Tag Archives: Chita Rivera

Interview: Caroline O’Connor Brings her Inner Showgirl to the West End

23 Aug

Broadway Baby: Caroline O’Connor signals her return to London at the Sondheim Prom

Carolin O'Connor's The Showgirl Within hits the Garrick Theatre on 27th September

I recently interviewed Caroline O’Connor for a major feature on how to perform the work of John Kander and Fred Ebb in The Singer magazine. At the time, she was touring in Chicago in Australia, clearly having a whale of a time as brittle Velma Kelly – “Like a cat falling down the wall, clawing at it just to hang on,” as she described the character – and eager to speak about the impact the work of these titans of musical theatre has had on her successful career.

Caroline was born in the UK – in Oldham, in fact, a town that has produced its fair share of theatrical talent over the years – but her family moved to Australia when she was still a small child, and ever since she has split her professional life between the two countries, with the occasional Broadway foray thrown in for good measure. Thanks to the big Chicago revival and other successful projects, Oz has had by far the better deal during the last couple of years. So with all due respect to her fans down under, the news that Caroline is bringing her new one-woman show, The Showgirl Within, to London (at the Garrick Theatre from 27th September) means that for a little while at least, we can reclaim this firecracker of a star for our own.

Her “Broadway Baby” at the Stephen Sondheim Prom gave a taste of the dynamism we can expect from the show. But it would be a huge surprise if Kander and Ebb didn’t loom equally large in the programme. In the Singer article, Caroline shared centre stage with a host of other musical theatre luminaries, including her heroine Chita Rivera, Karen Ziemba, Joel Grey and Brent Barrett. As a result, I could only use a fraction of the insight and enthusiasm she provided over the course of our interview. So the impending arrival of The Showgirl Within is a great excuse for sharing the conversation in full. Here it is.

Sally Bowles is so iconic among the great female musical roles that even understudying the star in the faint hope that you might get on for a matinee once in a blue moon is too good an opportunity for a young actress to miss. That was certainly Caroline O’Connor’s view in 1986 when, towards the end of her stint in the chorus of Me and My Girl, she was cast as a Kit Kat girl in Cabaret with understudy duties. It required all her pleading and acting skills to earn an early release from her contract to take the job.

“I was dance captain on Me and My Girl, so I had to go and beg my boss to let me go,” she says. “I think I shed tears, even! I said I’d train my replacement without any pay, I wanted the Cabaret job so badly. I’ve never been so excited in my life, being cast in something, because of its reputation. Gillian Lynn was directing, and of course she was so well known at the time because of Cats. Anyway, I was able to take it, and we took the show on the road then took it into the Strand Theatre.

“It was an amazing experience, maybe not the most renowned production ever, but just to get to do that music every night… Also, there is the depth of the story, it’s so incredibly moving. And that’s where I met my husband, too, so it’s had a big impact on my life. We opened on the Tuesday night in London and I went on to play Sally Bowles the following Saturday matinee, so it was a pretty fast intro to play that role that everybody was so familiar with. I remember them saying, “You don’t have to go on because we’ve only been in town for five days and you haven’t even had an understudy call yet.” But I insisted: ‘No, let me at it! I can’t wait to get on.’

Nobody who plays Sally is immune to the shadow cast by Liza Minnelli’s Oscar-winning performance in the film, an experience that gave Caroline her first hint of how fixed some audience’s preconceptions can be.

“When I went on to play Sally, my agent was in the audience and behind him were a couple of American tourists,” she says. “And of course I played the role with an English accent, as that’s what Sally had. And they hated the show, whining all the way through. At the end, as they were putting on their coats, one turned to the other and said, ‘As for that Sally Bowles, well she didn’t even try to do an American accent.’ I thought it was hilarious. You can appreciate it because of the popularity of the film but at the same time, I was a little bit offended because I’d put so much effort into my beautiful pseudo English accent.”

That little baptism aside, Caroline is quick to nail the old cliché that Americans don’t get irony – particularly when it comes to Kander and Ebb.

“You read their shows and listen to them, and think that these are two people who really understand irony and are able to include it in their work. That tongue-in-cheek referring to the general public – as the Emcee does in Cabaret, and Billy Flynn and all the other characters do in Chicago. They look at the audience and they’re saying, ‘You know what I’m talking about.’ It’s quite incredible.

Chicago is such a beautifully written piece of work. Here in Sydney it’s been wonderfully well received. It’s only been 11 years since the show was last here in Australia, and yet it is garnering great reviews and is doing fantastic business. So again it’s found its niche.”

