son­ation.” Oth­el­lo, for exam­ple, is “a role writ­ten by a white man, intend­ed for a white actor in black make­up.”

For cen­turies, that is what most audi­ences ful­ly expect­ed to see. The tra­di­tion con­tin­ued in Britain until the 19th cen­tu­ry, when the Shake­speare­an col­or line, so to speak, was first crossed by Ira Aldridge, an Amer­i­can actor born in New York City in 1807.

“Edu­cat­ed at the African Free School,” notes the Fol­ger Shake­speare Library, Aldridge “was able to see Shake­speare plays at the Park The­atre and the African Grove The­atre.” He took on roles like Romeo with the African Com­pa­ny, but “New York was gen­er­al­ly not a wel­com­ing place for black actors… some white the­ater­go­ers even attempt­ed to pre­vent black com­pa­nies from per­form­ing Shake­speare at all.” As Tony Howard, an Eng­lish pro­fes­sor at the Uni­ver­si­ty of War­wick, tells PRI, “he was beat­en up in the streets.” And so Aldridge left for Eng­land in 1824, where he played Oth­el­lo at the The­atre Roy­al, Covent-Gar­den, at only 17 years old, the first black actor to play a Shake­speare­an role in Britain.

He lat­er began per­form­ing under the name Keene, “a homonym,” notes the site Black His­to­ry 365, “for the then pop­u­lar British actor, Edmund Kean.” Aldridge’s big break came after he met Kean and his son Charles, also an actor, in 1831, and both became sup­port­ers of his career. When the elder Kean col­lapsed onstage in 1833, then died, Aldridge took over his role as Oth­el­lo at Lon­don’s Roy­al­ty The­atre in two per­for­mances. “Crit­ics object­ed,” the Fol­ger writes, “to his race, his youth, and his inex­pe­ri­ence.” As Howard tells it, this char­ac­ter­i­za­tion is a gross under­state­ment:

There were those who said this is a very inter­est­ing and extra­or­di­nary young actor. And the fact that he’s a black actor makes it more inter­est­ing and fas­ci­nat­ing. But for many peo­ple, it was an insult because this is still a soci­ety where there is a great deal of slav­ery in the British Empire. And in order to com­bat the idea of increas­ing abo­li­tion, per­form­ers like Ira had to be stopped. And so there was a great deal of vio­lent aggres­sion. Not phys­i­cal vio­lence this time, but vio­lence in the press.

Some of that ver­bal vio­lence includ­ed com­par­ing Aldridge to “per­form­ing hors­es” and “per­form­ing dogs.” Many Lon­don crit­ics saw his entry on the Shake­speare­an stage as an affront to Eng­lish lit­er­ary tra­di­tion. Per­form­ing the bard’s works was “a kind of vio­la­tion,” Howard sum­ma­rizes, “he has no right to do that, not even to play Oth­el­lo.”

Pho­to via the Fol­ger Library

From his begin­nings in Coven­try to his expe­ri­ence in Lon­don, Aldridge made the once-black­face role his own, per­haps increas­ing­ly draw­ing “on his own expe­ri­ence and his own feel­ing.” He also por­trayed Aaron in Titus, and as he per­se­vered through neg­a­tive press and prej­u­dice, he took on oth­er star­ring roles, includ­ing Richard III, Shy­lock, Iago, King Lear, and Mac­beth. He “toured the Eng­lish provinces exten­sive­ly,” the BBC writes, “and stayed in Coven­try for a few months, dur­ing which time he gave a num­ber of speech­es on the evils of slav­ery. When he left, peo­ple inspired by his speech­es went to the coun­ty hall and peti­tioned for its abo­li­tion.”

By the end of the 1840s, how­ev­er, Aldridge felt he had gone as far as he could go in Eng­land and left to tour the Con­ti­nent in what had become his sig­na­ture role, Oth­el­lo. While first tour­ing with an Eng­lish com­pa­ny, he “lat­er began to work with local the­ater troupes,” the Fol­ger writes, “per­form­ing in Eng­lish while the rest of the cast would per­form in Ger­man, Swedish, etc. Despite the lan­guage bar­ri­er, Aldridge’s per­for­mances in Europe were high­ly acclaimed, a tes­ta­ment to his act­ing skills.” (See a play­bill fur­ther up from a Bonn per­for­mance.) After win­ning great fame in Europe and Rus­sia, the actor returned in tri­umph to Lon­don in 1855, and this time was very well-received.

