Poster Design for PFLAG-Olympia benefit concerts.

#wds2013

Traditions Fair Trade Store

Olympia, Washington

Two shows.

Saturday, January 25th.

Review of New World Waking Olympia

Alec Clayton, putting on his critic's hat, reviewed our weekend. He gets a bit ahead of the story I'm telling, but I loved what he wrote.

Olympia New World Waking, Day One.

Two days.

That’s how much time we, a group of students and local celebrities had to cast, rehearse, stage and perform New World Waking. Twice.

We had Thursday from 1 to 5. And then possibly 1 to 5 on Friday. But, essentially, we had the one day.

I stayed with Gabi and Alec Clayton, as usual. They have four cats that circled me suspiciously the whole time I was there. Finally, they let me feed them fish flakes, AKA kitty crack. So, I got a few chin scratches and ear tickling.

Wednesday night, I was tired and went right to bed.

Thursday morning, my stomach was hurting. I hit the bathroom a few times, but it wasn't helping. It wasn't pain exactly. But it had a very familiar feel. (kidney stones again). No. I refused to believe it. I even tried using my will to make it go away.

I also started drinking a lot of water.

Our set was the black box theatre inside the Kenneth J. Minnaert Center for the Arts on the campus of the South Puget Sound Community College, nestled in the richly forested, rolling hillsides surrounding the small, beautiful port city of Olympia, Washington.

I had a mandate from Don Welch the professor: Show the students how you put on a show.

Well, the only way I know how to learn anything is to just do it.

“We can do New World Waking," I announced. "I’ll come in the day before, cast the solos, rehearse it and we’ll do it in two days.”

I spent the whole plane trip to Olympia wondering what I had talked myself into, and where I would even start.

I didn’t really have a specific plan, but I thought the best way to handle this was to simply treat them as if they were a professional cast and that we were there to put on a show. I'd use the script and scores from the New York production. 

I also felt confident because I had a safety net. I, myself, could sing any song that we couldn’t find a soloist for. (Don had pre-chosen the soloists from his advanced class, and they had those solos in advance). So, no matter how much or how little the group learned, the show could still go on!

At least, that was the theory.

Everyone was assembled in the block box theater at South Puget Sound Community College. Before I even said a word, I hit a G on the piano and started singing, “Time to come out...” and then I gestured to the students to repeat it.



They did. A bit tepidly at first; caught everyone off-guard. So, I repeated it, “TIME TO COME OUT!” And they responded a bit louder, looking confused, but definitely joining in. Since the background vocals are simple, just call and response, we finished it in just a few minutes. So, I proudly looked at everyone and said, “There! Now we’ve already learned out first number.”



The response to that was still very tepid and their attention seemed a bit off. Some were texting. Others were looking away, bored. I became a bit annoyed and immediately told everyone to put their phones away.



We got through a few more songs, but I still didn’t feel like most were really present.


So, assuming everyone one here was wanting to get into theater, I gave them a rather -- shall we say -- passionate speech about how much theater means to me, how it saved my life, how I've seen it save the lives of others, and that it's a calling and not an idle hobby.


I said, "Right now, there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of actors in New York living in roach-infested closets, working two jobs to pay for acting classes and dance classes, and going to auditions. If you think you can compete with their dedication by texting during a class or not paying attention, you are out of your minds. That's your competition: People who really care. So, anyone who doesn't want to be here, then please leave. Now. I don't want you." (I might have used stronger language than that).



Then, it dawned on me that maybe there was something wrong because I knew I wasn't really connecting with everyone.



So, I said, “Does anyone know why I’m here?”



There were five sitting in the front row on the left with printed-out music on their laps. They all nodded enthusiastically. 

But the larger group, about 15 or so, sitting higher up on the right hand side looked at me blankly and then shook their heads.



“So, you don't know why I'm here or what we're trying to do?”

"No."

Suddenly, I felt my back starting to throb. Yep, that kidney stone was definitely there. And it was going to be a problem. I leaned over for a moment to gather my thoughts.


"Okay," I said. "Here's the deal. You're in the cast of a new musical and we open tomorrow night."

(To be continued).

Olympia Story Coming Soon.

The Olympia weekend was an amazing experience, one I'm only now starting to appreciate. So, I want to take some time to digest it. Also, I do have some video. But I have to give it to the "kids" in the show, at least one of whom was my age. They worked their hearts out and they delivered complex, emotional performances. And to have done it all in two days just astounds me.

So I thank them with all my heart.

Olympian Volcano!

Great article by Molly Gilmore in the Weekly Volcano about my return visit here to Olympia.