Casual theatre-goers are often surprised to discover that the creators of Cabaret were also responsible for Chicago, and a host of other great work besides. For Caroline, there is always great satisfaction in spreading the word, particularly when it comes to their lesser-known pieces. She first met them in person during the short-lived 1988 production of The Rink at the Cambridge Theatre, where she was understudying Diane Langton in the role of Angel.

“Because Angel is such a demanding part to sing, and Diane preferred not do all the performances, I was playing the matinees,” she recalls. “That meant I was actually contracted to do some performances and I could revel in the extraordinary experience: the storyline, the concept, the humour in their work. It makes it so easy to play as a performer. It’s so beautifully written – they write so well for men, but I just think the way they write for women is mesmerising, a bit like Sondheim. They seem to understand us so well, especially older or troubled women! And when the show came off, there was an outcry because it was such a wonderful piece of work. No-one could believe it.”

Caroline was fascinated by Kander and Ebb’s approach to the London production. They weren’t interested in resting on the laurels of The Rink’s Broadway success.

“What was extraordinary was that they wanted to cut a number at the end called ‘All the Children in a Row’, which I think is a brilliantly written song,” she says. “And Diane Langton had to pretty much audition to have it kept in the show. They wanted to write something new, and [director] Paul Kerrison was so determined to keep it in that he asked Diane to sing it for them, give it everything she’d got. Which made it really interesting – to think that these writers, who were so brilliant, questioned their work and thought maybe it wasn’t quite right. For me all the other stuff was great fun, there were great moments to sing but as a performer, to go out and do that song is so exciting, because it’s like telling the most wonderful story. I remember sitting in the stalls watching this happen and thinking, Oh my God, they’re really not sure. And they’re willing to say no, let’s do something else.

“I also got to do a concert version of Zorba, which is very rarely performed. We were doing Chicago back in 1998-9 here in Australia, and John Dietrich, who was playing Billy Flynn, is a huge Kander and Ebb fan. And because he’d always loved Zorba he decided to produce a concert version of the show, which we did as a late nighter for two nights. It was incredible how many people were interested in coming to see that, because it was such a rarity. I’d no idea, I was a little bit in the dark as far as Zorba was concerned, but I thought it was a fantastic piece of work, too. Probably not as commercial as some of the other pieces, but really interesting.”

Caroline says Kander and Ebb’s work places unique demands on the performer. The choreography, so much of it devised and influenced by the great Bob Fosse, means that you are rarely simply singing a number. Your whole body and imagination is engaged. And it takes a certain calibre of artist to bring that to the stage.

“When you look at the sort of people that were cast in their shows for so many years, the quality of their work, what they can do, their versatility, and not just that they can dance a little or belt or whatever, you can tell what’s required,” she continues. “If you can execute a Kander and Ebb show eight times a week for a long period of time, then you should give yourself a little pat on the back. It’s quite demanding and compared to some other shows – especially the elements that Bob Fosse brought with Cabaret and Chicago – It’s a big ask.

“You have to get the right type of person that’s going to give it all it deserves – and they’re the sort of people you want on the stage: the Gwen Verdons, the Chita Riveras, the Liza Minnellis, the Karen Ziembas. They’re my idols. I got to do the anniversary concert of Chicago in New York and in London, and for me to able to share the stage with Chita Rivera – whether it was just the bows or even being on the same bill – was extraordinary. The fact that she still gets on stage and performs live after all those years of doing eight shows a week, you can see why they held her in such high esteem. She is just so good at what she does. I recently watched a clip of her in Nine on Youtube, and she is so mesmerising. This is a woman that’s been doing it for 200 years, and she’s still as enthusiastic and magnetic as she was.”

Caroline tells a couple of poignant stories about sharing the bill with Rivera that encapsulate the ripples of respect and love generated by association with the creators of great work.

Caroline O’Connor performs “All That Jazz”

“We were rehearsing Chicago at the Ambassadors Theatre and I did “Velma Takes the Stand”, so I’d just watched Chita do “All That Jazz”. Just hearing that voice that I’d listened to on cassette since about 1978 for real was incredible. And after I’d finished I was walking around the back of the auditorium and she called me over with her finger – ‘Come here!’ and I walked towards her, and she said, ‘I would love to teach you the original choreography.’ I couldn’t believe it, it was such an incredible compliment because she thought I could do it. It was so exciting. And you can see why Kander and Ebb wanted to work with people like her, because they could bring out the best in their work.