Aldridge died in 1867. And though he was the sub­ject of many por­traits of the period—like that by James North­cote at the top of the post, por­tray­ing the 19-year-old Aldridge as Oth­el­lo, and this 1830 paint­ing by Hen­ry Per­ronet Brig­gs—he was “large­ly for­got­ten by the­ater his­to­ri­ans.” (See him above in an 1858 draw­ing by Ukran­ian artist Taras Shevchenko.) But his lega­cy has been revived in recent years. Aldridge was the sub­ject of two recent plays, Black Oth­el­lo, by Cecil­ia Siden­bladh, and Red Vel­vet by Loli­ta Chakrabar­ti. And last year, he was hon­ored in Coven­try by a plaque on the site of the the­ater where he first achieved fame.

While he suc­ceed­ed in becom­ing an all-around great Shake­speare­an actor, Aldridge’s lega­cy rests espe­cial­ly in the way he helped trans­form roles per­formed as “racial imper­son­ation” for a few hun­dred years into the prove­nance of tal­ent­ed black actors who bring new depth, com­plex­i­ty, and authen­tic­i­ty to char­ac­ters often played as stock eth­nic vil­lains. While white actors like Orson Welles and Lawrence Olivi­er con­tin­ued to play Oth­el­lo well into the 20th cen­tu­ry, these days such cast­ing can be seen as “ridicu­lous,” as Hugh Muir writes at The Guardian, espe­cial­ly if that actor “blacks up” for the role.

via the British Library

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Shakespeare’s Eng­lish Sound­ed Like, and How We Know It

3,000 Illus­tra­tions of Shakespeare’s Com­plete Works from Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land, Neat­ly Pre­sent­ed in a New Dig­i­tal Archive

Young Orson Welles Directs “Voodoo Mac­beth,” the First Shake­speare Pro­duc­tion With An All-Black Cast: Footage from 1936

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Hear 55 Hours of Shakespeare’s Plays: The Tragedies, Comedies & Histories Performed by Vanessa Redgrave, Sir John Gielgud, Ralph Fiennes & Many More

The so-called “Great Vow­el Shift” was a very unusu­al occur­rence. Dur­ing the peri­od between around 1500 to around 1700, the Eng­lish lan­guage “lost the pur­er vow­el sounds of most Euro­pean lan­guages, as well as the pho­net­ic pair­ing between long and short vow­el sounds,” writes the site The His­to­ry of Eng­lish. Such rad­i­cal lin­guis­tic change seems a “sud­den and dra­mat­ic shift” his­tor­i­cal­ly, and “a pecu­liar­ly Eng­lish phe­nom­e­non…. con­tem­po­rary and neigh­bor­ing lan­guages like French, Ger­man and Span­ish were entire­ly unaf­fect­ed.” Over a peri­od of around 200 years, in oth­er words, Eng­lish com­plete­ly mor­phed from Chaucer’s melod­ic, near­ly incom­pre­hen­si­ble Mid­dle Eng­lish into the sounds we hear in Dami­an Lewis’s speech as Antony in Julius Cae­sar, above.

Shakespeare’s Eng­lish sound­ed like nei­ther of these, but some­what like both. Eng­lish became more dis­tinc­tive pre­cise­ly dur­ing the time it became more cos­mopoli­tan, philo­soph­i­cal, and, even­tu­al­ly, glob­al.

It was a peri­od of “a large intake of loan­words from the Romance lan­guages of Europe…, which required a dif­fer­ent kind of pronunciation”—and of a great flood of Lati­nate words from sci­en­tif­ic, legal, and med­ical dis­course. “Latin loan­words in Old and Mid­dle Eng­lish are a mere trick­le,” writes Charles Bar­ber in The Eng­lish Lan­guage, “but in Ear­ly Mod­ern Eng­lish,” Shakespeare’s Eliz­a­bethan Eng­lish, “the trick­le becomes a riv­er, and by 1600 it is a del­uge.”

The Eng­lish Renais­sance sits smack in the mid­dle of the Great Vow­el Shift, its lit­er­ary pro­duc­tions reflect­ing a riotous and thrilling con­flu­ence of speech, a wild field of lin­guis­tic play and exper­i­men­ta­tion, nov­el­ty, inge­nu­ity, and con­tro­ver­sy. The schol­ars and writ­ers of the time were them­selves very aware of these changes. One “Eliz­a­bethan head­mas­ter,” notes Bar­ber, “com­ment­ed in 1582 on the large num­ber of for­eign words being bor­rowed dai­ly by the Eng­lish lan­guage.” (Empha­sis mine.)

