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Boston Premiere of Laurie Anderson’s “Delusion”

In its second season, ArtsEmerson has made a good thing happen with the Boston premier of Laurie Anderson’s Delusion, which runs through Sunday, October 2nd at the Paramount Center Mainstage.

While composed of newer material, Delusion is classic Anderson. Her honed performance style is so distinctive that everything she does seems to constitute a larger opus, and this is no exception. Being uniquely and recognizably Anderson, it’s simply too familiar to evoke surprise. But it does astonish. There’s a reason why Anderson–unlike countless others who have tried–has successfully built a huge career on the once avant-garde quirkiness of talking in funny voices in front of video screens. The woman’s a genius.

This show uses four screens. One is the right size and shape to serve as a bench for Anderson to later sit. The others are larger, but even the largest screen is not so big as to dwarf the artist. A few minutes into the orchestration, Anderson takes the stage. With her familiar cropped hair and mannish-clothes, she seems an instantly aged version of her impish 1980s self. At the proper moment, Anderson, electric violin in hand, opens with her trademark cadence intoning “I want to tell you a story…about…a story.”

A press release describes what follows as “a series of short mystery plays” although the division between individual vignettes isn’t always obvious. As telegraphed by the opening line about stories, Delusion goes on to explore the relationship between reality, representation and perception. This is nothing new for Anderson. Many of her works–such as last year’s Homeland–explore the social construction of reality on a national or global scale. But Delusion is more concerned with individual identity, memory, and emotion.

Laurie Anderson performing Delusion

Laurie Anderson performing "Delusion" at Campbell Hall, UCSB (Lawrence K. Ho, LA Times)

Contrasted to Homeland, this new piece is also more melancholy. It’s awash in deep, interesting, Halloweeny sounds but anemic when it comes to hook-laden melodies. Here, Anderson dons no Great Dictator-esque mustache and eyebrows like she did in Homeland. But her vocal alter ego, long referred to as “the voice of authority,” is still prominently featured. This male voice seems to have mellowed into a kinder entity over the decades, and it finally has a name, Fenway Bergemot (Boston connection unconfirmed), given to it by Anderson’s spouse Lou Reed.

For a “story about a story” there’s actually not a ton of narrative offered. Themes arch, but an arching narrative is absent, and the individual “plays” tend to to be cryptic and dreamlike. Anderson talks about the Russian space program, her dead mother, her supposed Hiberno-Scandinavian ancestry, and the belief in fey–but these wandering ruminations often trail off or blend into music. In exploring this work’s themes such as loss and existential angst, Anderson remains one more concerned with raising topics and posing questions than dully suggesting answers.

As a result, Delusion is largely characterized by sounds, images and ideas divorced from context and necessitating audience members engaged enough to bring it all together (or not) in unique ways tailored for each individual in the moment. Anderson has indicated that Delusion is a work in process, and that narrative elements are becoming more explicit via these ongoing revisions. But the aforementioned impressionistic interplay between artist and observer is the essential magic of artists like Anderson. Delusion, in its current form, probably has just the right measure of ambiguity for this process.

Delusion is an amazing and moving performance piece by an artistic legend, so be careful not to waste a ticket on someone who can’t handle its unconventional structure, 90-minute length, or lack of an intermission. For those who can, Delusion is a heady and satisfying experience.

Laurie Anderson’s Delusion runs through October 2nd at the Paramount. Tickets run $25-$89 at artsemerson.org

Laurie Anderson performing Delusion

Laurie Anderson performing "Delusion" (Leland Brewster)

“Millet and Rural France” opens at the MFA

There’s a lot of high-profile stuff happening at the MFA this fall. Famous Scaasi outfits and the much-advertised Avedon exhibit are the cornerstone of a robust Fashion Month calendar that includes a visit from Don Ed Hardy. And the titanic new Art of the Americas wing opens in November. With all the well-deserved hoopla, one might overlook Millet and Rural France, not a very big exhibit, but one that’s interesting, important, and charged with sensitive emotion.