“It’s terribly sad that Fred Ebb’s gone. When we did the anniversary concert in New York, we were standing in the wings waiting to go on for the bows, and Chita didn’t notice me watching, but there was a photo of Fred Ebb on a card in one of the offices, and she picked it up off the shelf and kissed it before she went on. I felt so moved and honoured to have actually seen that, the appreciation that she had. It was beautiful.”

Caroline has played both Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly during her career, but it’s brittle, complex Velma who has occupied her most recently, as she returned to a role she last performed in 1998.

“I took it as a compliment that they didn’t change the choreography!” she laughs. “But we’ve been doing a long run, more than 30 weeks. Physically it’s demanding – because of Fosse’s influence. It’s a totally different style of dance, an incredibly particular way of performing. It’s not just the physicalisation of doing the moves, it’s the intensity and style, and it’s quite tiring.

“When you’ve had a ballet background [Caroline’s early ambitions were classical], all of a sudden your muscles hurt in a different way. You get pains in an area that if you were doing a de Mille or Jerome Robins choreography, wouldn’t be the same. Sometimes they can be very large movements, sometimes tiny gestures that say a 1000 words. And just the intensity of that, moving one finger, can be exhausting. And there are all these people who keep the bible going: ‘No, you don’t move the whole wrist, just circle the finger.’ The concentration that goes into that is really ridiculous but it just goes to show how much impact it has, for the performer to execute it and the audience to appreciate it.

“And it’s not like singing “If You Knew Suzy”. It’s pretty full-on, big belting numbers and intensity. Having to be the character up front, not just singing a lovely soprano song and sounding sweet and pretty. You have to give it everything you’ve got, every ounce of intention – if you’re fighting for your life as in “I am my Own Best Friend”, you’re fighting for supremacy. The audience has to leave at the end of Act One thinking, I wonder who’s going to win.

Caroline says a long run in a show like Chicago brings its own rewards, and she has never tired of it.

“The piece is so powerful, I’ve never been bored with it, because the audience isn’t. And you feed off the audience. I do make sure that I remind myself every night how lucky I am to be able to do it, and that I’ve got everything to lose. Because the character of Velma is interesting. Her journey goes downhill. She’s like a cat falling down the wall, clawing to hang on, before she comes back up at the end. I just remind myself that my job is to tell that story and it’s easy because of the quality of the work.

“Kander and Ebb are probably my biggest influence as a performer, and I hope they continue to be so because I’ve still got my eyes on Kiss of the Spider Woman! Isn’t it tremendous that you can look at a composer and writer, and think, I could have a lifetime career just looking at your work, because it suits my voice and my personality. I feel really blessed that there is this work out there I can relate to and appreciate. “

Chita Rivera and the Secret of Longevity

26 Feb

Trouble and Strife on the Stage

Two sad spectacles during the last fortnight have exposed the pitfalls that can puncture a singer’s career in this day and age: the fact that the most expensive production techniques in the world can’t come to the rescue when she’s trying to prove herself in ‘live’ performance; and the discovery that a once great vocal talent has been dissipated by self-destructive traits utterly in keeping with the dark side of show business.

Cheryl Cole and Whitney Houston come from opposite ends of the singing talent spectrum. Cole’s appearance at the Brits, ‘singing’ “Fight for This Love” – yes I know, the fourth-fastest selling UK single of 2009 – was the perfect distillation of this empty shell of an event. No expense had been spared with the choreography, the massed ranks of dancers or the outrageously faux-military costumes.

But whose bright idea was it to bring in a session singer with decent chops to cover the bridge between the first and second sections of the song – cruelly exposing the thinness of the vocals on the master track? Perhaps the same person who switched the mic on at the end: Cole’s winded “Thank-you” after some rather dodgy lip-synching was the only credibly ‘live’ element of her performance.

She won’t be troubling these pages in the future, unless she reinvents herself as a tragedienne de la chanson and pours her life experience into song. And it’s difficult to do that if you haven’t got a voice to begin with. Cheryl’s a pop princess whose music will only ever be a footnote to her role as a style icon of the Primark age.

Whitney Houston, on the other hand, is the real deal. So news of her meandering, unfocused performance in concert in Brisbane as she kicked off an Australian tour is real cause for concern. While it was not in the Judy Garland league – she had one of her most spectacular meltdowns in Australia and was booed off stage – audience comments suggested that her concentration wondered too often, and the golden voice that they remembered from the 1980s and 1990s had lost much of its range and shine.

