I May Not Like Opera, But I Sure Love Phantom!

This past spring, my house was filled with singing as my brother Nathan prepared for his role in his high school’s production of Fiddler on the Roof. We’d been hearing Fiddler since November, when the choice of show was announced, and had by now accepted it as part of our daily soundtrack. But as the show was wrapping up, Nathan brought home a new and less familiar set of songs, this time from Phantom of the Opera, a production of which he had watched on tape in his theater class. I was of course familiar with the title song, and my piano teacher had introduced me to a couple others years before, but aside from that the soundtrack was unknown to me.

It took a couple times through before I found my comfort level amidst the pounding organ that made me jump each time I heard it and the voices that were often just a bit too operatic for my taste, but by the time I found out about the movie I was almost as eager to see it as my brother. His anticipation heightened as the release date drew nearer; meanwhile, a colleague at work raved about Emmy Rossum, the film’s young star. When Christmas finally rolled around, I’d decided Phantom was the one movie of the holiday season that I absolutely could not miss.

Last night, one year to the day after viewing the desperately anticipated final installment of Lord of the Rings, my wait came to an end. From the magnificent opening sequence in which the decrepit Opera Populaire morphs into a glorious vision of its former self, I dismissed the murmuring of critics, very few of whom seemed to like the film. I instead allowed myself, like my brother and my friend before me, to be swept away in the majesty of Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber’s masterpiece.

The film centers around three main characters. Rossum is radiant as Christine, the talented young chorus girl who becomes a star when she is forced to pinch-hit for resident diva Carlotta (Minnie Driver), who storms out hours before the big production of Hannibal after one too many dangerous “accidents” courtesy of the Phantom (Gerard Butler). Generally speaking I find male characters far more interesting and rarely declare a female to be my favorite character, but Christine’s virtue and innocence won me over completely. I also found Rossum’s voice gentler and less prone to shrillness than Sarah Brightman’s, causing me to like Christine all the more.

Butler is haunting as the Phantom. Though I was mildly disappointed to hear little evidence of his Scottish upbringing in the film – I hate to hear a good brogue go to waste – I was moved by his searing performance. The Phantom is a tragic character whose misery is largely self-inflicted. I left with the feeling that if only he could have kept his temper in check and not hurt anyone, things would have turned out much better for him. His intense insecurity over his deformity first manifests itself when Christine removes his mask, only wishing to see the face of her “angel of music” perhaps the most devastating moment in the musical is when Christine informs him much later that she is repulsed not by his face but his cruel deeds.

In spite of the Phantom’s shortcomings, I was rooting for him the whole time and was prepared from the beginning to dislike Raoul (Patrick Wilson), Christine’s childhood sweetheart who returns at the most inopportune of times ready to rekindle their romance. He’s not a bad fellow, but during most of his screen time I found him incredibly aggravating. First he is condescending, refusing to believe Christine’s tales of an unseen tutor. As soon as he believes, he is determined to destroy this man of whom he declares “genius has turned to madness.” I kept finding myself thinking, Why can’t he leave them alone? What she has with the Phantom seems far more deep and meaningful, if also more dangerous.

Minor characters also add considerably to the film. I love Meg (Jennifer Ellison), the quiet, sweet-natured friend of Christine who duets with her in Angel of Music. She appears very little in the film beyond that point, which I was sorry to see because I found her character very appealing. Her mother, Madame Giry (Miranda Richardson), comes across as the most compassionate of matrons, particularly in a flashback that explains the Phantom’s origins in the theatre. She also seems to have a sly sense of humor bubbling beneath the surface. She was a pleasant surprise for me, as she did not appear in the soundtrack. Driver provides comic relief, making her diva as intolerable as possible, both in vocal and interpersonal terms. Also valuable in that regard are Firmin (Ciaran Hinds) and Andre (Simon Callow), the opera’s rather incompetent new owners.

Visually the film is stunning, with its deep, rich tones and splashes of vibrant color. The Phantom’s lair is particularly impressive. But the music is the real star of the show, and each musical number thrills and entrances. Notes was my favorite song lyrically even though it made no appearance on the movie soundtrack. The throbbing grandiosity of the organ in the title song is even more affecting when coupled with the images on the screen, as is the dramatic moment when Christine goes from timid audition to star performance in Think of Me. Many of the songs made a great deal more sense to me when I could view them in context. All of the vocals sounded transcendent. I think it perhaps best that I had never seen the show itself, as most of the people who did seem to have found the movie a bit of a letdown. When I saw Return of the King, its glory sent me into a month-long stupor, but when I emerged I was able to pick dozens of little details that, on comparison with the book, I found rather bothered me. As I have no such basis for comparison in this case, I suspect Phantom will continue to leave me satisfied, at least until I see the play.

I am a big fan of Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, owning film versions of both as well as two different soundtracks for each. Based on my experience with those Weber rock operas, I assumed that I was getting the vast majority of Phantom through the soundtrack. I knew there must be a few missing pieces – for instance, a reunion between Christine and Raoul before his proposal. But I had no idea just how much of the movie would be completely new to me. Though some of it was simple dialogue, most was sung, or at least spoken in rhyme. While the melodies were predominantly echoes of the main songs that had graced the soundtrack, the intricacy of the lyrics was what really floored me. The clever back-and-forth, replete with internal rhyme, of Notes left me utterly in awe of lyricist Charles Hart, and I wonder why it is that Weber is the only one in this musical partnership who gets any attention. I deem that Hart is just as talented as Tim Rice, but I’ve never even heard his name before. I’m not sure how many “additional lyrics” Richard Stillgoe contributed, but I think both of them ought to get a bigger nod than they do.

I couldn’t help but be reminded time and again of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, and for more reasons than just the French setting. Raoul is less villainous than Gaston, the Phantom more beastly than the Beast, and Christine more conflicted than Belle over which suitor to choose, but I still wanted the Phantom to win out in the end. The transformation of the opera house at the beginning brought to mind the castle at the end of Beauty and the Beast, while Christine’s heart-wrenching Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again recalled Belle’s devotion to her father. Maybe Disney drew influence from Phantom in crafting their version of the classic tale and chose the name Gaston in homage to the novel’s author. Doubtful, but it’s fun to speculate, anyway…

Phantom is, of course, much darker than that award-winning musical, and I suppose a straightforward happy ending would not only be inappropriate but impossible. I like to think that in the end Christine became to the Phantom what Bilbo Baggins was to Gollum; unable or unwilling to give him what he wanted more than anything, she instead provided what he needed: a chance for redemption. Her compassion for the twisted man who molded her into the woman she has become is the heart of the film’s central conflict, achingly verbalized with her entreaty: Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you you are not alone.

If you’ve never seen the play, get thee to the nearest theater and embrace the opportunity. Even if you have seen it, take the chance to be immersed once more in a wondrous creation. Its participants may not be unfolding their magic right before your eyes, but the enchantment remains.

Lots of Razzle Dazzle, But Not Much Else

Two years ago I watched as Chicago took home half a dozen Oscars and wondered whether I would feel bitter about them when I finally got around to seeing the movie. I like musicals, so I wanted to withhold judgment, but when I did get around to watching it I was gravely disappointed. I watched in the company of a roomful of people who loved the film, so I kept my criticisms to myself until I got in the car upon our departure. As it turned out, the members of my immediate family shared my lack of enthusiasm. Maybe we’re just too old-fashioned.