Jean-François Millet is one of the most recognizable French artists of the nineteenth century. His techniques echo artists like Rembrandt and Vermeer while his interpretive innovations anticipate Impressionism. Millet was especially successful at depicting the beauty of the natural world. He was drawn to simplicity and rusticism, and that’s what this exhibit highlights. Verdant meadows, charming farmhouses, quaint French peasant folk, and daffodil seeds carried on the wind are among the images.

The MFA’s esteemed Millet collection is one of the finest in the world, but they haven’t devoted an exhibit to him in over twenty-five years. Millet and Rural France has forty-six works on display, many of which have been locked away for a whole generation. Millet’s characteristic scenes, such as peasants toiling in the fields, are a welcome sight.

But it’s also interesting to see his less-known portraiture, including a stunning self-portrait and a conté crayon image of his wife that the MFA considers one of the finest drawings on paper in their vast and priceless collection. The delicate portrait of his daughter, going about her business in the earliest light of day, is especially moving.

According to Helen Burnham, the assistant curator who organized the exhibition, “The exhibition offers an exceptional opportunity to view a number of the most beautiful and poignant images of rural life ever created. Millet was one of the great draftsmen and colorists of the 19th century, and he used his impressive skills to emphasize the dignity of living in harmony with nature. He influenced Van Gogh and Seurat, and his works retain an extraordinary freshness and relevance today.”

Smaller works predominate, but some of the medium-sized canvases are particularly notable. Harvesters at Rest (1850–53), a masterpiece in itself worth a trip across town to see, falls into this category.

Among the sketches, a study done in preparation for The Sower (1850) is especially intriguing. The first version of that painting, part of an iconic trio with The Gleaners (1857) and The Angelus (1857–59), is on regular display at the MFA. A later versions hangs in the Carnegie Museum of Art.

Millet and Rural France runs until May 30, 2011. The list of times when the MFA offers free admission is ever-expanding, so check mfa.org for details.

"Harvesters Resting" (1850-53) (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Bequest of Mrs. Martin Brimmer. Photograph: MFA Boston)

"Man Turning over the Soil" (1847-50) (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Gift of Quincy Adams Shaw through Quincy Adams Shaw, Jr. and Mrs. Marian Shaw Haughton. Photograph: MFA Boston)

"Madame J.‑F. Millet (Catherine Lemaire)" (1848-49) (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Gift of Mrs. Henry Lee Higginson. & "The Sower" (1858) (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Gift of Martin Brimmer.) (Photographs: MFA Boston)

Twice Roosevelt: Eldest grandchild of Franklin and Eleanor writes about the pitfalls of privilege

Curtis Roosevelt was in Boston recently to promote the paperback release of his book Too Close to the Sun: Growing Up in the Shadow of my Grandparents, Franklin and Eleanor. It’s an interesting childhood memoir that suggests just as every silver lining has a cloud, every silver spoon has some tarnish.

Having already travelled across the United States speaking at various engagements, the almost 80-year Roosevelt braved a rainstorm to speak to an attentive crowd at the Boston Athenæum. His accent almost too antiquatedly posh to be real, he apologized for his damp pants cuffs and facetiously expressed regret that he hadn’t brought any spare “trouse” with him. His writing is similarly sprinkled with, and made more interesting by, his occasional use of archaic, rarified vocabulary.

Curtis Roosevelt, an intelligent man well-versed in political matters, doesn’t only sound like FDR when he speaks, he looks like him as well. Despite these superficial resemblances, his grandfather’s charming, easy-going manner is something that comes very difficult to him. He admits this, just as he admits he never had the determination or strength of character that made both Franklin and Eleanor larger-than-life. However, like a member of royalty or the relic of a saint, people see in Curtis Roosevelt a special importance that exists beyond what’s observable. Roosevelt understands this too, and his conflicted feelings about it are a major theme of both his book and his life.