Shakespeare’s lan­guage rev­els in such bor­row­ing, and coin­ing, of words, while often pre­serv­ing the pro­nun­ci­a­tion and the syn­tax, of ear­li­er forms of Eng­lish from all over the UK. All oth­er argu­ments for read­ing and lis­ten­ing to Shake­speare aside—and they are too numerous—the rich­ness of the lan­guage may be the most robust for cen­turies to come. As long as there is some­thing called English—though a thou­sand years hence, our ver­sion may sound as alien as the lan­guage of Beowulf does today—Shake­speare will still rep­re­sent some of the wit­ti­est, most adven­tur­ous expres­sions of the most fer­tile and cre­ative moment in the language’s his­to­ry.

Luck­i­ly for those future Eng­lish speak­ers, writ­ers, and appre­ci­a­tors, Shake­speare has also been the most wide­ly adapt­ed, record­ed, and per­formed writer in the Eng­lish lan­guage, and there will nev­er be a short­age of his work in any for­mat. Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion Shake­speare has only recent­ly left the acad­e­my and made it to reg­u­lar per­for­mances on the stage, giv­ing us a taste of just how dif­fer­ent the ver­bal music of Ham­let and Romeo and Juli­et sound­ed to their first audi­ences. But what’s remark­able is how Shake­speare seems to work in any accent and any set­ting… almost.

As far as Amer­i­can actors go, Bran­do may have been more up to the task of play­ing Mark Antony than Charl­ton Hes­ton was, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have both, and hun­dreds more besides. I would argue that there’s no such thing as too much Shake­speare in too many dif­fer­ent voic­es. His plays needn’t be the great­est ever writ­ten to nonethe­less con­tain some of the great­est speech­es ever per­formed on any stage. That very much includes the speech­es in less­er-known tragedies like Cori­olanus, which an ensem­ble cast of Ralph Fiennes, Vanes­sa Red­grave, Bri­an Cox, Elan Eshk­eri, and Ger­ard But­ler turned into a 21st-cen­tu­ry polit­i­cal barn­burn­er of a movie.

The music and dia­logue from that 2011 film adap­ta­tion open the playlist of Shakespeare’s tragedies, fur­ther up, which also includes a per­for­mance from Sir John Giel­gud in Ham­let and a record­ed per­for­mance of Amer­i­can com­pos­er Samuel Barber’s Antony and Cleopa­tra, a 1966 opera with a libret­to by Fran­co Zef­firelli based exclu­sive­ly on Shakespeare’s text. This work pre­miered as “one of the great oper­at­ic dis­as­ters of all time,” accord­ing to one crit­ic who was in its first audi­ence, “at one point the sopra­no Leon­tyne Price… found her­self trapped inside a pyra­mid.” The idio­syn­crat­ic deliv­ery in these var­i­ous per­for­mances all stress the flex­i­bil­i­ty of Shakespeare’s lan­guage, which can still mes­mer­ize, even under Spinal Tap-like con­di­tions of per­for­mance anx­i­ety.

After you’ve worked your way through 18 hours of Shakespeare’s tragedies, lis­ten fur­ther up to 19 hours of Come­dies, 13 hours of His­to­ries, and, just above, to some­thing we may not have enough of—5 hours of read­ings of Shakespeare’s poet­ry, by actors like Giel­gud and Sir Antho­ny Quayle, Richard Bur­ton, Emma Top­ping, and many more. Anoth­er great vow­el shift may be com­ing, along with oth­er world his­tor­i­cal changes. These copi­ous record­ings pre­serve for the future the diverse sounds of Late Mod­ern Eng­lish, speak­ing the rich­est lit­er­ary lan­guage of its Ear­ly Mod­ern ances­tor.

If you need Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A 68 Hour Playlist of Shakespeare’s Plays Being Per­formed by Great Actors: Giel­gud, McK­ellen & More

Hear What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like in the Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour Sings Shakespeare’s Son­net 18

Hear Beowulf Read In the Orig­i­nal Old Eng­lish: How Many Words Do You Rec­og­nize?