First off, Chicago takes place in probably my least favorite decade of the 20th Century: the 1920s. Anything I see depicting that era seems awash in a haze of cigarette smoke and cynicism. I hated the supposed Great American Novel The Great Gatsby and Chicago didn’t redeem the 1920s for me. I found the dingy nightclub scenes bursting with slinky costumes more depressing than those in the jailhouse.

Don’t get me wrong. This is visually a very impressive film. I happen to dislike all the locales pictured, but I’ll still concede that it looks good. The costumes are flashy, the fantasy sequences are imaginative and the choreography is astounding. I wanted to like this movie, not least because a good friend of mine told me I had to see it. So I gave it a fair shot, but there’s just very little in the film that appeals to me.

I generally find Renee Zellweger irritating, and never more so in this movie, where she plays aspiring star Roxie Hart. When she discovers that the man with whom she is having an affair doesn’t intend to get her into show biz like he promised, she is so enraged that she kills him. Her steady husband Amos (John C. Reilly) rushes to her defense, claiming guilt for himself, until he discovers the affair and has a slight change of heart. I found Amos the only likable character in the whole shebang, and even that isn’t a very strong draw. We feel sorry for him, especially in the song Mr. Cellophane, but in the end he’s bland and not very memorable.

The guy who gets all the attention is Billy Flynn (Richard Gere), the slick lawyer who takes on Roxie’s case and tries to sweet-talk the public into sympathizing with her. This job is made more difficult by the fact that she possesses very limited reserves of tact and restraint, amusingly illustrated in We Both Reached for the Gun. Also making her life harder is Velma Kelly (Catherine Zeta-Jones), the slinky star-turned-murderess she once idolized. Now she stands as her rival to the public’s affections, and Velma’s been around the block a few times and knows how to play the game.

While I can’t find anything remotely likable about either of these leading ladies, Matron “Mama” Morton (Queen Latifah) does hold a certain appeal for me. She is also too cold and conniving for my taste, but she puts forth the appearance, at least, of being warm and motherly at times. There are moments when I think she really does care about the women under her watch, and her African-flavored introductory number is enjoyable enough. She’s my favorite of the gals, but given the company that’s not saying too much.

The whole idea of switching constantly between real life and some dream sequence in the minds of the characters didn’t work for me. I guess I like my musicals more straightforward than that. I have no trouble accepting people bursting forth into song. I do, however, tend to find self-referential theater less than satisfying. It’s a conceit that won many viewers of the movie over, but I’m afraid it turned me off. Add to that the dearth of sympathetic characters, songs that failed to stay with me and an overriding sense of cynicism and what I was left with was a masterfully executed movie that I didn’t get anything out of. It echoed the reaction I had when I saw my alma mater’s production of On Your Toes: Gee, the cast, crew and orchestra are doing a brilliant job, but this is the most pointless play I’ve ever seen. Obviously a lot of moviegoers disagreed with me, so I won’t tell you not to bother with it. But if you’re looking for a good musical, there are a couple dozen others I’d point you to first.

Clay Aiken's Book Shows What a True American Idol Looks Like

Learning to Sing: Hearing the Music in Your Life, Clay Aiken’s memoir which came out this week, was one of two celebrity autobiographies I eagerly awaited this fall. The first, Sean Astin’s, was enjoyable enough but a bit of a disappointment. Clay’s, however, was everything I hoped it would be. It arrived in the Waldenbooks where I work five days before the release date, and I couldn’t help but read the first couple chapters on breaks in the back room. As it turned out, I didn’t work on Tuesday or the day after, so the book was not mine until Thursday. I came home and read the rest of it in one sitting.

Clay’s book is divided into twenty chapters, each of which is broken up into many easily digestible nuggets. Rarely does an individual section last more than a couple pages, making for very easy stopping points. Each chapter bears a metaphorical title. I suspect co-writer Allison Glock assisted with these; I’m still puzzling over what exactly her contribution was and how she happened to be selected for the job. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that she wrote one of the most lyrical and complimentary articles about Clay during 2003's media blitz summer. It’s frustrating for a Claymate not to know which words are his and which were crafted by a more seasoned writer. But whether most of the words are his or hers, the result is a memoir as witty and endearing as the singer himself.

I first heard of the project in the predictably cynical Entertainment Weekly; a blurb accompanied by a Clay caricature noted that he would soon publish an “inspirational memoir” and concluded with a snide remark. I was thrilled and a bit surprised. I had no doubts that Clay had the ability to write a book, as interviews have consistently revealed him as one of the most articulate musicians in the business, but I couldn't fathom where he could find the time. A friend of mine somewhat concurred with EW's opinion, at least as far as the title was concerned. “Isn’t that title terrible?” he urged me to admit. I’ll concede it’s a title that could have been culled from interior of a Hallmark card, but a sap like me won’t complain about that. The “inspirational memoir” bit does seem a tad over the top; he could have left his readership to draw their own conclusions on that score. But Clay’s book is a triumph, and I can’t help but smile to see copies of it peeking out at me whenever I come in to work. I hope it’s up with the bestsellers as long as The Da Vinci Code and The Five People You Meet in Heaven.

All of this, and I really haven’t said much about the book yet. In the first chapter, Clay reveals his trepidation with writing this volume and his uncertainties as he adjusts to life as one of the most adulated celebrities in recent history. As I pored over the pages in the back of Waldenbooks, I struggled to stifle my laughter as his wit rose to the surface immediately with examples of sentences his mom made him write hundreds of times as a child (“I will not say Granny’s face needs ironing”) and the trials he’s had to face living in California (“avocado on all the food”). Alongside it were reminders of the class and integrity that is every bit as integral to Clay’s success as his glorious voice. The chapter concludes with welcome reassurance that success has not corrupted the gangly geek with a heart of gold; he will always strive to wield his astonishing influence in the most positive manner possible. Part of that ideal must be attributed to his mother, Faye Parker, whose moral fortitude and devotion to her son have won the hearts of Clay’s fans. The second chapter focuses mainly on their relationship, and I could not help but hear the eerily autobiographical strains of Proud of Your Boy every time Clay acknowledged his indebtedness to his mother.

The book proceeds thematically, with each chapter focusing on particular people or a certain aspect of Clay’s life after being introduced with a quote from someone who knows Clay, usually his mother. The next folks to take the spotlight are Clay’s grandparents – not only his mother’s parents, whose last names now make up Clay’s full name, but the couple who sheltered Clay and his mother after they fled the man whose name Clay would eventually forsake. Other relatives score a passing mention here, most amusingly his great-grandfather and his brother. Both were accomplished folk musicians whose repertoires, which included songs as diverse as What a Friend We Have in Jesus and Intoxicated Rat, were recorded in the Library of Congress. But the chapter deals mainly with the differences between the two sets of grandparents and Clay’s desire to balance his love for them equally. It includes what I found to be one of the most moving passages of the book, in which Clay recalls evenings listening to the Grand Ole Opry with his grandfather -- his “papa” -- before flashing forward, revealing that his grandfather now has Alzheimer’s but still knows his grandson. Instead of the Grand Ole Opry, he now listens to Clay’s CD every night. “It’s as if I am still there,” he writes, “like I was as a child, lying beside him and singing him to sleep as the darkness falls.”

Later chapters delve into his notoriously troubled relationship with his biological father, Vernon Grissom. It was painful to read about such a compassionate child being rejected by his own father, but he had already exposed that aspect of his childhood in interviews and articles so it was not a shocking revelation. I think it was more difficult to discover that he and Ray Parker, the step-father of whom Clay had always spoken with such love, did not share the wonderful father-son relationship I had envisioned. It was, in its own way, equally strained, and perhaps more tragically so as Clay seems racked with regret over a closeness they might have shared had he been more open to it. There are several points in the book in which Clay hashes out his guilt, most gut-wrenchingly when he blames his sister’s suicide on his reticence. Such entries are reminders of his humanity, his vulnerability, moments of exposure that left me with the urge to envelop him in a big bear hug until the pain has receded.