Eleanor being Teddy Roosevelt’s niece, Curtis’ family had celebrity even before FDR was elected to public office. After his grandfather became president, 3-year old Curtis and his sister moved into the White House with their mother. Known to the press as “Sistie and Buzzie,” this towheaded duo became what Curtis calls “a full-blown, pint-sized double act… familiar as five-year old movie star Shirley Temple to a nation hungry for distraction from breadlines and boxcars.”

The world in which he grew up was a strange one. He had a chummy relationship with FDR, his busy presidential grandfather (“Papa”), but Curtis’ mother (“Mummy”), like Eleanor (“Grandmère”), had an awkward difficulty expressing affection towards children. The person towards whom he felt the most love, his African-American nanny, suddenly and unceremoniously disappeared from his life when it was decided he was too old for coddling. He felt most at home at the White House, or at the Hudson River mansion of his staunchly Victorian great-grandmother Sarah Delano Roosevelt, but he was shuffled from the care of one person to another to such a degree that he never formed a genuine child-parent bond with anyone.

He was raised like American nobility, yet young Curtis was often plunked down in situations for which he was ill-prepared. He remembers his first week at school and his bewilderment at having to go to the bathroom without his nurse present to unbutton his pinafore, sit him on the toilet, and flush afterwards. He recalls a summer camp where kids were amazed at an 8-year old unable to tie his own shoes. He recollects his sense of relief when, at 10-years old, he was finally allowed to exchange his conspicuous short pants for long ones like those worn by other boys at his school.

In many cases, his childhood was a mirror image world where the common was extraordinary and the extraordinary common. He was comfortable riding in a car with the president as they passed cheering crowds, yet uncomfortable on play dates with other children. He knew what utensils to use at a formal dinner, but mundane activities such as playing baseball or watching a movie were alien to him. Guarded by vigilant Social Security officers, he was often barred from normal activities like bike riding and hide-and-seek.

Nature and nurture combined to make Curtis an odd child and, as he admits, “a wimp.” He describes how he was “either wildly overexcited or paralyzed with fear” in various situations. As much as he loved living at the White House and the feeling of being someone special, he was taught to be – or at least to pretend to be – embarrassed by it as well. With relatively little experience socializing with other children during his early development, some of his fondest memories are of rare situations when he did so successfully.

(Photo: John Stephen Dwyer)

Curtis Roosevelt knows the circumstances of his privileged childhood, even with its disadvantages, are more likely to provoke jealousy than sympathy. Nevertheless, it’s hard not to sympathize with the fatherless little boy crying in the bathtub off the Lincoln bedroom without a compassionate adult to comfort him. Likewise, his personal stories remind us that while money can indeed buy creature comfort, problems like divorce, substance abuse, crippling illness, and suicide spare very few families, even those brandishing such esteemed surnames as “Roosevelt.”

For those with interest in its subject matter, Too Close to the Sun: Growing Up in the Shadow of my Grandparents, Franklin and Eleanor is a very enjoyable read. It’s a quick and easy read too; the print is large and the illustrations are many. While one could fill a bookcase with memoirs written by members of the Roosevelt family, this one has its own niche that presents a particular set of intimidate details that won’t be found in any other volume. Most obviously, those having a particular fascination with Franklin and Eleanor will be drawn to it, but there’s also interesting content herein for anyone with an interest in blue-bloodedness, class dynamics, or the inheritable prestige of the US presidency.

An Interview

During his visit to the Boston Athenæum, I spoke briefly with Curtis Roosevelt. After walking in the pouring rain, lecturing for over an hour, and signing multiple copies of his book, the 79-year old Roosevelt was justly impatient to be on his way. Nevertheless, graciousness is so ingrained in him that he allowed me to ask a few questions.

JSD: You describe growing up in the White House as a mixed experience. Would you offer any advice to Mrs. Obama that might maximize the good and mitigate the bad for her daughters?

CR: No, absolutely none. I wouldn’t dare give advice. Those children are different as all children are different. They certainly are very different than my sister and I. And it was a totally different era than they’re growing up. Particularly with the intrusiveness of the media today. That’s why I give absolutely no advice whatsoever.

