Of Lloyd Webber

I'm sorry. Yes, I apologize. I have left my cyber-readers wandering in utter weightlessness out in the middle of the vast internet galaxy for over a week. It is excusable. Perhaps I will have lost some of you completely, the lifeline cut by other-worldly distractions, pulled away by more pressing, more engaged bodies. If so, I am sorry. I will endeavor in my next, hopefully more regular, posts to recover your interest. I plunge now into that galaxy, speeding forward, hoping to collect the odd and weary reader along the way.

We here in America are rather snobbish about our theatre. We take a whole genre of music, comprising works by Brits, Australians, Frenchies, Americans, and others and label it "Broadway." Your local Barnes and Nobles may call them "showtunes," but in everyday life no one else does. For us, Phantom, Joseph, Avenue Q, Les Mis, Jersey Boys, the odd Disney-movie-turned-musical--they're all synonymous with our musical capital of the world.

But let me tell you, New York does not hold a monopoly on musical theatre. On the contrary, West End theatre has every right to compare itself to Broadway, even if its theatres are not designated by their proximity to a particular street.

Case in point: Phantom of the Opera. My parents wanted me to celebrate my 21st birthday in a manner commensurate with the combination of its importance and the compensation for being absent from my friends and family while celebrating it. So, they asked me what I would like to do; I asked for Phantom.

It has always been one of my favorite musicals, if not the first. I was hooked ever since I first heard Michael Crawford sing that stunning rendition of "Music of the Night" on my Ultimate Broadway compilation CD. The musical's power to entrance surpasses the level of hypoticism present in the characters themselves, as the organ recalls an aura of simultaneous mystery and intimidation. It is utterly incomparable, to the point that even if the actors themselves are merely acceptable, the overall experience is still inimitable (side note: I have heard people criticize Sarah Brightman's lack of vocal technique in her performance; they are right, in many respects, but as the original and paradigm for Christine Daae, she can't be matched for her interpretative qualities in the role).

Such was the case on my birthday. I went with four of my friends from Ramsay Hall. Two of them are also avid Broadway (smile) fans--you should hear Andrew's, Julie's, and my renditions of Wicked when we are procrastinating from school work--so there were no better people to act as companions. After having surprised me earlier in the day with flowers, a beautiful card, and a "seriously chocolate" (Sainsbury's!!) cake, Julie, Andrew, and Michelle joined Valeria and me in sixth row orchestra seats!!! (Michelle and I had stood out in the cold in Leicester Square at 10am to get discount tickets).

Oh, off to church. Will continue...