BASH’d was one of this year’s Rodeo highlights
The last half of the 2008 High Performance Rodeo could comfortably fit in the back of a tour bus, bunk beds stuffed with groupies and instruments. More than in recent Rodeos, musical acts dominated the last two weeks of the festival — even Kevin McDonald’s one-man show, Hammy and the Kids, couldn’t resist the allure of song and dance. The cynic in me sees this as a grab for mainstream acceptance, eschewing the more controversial bent of last year’s Rodeo for a demographic that usually retreats to reruns of Friends when the words “alternative” and “theatre” are put together. But then, the cynic in me was mostly satisfied with the strong last two weeks before it ended in leather pants-wearing douchery. Let’s take a look at the back end of this year’s HPR:
• Best in show: Hammy and the Kids. Few performers can transform a childhood with an abusive and drunk father into an intimate comedy experience. Kevin McDonald, though, is just such a performer. Affable and candid, he shares shocking stories of his father and own eventual escape into adulthood. Stories such as the time McDonald’s father tried to vomit on him, though tragic, filter through his persona developed on Kids in the Hall, a persona we’re comfortable with. Open and honest, hilarious and harrowing, McDonald’s minimally staged one-man show was the performance everybody should have seen.
• Most delightful surprise: Garden Cities of To-Morrow . Flushed with gothic storybook flourishes, little orphan girls in knee-high socks who communicate through violins and a housewife obsessively washing dishes, Garden Cities of To-Morrow won you over from its first song to its final encore. Singer-songwriter Lullaby Baxter packages the songs from her last album (the name of which it shares with the musical) into a winsome, funny and gorgeous musical. The songs were written and honed long before the story and, in return, the narrative feels thin and undernourished. Still, you lost yourself in the bravura showmanship and the beautifully crafted songs.
• Most exciting show: BASH’d. Despite a set on loan from the local laser tag, Chris Caddock and Nathan Cuckow hit the stage like thunderstorms as Feminem and T-bag in BASH’d. Now, the hip hop-heads out there are wondering if these two pull off the rap part in this gay rap opera. The duo adequately held their own, both vocally reminiscent of Kno from Cunninglyguist and Buck 65. Songs like “Grab Some Ass,” despite sampling the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams” for the billionth time, make for a high-energy show. A few songs falter, but the barrage of wit on display makes up the difference. God’s appearance at the end came off awkwardly, but the list of men and women killed in hate crimes made for powerful theatre.
• The no comment award: Tubular Bells. Undeniably, the Bergmann’s Piano Duo and the Alberta Ballet put on a technically dazzling performance. These are musicians and dancers near the peak of their craft. The ballet proved mesmerizing at times, though whenever the young dancers attempted to pantomime a narrative into the show, they stepped outside the spirit of the performance. And, admittedly, there is something special about four grand pianos playing simultaneously. Yet, it failed to move me the entire time.
• Most not ready for the Rodeo: luckyburden. For a documentary that supposedly explores the desertion of Keno City, a silver-mining town in the Yukon, you don’t walk away with much. Only the barest sense of this town was conveyed, with no real insight into why 20 people decided to stay behind or how the town fell from grace. Instead, we got a tour conducted by the town’s most prolific resident (he started the Keno City museum!) filmed like someone had forgotten to turn off the camera. Mercifully, these snippets didn’t last long, as folk musician Kim Barlow and her partner performed over montages of archival footage. Though Barlow’s songs evoked the spirit of the town, luckyburden didn’t leave much of an impression.
• Least deserving of a standing ovation: The East Village Opera Company. Otherwise known as American Idol does the opera. Yes, it was that bland — aggressively bland. It was like cubes of dried-out chicken breast on a starburst-shaped plate shoved at you by a guy wearing leather pants, belting out commercial jingles at the top of his lungs in Italian. And that guy in leather pants? Tyley Ross, who’s all bluster without an ounce of charisma or presence. It’s a show that satisfied neither aficionados of rock or opera, and instead pandered to the lowest common denominator. Awkwardly forcing rock and opera together, Ross and his band left audiences with only Disney-fied pomposity.