I arrived yesterday after a long day of travel and basically slept the whole day. The time zone difference is difficult enough, but I had to get up at 4am to get the bus to the airport.

Thankfully, the plane was on time and though I was wedged into a very full aircraft, right in front of a crying baby, I was happily immersed in a new book called "Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World." (We are given this impression that the Western world was so much  more civilized than the east, but he actually implemented freedom of religion, meritocracy and open trade while the western world was still bowing down to kings and living in filth).

Ah, but then, we always the "the other guy" is so much less civilized than we are.

Buy tickets here.

In Praise of PFLAG.

I don't think I've mentioned, lately,  how much I love PFLAG.

During the Pioneer Days of the Internet, it was the first real life example of how families could talk to each other about what it means to have a gay kid. 

The email list PFLAG-Talk wasn't officially "of" the central office. It was just a bunch of folks from various towns, both large and small, talking together, worrying for their children and helping, especially, "new" parents who had just been delivered the news. 

Sometimes it's a mom just trying to understand, saddled with a husband who is about to blow through the roof, trying to figure out how to keep her 17 year old -- who is now dressing like a Goth -- from sneaking out at night.

As culture warriors continue to dominate the religious debate over homosexuality, parents and their kids, and their extended family, are all caught in the crossfire because war is easy. It's the first thing you learn in improv, violence is easy. 

But when that parent is told by his kid, when that parent's world suddenly turns upside down, who do you call?

Conservative Christian parents, especially. Who do you call? 

I remember confronting the protester in Kentucky. I asked him point blank, "Now that you've told me I'm going to hell, what do I do? Do I come to your church? Do you have a program for homosexuals who want to not be gay anymore?"

The look on his puzzled face. He snapped, "No!"

Who does anyone call? Or better, who can you call who doesn't have a religious or political agenda to shove down your throat?

PFLAG does advocate, naturally, for gay people. But, on this list, people of all stripes exist. The rule is No Religion, unless you're asking an informational question about a certain group's beliefs. 

By keeping to the personal, each parent can get necessary information and emotional "been there, done that, here's what might happen net" comfort and advice.

I've sung for many PFLAGs and was even honored, twice, with the Oscar Wilde Award by the PFLAG in Los Angeles.

But, Olympia is a particularly personal destination because of Gabi and Alec Clayton, who live there. If I'm not mistaken, the very first song I wrote after The Last Session was "Gabi's Song." 

In fact, the first concert I sang after 9/11 was Olympia. It was that first weekend of flights. We considered canceling. But no way. And we had a most miraculous night. More like church, really.

So, it's good to be coming back. And how great that we'll be presenting New World Waking, which was born, as an idea, there in Olympia. Only this time, we bring in all the local college kids and make a musical together! And what's the first song of New World Waking?

Of course. Gabi's Song. "Will it always be like this?"

Olympian Heights!

It takes just as much effort and energy to make a small event as it does to make a big event. So, you might as well make a big event. And yes, I'm talking about Olympia.

The fact that it's where the concept of New World Waking was born. The fact that the professor wants the students to have the full theatrical experience of putting on a show, including auditions for solos, etc.

The fact that we have two days to make it work.

The fact that it's in a place called Olympia.

(You go to Olympian heights in Olympia!)

The fact that everyone wants to get involved and make it great, this project evolved from the original "We should get Steve here to sing" Steve concert to full scale community event, raising money for PFLAG-Olympia,  growing and changing before my very eyes, with a cast of thousands!

I can't just show up and do a couple of numbers. We have to put on a show! So, I have been scrambling through all my folders looking for sheet music, and adding it to scripts, mp3s,etc. into a virtual folder -- thank you, google docs -- and everyone participating in the show can access it.
(
I'm so glad I spent all last year putting together newer arrangements for different vocal ranges. Given the fact that the first incarnation was a male chorus, most of the arrangements I had before were for male voices.)

The structure of the piece is simple. Songs connected by relevant quotes, or background material setting the context for the next song.

How the songs are sung, what the stage looks like, what costumes should or shouldn't be worn, what choreography should or shouldn't be added, lights, multi-media -- all of that is up for grabs. We can do as little or as much as the material will support. Key being just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD.

And maybe some enterprising young filmmaker will tape it all and make a movie. Any volunteers? Or maybe have everyone in the room shoot footage at different times. Crowdsource it and edit that together.

It'll be terrifying that first day. I remember how the songwriter workshops used to terrify me. Creating in front of others!

So, the next question is, when they ask me to write a press release, what exactly do I say? How do I describe, in advance, what I don't know is going to happen?

