Opera News
July 1999
Album review by Joshua Rosenblum
JASON ROBERT BROWN: Parade
Carmello, Molaskey; Carver, Lackey, Bonds, Jr., Pappas; Lincoln
Center Theater, Stern. 1999. Text. RCA Victor, 09026-63378-2
The ambitous new musical Parade takes as its subject the notorious 1913
Atlanta trial of Brooklyn-born Jew Leo Frank, who was wrongfully accused
of
killing a young girl working in his factory. The scene is cleverly
and
succinctly set in the opening number ("The Old Red Hills of Home"),
which
shows a proud young Confederate soldier heading off to battle and then
jumps
ahead fifty years to depict the same man, now minus a leg, being hailed
as a
hero at the Confederate Memorial Day Parade. In this context
of defiant
Southern pride and distrust of Northern outsiders, the public's eagerness
to
condemn Frank is, if not forgivable, at least comprehensible.
Several songs land convincingly as efforts to persuade the citizenry
and the
jury of Frank's culpability. Some are sung by people who honestly
think
Frank is guilty (the movingly stalwart Jessica Molaskey as the murdered
girl's mother) and others by those who know he probably isn't but have
their
own agendas (the comically dynamic Evan Pappas as a frustrated newspaperman,
Rufus Bonds, Jr. as a colorful escaped con gleefully fulfilling his
deal with
the prosecutor). Quite a compelling show is put on by all, and
the more
heartfelt or exciting the presentation, the more unsettled it leaves
the
listener, who knows Frank is innocent.
As played understatedly but assuredly by Brent Carver, Frank wins our
sympathy without having to ask for it, maintaining quiet dignity in
the face
of horrifying circumstances. Carolee Carmello, as his courageous
wife, has
the acting skills to create a full-blooded portrait of an unglamorous
woman,
but can still knock out a Broadway ballad with practiced flair and
belt up to
an E when necessary. Broadway newcomer Jason Robert Brown, although
he has
clearly mastered many varying idioms, rarely settles for the obvious,
either
in his music or his lyrics. One interesting recurrent touch involves
the
intrusion of one musical style literally on top of another, such as
the
marching band interjections during Frank's first interior musical monologue,
or the chillingly celebratory cakewalk which overtakes the jurors'
solemn
intonation of the word "guilty" at the end of the trial. These
juxtapositions result in startling Ivesian polyrhythms and bitonality,
which
underline the chaotic sense of a world gone mad. While
an occasional number
falls short of memorability (the Franks' love duet "All the Wasted
Time"
sounds more like a hit pop single than a unique, contextually-inspired
utterance), Parade is an impressive achievement. If its unstinting
portrayal
of a shameful episode in our country's history was too harsh for some
audiences, we can still be grateful for this superbly recorded and
performed
document.
-- Joshua Rosenblum
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