The Cruelest Month

By Victoria Looseleaf

How is it that March, which came in like a lion and went out like a, well, pitbull, escaped us (at least from our blogging point of view)? It’s not as if nothing transpired. It’s actually that too much transpired.

Our dear friend and colleague, Rudy Perez, was honored at USC, that hallowed institution that houses his archives and on whose panel we were not asked to appear. (We’ve only been writing about Rudolfo for the last, oh, 20 years or so…). Needless to say, we loved the performance – and the exhibition – minimal as it was.

Speaking of minimalism, we had a reunion with Hazel M., our flautist from Mills College – the one who performed in our Master’s recital and chamber music trio, Victoria & Her Birds of Paradise – after who knows how many years. Her daughter surprised us by wearing a vintage, Love, Victoria L tee shirt. And then we surprised LA Times classical music critic, Mark Swed at Long Beach Opera’s The Death of Klinghoffer (John Adams‘ brilliant opus, which we loved, btw), with Hazel, herself.

We were all at Mills together and can’t understand why she wouldn’t show us the tattoo we had given her as a birthday present (it was the American Beauty rose from the Grateful Dead album of the same name, which tattoo artist Lyle Tuttle did not have in his shop, but instead improvised). We remember hurting for Hazel (and dispensing Percodan for the pain), and were curious to see how the ink had aged on her thigh.

We’d even penned a short story, A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose… which somehow reminded us of the poem we’d written that obtusely recalled Mr. Swed, Polonaise in Pasadena, featured in A Looseleaf Notebook, Volume I, the out-of-print tome published by Jack Grape‘s Bombshelter Press.

Ergo, in honor of National Poetry Month – and just because we feel like it – here’s an excerpt: Chopin waltzed through my life once, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and very curly hair. He was 6 foot 4 and thought about eye surgery a lot. But his hands were too big and his shoes kept time to a different beat.

Oy! We walked out of the Wooster Group at REDCAT (don’t ask), we loved Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo’s Lac (we were told by artistic director Jean-Christophe Maillot that our LAT story was the first on the troupe to publish outside of Europe), and also managed to show up the next night at the Alex Theatre for Jamie Nichols’ annual fest, Celebrate Dance. Then there was Slowgirl at the Geffen Playhouse (we liked it), and two nights celebrating the 40-year anniversary of the fabulous Kronos Quartet at CAP UCLA (above, with Laurie Anderson in her brilliant, multi-medai work, Landfall).

But you all know this, as we’d mentioned it in our February posting. Blafuckingbla.

We checked out Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive (a terrible title), with some great vampiric visuals, starring Tilda Swinton, whom we once thought would be perfect to play Violet Wilde in our Whorehouse of the Mind: A [Soap] Opera of Sex, Drugs and the Space Program, and Tom Hiddleston.

We covered Los Angeles Ballet (right) for LAT (click here for that), and co-hosted and produced another Salon 2.0 with visual artist Linda Kunik. This one featured the legendary performance artist, Barbara T. Smith, tubaist William Roper and visual artist Mei Xian Qiu. We were so riveted that we never felt the 5.3 earthquake, hearing about it, instead, from arts maven Carolyn Campbell, who was watching our live stream feed.

Speaking of technology, our Internet and landline went out for more than three days, so we were subject to a lot of Time Warner bullshit. That week we also ran down to the Hammer Museum, where the Industry’s Yuval Sharon mounted the installation, Terry Riley: In C (cover photo; Riley was our teacher at Mills, so the memories keep coming), with Danielle Agami and her Ate9 Dance Company moving along with the inflatable air dancers (click here for our latest LAT story on one of L.A.’s hottest choreographers).

The installation was part of the Los Angeles Philharmonic’s Minimalist Jukebox Festival, which turned out to be maximal, as we were at Disney Hall, which is celebrating its 10-year anniversary this season, three times in four nights, including at concerts featuring the fabulous Labèque Sisters, i.e., Katia and Marielle, and the world premiere of Riley’s organ concerto, At the Royal Majestic, with soloist Cameron Carpenter (pictured above with Riley).

Quel week it was, including our Saturday evening romp at the LAB gala before trotting back downtown for Paul Taylor Dance Company, this time in the company of Ballet Red’s Josie Walsh (right).

Wow, we’re getting tired just recounting our outings, so this might be a good place for another neo-haiku (in other words, more from A Looseleaf Notebook, Vol. I). Here, then, is Not the Ritz (for some reason we didn’t believe in punctuation, which has been amended for this rendering, or in capitalizing words back in the day, so the following is all [sic]): I am not a rock, I am a mountain who has died once in a downtown Los Angeles hospital on the 18th floor surrounded by nuns and mexicans a team of jewish doctors and hundreds of feet of tubing. I float for five days high over the world and when I finally decide to come back my first words are: “where’s my purse?”

And speaking of Sharon and Agami, we moderated a talk between that dynamic duo at Otis College of Art and Design. It was part of Big City Forum, produced by Leonardo Bravo and his partner River Jukes-Hudson.

We also had several horrible cluster headaches and were forced to miss American Contemporary Ballet’s program about Fred Astaire, though we did meet his daughter, Ava, at the Professional Dancers Society luncheon paying tribute to the fabulous Leslie Caron (left). In addition, we were skedded to see Annette Bening doing Ruth Draper at the Geffen as well as Peter Brook’s The Suit at UCLA, and the list goes on – and on. We did, however, finally make it to Jan Munroe’s 30-year anniversary revival of Alligator Tails, which recently ran at Jeff Murray‘s Theatre Theater for an unprecedented three months: Bravo, sir(s), and thank you for allowing us to be part of Mr. Munroe’s fabulous genealogical romp, and in the process, theatrical history! 

 

 

But enough about us, dear readers, how are you?

About Victoria Looseleaf

Victoria Looseleaf is an award winning arts journalist and regular contributor to the Los Angeles Times, KUSC-FM radio, Dance Magazine, Performances Magazine and other outlets. She roams the world covering dance, music, theater, film, food and architecture. Have pen - and iPad - will travel! Her latest book, "Isn't It Rich? A Novella In Verse" is now available on Amazon. Thank you for reading! Cheers...
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