JSD: I have a particular interest in genealogy. Coming from one of the most genealogically notable families in the United States, do you have any reflections on how awareness of one’s genealogy might inspire someone, or, conversely, how it might be felt as a burden?

CR: I happen to be one of those people who prefers to read biography and autobiography more than any other style. But as far as genealogy is concerned, I was raised on it. You’d be surprised how extraordinarily adept my grandmother was in tracing back her lineage back to the Livingstons and so forth, and it had meaning. It wasn’t just dates and so forth as history used to be taught. It had real meaning. But beyond that I haven’t pursued it. Although I would say, being dubbed the family historian, that probably I know more about the family genealogy than anybody else in the family.

JSD: We have your great-granduncle Teddy to thank for the creation of the National Parks Service. But FDR also enacted measures that were of huge benefit to the NPS. Do you have any recollections about your grandfather’s particular love of nature?

CR: Oh yes! Driving around with him at Hyde Park, in his Ford, he doing the driving. [He was] fascinated with trees particularly. There are a couple books on that that are not quite old. They must be 30 or 40 years old. You can find them in the library, [these books about] FDR and conservation and the environment.

JSD: Many remember the dramatic circumstances surrounding [African-American opera singer] Marion Anderson not being allowed to perform at Constitution Hall and how it led to your grandmother’s resignation from the DAR [Daughters of the American Revolution]. Do you recall any circumstances when the ethnicity of people close to you such as Beebee [Curtis’ Black nanny] or Mr. Mingo [the family’s Black butler] caused a situation which you, as a child, found confusing or uncomfortable?

CR: You probably forget that when I grew up, the nation’s capitol, Washington DC, was a Jim Crowe town. So you know, that’s the way it was. So particularly as a teenager, when I was let out, so to speak, a little more, and the leash was taken off [I realized] that’s the way it was in Washington.

No, not my most riveting interview, but talking with Curtis Roosevelt was a memorably exciting experience nonetheless. I’ve met some members of the Roosevelt family before, mostly Teddy’s great-grandkids, and I’ve even worked with the spouse of one on a daily basis. But none were “twice Roosevelt” or spent years in the White House of FDR and Eleanor. Shaking his hand, knowing that he has probably shaken hands with over a hundred world leaders whose names I’d recognize, I felt the power of notability by association – exactly the phenomenon that has characterized his life and serves as a main motif in his book. It’s an interesting thing to think about.

The Yes Wave: Whitehaus happenings and a conversation with Morgan Shaker

Morgan Shaker is prominent among the young creatives at the Whitehaus–the Jamaica Plain musician, poet, and artist co-op known for its DIY philosophy and positive “yes wave” attitude. One of many musicians under that roof, he often takes a lead role as organizer and promoter of events. Friendly and thoughtful, he’s frequently called upon to share his philosophy about what the Whitehaus Family is and does.

Right now, Morgan Shaker is busy promoting Blastfest III, March 20th, at the Cambridge YMCA. It’s an equinox celebration that runs 11 AM to 11 PM and features the talents of over two dozen acts. It’s also all ages show, and admission is $5 to $10 “on a sliding scale…no one refused”– a remarkable bargain for twelve hours of entertainment. Once admitted, you may come and go as you please.

An improbably wide variety of musical styles will be represented. Taken collectively, these dissimilar sounds contribute to Blastfest’s “Weird New America” vibe. Blastfest is an unusual event for sure, but it’s also part of a tradition of independent event promoting–and simply independent doing–that is dear to a virtual community of like-minded artists worldwide.

“Dance around a bit, meet a hippy, you know the drill” is how someone joked about Blastfest last year, but there’s more going on that that. I sat down with Morgan Shaker in the Whitehaus to discus Blastfest III, the Whitehaus Family Record vinyl double album that will also launch March 20, and why he has a passion for bringing people together.