Hear What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like in the Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Elton John Proves He Can Turn any Text into a Song: Watch Him Improvise with Lines from Henrik Ibsen’s Play, Peer Gynt

I’m not a lyric writer. I get all my inspi­ra­tion from look­ing at the writ­ten page. — Elton John

Inspi­ra­tion is one thing. Act­ing on it is anoth­er. Sir Elton’s out­put seems to go beyond his mag­i­cal com­bi­na­tion of tal­ent, work eth­ic, and train­ing. He claims to have tak­en all of 30 min­utes to com­plete “Your Song.” In his 2005 appear­ance on Inside the Actor’s Stu­dio, excerpt­ed above, he passed his genius off as some­thing akin to a par­ty trick, call­ing on the audi­ence to pass up a book—any book—as source mate­r­i­al for an ins­ta-song.

Giv­en the num­ber of stu­dent actors in the audi­ence, it’s real­ly not so sur­pris­ing that the first vol­ume to hit the stage was Hen­rik Ibsen’s 1867 verse play Peer Gynt.

Magi­cians height­en the dra­ma by demand­ing absolute silence pri­or to a dif­fi­cult trick.

John swings the oth­er way. The result­ing impro­vised tune is all the more impres­sive for his off the cuff, raunchy text-based pat­ter. It’s hard to imag­ine Ibsen play­ing so fast and loose with lines like:

Every­thing spites me with a vengeance

Sky and water and those wicked moun­tains

Fog pour­ing out of the sky to con­found him

The water hurl­ing in to drown him

The moun­tains point­ing their rocks to fall-

And those peo­ple, all of them out for the kill!

Oh no, not to die!

I mustn’t lose him. The lout!

Why’s the dev­il have to tease him?

What might Metal­li­ca or Iron Maid­en have con­jured from such mate­r­i­al? In John’s hands, it becomes a lush, emo­tion­al­ly charged bal­lad, the moun­tains and fog apt metaphors.

In his book Inside Inside, host James Lip­ton names this as one of “the two most astound­ing impro­vi­sa­tions in the his­to­ry of Inside the Actors Stu­dio.” The oth­er was Robin Williams mak­ing mer­ry with a pink pash­mi­na shawl.

In a 2012 inter­view with NPR, John went into the nature of his col­lab­o­ra­tion with his long­time word man, Bernie Taupin. Unlike oth­er lyri­cists, Taupin does not think in terms of verse and cho­rus, leav­ing it to John to free the song from a wall of text:

It’s just a blank—well, not a blank, but it’s a piece of paper. In the old days, it was hand­writ­ten. Then it got typed. Then it got faxed. Now it gets emailed. And it’s no sug­ges­tions, noth­ing. And we’ve nev­er writ­ten in the same room. I don’t know if peo­ple know that. But he gives me the lyric, and I go away and write the song, and then come back and play it to him. And I’ve nev­er lost the enjoy­ment or the thrill of play­ing him the song that I’ve just writ­ten to his lyric.

If you’d like to fin­ish what John start­ed by fur­ther musi­cal­iz­ing Ibsen’s Peer Gynt, the com­plete script can be read here. Or lis­ten to the 1946 radio adap­ta­tion star­ring Ralph Richard­son as Peer Gynt and Lau­rence Olivi­er as the Troll King and a but­ton-moul­der, below. Also above, you can watch John turn instruc­tions for using an oven (yes, that dai­ly appli­ance) into song.

via metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Elton John Sings His Clas­sic Hit ‘Your Song’ Through the Years

Tom Pet­ty Takes You Inside His Song­writ­ing Craft

Enjoy a Blue­grass Per­for­mance of Elton John’s 1972 Hit, “Rock­et Man”

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on March 20 for the sec­ond install­ment of Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain at The Tank. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

An Innocent Christmas Typo Causes Sir Patrick Stewart to Star as Satan In This Animated Holiday Short

In cer­tain sec­tors, over-the-top ad agency greet­ings are as much a part of the hol­i­day sea­son as A Christ­mas Car­ol and How the Grinch Stole Christ­mas!.

Anom­aly Lon­don put in their thumb and pulled out a plum when Sir Patrick Stew­art agreed to voice their lat­est effort, above.

And what bet­ter way to top his cel­e­brat­ed turn as Ebe­neez­er Scrooge than by tack­ling the most Christmas‑y role of them all?

San­ta, is that you?

No, dear child, ’tis Satan, sum­moned by an inno­cent mis-spelling on the part of a young girl eager for a Christ­mas pup­py.

