Posted on May 1, 2007 at 11:26 pm
The title of this entry is based on an entirely unjustified optimism that I’ll do one of these every month. Wagers are being taken.
Marshman 21 wants to know:
I was just wondering why you changed George Epps’s name to Frankie Epps for Parade? Simple, probably stupid question, but I thought that there was no harm in asking it.
JRB say:
A couple of people have asked me this over the years. It’s a logical question. We also changed the name of one of the police officers; his real name was Rogers, we changed it to Ivey. That was a tribute to Dana Ivey, one of Alfred Uhry’s muses. But why, you may ask, did we change George Epps to Frankie? Was there some specific thing about “George” that felt inauthentic, cheesy, cheap? Did we want to make his name closer to “Frank” for ironic resonance? Why? Why? Why?
It breaks my heart to write these words: I think it was an accident. My suspicion is that Alfred just typed “Frankie” because he got confused and didn’t bother to look at the source material, and I re-typed it into the master script, and that was it. He was re-baptized. The evidence suggests that the real George Epps was a snivelling, lying sack of shit, but that’s no excuse for disrespecting his name. Sorry, Georgie. We’re not changing it back, but I’m sorry.
I’m writing this as though I’ve discussed it with Alfred, but I haven’t, or at least I don’t recall discussing it with him. Anyway, he’s in previews now with a new show, so I’m not going to bother him with it. The point is, whatever the reason George’s name got changed, it isn’t particularly important to the concept of the show.
Ryan Moody dares to ask:
I was wondering if you do weddings? I haven’t asked my girlfriend, yet, but she absolutely loves your music. We saw you live when you can to Birmingham last year, and she almost bursted with joy and excitement. Our song is ” Someone to Fall Back On.” It’ll be a while before we tie the knot, but I was just wondering.
JRB say:
No.
Well, let me qualify that: I can be persuaded to do lots of things if it means a bigger balance in my daughter’s bank account. If, when you’re putting together your budget for your wedding, you end up with an extra twenty grand or so that you can’t wait to get rid of, and you want me to come to Alabama to sing one song, well, we might be able to work something out. But really, honestly, it takes a lot to get me on an airplane these days. I am burned out from the traveling, people. In the next month, I go to New York for a week, Washington DC for a week, back home to LA for a week, London for a week, then back home for two weeks before I have to do more traveling. Not to mention I’m going to be in London all of August and September for Parade. I have done enough shlepping for a lifetime, and it’s not going to ease up any time soon, alas.
UPDATE: Now my wife made me feel bad about writing this, like I sound like an arrogant, ungrateful asshole. Which is not the first time I’ve been accused of that. The point is, of course I’m flattered and honored that you want me to sing at your wedding, but having had a couple of weddings myself, I can’t imagine that what you want is for your special moment to be intruded upon by a big Jew screaming some maudlin ballad and hogging the spotlight. I’d suggest just having your wedding band play it, but that might be distracting in other ways. At any rate, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad just for asking a sweet question; ask whatever you want, I’m trying to learn to be a nicer person, it’s a process. Sorry, sorry.
Peter Sloterdyk burns with a need to know:
I am a composition student in the Music School at DePaul University in Chicago, IL. I have written two musicals so far in my life, and often look to your work for inspiration. The reason I am writing to you is because I am curious about your status as a teacher at University of Southern California. You are not on their website… anywhere? I am interested in applying there for graduate work, but pretty much only if the opportunity to study with you is still available. Are you still teaching there, as your bio states, or has that relationship been terminated?
JRB saith:
I love teaching at USC. I just finished a great semester with a wonderful group of young actors. It’s hard work, but gratifying. As for why I’m not on the USC website, I can think of a couple of possible reasons, but nothing very interesting. The main thing is that I don’t teach every semester; when I can fit it into my schedule, I teach, and when I can’t, I don’t. The folks at the School of Theatre have been very gracious about accommodating my schedule. So, for example, I won’t be teaching there next semester because I’ll be in London for the first two months of the school year. None of this matters to you anyway, because the fact of the matter is that I don’t teach graduate students. I’m told that the graduate playwriting program is really great, I’ve met some of the kids, they seem smart and talented, but I only work with undergrads. It’s possible that I’ll open my work up to the grads in the future, but at the moment, that program is pretty tightly regimented and there isn’t a whole lot of room for me anyway. So: if you’re coming to LA to work with me, don’t bother. But if you’re looking for a great school with a great faculty, USC may be exactly what you’re looking for.