That might have been expected; last year’s comeback album I Look to You was respectable but bore little resemblance to the vocal work she produced during her period of greatest success. Houston was the pioneer of the power torch ballad. Depending on your taste, we have her to thank or curse for all that followed: Carey, Dion, Braxxton, and a host of X Factor wannabes who see mimicking her melismatic talent as their best option for joining Simon Cowell’s production line.

The diminution, even partial, of a voice that should now be approaching its peak – Houston is only 46 – is a genuine loss to popular music. But a great singer can still convince as an interpreter of her trademark work, adapting techniques to suit her changing vocal sound; we shouldn’t write her off yet. And there are plenty of beacons to light the way when it comes to longevity as a singer – not least her aunt, Dionne Warwick, or Shirley Bassey.

DSB’s recent album, The Performance (why no Brit nomination?), was a masterpiece. Her voice, which has not been untroubled by stress and strain over the years, sounds in better shape than ever. The range and texture are astonishing. And working with new songwriters has enabled her to discover a softer, more subtly expressive side of her voice which is remarkable for such an experienced and well-defined singer in her eighth decade.

Chita Rivera is another great dame who can still cut it in the studio – and on the stage. The Broadway star – a dancer in the first instance – had her first major acting role as Anita in West Side Story (1957). She went on to establish herself as a Tony award-winning musical actress, inextricably linked with some of Kander and Ebb’s most famous shows, including Chicago, The Rink and Kiss of the Spiderwoman. She is also a legendary cabaret performer. But despite all those cast recordings, until now, she has never made an album in her own right.

The release of And Now I Swing puts that right. “It’s very difficult but I had the best training in the world,” she told me in an interview last year, when I asked her how she has sustained her vocal technique through the decades.

“Jerome Robbins and Leonard Bernstein are responsible for giving me the strength to be able to sing and dance at the same time. It goes back to Anita. Mind you, I’m extremely obedient. I go back to an era when you did what you were told – so consequently you last longer.

“Fortunately, I’ve worked with geniuses –and I really feel I have – but it takes stamina and placement of the voice, and of course it must be written so that they give you time to breathe. And great composers know that. It’s a wonderful challenge and it keeps your lungs really fit and strong.”

Review – Chita Rivera: And Now I Swing

(Photo by Laura Marie Duncan)

Chita Rivera: "I go back to an era when you did what you were told – so consequently you last longer." (photo by Laura Marie Duncan)

Chita Rivera’s first solo album, recorded in New York City last summer, is overdue by about 50 years. It’s been worth the wait. During that half-century, Rivera has forged a career as a musical actress of range and emotional clout. She is one of that handful of Broadway stars who can honestly claim the sobriquet, ‘Legend’. And she brings the weight of her experience to a selection of songs that reflect her own musical theatre heritage as well as giving new meaning to some familiar standards.

And Now I Swing (YSL 566473) is a jazz-informed album. Rivera declares her influences on the liner notes – Rosemary Clooney and Mel Tormé – but every song carries her own imprint: a mixture of artful, instinctive phrasing that never loses touch with the original melody; intimate vocal delivery – the voice is lived-in and pleasingly oakey; and the ability to suggest a story that only comes with years of commanding audience attention in big theatres and smoky supper clubs, each with equal aplomb.

Rivera is well supported by some delightful, spare arrangements that never overwhelm the telling of the tale, and by the attentive playing of a band in which the strings are a particularly resonant feature.

As you’d expect, her beloved Kander and Ebb are well represented. “Nowadays” from Chicago (arranged by Mary Ann McSweeney) recalls her triumph as the original Velma Kelly. “I Don’t Remember You” (from the little-remembered The Happy Time, arranged by Carmel Dean and Rivera’s percussionist Michael Croiter) demonstrates her talent for unravelling the human experience at the heart of so many of Ebb’s best lyrics. And “Love And Love Alone” from The Visit gives us a rare chance to hear a number from a show that has been a personal triumph for Rivera but is yet to receive a major presentation on Broadway or in the West End.

Elsewhere, the old torch song “More Than You Know” is given a swirling, up tempo treatment, and “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” – a nostalgic chestnut in so many other hands – is a lump-in-the-throat moment, expertly handled.

Given her narrative skills, Rivera’s take on Brel’s “Carousel” hardly comes as a surprise, but it’s a welcome and unexpected detour from the album’s core Broadway focus. And her Hispanic roots also get a good work-out with a deftly combined “Sweet Happy Life” and “Mas Que Nada”, whipped into a brassy bossa nova.