While Clay notes with gratitude the devotion of his fans, he seems uncomfortable with descriptions of him that deny the patches of darkness in his soul. “Nobody is a saint,” he writes, “and if I had a halo it would be crooked.” The book is filled with examples of childhood mischief to back this up, but it generally comes across as innocent impishness. We get a glimpse of Clay’s rotten treatment at the hands of classmates, partly because he hadn’t yet developed the self-confidence that has helped him become so successful. He fights for what he believes in, but there was a time when he didn’t like who he was. Reading about his own personal journey of becoming comfortable in his own skin – content with his talents, his ideals, his looks – was far more inspiring than seeing the much-ballyhooed makeover on television. Some producers would have us believe that a new hairdo, a pair of contacts, and some fancy duds made the world fall in love with Clay. I say he would have worked his way into just as many hearts had he continued to look like a grad school librarian. I noted with satisfaction that although the cover shots of Clay are suave and debonair, inside he more often than not looks like the boy next door. My favorite photo in the book shows him, probably in his early teens, sitting in an old-fashioned car with a shy smile and a pair of glasses that would make Rick Moranis proud. Every time he shows up for a performance or interview wearing his glasses, I revel in his willingness to remain dorky. It all helps me to think of him more as a guy I would have palled around with at school that an untouchable celebrity, which is appropriate and comforting as he is the first musician I have admired who was not famous before I was born. It's easy to imagine that we could have been friends.

When I read Sean Astin’s autobiography last month, it was really Samwise Gamgee I wanted to hear about, so while I found the whole of his memoir enjoyable enough, the only part I really cared about involved Lord of the Rings. Clay does not linger very long on his experience with American Idol, and it doesn’t bother me a bit. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Though many of Clay’s detractors still fail to see it, this young man is about so much more than a phenomenally popular television program. I find every aspect of his life fascinating, and if he spends more time diving into less familiar territory, so much the better. I did find it intriguing that Clay associates the song Solitaire with his birth father; though I’ve often read speculation that Clay is thinking of his father when he sings I Survived You, the connection with Solitaire had never occurred to me. I would have been interested to hear just how it was that Clay decided upon Bridge Over Troubled Water as his show-stopping final selection. I was one of many fans praying he would sing that, my favorite song, at some point in the competition. But the limited number of pages focusing on American Idol were no disappointment.

One aspect of Clay’s life that has been evident from the beginning is his commitment to children, especially those with special needs. The book chronicles his involvement with the YMCA, which eventually led to his placement as a teacher in a classroom full of autistic children, which in turn led him to study special education in Charlotte and work with Mike Bubel, whose mother suggested he audition for American Idol and would go on to help found the Bubel/Aiken Foundation. Seeing him fall in love with a disenfranchised portion of the population was one of the most inspiring aspects of the book. The effects of his championing these children are staggering. He has become a catalyst, inspiring thousands – maybe millions – to donate their time and money to worthy causes. As one who spent much of his childhood picked on by his peers, Clay now urges everyone to practice tolerance and inclusion.

Clay has managed to reach fans across a broad demographic. Many of his fans come from a Christian background, and sites such as claytonaiken.com, host of one of the first and largest forums dedicated to Clay, dub his faith one of his most laudable characteristics. Clay documents his struggle to remain a role model when fame has handed him opportunities to toss his integrity out the window. “If I’m going to remain a decent human being,” he writes, “it’s really up to me.” But he freely admits he doesn’t smoke, drink, swear or womanize, and it doesn’t appear he has any desire to. He refused to back down when RCA tried to fill his album with lyrics presenting messages that were less than G-rated. He included an overtly religious song – You Were There – in his set list during his first solo tour. But he doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. In spite of his deep faith in God, he became discouraged with church and stopped attending for a time. He wrestles with some of the methods and messages of his fellow Christians. “To me, God is about love, not condemnation,” he writes, striking the perfect balance between his faith and his desire to embrace all people. “I sincerely hope that people whom I love and care about who might be Jewish or Muslim or have different faiths and structure systems than I do also find peace in heaven. And I don’t think it’s my place to tell them they’re not going to.” Amen.

I left the book with a renewed appreciation for the unique, talented, passionate, compassionate gentleman who is Clay Aiken. I can’t wait to see what he does with the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I know that Clay’s time in the spotlight is far from up and the good ripples he causes will continue to expand. “My goal is to be triumphant in using where I am to do something bigger than what I am,” he writes. May God grant him a long and happy life doing just that.

It's Clay. It's Christmas. How Can You Go Wrong?

It’s that time of year again, when every store you go into blasts Christmas music in your ears until you think you’re going to throw up if you ever hear the names Rudolph or Frosty again. Unless you’re like me, and you can’t get enough of it. I’m always the first one in the family to want to listen to Christmas music. Thanksgiving isn’t soon enough to break out the Rocky Mountain Christmas and Christmas With the Chipmunks. The ever-expanding nature of the Christmas season has its drawbacks, but walking out into the crisp fall air with Mannheim Steamroller jingling around in my brain can only serve to improve my mood.

So when I heard that Clay Aiken, the young singer whose performances and personality swept me off my feet during the second season of American Idol, was releasing a Christmas album, I was duly excited. While I had found his first album a bit disappointing – though the songs have grown on me over the past year – I loved the Christmas album released by several Idol alumni. Clay’s rendition of The First Noel gave me the chills I had come to expect his powerful pipes to inspire. After the over-production of his album, the sparse arrangement was just what his voice needed to shine, and the classic material certainly didn’t hurt. With an entire album of songs like this, how could he go wrong? This time, I was not disappointed.

O Holy Night – This powerhouse ballad has always been one of my favorite Christmas songs. When done properly, it has serious shiver potential, and from the beginning it was the one Christmas song I most wanted to hear Clay sing. All its high notes and crescendoes, not to mention the inspiring lyrics, are perfectly suited to his voice. He rises to the challenge and brings to song to a thrilling climax with his trademark “glory note.” The arrangement is mostly piano-driven with a bit of a choral background coming in later. The slight changes he makes to the melody – particularly on “fall on your knees, oh hear the angels’ voices” – help distinguish his version, and it’s certainly in the running for my favorite rendition of this song.

Winter Wonderland – I wasn’t crazy about this number on the American Idol compilation, though I review in the newspaper marked it as the standout track with Christina Christian’s vocals the most outstanding of the bunch. Actually, it seems to me I may have heard that Simon Cowell said that, which would be very surprising given his disdain for impersonations; she sounded just like Marilyn Monroe. At any rate, I like Clay’s version a lot better. It’s just a straightforward take on a Christmas classic, complete with both verses; it seems like I always hear either one or another, and my dad said he’s never heard the second verse before at all. They do strike me more as alternate options than complementary verses, but it works.

Silent Night – There’s a slight guitar presence here, but most of Clay’s accompaniment comes in the form of a very angelic-sounding choir which even takes the lead for a while. I don’t mind, though; it just makes his re-entry more dramatic. A very heartfelt and rich rendition of what is perhaps the most classic Christmas carol of all.