Chris Fritzsche, on similar lines, demands:
In the Fall (06) you gave a workshop at Sonoma State University where I teach. I was very impressed with you, the way you worked with the students, and your grasp of song interpretations. Thank you so much! You mentioned in passing what composers and songs you assign to young singers and then a list of composers as they progress which I thought was very useful. I apologize for not writing it down at the time. Would you mind repeating it here to enlighten me?
JRB blushes and responds:
First of all, thanks for the kind words. As I mentioned above, I do love working with young actors. I find that very few teachers or professionals talk about how to make music – there’s a lot about character, about intention, about technique, but rarely do I hear anyone talk to students about the vitally significant concept of singing musically and making musical choices. In order to introduce students to that concept, I find it’s best to start out with material that demands a real sensitivity to phrasing and structure.
What I’ve done in the past is to ask all my students to bring in four songs at the beginning of the semester. The first song must have been written between 1930 and 1945. The second song must be from 1945-1965. The third song must be from 1965 to the present, and the fourth song can be anything of their own choosing. Even within those guidelines, I’ve begun restricting the choices even further: the first song must be by Gershwin, Porter, Kern or Berlin, and the second song must be by Bernstein, Arlen, Styne, Loesser, Weill or Rodgers. Not that those are by any means the only composers whose work would be appropriate, but it helps the students find songs when I shrink the pool somewhat; and of course having such a stellar roster of composers to choose from cuts down (to a certain extent) on the dud songs.
Then I teach the students to analyze each song structurally, and consider each section as having one musical intention or character. Is the first A smooth, lyrical? Then the second A should be tougher, more jagged. How are you phrasing the line? Where are you breathing? What kind of instrument would play this phrase – a cello, a trumpet? Let’s start without lyrics – how do you tell the story without the words?
Once I’ve gotten the students used to making musical choices, we figure out together how to wed those choices to specific emotional intentions. There are obviously other methods of teaching musical theater performance, but my method makes sense to me and my students seem to respond to it. If any of my former kids are reading, I’d appreciate you dropping a comment below and letting us know your thoughts about what it was like working with me.
Scott Robinson can’t live without determining:
I am preparing to direct Parade at the Buck Creek Playhouse in June of this year, and was wondering if “The Dream of Atlanta” was an original composition by you, or is it an actual historic Atlanta theme?
JRB gets on his high horse and says:
Well, I’m enormously flattered that you asked this question. “The Dream of Atlanta” is wholly and entirely original. It was the second thing I wrote for Parade, and I have always been proud of it – I hadn’t written much “pastiche” music before, and I really enjoyed the challenge of making something that had to sound exactly right for the place and the period. I actually started with the last line: “Not a star to the sky could be nearer/Than my heart is, Atlanta, to thee!” It felt very much like a line Eulalie McKechnie Shinn would say. There are two reasons that the song is so convincing: it’s only a minute long, and Sebesky’s orchestration is absolutely perfect.
Peter de Mets cries in the night with curiosity:
I’ve music directed two productions of Songs for a New World and have found that both directors seemed to feel that the order of the songs needed to be changed in their production… After much arguing, I found that, other than “That is the way Jason Robert Brown wrote it,” I would rather have the paycheck and the opportunity to conduct (and play) your material than argue with the director.
Is the order of the material in Songs for a New World important to your conception of the show?
JRB quakes with fury and screams:
For fuck’s sake, people! If you like the show so much that you decide to direct it at your theater, why can’t you just do it the way I wrote it? I knew what I was doing when I put those songs in that order to be sung by those characters. I already ranted about this in this blog from September, but it continues to come up all the time. Lately, I’ve been dealing with similar issues in translations of the shows, but I’ll save that for another post.
And Amanda Miller, cuter than the proverbial button, puckishly points out:
I’m accompanying “I’m Not Afraid of Anything” for a friend in a few weeks and discovered a missing beat in the music. In the Songs for a New World book, it’s page 27, top system, last measure, right before the phrase “growing old or going out of style.” What is supposed to be on beat four?
JRB sheepishly replies:
That sound you just heard was a proofreader at Hal Leonard stabbing himself in the eyeball with a mechanical pencil. The beat is only missing in the left hand, and the problem is that the first note in the measure, a half-note D, should actually be a dotted half-note D. One small dot and lives are ruined. Everyone, get out your pencils and mark the third measure on page 27. Thank you, Amanda.
18 comments
I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoy your introductions to the questions and answers. You could have just said, “question by…” and “JRB answers,” but your way was far more entertaining. Thanks.