When the post office deliv­ers her sim­i­lar­ly mis­ad­dressed enve­lope to hell by Decem­ber 25, the buff and tat­tooed Lord of Dark­ness’ heart grows three sizes. Every­one likes to be told they’re spe­cial.

Next thing you know, he’s trad­ed the fiery fur­nace for a gluten-free bak­ery in Shored­itch, where he’s a hap­py team play­er, mak­ing lat­te art and wear­ing a goofy cap.

The end­ing is a sweet mix of “I hate you, you ruined Christ­mas, go to hell!” and “God bless us every­one.” San­ta doesn’t sur­vive, but the child­like capac­i­ty for won­der does.

Those with sen­si­tive stom­achs may want to go easy on the eggnog while watch­ing this soon-to-be-hol­i­day clas­sic. The pro­jec­tile vom­it­ing rivals the Exor­cist’s.

And hap­py hol­i­days from all of us at Open Cul­ture!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear The Cin­na­mon Bear, the Clas­sic Hol­i­day Radio Series That Has Aired Between Thanks­giv­ing and Christ­mas for 80 Years

Hear Paul McCartney’s Exper­i­men­tal Christ­mas Mix­tape: A Rare & For­got­ten Record­ing from 1965

Sir Patrick Stew­art & Sir Ian McK­ellen Play The New­ly­wed Game

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Hamilton Mania Inspires the Library of Congress to Put 12,000 Alexander Hamilton Documents Online

Remem­ber when bloody, bloody Andrew Jack­son seemed like a shoe in for Best Sepul­chral His­tor­i­cal Fig­ure Brought Back to Life by an Amer­i­can Musi­cal?

Alas for the 7th Pres­i­dent, a lit­tle jug­ger­naut called Hamil­ton came along, and just like that, it was the first Trea­sury Sec­re­tary and author of the Fed­er­al­ist Papers who had a fan base on the order of Beat­le­ma­nia.

Teach­ers, his­to­ri­ans, and librar­i­ans thrilled to reports of kids singing along with the Hamil­ton sound­track. Play­wright and orig­i­nal star Lin-Manuel Miran­da’s clever rap lyrics ensured that young Hamil­fans (and their par­ents, who report­ed­ly were nev­er allowed to lis­ten to any­thing else in the car) would become well versed in their favorite found­ing father’s per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al his­to­ry.

Out of town vis­i­tors who spend upwards of a month’s gro­cery bud­get for Broad­way tick­ets vol­un­tar­i­ly side trip way uptown to tour Hamil­ton Grange. The insa­tiable self­ie imper­a­tive dri­ves them to Cen­tral Park and Muse­um of the City of New York in search of larg­er than life sculp­tures. They take the PATH train to Wee­hawken to pay their respects in the spot where Hamil­ton was felled by Aaron Burr

Hamil­ton mer­chan­dise, need­less to say, is sell­ing briskly. Books, t‑shirts, jew­el­ry, bob­ble heads com­mem­o­ra­tive mugs…

The Library of Con­gress is not out to cash in on this cul­tur­al moment in the mon­e­tary sense. But “giv­en the increased inter­est in Hamil­ton,” says Julie Miller, a cura­tor of ear­ly Amer­i­can man­u­scripts, it’s no acci­dent that the Library has tak­en pains to dig­i­tize 12,000 Hamil­ton doc­u­ments and make them avail­able on the web. The col­lec­tion includes speech­es, a draft of the Reynolds Pam­phlet, finan­cial accounts, school exer­cis­es and cor­re­spon­dence, both per­son­al and pub­lic, encom­pass­ing such mar­quee names as John Adams, Thomas Jef­fer­son, the Mar­quis de Lafayette, and George Wash­ing­ton.

One need not be a musi­cal the­ater fan to appre­ci­ate the emo­tion of the let­ter he wrote to his wife, Eliz­a­beth Schuyler, on the eve of his fate­ful duel with Aaron Burr:

I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quit­ting you and expos­ing you to the anguish which I know you would feel.… Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my dar­ling Chil­dren for me.

Explore the Library of Con­gress’ Hamil­ton col­lec­tion here.

