Perceived wisdom has it that the universe began with the Big Bang, which occurred about 13.7 billion years ago, when a cosmic speck inflated to a zillionth times its size in a zillionth of a second. The Big Bang then slowed down and became a small bang, which keeps the universe expanding to this very day. To me, that was never very convincing, as it still left unexplained where the speck came from or what preceded it. Now an astronomer, Roger Penrose of Oxford, says that the Bang was just another in a series of bangs that go on forever. Each universe expands to a point where all the matter is sucked into black holes, becomes infinitely small, and a new Big Bang is generated. Moreover, these bangs leave imprints in the cosmic microwave background (CMB), and – this is the best part – Dr Penrose claims to have found such imprints in data from a US satellite dedicated to studying the CMB. Infinity is hard for us humans to understand, but I find Penrose’s story more believable than a single Big Bang that came out of nowhere.
Stephen Sondheim’s new book, Finishing the Hat, is a very satisfying trip through the first half of the composer/lyricist’s career on Broadway. (A sequel is in the works.) The book contains the complete lyrics of a number of Sondheim’s shows, but the grabber is what the book’s subtitle calls “attendant comments, principles, heresies, grudges, whines and anecdotes.” Among the heresies is the author’s trenchant criticism of the lyrics of Oscar Hammerstein (who, as is widely known, was Sondheim’s surrogate father and mentor). Sondheim dismisses the lyrics to “All the Things You Are” as just pretty words, devoid of meaning. Which just means that Sondheim, no romantic he, doesn’t get “the promised kiss of springtime that makes the lonely winter seem long.” That sort of thing seems tone-deaf and ungrateful, but it doesn’t diminish the reader’s appreciation of the book. For one thing, he reserves his barbs for lyricists who are dead (and therefore unlikely to be offended). For another, he is equally harsh on some of his own lyrics, as he should be. The lyrics for “I Feel Pretty,” from West Side Story, are Sondheim at his worst. But Sondheim at his best is very good indeed, and his explanations of the art and craft of lyric-writing are worth reading.
While we’re on Sondheim, his 80th birthday concert, held at Avery Fisher Hall, is a must-see. I particularly liked the inclusion of so many relatively unknown songs and the finale, with six divas dressed in red each giving a tour de force rendition of one of Sondheim’s classics, the high points being Marin Maizzie’s “It Never Entered My Mind” and Elaine Stritch’s “I’m Still Here.”
The acting troop at the Saco River Grange Hall can be counted on to serve up an entertaining evening of drama, and this fall’s presentation, Shivaree, by William Mastrosimone, was no exception. Jennifer Porter, SRGH’s perennial leading lady, took the title role and was good as always. But the group tends to choose plays (and movies) with downbeat subject matter, and I personally enjoy its musical outings (Always Patsy Cline, And the World Goes ‘Round, An Evening with Jennifer Porter and Friends) much more.