Hark the Herald Angels Sing / O Come All Ye Faithful – A very pleasant duo of songs giving Clay a chance to flex those vocal muscles again after the sedate Silent Night. The latter was one of the group songs on the American Idol album and provided a preview of Clay’s performance here. The choir is featured in prominence in Hark, while Faithful is Clay’s chance to milk his flair for dramatic singing for all it’s worth.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – Having just read the first two chapters of Clay’s book, it strikes me that this song, with its smooth jazzy flavor – complete with a nifty sax solo – and submerged dark undertones may be especially appropriate given his tumultuous childhood. Troubles weren’t always far away, but Christmas was an opportunity to focus on people who cared about him and the God who sustained him.

Mary, Did You Know – I’d never heard this song before my senior year in high school, when it was the theme of our Christmas program. I seem to remember it being longer. I don’t know whether he cut it or it was extended for the ballet that accompanied it in high school. Maybe I just remember it wrong. At any rate, it’s a quiet, contemplative song that flashes forward to different events in Jesus’ life. Clay does a great job with it, though I’m not crazy about the accompaniment, which sounds like one of the cheesy background tracks on the little Casio keyboard I used to have. My favorite part is the bridge, during which Clay goes into over-the-top mode again and the percussion momentarily disappears.

Joy to the World – This is another song with heavy choral involvement. I’m pretty sure it’s a choir that hasn’t appeared on the CD up to this point. The really drive the song and may even have more singing to do than Clay does. Tobe honest they're a bit harsh at time, and it's on the low end in my ranking of songs on this album. Still, the tone is appropriately jubilant and Clay manages to sneak in another glory note at the end.

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire) – Another song with a jazzy feel to it. Piano is the prominent instrument here, and to be honest I feel like I’ve heard this exact accompaniment before. So nothing new here, but he sings the song well. Just a thought: What were the folks who named this song thinking? Were they incredibly pompous or just not too bright? These are all Christmas songs; did they think theirs was more Christmassy than any other? It’s a good thing they have that subtitle at least...

Don’t Save it All for Christmas Day – I’m sure I’ve heard this song before, but I’m not sure where. I was unaware that Celine Dion had written it. It’s one of the less familiar tunes on the album, and it has a very good message to it. Clay really goes to town on the choruses – most notably with an impossibly long note coming into the third chorus – and it seems like a very good song for him considering the way he has inspired people to volunteer work, charitable giving and random acts of kindness. I also just heard he’s been selected as an ambassador for UNICEF, so he’ll be taking his humanitarian energy around the globe.

Merry Christmas With Love – The only place I’d heard this title song before was online from a performance of Clay’s on a local show several years ago. So I would call it the closest thing to a signature song on this album. It tells the tale of a disenfranchised and lonely woman whose depressing holiday is uplifted by the presence of a caring troupe of carolers at her door and serves as a companion to the song preceding it.

Sleigh Ride – Perhaps these last two songs were included especially for Clay’s multitudinous female fans. Both are romantic in nature, and most Claymates would probably be thrilled to imagine they’re the ones being invited to share a sleigh ride or New Year’s Eve with Clay. This song has a special place in my heart because I was part of the school orchestra senior year in high school, and this was my most exhausting number in the Christmas show. My primary duty was to provide the steady beat of jingle bells, but I also had to crack the whip – basically a piece of wood attached to another piece of wood with a hinge – and, if I recall, ding the triangle. I was disappointed at the lack of sleigh bells in Clay’s rendition, but it’s still a lot of fun.

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve – This is another jazzy song, very slow and smooth. It hearkens back to Invisible, a guy hopelessly smitten and feeling as though the one he loves will never acknowledge him. At least in this case he gets up the guts to ask; or is he just practicing in front of his mirror for an encounter that will never occur? Anyway, an enjoyable song.

Clay’s album is a simple collection of Christmas standards. In spite of the mix of sacred and secular holiday tunes, the overwhelming tone of the album is religious. I feel like Clay had more control over the project this time and the results are exactly what I would want in a Christmas album or a Clay album. The classy holiday-themed photos of Clay inside the cover only sweeten the deal; I'm especially fond of the contemplative pose facing the info for The Christmas Song and Joy to the World. I mentioned a signature song before, and it would be nice if this album had one that either Clay had written or that had been written specifically for him. Virtually all of my favorite Christmas albums have them: John Denver’s Apenglow and A Baby Just Like You, Neil Diamond’s You Make it Feel Like Christmas, Peter Paul and Mary’s The Magi and Don’t Let the Light Go Out... even Alvin and the Chipmunks’The Chipmunk Song. But aside from that, it’s a wonderful album and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear it blasting from the mall radio shortly after Thanksgiving. I wouldn’t be at all upset either.

A Celebration of Friendship with Lots of Laughs Along the Way

Several years ago, we went to my aunt’s house to visit and happened upon a book on her coffee table. It was a slim volume – certainly not the typical coffee table book with the potential of inflicting a life-altering injury on someone standing under it in a bookstore – and my brother and I read through it quickly. Then, when we had finished it, we read it again. Somehow, my aunt has a way of always introducing us to completely unfamiliar books that will, in a matter of months, become a sensation. Such was the case with Bradley Trevor Greive’s The Blue Day Book. After I purchased the first book, I found that I had to collect each subsequent volume as near to the release date as possible. And at $10 a pop, I don’t have to feel too guilty about it.

Greive’s latest endeavor, Friends to the End, jumped out at me at the conclusion of a long day at work. We were putting away the last bit of stock and there it was. I knew I would have to buy it the first chance I got. And so I did. Greive has dedicated two books already to the subject of honoring mothers – which is nice but a bit unfair, since he hasn’t done a book about dads yet – and this one honors another very important relationship in one’s life. Greive pays homage to all the friends who make life so much better, starting with his heartwarming dedication. The always-brilliant pictures, culled from a large number of talented photographers, are among the most endearing yet. Because the book discusses different types of people coming together and becoming unlikely allies, its pages are filled with odd pairings of animals. Among them:

…which is strange, considering how close we’ve become. (3) – a large frog giving an equally large leopard-print frog a hug

What makes friendship, especially a friendship like ours, so special? (7) – a baby fox and rabbit snuggled up together in a basket

There is a curious fact about friendship that we have always known but rarely acknowledge: By understanding others, we also come closer to understanding ourselves. (15) – a lamb, chicken and piglet looking out over a fence together

Genuine friendships are founded on a shared vision – the view that our lives are somehow better because particular people are a part of them. (25) – a dog and lion cuddled up together in the grass

Despite numerous differences, real friends see eye to eye on all the issues that matter. Our common values, passions, concerns, and mutual respect enhance our life experiences as a whole. (26) – a mouse sitting at eye level on a elephant’s trunk

Most important, friends know when to just sit quietly beside us and say nothing at all. (38) – a chimpanzee lying beside a very depressed-looking dog

We go on adventures (40) – a donkey with a suitcase in its mouth carrying a Chihuahua on its back

With a real friend, we know exactly what they are thinking without having to say a word. (101) – a duckling and puppy rubbing noses with each other

The book chronicles all the different aspects of friendship, from shared passions to cozy comforts, taking time to note the difference between real friends and those who may seek companionship for less that noble purposes. In Greive’s trademark witty style, he urges readers to treasure those who stand by them, even if they sometimes can be irritating. The rewards of a deep friendship are far greater than the inconvenience of putting up with annoying personality quirks. Like all of Greive’s books, this is a volume to treasure and an ideal gift to give to the kind of friend described within its pages.

