Hardly working

“My Fair Lady” is up and running. Intimately. Our 15-piece orchestra and cast of 35 ensures that, even when we sell out, the playgoer-to-entertainer ratio barely exceeds 2-to-1. How such an arrangement pays for itself in a tiny black box venue stuffed to the gills with set and risers isn’t my concern, though, nor is how it might turn a profit.

One thing I can say is that I have great respect for the members of our company who perform in all three of the productions Glow Lyric is rolling in repertory this summer. “Best Little Whorehouse” and “Carmen” (yes, the opera … yes, in French) are the other two, which means that most of us, myself mercifully excluded, have been pulling 10-of-12s six days a week. And since all three shows clock in at three or more hours a piece, most of us, myself mercifully excluded, spend upwards of six hours on stage during a two-show day, of which there are not a few. That, dear reader, is an effing lot of stage time.

So needless to say, any quibbles I might have about anything I keep very much to myself. I look around me and couldn’t ask for a more companionable, professional group of people and, except for the necessarily tight quarters, our performance space is ideal … small, tasteful, and just a short walk from the street where I live. (ahem)

We’re a company of singers first and foremost, with a subset of double-threats, and a sub-subset of triple threats. To that mix I add myself as an actor/singer who moves reasonably well, but has no head, none whatsoever, for choreography, which would be a big problem but for the real dancers all around who nudge me, glance me, and patiently, gracefully gesture me in the proper direction whenever I lose my bearings. God bless them, every one.