Is “bursted” a word?
Jason, I think you need to host some kind of “Ethics of Theatrical Directing” seminar. Write a book to release the same day called “Follow the Script or Write Your Own Damn Musical”, and publish a 7-episode podcast devoted to your views.
Actually, I believe that some shows are designed with a little leeway for re-interpretation- how do you tell the difference?
For starters, everyone who gets permission to do one of your shows (or any show) should be required to read every word of this blog- it’s the essential JRB Handbook!
You used the word ‘saith’. I think that made my day. Thank you for bringing a smile to what has been an unending week of finals and research papers.
I agree. Your introductions to the questions and answers made me laugh out loud.
Also, I saw a production of The Last Five Years last weekend, and upon seeing a 30-something severely balding Jamie walk onto the stage, my shaking head dropped into my hands. Then, when he said, “Yes, I am only 23,” my friend and I laughed loud enough that people around us shot us dirty looks. He couldn’t belt anything above an E either. Poor man. I felt sad for him.
Your wife is so right. You are so lucky to have found her (or to have let her in when she found you). I had the same reaction when I read your original response. It’s easy to forgive you any transgression because you are such a genius. But non-genius people have value too, and a little sensitivity and humility is never a bad thing!
Re your teaching style, I would have given anything to have a teacher like you when I was learning to sing. I feel so many teachers are just winging it. But you really break it down and show people the internal structure of a song, a melody, the emotional arc, and more. I’ve learned more reading your blog than I ever learned in years of theater and music classes. Your kids are so lucky to have had you as their teacher.
“proofreader at Hal Leonard”
Thanks for the belly laugh!
As a former student, I thought I’d give my two cents. There is NOTHING as fulfilling as learning to interpret a song through music, rather than through standard acting shtick. I think what your class taught me and my fellow students was that acting a song, and acting it well, is in essence very simple and organic. Music is a blueprint, a subtle code that tells the singer/actor what to do and how to do it. If we listen to it, drink it in, follow its cues and then make our own subtle decisions, we perform the song exactly as it should be. By forcing us to think analytically and as musicians, you made the members of the class better singers and far better actors. As the semester ends, I feel that I have been handed the perfect method for approaching musical material.
So, in a word: thanks!
Wow, I DID work with JRB a whole FIVE years ago… I feel like an old lady! It’s funny that we Emerson students should be called upon to comment on the teachings of the enigmatic JRB, as I was going through some old college papers recently and came across my 6 or 7 pages of “JRB Master Class Quotes.” I sat down with them, and regaled myself with the highlights that, to this day, ring truer in my ears than most of the other garbage I’ve been fed over the years about ‘the business.’ My favorite: “I’ve worked with a lot of people who are great voices but lousy singers.” (Remember this one, kids… think about what the Sage JRB is trying to tell us!) Another one: (I don’t remember the exact quote, but…) he always made sure we sang with outward focus, never introspective. This was probably THE greatest thing I learned from him. The second you go inside yourself, you and your audience lose the drive and meaning of the song. (Don’t think this school of thought doesn’t apply to you “Soliloquy-ers” too.) No one wants to be whined at by a self-pitying actor; this is a JRB fact! There are many others. One afternoon, for example, he was commenting on day-long auditions saying that “By 3:15, you’re ready to stab yourself in the eyes with a pencil.” Ahhh the memories… Thanks, JRB. See you in NYC in a few months (you won’t even recognize me…)
Dear Jason:
Thank you for just what you do. The Brownisms in this blog were funny much in the same way Lewis Black’s comedy is entertaining as long as the comments are not directed at you. I read the weblog that you did on Songs for a New World and as much as this might create some legal problems with my alma mater of NHTI, a couple of years ago we did Songs For a New World and if you ever go there you’ll probably wonder how this school actually performed it, but sadly we were lacking in many areas of musical talent. Our Guy 1 left the show the day before the first performance and we ended up having to cut several songs and jumble them out of order. For this I apologize (please don’t sue!). With no Tenor 1 we were unable to perform “On The Deck Of Spanish Sailing Ship, 1492” and “The River Won’t Flow” and “Flagmaker, 1775” and our ensemble consisted of 1 male me, and 6 women in the production. Also on top of the cast, because of strains of the songs we had to mix up the order. But I guess my point is that I understand how upset a composer could become when directors’ musical individuality overshadows the work that you have done to create a piece of art that touches hundreds of thousands of people, and I apologize for our attempt, as it were, of your show. What we did do was well received by the audience, but I knew it could have been better, and value the insight that you give in these weblogs.