Astin Stumbles But Still Manages to Shine as Sam

While I am a voracious reader, or was once anyway, the vast majority of my reading falls in the realm of fiction or fantasy, often on the young end of the spectrum. But since my favorite book, Lord of the Rings, gave way to the cultural phenomenon that is the film trilogy, works having to do with Tolkien’s masterful world have popped up in all sorts of sections. I admit I have yet to read many of Tolkien’s own books, but I won’t feel too badly about running out to buy an autobiography of the actor who portrayed my most beloved Samwise Gamgee. I love all things Sam and regret that I didn’t buy the remarkable statue depicting him with the pony Bill before it was sold out – an odd monument, since their relationship was cut almost entirely from the movie. At least we got to see him reluctantly bid Bill farewell outside the mines of Moria, but the scene lacked much in emotional impact since we didn’t even know up until that point that the pony had a name, let alone how much Sam cared about him. But I digress. I was intrigued to see what Sean Astin had to say about playing this character, and I melted when I saw the cover shot of Sam under which was printed, in a regal golden-hued font, the noble title “There And Back Again: An Actor’s Tale.”

The first quarter of the book contains no more than a few passing references to Lord of the Rings. Instead, it concerns itself with Astin’s early career. Though he does later mention some of his work as a child actor, his chronology primarily begins in 1989 with his filming of Memphis Belle. He proceeds from there to the small film Where the Day Takes You, discussing the merits of both movies and the learning experiences the filming afforded him. He recounts the ups and downs of the decade between Memphis Belle and Lord of the Rings in a rambling, nonlinear fashion. To be honest, I found his writing style, or at least his sense of direction, frustrating. He begins a story, goes off on one tangent and then another, and by the time he gets back to the original story you’ve almost forgotten about it entirely. One appealing aspect of Astin is the clear importance family holds to him. He speaks fondly of his own family as well as his in-laws, and he never tires of relaying his love for his wife and daughter. There is also his ambition to receive a full education, act in quality movies, and achieve status as a film-maker. These goals, however, are difficult to realize, especially since it seems Astin often lacked the patience and judgment to make these dreams become a reality.

Less than appealing is the constant psychological conflict that plays itself out in the pages of his autobiography. He constantly betrays a range of negative feelings ranging from worthlessness to entitlement and then gives the reader whiplash by immediately apologizing for his negativity before stating it again. He rants and raves about his hatred for the movie Encino Man, though he acknowledges it was a financially prudent venture. He moans about being used by Warren Beatty while working on the film Bulworth but says that just the fact that Beatty was interested enough in him to approach him made the ordeal worth it. Even while he describes Rudy as a nearly perfect moviemaking experience, he admits to becoming extremely depressed because he couldn’t imagine landing a role that could top it. Once in a great while, he adds, in a footnote, an apology for a remark that may sound self-indulgent or unkind, but this seems entirely superfluous since he so often implants these disclaimers in the text itself. In spite, or sometimes because, of the constant addendums, Astin comes across as extremely insecure and dissatisfied.

I think I had a slight expectation, after reading everything leading up to his involvement with Lord of the Rings, that this project would come along and change everything for him. After all, this was a monumental movie, both in its construction and its final form. And Astin got to play the character who is, in many ways, the emotional heart of the entire trilogy. I’d already heard, on a DVD extra, how Astin’s initial interest in the project stemmed not from the source material but the director. I’ll admit I cringed a little every time I heard one of the main actors say how little familiarity they had with Lord of the Rings beforehand, as if this project was so sacred it should have only been taken on by fans. But they all became fans soon enough, Astin included, though his lack of knowledge was such that he’d never even heard of Tolkien or Lord of the Rings before. It was endearing to watch him fall in love with his character for the first time and become truly passionate about the role he hoped to inhabit, and that enthusiasm never really died for the duration of his involvement. But the feelings of inadequacy and being unappreciated, the depression partly brought on by overeating – in this case required by the role… all the problems that plagued him before surface again in the later part of the book, and it’s sad to realize that he probably prevented himself from enjoying the experience as much as he could have. Of course, he did not hinder himself as much as Stuart Townsend, the original Aragorn, did. It was interesting to hear a bit about the reasons behind Townsend’s dismissal and what he might have brought to the role had he stayed on.

Reading Astin’s descriptions of his fellow actors as well as Peter Jackson and many of the other crewmembers are interesting, though these observations follow his now-established pattern of compliment-insult-disclaimer. The compliments generally outnumber the complaints, though. In spite of concerns that Jackson didn’t know what he was doing and complaints that he didn’t give Sam enough to do in the beginning, Astin continually acknowledges his brilliance, his vision and his decentness. Though he sometimes seems to think “the boys” – Elijah Wood, Dom Monaghan, Billy Boyd and Orlando Bloom – are too vulgar and carefree, he describes Wood as a consummate professional; Monaghan as an incredibly brave and down-to-earth individual; Boyd as a man whose voice is magic and whose acting ability is tremendous; and Bloom as a young actor able to deal gracefully with his sudden teen idol status. While he accuses Ian McKellen of indulging in diva-like behavior, he also has untold admiration for his acting abilities.

One of Astin’s greatest frustrations during the filming was that Sam played such a minor role in Fellowship of the Ring. I agree, though I would have enjoyed more insight into what Sean wanted to see more of and how he wanted his character to develop. He was incensed by the depiction of Sam in Ralph Bakshi’s film, and I can’t say I was all that crazy about it either. I wonder, though, if he saw the Rankin and Bass version; I’ve always found Roddy McDowall’s take on Sam most endearing. Astin didn’t have the confidence to approach Jackson with very many suggestions on how to work the character more to his liking, which may or may not have benefited the production in the end. I don’t know how I would have felt about his ideas, but I can’t say I was very satisfied with Sam as he appeared in the film. I would venture a guess that some of that stems from Astin’s attitude at the time. I was aghast at the fact that Sam spent that bulk of his time in Fellowship angry, petrified, frustrated or depressed. Sam is a person incredibly at peace with himself and willing to shoulder the burdens of others. The Sam in the book never would have complained about a root sticking into his back or quailed at the thought of following Frodo out of the Shire or been too lilly-livered to ask Rosie (in the book a farmer’s daughter and his childhood playmate) for a dance or impudently asked Galadriel if he could have a dagger instead of the rope she had given him. I think Astin’s dissatisfaction with his role during this stage of the project showed on the screen, to the movie’s detriment. When Bilbo grumbles, it’s entirely appropriate to his endearingly curmudgeonly nature. For Sam, however, it’s out of character and most unwelcome. It’s my biggest beef with Fellowship and perhaps one of Astin’s many regrets. When given the chance in the second and third movies, however, Astin shines, to the point that late 2003 disappeared for him in a blur of Oscar buzz. While he didn’t win the Oscar, he won the hearts of millions and the gratitude of those who had already loved Sam for years.

Astin shares some interesting anecdotes about his time in Sam’s shoes (or lack thereof), but for the most part he is very introspective, concentrating more on his own struggles and insecurities than the details of what was happening with the filming of the movie. A lot of the details he did divulge had already been hashed over in magazine articles and on DVD extras, so I didn’t feel as though I got a great deal of new and exciting information. His rambling style continues through the end of the book, making it hard to keep track of what he’s talking about sometimes. In addition, though it hardly happens every page, Astin indulges, unnecessarily I think, in swearing. I guess I’m just a real prude when it comes to this stuff, but I am no fan of profanity. Tolkien, it seems, wasn’t either, and I am most grateful Jackson and his fellow script-writers honored the integrity of his language by keeping the films free of such earsores. But reading it on the page of a book dealing largely with Lord of the Rings was distracting and unpleasant.