And how do I let the students know that from this point on, there are no rules?

Prologue (shot from audience in Olympia).

One last video from Olympia: The Prologue to New World Waking.

EDIT: In the video, Jeff Kingsbury and I exchange a reference about a lyric. It's because, that afternoon, he told me that he had seen canned mixed cocktails in Japan, that he saw it as a very knowing reference. Actually, I just used them because they rhymed and I thought the line was funny.

"Holy Dirt" shot from the audience in Olympia.

How I Got To Play John Lennon's Piano

This is an interview I did explaining how I came to play John Lennon's piano up in Olympia, Washington a couple of years ago. I'll be back there THIS SUNDAY to sing a concert at the Capital Playhouse.

Happy Mother's Day

I didn't realize until long after I got out of the home I grew up in that my family wasn't very sentimental. The depth of love that came from my parents was so utterly rock solid, it didn't need or require or demand a lot of gestures. I wonder if it's part of the stoic Arkansas mountain country air. So, there was no terror of forgotten birthdays or anniversaries. (In fact, for years, we celebrated my brother, Scott's, birthday on the wrong day, thanks to my dizzy mother.)

But my folks were very clear, that once we were out on our own, our personal business was our personal business. They gave me the great gift of leaving me alone. When I left east Texas and moved to Dallas in the late 70s, and came out of the closet, I kept this life from them.

Consequently, I've never really told them about certain big decisions I made in my life. At the time, I didn't even realize how big the decision was, so it's the kind of thing that one only can view retroactively.

After high school, they worked very hard to get me a good education at Jacksonville Baptist College. I had even secured a full tuition scholarship. Luckily, the music professor there, Gerald Orr (now Dr. Gerald Orr) was a really great musician and arranger. I was a terrible piano, hating to practice. Our pianos were in trailers out in front of the boys dorm, which was L-shaped, with rooms like a motel. The girls dorm, one block over, had only one entrance.

But what I did love was the chorus and the Men's Quartet. By the end of my first year, I was arranging for all the groups. I wasn't the most imaginative arranger. Mostly, I just knew how to convert hymns and things to quartet, to soup them up a bit. And we got to sing old timey gospel quartet harmony. I put some of that into New World Waking.

But Bro. Orr really encouraged me.

So, I was all ready to go to a fancier Baptist college in Dallas. It came with a job. One of the big churches needed a choir and music director plus youth director.

I was too green to be an executive.

Or too unprepared for adult life in a city.

And I was dressed head to toe in mod, with high heeled boots, the whole geshmear.

It all ended with a dramatic speech in front of the congregation where I resigned. The actual details are fuzzy, but I was being squeezed by the pastor on one side, and his secretary on the other. I was mod and young and hip. He wanted to show me how to golf. I felt like the dumbest hick around sophisticated people. I just freaked.

So, I went back to my band. Back to the safety of Jacksonville and my $50/month garage apartment. The guys in the band were my college -- and I clocked in every day at the band office to help run the business side. Even wrote and published a newsletter for all our fans across the state.

I think I've never talked about this moment to my folks. I wonder what they must have thought. I almost feel like apologizing.

But the truth is that I was already cracking apart. I was indeed turning into an adult. And I was a 19 year old kid being looked up to by other 19 kid year old kids. I was supposed to design educational programs. Lead the adult choir. I had never led a choir in my life. Or choose a repertoire.

But worse, I was starting to get teenage crushes on the other guys. Some of them I could barely breathe when they were in the room. There was no one for me to talk to. This was a secret I kept completely and utterly to myself. I had no confidantes. And what did all this mean, anyway? I ran back to the one job I knew I could handle: playing piano and singing in the safety and comfort of the pack.

So, mom, since we've never talked about that moment, I thought I'd just put it out there.

I loved the guys in the band, and thought we were decent enough to learn and grow (which we did), but the real reason I think I ran off was out of absolute terror. I went to a place that felt safe. And that's how I ended up quitting school.

And that's also why I cried as I stood in front of the Louise M. Davies symphony hall that Sunday morning. Would I have ended up there had I gone on to school? Maybe.

I still have a ways to go before I can claim any kind of "fame." This morning on my google alert that pops up whenever my name appears in print, the headline was not "Steve Schalchlin Returns to Olympia!" It was Summer Cooking Catalogue Now Available.

I love my life. I really do.

Gabi's Song on John Lennon's IMAGINE Piano

From that same trip in 2007, here is the full "Gabi's Song" performed on John Lennon's IMAGINE Piano.