My name is Michele and I was at Emerson College five years ago when Jason gave a master class once a week for a semester. First, I would just like to say how much I appreciate Jason traveling every week from NYC to Boston (even when his dad had to drive him).
I specifically remember being unhappy with the technique we were learning at Emerson that year. It just wasn’t working for me, and then Jason came to teach us once a week and I remember always looking forward to his class. I remember sitting with my song (“Come Down From the Tree”) and trying the technique I was learning in my regular classes and again, I couldn’t get comfortable with it. I remember Jason telling me to analyze my lyrics and find the story beyond just the words on the page and then ask myself why those words fell on the the notes they did. He taught us that the music and the lyrics aren’t random. There is so much purpose to why they go together the way they do. He made me realize that the music is so much more than notes and words; it’s someone’s story and it’s up to me to get that story across.
In addition to my new musical focus, everything I learned helped me to focus on my performance. He told me to pick one person to sing to and not try to perform, but actually get the child “down from the tree.” Performing that song for my class and Jason was such a great experience. I was confident with the story I was telling and I fully understood it. I think without Jason’s class I wouldn’t have fully understood the importance of music and lyrics as a team, and I am grateful that my performances have benefitted from it.
I am on the Theatre faculty here at the University of Wisconsin–Stevens Point and teach your work as an example of high-quality contemporary musical theatre (yes, it’s blantant flattery but it’s also true). I am particularly impressed by your attention to musical detail within the emotional context of a song and your solid theatrical sense; i.e., knowing just when a song needs to change musical/dramatic emphasis to hold interest. And thank you for not using near-rhymes!
To the point: I have recently music-directed a highly successful production of Songs For a New World here. I’m curious: in measure 10 of “She Cries” beat 4 of the bass line is E natural/B natural, as it is in bar 11. Is this correct, or should it be Eb/Bb/B natural as in the previous measures?
A more conceptual question: what is your take on adding specific locations/action lines for performers in songs that might be construed as more abstract; specifically, “I’d Give It All for You”? Just curious.
BTW, I’m of the previous generation of musical theatre personnel and found wrapping my fingers around your R & B licks and contrapuntal bass lines challenging (to say the least), but after 6 weeks of practice, I really felt the effort paid off; I had a great musical time! My next mission: to tackle “Moving Too Fast”!
[FROM JRB: Thanks for all the nice words! And yes, the notes as printed are correct in “She Cries.” Sorry you didn’t win blooper points this time, but keep looking, you’ll find plenty of misprints!]
I had Jason as a teacher my first year at USC as a BFA Theater Major. I have to confess I tried extremely hard not to be starstruck when I met him, because I was a huge fan while studying musical theater. He immediately put my fears at ease, because he was so down to earth. The greatest thing about Jason’s teaching abilities was that he was so hands on. Pushed me to my limits! Which is exactly the kind of teacher I need. He was tough, but you could tell that it was because he cared and wanted you to get the material. I would definitely suggest becoming a JRB student, as long as you can handle a hands-on critic, because he knows what he’s talking about! I miss him terribly as a teacher and I hope one day to have him again.
Your teaching is unique in the fact that you attack a song from its compsition point of view first, rather than strictly analyzing lyrics. A majority of musical theatre teachers will only focus on how to interpret the lyrics of a song and make them make sense, but something that I was excited about when I first took your class was discovering that the music reflects the lyrics, so the music gives infinite clues as to what the lyrics mean. If one looks at how the music and lyrics conversely aid an actor in interpreting the song, rather than giving importance to one rather than another, it helps a lot. Needless to say, whenever I am given a new song or working on a new song, I look at the music thoroughly, and ignore the words a few times to hear what it would be like without words; what images come to mind, how would I describe the music, what instrument would play it (which I remember is an exercise we did in class).
One suggestion I would give is that I found by taking musical theatre courses (with you and with others) that the song choice is so incredibly important. You can’t start to adequately work on something good in class if the material isn’t good for you. So, what I would have liked to have had is a large chunk of time before the semester even started to start looking at material from the time periods you assigned, so when the semester started I would have had songs prepared and ready to present in class. I grew frustrated sometimes during the semester because the majority of my work for your class was simply going to the library and finding material, rather than working on the interpretation of a particular song which I could bring up in class. This of course is not your fault, because virtually every musical theatre class/ acting class is like this, but I think it could be remedied.