I’m curious about the fact that this is a co-authored book. It seems many celebrity autobiographies are written this way, apparently because said celebrities haven’t the talent to write 300 pages of prose worth reading. But what does that mean exactly? It Joe Layden just a glorified editor? What exactly was his contribution? It makes me uncomfortable not knowing who wrote what. There and Back Again is a long, rambling tale, a must-read for devotees of the film and an interesting source of insight into the actor who brought one of the greatest characters in literature to life. It didn’t contain nearly as many revelations as I thought it might, and it left me wondering wistfully what brilliant scenes never made the light of day and never will. Though I would first recommend Andy Serkis’ fascinating book on the creation of Gollum on film, fans of the movies will want to read There and Back Again.

Stooges, Polka and Rocky Make Latest Veggie Video a Delicious Stir-Fry

A couple weeks ago, I had a crazy idea. Rather than take the bus, I decided to walk to my job at the mall, a four-mile trek through several busy intersections, construction and, on this particular day, a torrential downpour. It wasn’t raining when I left, but the sky was threatening enough that a logical person would have stayed home. I kept going even though I tripped on the sidewalk and banged up my knees and scratched up my hand within the first fifteen minutes of the walk. In the end, it took me more than two hours to walk to work, and I got there soaking wet and aching. To reward myself for my tenacity, I stopped in the Christian bookstore and picked up the VeggieTales episode that had just come out a few days before. Ironically, the theme of The Sumo of the Opera turned out to be perseverance.

The episode starts with Bob on the countertop, explaining that Larry won’t be present because he is off helping kids at a toy drive. All too soon, however, we get a phone call from Larry, who trots out a long list of woes brought about by confusing bus schedules (am I ever with you there, mate!) and announces that he’s giving up and coming home. Appalled at this idea, Bob begs Larry to stay on the line while he tries to convince him to go through with his mission.

The first attempt comes courtesy of Lutfi, a sock puppet of indeterminate nationality who is assisting Bob in Larry’s absence. He proudly presents a short film about perseverance entitled Going Up!. This amusing little interlude features Larry, Mr. Lunt and Jerry Gourd as the bumbling employees of Mr. Nezzer. The three, decked out in Stoogesque garb, must get a piano to the top of a very large staircase in order to deliver it to the waiting recipient. As might be imagined, this is no easy task, and before long Larry is on his own to finish the job. While his friends fritter away the day at the foot of the stairs, he puts forth the necessary effort and reaps the rewards of persistence. Unfortunately, this little object lesson happens to be a silent film, so it is of no help to Larry, who is still on the line but rapidly running out of quarters.

As Bob searches for a more appropriate story, it’s a perfect time for Silly Songs With Larry. Except in this case, it’s Schoolhouse Polka With Larry, whose contents can be guessed at rather easily. This particular lesson involves homophones, and Larry boisterously rattles off pairs of homophones with his accordion in hand and Buddy Holly glasses firmly perched on his nose. After this schoolhouse rock parody, we get four previews of the next installment instead of the usual one, and Larry is quite exhausted by the time it’s all over. The announcer for the song never shows his face but is some distinguished British personage other than Archibald Asparagus, whom we do finally get to see in the main story.

Next up is Lutfi’s Fanciful Flannelgraph, which tells the story of St. Patrick in the traditional Sunday School format. I knew about this portion of the show but not its subject, so I was pleasantly surprised. The style is very different from typical Veggie fare, but it is enjoyable nonetheless – though its depiction of the Irish before their conversion as dimwits who bowed to twigs could be mildly offensive to some. It has less to do with perseverance than Going Up! but does applaud St. Patrick’s willingness to go back and preach to those who captured him as a youth.

At last, Bob produces the title story. Narrated by a chorus of Japanese wrestlers a la the Mikado, it follows the exploits of Larry in the role of the Italian Scallion, a goofball wrestler who never finishes anything he starts, including the repairs on his young friend Hadrian’s bike. When he learns that wrestling the monstrous Apollo Gourd could win him a state of the art Tiger bicycle to give Hadrian instead, he decides to take on the challenge. But he isn’t prepared for the work that accompanies such an undertaking.

The story is riddled with references to Rocky, including a very funny appearance by Po Tato, a Mr. T. look-alike. “I pity the clown!” he says of the Italian Scallion before succumbing to his madcap charm. Most of the major Veggie players are here in one form or another. Bob shows up as a local obsessed with collecting recyclables. Pa is the Scallion’s ornery trainer. Jimmy and Jerry are a sports commentator / cameraman team, and Archibald pops up now and then with exposition festively displayed on silkscreen. Like Rocky, Larry faces a formidable opponent and must train as hard as he possibly can if he ever hopes to prevail. “I’ve gotta keep my eye on the tiger!” he proclaims after Hadrian’s faith in him inspires him to continue. His training includes making his way up the down escalator and crushing recyclables with his hopping stomp. They also manage to sneak in references to The Karate Kid and The Princess Bride. All in all, a very well-done parody with a worthwhile lesson to boot.

I’m not sure if I like Sumo of the Opera quite as much as A Snoodle’s Tale; that one really knocked my socks off. But this latest Veggie installment is a fine one and leaves me eagerly awaiting the next effort by the most talented team of Christians around.

Very Unfortunate Events Very Good Reading

I had some time to kill after work today, so I decided to stop by the mall library and see if I could plop down with a good book for a couple of hours. Several years ago, my aunt introduced me to the deliciously dry wit of Lemony Snicket, and after reading the first installment of The Series of Unfortunate Events I vowed the rest would soon follow. Alas, though I continued to identify myself as a fan of the series, I never got around to reading the second book, let alone the remainder of the volumes. What I did read, inappropriately as I soon discovered, was the Unauthorized Autobiography. After an introductory chapter that, along with the cover, had me shaking with laughter, I found I had no idea what was going on. The book made no sense whatsoever and I decided I would have to give it a shot again once I’d read considerably further into the series. Because the library happened to have the second chronicle, The Reptile Room, handy, I am now on my way.

This second installment is as quick and enjoyable a read as the first. Well, perhaps not quite as enjoyable, since Snicket has to go and introduce us to the cuddly bundle of fun that is Dr. Montgomery Montgomery (aka Uncle Monty), only to kill him off halfway through the book. This tragic incident comes as no surprise, as nearly every time Uncle Monty appears in the book the narrator reminds the reader of his untimely demise, but it is still most unfortunate when it happens as he is the most likable character to grace the series thus far. Delightfully eccentric and boundlessly kind, he provides the children with an all-too-brief oasis in their vast desert of doom.

The Baudelaire orphans behave precisely the same in this novel as they did in A Bad Beginning. Violet thinks up inventions, tying up her hair in a ribbon every time she must think especially hard. Klaus reads books, quickly becoming an expert on the subject of snakes and Peruvian terrain. And Sunny bites things. She also, in this novel, makes the acquaintance of the Incredibly Deadly Viper, who turns out to be almost as interesting a character in his own way as Uncle Monty. Rounding out the cast are Mr. Poe, the well-meaning but useless manager of the Baudelaires’ affairs; Stephano, Uncle Monty’s new assistant who the children immediately discover to be Count Olaf; and Dr. Lucafont, the somewhat unsettling doctor who arrives to perform an autopsy on Uncle Monty.