And enter the online lot­tery for $10 Hamil­ton tick­ets because, hey, somebody’s got to win.

via The­ater Mania

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Dis­cov­er Thomas Jefferson’s Cut-and-Paste Ver­sion of the Bible, and Read the Curi­ous Edi­tion Online

Watch a Wit­ty, Grit­ty, Hard­boiled Retelling of the Famous Aaron Burr-Alexan­der Hamil­ton Duel

“Alexan­der Hamil­ton” Per­formed with Amer­i­can Sign Lan­guage

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Brooklyn Academy of Music Puts Online 70,000 Objects Documenting the History of the Performing Arts: Download Playbills, Posters & More

Yes­ter­day the sad news broke that The Vil­lage Voice will dis­con­tin­ue its print edi­tion. Co-found­ed by Nor­man Mail­er in 1955 and pro­vid­ing New York­ers with savvy music writ­ing, raunchy advice columns, juicy exposés, reviews, enter­tain­ment list­ings, apart­ments, jobs, band mem­bers, ter­ri­ble room­mates, and pret­ty much any­thing else one might desire every week for over half a cen­tu­ry, the paper will be missed. Though it won’t dis­ap­pear online, the loss of the street-lev­el copy in its com­fort­ing­ly famil­iar red plas­tic box marks the abrupt end of an era. Those of us inclined to mourn its pass­ing can take some solace in the fact that so many of the city’s key cul­tur­al insti­tu­tions still per­sist.

Promi­nent among them, Brooklyn’s Acad­e­my of Music, or BAM, has been at it since 1861, when it began as the home of the Phil­har­mon­ic Soci­ety of Brook­lyn. It has inhab­it­ed its present Beaux Arts build­ing in Fort Greene since 1908. In its 150 years as a per­for­mance space for opera, clas­si­cal, avant-garde the­ater, dance, and music, and film, BAM has amassed quite a col­lec­tion of mem­o­ra­bil­ia. This year, on its cen­tu­ry-and-a-half anniver­sary, it has made 70,000 of those arti­facts avail­able to the pub­lic in its Leon Levy Dig­i­tal Archive. Like future issues of the Voice, you can­not hold these in your hand, unless you hap­pen to be one of the museum’s cura­tors. But “researchers—or any­one else inter­est­ed,” writes The New York Times, “can cre­ate per­son­al­ized col­lec­tions based on spe­cif­ic artists, com­pa­nies or eras.”

The his­to­ry rep­re­sent­ed here is vast and deep, by a young country’s stan­dards. “Every pres­i­den­tial can­di­date made cam­paign stops there before there was tele­vi­sion,” says for­mer BAM pres­i­dent Karen Brooks Hop­kins. “Mary Todd Lin­coln was in the audi­ence dur­ing the open­ing week of fes­tiv­i­ties. Then you have [Rudolph] Nuryev mak­ing his first per­for­mance in the West just after he defects, [Martha] Gra­ham per­form­ing her last per­for­mance on stage….” These land­mark moments notwith­stand­ing, BAM has earned a rep­u­ta­tion as a home for avant-garde per­for­mance art, and the col­lec­tion cer­tain­ly reflects that dimen­sion among the 40,000 artists rep­re­sent­ed.

We have fur­ther up the post­card Kei­th Har­ing designed for a 1984 Bill T. Jones and Arnie Zane piece called Secret Pas­tures (Har­ing also designed the sets). We have the poster above for a 1981 per­for­mance of Philip Glass’ Satya­gra­ha, his opera based on the life of Gand­hi. And below, a poster for the 1983 world pre­mier of Lau­rie Anderson’s Unit­ed States: Parts I‑IV. These objects come from BAM’s Next Wave Fes­ti­val col­lec­tion, which con­tains many thou­sands of pho­tographs, play­bills, and posters from the space’s more exper­i­men­tal side, many, though not all of them, down­load­able.

Between the Civ­il War mem­o­ra­bil­ia and mod­ernist doc­u­ments, you’ll find all sorts of fas­ci­nat­ing ephemera: pho­tos of a very young Meryl Streep and Christo­pher Lloyd in a 1977 pro­duc­tion of Hap­py End at the Chelsea The­ater dur­ing a BAM Spring Series, or of an old­er Patrick Stew­art in a 2008 Mac­beth. Just below, we have a charm­ing play­ing card fea­tur­ing the Brook­lyn Acad­e­my of Music’s Peter Jay Sharp build­ing in 1909, the year after it was built. It’s an impos­ing struc­ture that seems like it might last for­ev­er, though much of the vibrant cre­ative work fea­tured year after year at BAM may some­day also move entire­ly into dig­i­tal spaces. Enter the com­plete BAM dig­i­tal archive here.

via The New York Times/Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The The­ater Dic­tio­nary: A Free Video Guide to The­atre Lin­go

A Min­i­mal Glimpse of Philip Glass

Google Gives You a 360° View of the Per­form­ing Arts, From the Roy­al Shake­speare Com­pa­ny to the Paris Opera Bal­let

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Franz Kafka’s Unfinished Novel, The Castle, Gets Turned Into an Album by Czech Musicians: Watch a Music Video for the Song, “The Grave”

If, for some unfath­omable rea­son, author Franz Kaf­ka should emerge from his grave to direct a music video, the result would most cer­tain­ly resem­ble the one for “The Grave” by The Kaf­ka Band, above.