I had class with Jason five years ago at Emerson College. Being one of three composers in a class geared mainly towards acting and audition technique, I was able to sit and observe as he worked through songs with the actors before we would have one-on-one sessions to work on my composition technique.
I watched as he worked — sometimes tirelessly — with each actor to help them truly forge a deep connection with the material they were singing. The class was mainly broken up by song form. Actors began with AABA songs, then AABABA, then Verse-Chorus, and so on. One aspect that I do remember very clearly was that he encouraged the singers to utilize “positive choices” in what they were performing. In other words, though the lyric may indicate hopelessness or despair on the surface, is it possible to find something from a lighter palette in what that lyric really means? Having since sat behind the table at countless auditions, I now know what it is like to have singer after singer enter the room and belt out another sad, weepy, woe-is-me ballad. By the end of the afternoon, you literally want to slit your wrists. The idea of the positive choice allowed the singers to breathe new life into these songs. “Time Heals Everything” became a touching song of wishful waiting. “Black is a Moocher” became a saucy manifesto of love, and I really did believe that she ‘liked it like that.’
During my composition sessions, we got back to basics. I was 18 at the time, and frankly my ego was getting in the way of my technique. My first assignment was to write a simple AABA tune with a lyric. I wrote an up-tempo Jerry Herman-esque song and this was the basis for most of the semester. He had me write an introductory verse, write a trio section, add a second B and A section, re-write the entire song and lyric into a ballad, and so on. This concentration on being painstakingly clear on the form I was writing and what it all meant helped bring focus and clarity to my writing, which is what I sorely needed at that time in my life.
This Thursday I graduate from the NYU Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program, and I have always looked back at Jason’s class as my first major step to becoming a good composer and writer. Thanks Jason, for taking that 18-year-old kid and teaching him not be such a tremendous doofus. I really do owe a lot to you.
My name is Caitie Hannon, and I studied with Jason the first semester he taught at USC.
I don’t see how anyone could leave JRB’s class not having learned an incredible amount about the real world of musical theatre. One of his first questions to us was, “What are you all doing in L.A. if you want to study musical theatre? Why aren’t you in New York?”, and it’s little things like this that give you a completely unfiltered and unbiased taste of the real world of musical theatre, and how to increase your chances of “making it.” His feedback on our performances, while at times brutally candid, always stemmed from his desire to keep our best interests at heart and reflected the height of professionalism. He never played favorites, although he was never shy when it came to giving praise where praise was due. If you ever have the chance to work with Jason, TAKE IT, or else you risk losing one of the biggest opportunities of your lifetime.
“Baraka waves her hand furiously as she nearly jumps out of her seat…”
Working with Jason, I think, was the highlight of my final semester in college. As a classical voice major, the music and the sounds being made have always come first for me. However, I often relied too much on my voice alone to convey my emotions, rather than embodying them entirely. Jason can identify within two seconds whether a performer is being honest or not, and no matter how emotional my voice sounded, he knew that I wasn’t in the performance all the way and worked with me on my individual needs.
Jason is one of the most intuitive audience members you will ever perform for because he knows when it’s real, and he knows when you’re putting it on. He can see you reading the invisible sheet music as it goes through your mind, no matter how well you think you’re covering it up. He encourages you to embrace how you identify with this character, why YOU are singing this song and these words. He wants you to be honest in your performances… to be yourself and to honestly mean every single word that is coming out of your mouth. He’s helped me realize that I can’t just get by making pretty sounds if I’m not honest when I perform. He is a very gifted musician and composer, but I think that his ability to empathize and understand human beings to the profound level that he does is what has made him so successful. I am extremely grateful to have gotten to work with him and know him, and I hope to work with him more in the future.
I was fortunate enough to have taken a musical theatre workshop class from Jason at USC, and it is an experience that I will never forget. Many musical theatre teachers focus most a great deal of their teaching on dissecting the lyric of the song while ignoring its highly significant partner–the music. Jason taught us to fully understand the emotion and the story within the music before giving any real attention to the lyrics. He helped us to understand the relationship between the music and the lyrics. I now realize the amount of work that you must do for a song before you are ready to deal with the lyrics at all. Also, Jason’s personal investment, and dedication to each student is something that I really admire. If someone was really struggling, he would work with them individually for half of the class time if necessary. It was also here that I came to understand how much you can learn through watching other people work. I have taken Jason’s teachings and tried to apply them to every new song that I learn, and I know that his class taught me things that will stay with me for the rest of my career in musical theatre.
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