The Music in My Mind

I'm going to get a little personal on here, which I generally try to keep to a minimum. This, however, is very much related and tied into my New York experience.

To say my mother and I had a strained relationship is a bit of an understatement. It's also not really very much of a secret. There are moments, however, especially since I've been in NY, I want to immediately call her and share an experience.

One of the last times I spoke to her, I was newly moved into my apartment. I remember having to cut the conversation because I was heading down into the subway. It felt oddly native and seemed to tickle her. When I called back the next day or so, she seemed genuinely interested in some of the things I'd been doing here-- going to Broadway shows on a whim, passing by landmarks I've seen a hundred times, but now as a close neighbor, etc. It was the most we'd had to talk about in years.

A few times since I've been here, there are times I really wished I could pick up the phone and share-- my first show at Lincoln Center, along with a handful of other "firsts" that either reminded me of her or just knew she'd have loved hearing. Hey, finally stuff to talk about that might interest both of us.

Tonight, a friend had last-minute comps available to see Brian Stokes Mitchell at Radio City Music Hall. I'd never been there (yes, another "first"). It's huge, historic, and kept very period (although after its most recent renovation, the stands formerly under the seats meant for storing one's top hat were removed to give way to leg room-- I'm all for it). Even the ladies lounge (three large rooms, only one containing stalls) was as impressive as it was massive. I don't recall ever seeing a theater that overwhelming even from the orchestra section. And, as you imagine, I've been in a fair number of theaters.

What I hadn't given much thought, although I knew it in the depths of my memory, was that Mr. Mitchell was there as a guest performer with the Boston Pops. Growing up, I saw every possible showing of the Pops concerts on PBS. From Arthur Fiedler through much of John Williams, I heard at least portions blaring from the only television in a very small house. To say she was a fan is putting it very lightly.

As the concert began, I was brought back to some childhood moments, sitting on the living room rug, I'm sure stacking Lincoln Logs or immersed in a book, with the background of strings and wind instruments, occasionally punctuated by timpani. After some nice Bernstein compositions, Brian Stokes Mitchell was introduced. He did a tune or two before hitting the heavy stuff. First, the song that initially shot him to theatrical fame as Coalhouse in Ragtime ("Wheels of a Dream"), in a rich, baritone voice I could practically hear my mother describing as "Wuuunnnderful" (and it is). Following, for a bit of contrast, he did Billy's soliloquy from Carousel, a tune after which my mother would sigh with dark delight every time the movie was on television (and, I'd imagine, when seeing the show, but I was a kid and in the cast the only time I was around for her seeing it on stage). We very rarely agreed on music, as can be natural when a couple of generations apart in age. This, however, I'd have wanted to share with her. I know she'd have been glowing even hearing about it in a recap.

This week marks a few anniversaries--- the day I started working here, closing the circle on being officially settled; also the birth of my best friend's son.

Sadly, though, also from last year, it will now always be the week my mother died.