The air of futil­i­ty and social fore­bod­ing…

The chilly bro­ken land­scape, ren­dered in black and white…

Biki­nis and bling…

(Kid­ding! Over­coats and hag­gard expres­sions.)

“The Grave” was direct­ed by ani­ma­tor, Noro Hold­er, but the lyrics are cred­it­ed to Kaf­ka, drawn direct­ly from his unfin­ished nov­el, The Cas­tle. As the band’s name might imply, this is no fick­le flir­ta­tion with the author’s sen­si­bil­i­ties.

“The Grave” is actu­al­ly part of a ten-song album inspired by The Cas­tle. (Stream it on Spo­ti­fy below.) As band­mate, author Jaroslav Rudiš, observed:

Kaf­ka is often deemed as a dark author, yet we strive to chal­lenge this cliché. The nov­el pos­sess­es plen­ty of black and absurd humour, which we reflect­ed in some of our com­po­si­tions.

The album led to a col­lab­o­ra­tion with Germany’s The­ater Bre­men on a the­atri­cal adap­ta­tion that fea­tured the music played live.

The moody wood­cut-inspired visu­als seen above come from a graph­ic nov­el adap­ta­tion of The Cas­tle illus­trat­ed by Rudiš’ band­mate, Jaromír 99, in col­lab­o­ra­tion with David Zane Mairowitz, an Amer­i­can play­wright who pre­vi­ous­ly tack­led Kafka’s The Tri­al

At the point where anoth­er group might decide to take a detour into sun­nier territory—a pop romp through the oeu­vre of Milan Kun­dera perhaps—the Kaf­ka Band is dou­bling down on anoth­er copro­duc­tion with The­ater Bre­men, an adap­ta­tion of Kafka’s nov­el Ameri­ka (or The Man Who Dis­ap­peared), slat­ed to open this fall.

The Grave

I’m dream­ing of

Being with you

With­out inter­rup­tion

On earth

There is no space

For our love

Not in the vil­lage

Not any­where else.

Deep in the earth / around us only death / the liv­ing won’t find us.

I’m imag­in­ing a grave

Deep and tight

We hold each oth­er

My face next to yours

Yours next to mine

Nobody will ever see us

On earth there is no space

For our love.

Deep in the earth / around us only death / the liv­ing won’t find us.

Watch the video for “Arrival,” anoth­er track inspired by The Cas­tle, with draw­ings by Jaromír 99 here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Meta­mor­fo­s­is: Franz Kafka’s Best-Known Short Sto­ry Gets Adapt­ed Into a Tim Bur­tonesque Span­ish Short Film

Four Franz Kaf­ka Ani­ma­tions: Enjoy Cre­ative Ani­mat­ed Shorts from Poland, Japan, Rus­sia & Cana­da

Franz Kafka’s Exis­ten­tial Para­ble “Before the Law” Gets Brought to Life in a Strik­ing, Mod­ern Ani­ma­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and the­ater mak­er, soon to be appear­ing in a clown adap­ta­tion of Faust, inspired by the cur­rent admin­is­tra­tion and open­ing in New York City this June. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Every Poem in Baudelaire’s “Les Fleurs du Mal” Set to Music, Illustrated and Performed Live

Charles Baude­laire must be a joy­ful corpse indeed. His work has suc­ceed­ed as few oth­ers’ have, to be so pas­sion­ate­ly alive 150 years after his death.

The­ater Oobleck, a Chica­go artis­tic col­lec­tive ded­i­cat­ed to cre­at­ing orig­i­nal afford­able the­atri­cal works, has spent the last eleven years assem­bling Baude­laire in a Box, a can­tas­to­ria cycle based on Les Fleurs du Mal.

Why?

Because he would be so irri­tat­ed. Because he might be charmed

There is a touch of vaude­ville and cabaret in Baude­laire. He tend­ed to go big or go home. Home to his moth­er.