Although my brother has a tendency to dislike novels, I think I’ll keep this one around for him as he shares the same fondness Uncle Monty does for reptiles, particularly snakes. The Reptile Room itself is a glorious collection of reptiles, most of which do not actually exist but are wonderfully imaginative. In addition, he loves Snicket’s skewered sense of humor. As much as I enjoy the exploits of the orphans, I attribute the success of the series to the amalgamation of Snicket’s dry wit and etymological obsession. I find it hard to imagine that the movies can truly capture the essence of these books when the best part is the author commentary, which is not only amusing but educational as well. I walked away with a couple of new words myself, including “brummagem,” a lovely term for “fake.” I also was afforded a reminder of C. S. Lewis’ admonitions about shutting oneself in a wardrobe when I read Snicket’s shockingly accentuated warning against fooling around with electrical sockets.

Although I was very disappointed to see such a wonderful character as Uncle Monty disappear so quickly, such is the way of this series, and I’ve got the bug to read the rest in the near future. Then maybe I can tackle that autobiography again…

Clay's Fans Aren't Invisible - Clay Aiken in York, PA on September 16

A year and a half ago, Clay Aiken sang Open Arms on American Idol and I became a Claymate, though I don’t think the term had been invented yet. For the next three months, I rabidly consumed all I could of his material, gluing myself to the television on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and downloading all his earlier demos. Though I think my obsession may have worried my dad a bit, I dragged others to wallow in Claydom with me. Among them, my aunt Barb, who returned the favor by snatching up six tickets to see Clay Aiken at the York Fair the day they went on sale - and sold out - in April. After five long months, I finally got to see him solo in concert last week. It was worth the wait.

The fair atmosphere was pleasant and the weather was perfect, a relief since the county had been getting bombarded with the remnants of Hurricane Ivan. We spent several hours walking around the grounds and spotting all the different Clay shirts; when we went inside the stadium I bought two official shirts in spite of the unofficial one I was wearing. I also picked up a set of buttons, a magnet (though I’d asked for a keychain) and a program, which boasted a disappointing near-lack of text but an array of nice photos. Though I was dismayed to shell out $100 for these souvenirs, I managed to resist the temptation of buying a disposable camera after I’d had to take mine back to the car. What a racket…

Unfortunately, my aunt and her boyfriend had to sit separately from us, but they were directly below us so we never lost sight of them; Aunt Barb often turned around and waved at us. The concert was slated to begin at 7:30, but the musicians who took the stage had nothing to do with Clay; they were a local band by the name of Ben Jelen. Their musical style was a little loud for my taste, and their acoustics weren’t so hot. So after half an hour of them, I was very ready for Clay. But it took another half an hour for him to take the stage, after many spontaneous outbursts of clapping and “We want Clay!”

The first we actually saw of him was on a Jumbotron, doing an advertisement of all things. The ad featured him singing a clip of Proud of Your Boy, his song from the Aladdin DVD, and encouraging all the fans to get a copy and support Disney in their efforts towards kids everywhere. Disney had dredged up all the warm and fuzzy they could for this commercial, and I know I wasn’t the only one in the audience wishing the release date was September 15 instead of October 5.

The concert itself was intermission-free, an hour and a half of songs from Clay’s album and singles with a liberal sprinkling of covers. Actually, I think the covers out-numbered the actual Clay songs, but I can’t say I minded since he always chooses very high-quality songs to cover. Among them: U2’s Where the Streets Have No Name, Orleans’ Still the One (which he had included on one of his demo albums), Toto’s Rosanna (a rollicking number that, like Cecilia in Art Garfunkel’s concerts, allowed him a bit of a break and his band a chance to shine when it became a showcase for the talents of each individual member), Mr. Mister’s Kyrie (an upbeat song that seemed to be religious but whose words I had trouble understanding) and Avalon’s You Were There (a shivery gospel-style song which had him rise through the floor in a shining white suit and was accompanied by religious images on the jumbotron). All of his performances were stylish and packed with passion and energy. And his perfect pitch never wavered, nor did his amazing holding power, which he made a point of demonstrating on more than one occasion.

The most blatant of these demonstrations came during one of my favorite parts of the concert, a montage of five James Taylor tunes. While I was a little disappointed that no Elton John’s made it into the concert, this segment made up for it and also introduced me to the incredible talents of his back-up singers, Jacob, Quiana and Angela. I was especially impressed with Jacob’s heartfelt rendition of Fire and Rain and the harmonious Sweet Baby James. You’ve Got a Friend concluded with a contest to see who could hold the last note the longest. All four had very impressive breath control, but Clay held out the longest. These three quieter songs were my favorites, but the more upbeat How Sweet it Is and Your Smiling Face were enjoyable too. Clay’s rapport with the audience was secured the moment he took the stage, and he even invited a couple lucky audience members to come join him in a dance number. Later, a girl from Philadelphia joined him for Without You, a duet he performed with Kim Locke on her album. Although she struck me as just a bit cocky, this girl had quite a powerful set of pipes; Clay seemed very impressed. He was incredibly chatty all night, and his sharp sense of humor was very evident, as was his warmth, perhaps enhanced by the fact that his mother was sitting in the front row.

I confess that I was less than blown away by Clay’s debut album. Up till now, all my favorite singers have had their origins in the sixties and seventies, and I’ve found that I am generally most moved by Clay when he sings songs from that era. The songs written for his album tended to strike me as overproduced, too commercial, too contemporary. I was head over heels for the singer, but I was used to falling in love with songs as well and it wasn’t happening. Nonetheless, his album has grown on me, and the songs are much more impressive in concert than on the album. Just seeing him belt them out with all the enthusiasm he could muster, and without all sorts of special effects to overshadow his voice, made a big difference. Perfect Day, one of the first songs in the set, was entertaining because the chorus had him hopping around the stage to indicate his giddiness. The more sedate Measure of a Man was enhanced by the skills of Jacob, one of his back-up singers, on what I believe was the soprano sax. In this song it sounded more like a trumpet and gave the song a heroic quality. His impassioned rendering of the inspirational anthem I Will Carry You almost made up for the disappointing (but unsurprising) absence of Bridge Over Troubled Water. I found myself reveling in his performances of Invisible (in spite of its slightly stalkerish lyrics) and I Survived You (in spite of its bitter tone). And it certainly was a treat to hear the triumphant finale of This is the Night, accompanied by clips of highlights from the past year, and the glorious encore of Solitaire, which has probably replaced Open Arms as my most goosebump-inducing Clay song.

I’m just now recovering from semi-laryngitis brought on by this concert. My mom got into the spirit too, but her voice seemed unaffected so I must have out-squealed her. In a shrieking contest, I suspect a crowd of Claymates could decimate a group of banshees any day. We squealed at the high notes, the extended notes, the mentions of his mother and of his charity. We cheered when he expressed his gratitude to his fans and bellowed the words to his choruses at the top of our lungs. I fear the less enthusiastic members of the crowd probably left with a bit of a headache. But I think Clay deserved every cheer he got, plain old Clay who performed all but three songs in jeans and a button-up shirt. He almost looked like that geek who showed up in Atlanta once again. There was a lot less superfluous showiness here than there was on the American Idol tour, and his back-up singers were so talented I never felt they were an unnecessary distraction from the person we all came to see.

It’s been more than a year since Clay first emerged from American Idol a star, and I don’t see that star falling any time soon. At the same time, he seems perfectly grounded and gracious, able to prevent his whirlwind fame from stripping him of the qualities that made him so lovable to begin with. With a spot on the Aladdin DVD, an inspirational memoir and a Christmas album all on the way in the next few months, I’m sure I’ll be seeing and hearing a lot more of Clay soon.