Because he invent­ed the term “moder­ni­ty” and even now no one quite knows what it means. Because he wrote a poet­ry of immer­sion per­fect­ly suit­ed to the tran­sience and Now-ness of song and of the Ever-Mov­ing scroll. Because we nev­er had a prop­er goth phase. Sex and death! For all these rea­sons, and for the true one that remains just out of our grasp.

Each new install­ment fea­tures a line-up of musi­cians per­form­ing live adap­ta­tions of anoth­er 10 to 15 poems, as artist Dave Buchen’s paint­ed illus­tra­tions slow­ly spool past on hand-turned “crankies.”

The result­ing “pro­to music videos” are volup­tuous­ly inti­mate affairs, with plen­ty of time to reflect upon the orig­i­nal texts’ explic­it sex­u­al­i­ty, the gor­geous urban decay that so pre­oc­cu­pied one of Roman­tic poetry’s naugh­ti­est boys.

The instru­ments and musi­cal palate—klezmer, alt-coun­try, antifolk—are befit­ting of the inter­preters’ well honed down­town sen­si­bil­i­ties. The lyrics are drunk on their dark imagery.

The entire project makes for the sort of extrav­a­gant­ly eccen­tric night out that might lead a young poet to lean close to his blind date, mid-show, to whis­per “Wouldn’t it be agree­able to take a bath with me?” No word on whether that line worked for the poéte mau­dit, who report­ed­ly issued such an invi­ta­tion to a friend mid-sen­tence.

This August, The­ater Oobleck intends to observe the sesqui­cen­ten­ni­al of Baudelaire’s death in grand style with a marathon per­for­mance of the com­plete Baude­laire in a Box, a three-day effort involv­ing 50 artists and over 130 poems.

Allow a few past exam­ples to set the mood:

The Offend­ed Moon From Episode 9 of Baude­laire In A Box, “Unquenched.” Com­posed and trans­lat­ed by David Costan­za. Emmy Bean: vocal, Ron­nie Kuller: accor­dion, T‑Roy Mar­tin trom­bone, David E. Smith: clar­inet, Chris Schoen: vocal, Joey Spilberg: bass.

The Denial of St. Peter Com­posed, trans­lat­ed and per­formed by Sad Brad Smith, with Emmy Bean (hand per­cus­sion), Ron­nie Kuller (accor­dion), T‑Roy Mar­tin (trom­bone), Chris Schoen (man­dolin), and Joey Spilberg (bass).

The Drag Music com­posed by Ron­nie Kuller, to Mick­le Maher’s trans­la­tion of “L’Aver­tis­seur” by Charles Baude­laire. Per­formed by: Emmy Bean (vocal, per­cus­sion), Angela James (vocal), Ron­nie Kuller (piano, per­cus­sion), T‑Roy Mar­tin (vocal), Chris Schoen (vocal), David E. Smith (sax­o­phone), and Joey Spilberg (bass).

The Hard(-est) Work­ing Skele­ton Music by Amy War­ren, Per­formed by Nora O’Con­nor, with Addie Horan, Amalea Tshilds, Kate Dou­glas, James Beck­er and Ted Day.

The Pos­sessed Writ­ten and per­formed by Jeff Dorchen.

You can lis­ten to and pur­chase songs from Episodes 7 (the King of Rain) and 9 (Unquenched) on Band­camp.

Some of the par­tic­i­pat­ing musi­cians have released their own albums fea­tur­ing tracks of their Baude­laire-based tunes.

The­ater Oobleck is rais­ing funds for the upcom­ing Closed Cas­ket: The Com­plete, Final, and Absolute­ly Last Baude­laire in a Box on Kick­starter, with music and prints and orig­i­nals of Buchen’s work among the pre­mi­ums at var­i­ous pledge lev­els.

All images used with per­mis­sion of artist Dave Buchen.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Great 19 Cen­tu­ry Poems Read in French: Baude­laire, Rim­baud, Ver­laine & More

Baude­laire, Balzac, Dumas, Delacroix & Hugo Get a Lit­tle Baked at Their Hash Club (1844–1849)

Hen­ri Matisse Illus­trates Baudelaire’s Cen­sored Poet­ry Col­lec­tion, Les Fleurs du Mal

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  She will be appear­ing in a live excerpt from CB Goodman’s How to Kill an Ele­phant this Fri­day at Dixon Place in New York City. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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