Boredom Buster: Blackrose4eva write-off

I came across this write-off hosted by blackrose4eva when willowchild responded, and I thought it would be fun to ease my way back into Epinions writing after a month off by answering these questions. Here goes!

1. Who named you, and what does your name mean?

My parents named me. They just thought Erin Elizabeth sounded nice and went well with McCarty. Erin is especially appropriate to my Irishness. I wonder sometimes how much that sort of thing unconsciously affects a person; my name means Ireland and I’m obsessed with Ireland, my birthday’s the same day as Lincoln’s and I’m obsessed with Lincoln. I like to think I’m just lucky to have such an Irish name and the same birthday as my favorite president, but maybe I’ve got the cause and effect reversed…

2. Which is better: Classic Coca Cola or C2 Coca Cola?

Never had C2 but I’m getting really tired of this no-carb craze. I mean, sandwiches without bread? Come on! As far as pop (notice I did not say soda!) goes, Coke’s okay but a little bit strong. My favorite is Dr. Pepper, followed by Mr. Pibb and Cherry Coke. Basically anything dark is okay by me, though, as long as it’s not diet.

3. Are you a pessimistic or optimistic?

On the one hand, I would definitely say I’m optimistic. I’m an idealist through and through. But I tend to be a worrier. I took the Winnie-the-Pooh quiz and came up as Piglet, and that’s why. I’m extremely timid and nervous, and I worry about the future all the time. But I have great confidence in the human race and I have to believe that ultimately everything is going to work out okay.

4. If you can rule the world for 1 hour, what will you do?

Save the trees! Um, yeah. I don’t know. I’m not much of a leader. But as much preserving of the environment and stopping of violence as I could do in an hour.

5. Who do you think is the WORST actor/actress in history to date?

I’m really not good at coming up with bad actors. I have to say that I don’t really understand Brad Pitt’s appeal. Pauly Shore, David Spade, Andy Dick and a couple other guys really annoy me. But I don’t know. I can’t think of anyone deserving of the “worst” title. But when it comes to actors I love, I’ve got a long list: Tom Hanks, Haley Joel Osment, Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman, Jim Carrey, Jimmy Stewart, Nicole Kidman, Julie Andrews… well, way too many to list here. And pretty much every major cast member in Lord of the Rings. Except Karl Urban. Eomer really annoys me for some reason…

6. Which gender do you think should dominate: women or men?

I think we should have gender equality, but I have to admit that I feel more affinity with guys and most of my favorite characters and famous people are guys.

7. Do you think education should be free or be paid for? If you pay for it, do you think it is really worth it?

Everybody should have access to a good quality education, but I guess I have no objection to having to pay to go to a private school. I went to a Lutheran elementary school and a Catholic high school. My parents could have saved a lot of money by sending me to public school, but I think that the schools were well worth the money. I think college is overrated, though. I did have some great experiences in college – especially going overseas for six weeks – and had some wonderful teachers, but on the whole I think that people put more stock in college than is due. I went because I was expected to go, not because of any huge expectations of where it would get me. And I don’t see any reason at all for me to go to graduate school, in spite of the urging of several professors. It’s great for some people, but it really doesn’t interest me at all.

8. What do you think about the recent gas prices?

I’m not as aware of it because I don’t drive, but anything that drains more money out of my parents’ bank account is a major pain. I think it’s lousy. I also wish we didn’t have to be so dependent on gas. At the risk of sounding shockingly backwards, I truly think that the car was one of the most detrimental inventions of the twentieth century. If only there were some way to make transporter beams a reality. Talk about convenience! And no more car accidents!

9. Do you think animals have feelings? If so, why are you eating them? (Assuming you are not a vegetarian)

Yes, I think they do. All the animals I have known have had distinct personalities and discernible emotions. I love animals and wish that I had to will power to be a vegetarian, but I’ve tried it before and I don’t. I’m pathetic.

10. If you can only have one, which would you choose: a heart or a brain?

Definitely a heart. Give me Forrest Gump over John Nash any day. Genius is nice, but kindness always trumps that. I’m a very emotional person and think more with my heart than my head.

11. How much wood can a woodchuck chuck?

All the wood? Or can he? Just how much is “all the wood” anyway? All the wood in the world? All the wood in his mouth? And just what is a woodchuck doing chucking wood? I don’t think I’d feel too safe in the presence of a wood-chucking woodchuck…

12. In your opinion, do you believe that people--especially the younger generations--are taking HIV and STDs seriously? Why or Why not?

I think they’re taking it somewhat seriously but not as much as they should. They’re using more protective measures, but I think a lot of people in my generation are too promiscuous. I’m pretty old-fashioned; I’m in favor of the whole abstinence before marriage thing. Not only do I think it’s the right thing to do, it also would prevent a lot of problems…

13. What do you think about the idea of spanking your child – assuming he/she misbehaves – as a form of discipline?

I was spanked when I was younger, and it didn’t scar me for life. But I’m really not a fan of corporal punishment, and I don’t think I would spank my kids, if I ever have them, which I doubt I will. I think my parents may have decided they’re not too crazy about it either because I can’t remember my youngest brother ever getting spanked. Or maybe he’s just spoiled…

14. Do you like people? (Be honest)

As Linus said, “I love mankind. It’s people I can’t stand.” Actually, that’s not even true. I love people, I just don’t particularly enjoy interacting with them. I am extremely introverted; I was voted the quietest girl in my class of 200 students my senior year in high school. I’m really bad at conversing with people. I work in a bookstore and am supposed to initiate conversations with all the customers and suggest books they might enjoy, and I’m terrible at it. I have no problem being polite and pleasant, but when it comes to coming up with things to say I’m really stumped.

And I really don’t like telephones. I almost always spend the vast majority of the time not saying anything, and the worst is when the person on the other end of the line doesn’t have anything to say either so you spend the whole time trapped with a phone in your hand and nothing to say. I love the internet, though, and I have no problem communicating through message boards, emails, instant messages and comments on reviews. The problem is that I’m a writer. I’m not a talker. If it were up to me I’d use IM for all my conversations. Maybe I wouldn’t, though. I have to admit that now that I have made all these friends online, I’m very curious as to what they sound like. It would be pretty cool to talk to them “live.”

Anyway, my point is that I am very shy and unskilled in the art of conversation. I’m a good listener, though. I’m very observant and remember little tidbits I learn about people for a long time. And I like to think I’m pretty empathetic. I agree with Anne Frank that people are really good at heart, to the point where I’ve pretty much decided that I have to be a universalist to maintain my sanity. I can’t believe that God is willing to condemn billions of good people because they didn’t fall in with the right religion. But I think I’m getting carried away now…

15. You have a lion, a goat, and a bundle of hay. You need to cross a river by using a small boat, which can ONLY carry you and something of your choice (the lion or the goat or the hay). You CANNOT, for example, bring the lion along with the goat, etc. Nobody can swim across the river or make or bridge, etc. You MUST use the boat.

Question: how do you cross the river bringing the lion, the goat, and the hay? You are allowed to make more than one trip.

Hmmmm. I’ve seen this one before. Now let me think… Okay, I’d bring over the goat in one trip. I’d come back alone and bring over the lion. I’d bring the goat back with me and drop it off and bring the hay over, leaving the hay and lion together. Then I would go back alone and bring over the goat.

*Extra* 17. What is your WORST job ever? Are you still in it?

I’ve only had a couple jobs, and none were horrible. The most grueling, though, was working at the zoo. I really enjoyed it because I love animals and got to work with them, but it was a lot of physical labor and I was very slow and clumsy.

Okay, that’s that. Something to tide me over until I write another real review. Enjoy!