ROAD TO THE WHITEHAUS

Like many people, I first came to the door of the Whitehaus through serendipity. It was a Friday night in 2007, and I was on a (sort of) date. Crisscrossing eclectic Jamaica Plain, we heard ska at the Alchemist Lounge, went to an unusual “dance off” at a Brazilian girls’ apartment on Perkins Street, then walked to a big, old, worn, white-ish, eight bedroom house near JP Center–the Whitehaus.

There were many guests, but this was not a party. Instead, dozens of young people were sitting still in the living room, their bodies covering not only the couches but the floor. These guests listened attentively to a young woman sing while playing a guitar, then someone reading poetry, then someone doing something else. Except for applause between performers, the crowd was mostly quiet, but there were also group jam sessions when the whole room got involved.

This was one of the Whitehaus’ now-legendary “hoots,” an artistic salon where hosts and guests shared their talents and experiences with one another. That name is short for “hootenanny” but the hoots–especially at their best–were gentle and orderly affairs with a polite, highly-engaged audience eager to give encouragement.

With a writer’s curiosity, I sought out someone to explain this phenomenon I had inadvertently become a part of. Whitehaus resident Morgan Shaker rose to the occasion and we had our first conversation about his compelling artistic and social vision. He displayed a calm, country-grandpa demeanor that suited his generous personality.

I ended up attending about twenty hoots and was never disappointed. Although the local talent was often amazing, the hoot also became a stopping point for bands on tour. Hoots allowed me to see Dark Dark Dark, the Eskalators, and other cool visiting artists, for free, from just feet (sometimes inches) away.

Whitehaus Family Record grew, in part, from a desire to document the great music made during those nights when no one knew just who would show up. The hoots are an amazing chapter in Boston’s cultural scene, but as they grew exponentially more popular they became less practical. “Happenings,” such as Blastfest and Wierdstock, have largely replaced the hootenannies, but “yes wave” ideals of artistic collaboration still resonate throughout Whitehaus-related events.

FAMILY VINYL

A week before Blastfest III, Morgan Shaker and I sat down in “the hoot room”–the large living room that has hosted innumerable Whitehaus performances in the last few years. One of the first things we talked about was the album premiering March 20.

Though the Whitehaus Family Record has released more CDs than anyone can count, and has even put out some cassette tapes, Shaker explains, “We’re releasing our first actual record, physically on a vinyl record, which is called Whitehaus Family Record Family Record. A double record, it’s just a picture of the musical culture as we see it. It’s kind of a stamp of a day in our world.”

He’s a young guy, but he’s been around long enough that vinyl records hold a special association. “Growing up with records and listening to all your favorite bands on record, you had a goal of being a musician and you’re like ‘someday I want to be on a record”…if you’re a musician, or you chose to be a musician, or you decide to go out and play or make music yourself, you’re like ‘man, I just want it out on vinyl, that’s when I feel I made it…that’s part of the motivation…what makes it feel special.’”

Selling for just $10, the double album is a 27 track anthology representing as many artists as they could fit on it–just the sort of thing one would expect from the Whitehaus. Shaker says, “The market? That’s not really why we’re doing it. It’s just the type of expression we’re looking for. A double record. It’s a cultural icon in America. We want to celebrate the moment and the people that we’re going to make music with. You know we all love each other here. You know we all care about each other so much. Why wouldn’t we all want to make something together?”

BLASTFESTIVITIES

When asked what else will make Blastfest III distinctive, Morgan Shaker mentioned his enthusiasm for Boston Zine Fair 2010, an event sharing its space with the ‘fest. He sees a relationship between the unfiltered expression of self-published zines and the subversive broadsides and pamphlets popular with our New England forebears. The presence of Boston Zine Fair is another example of the yes wave tendency to encourage people to be makers as well as consumers of art, music, and literature.

We talked about the fact that all the Blastfest artists, including those only loosely associated with the Whitehaus, are performing for free just to be a part of a feel-good thing. Shaker, ever wary of the relationship between creative integrity and financial reward, prefers this sort of collaborative partnership. He also remarked that while some musicians strive to support themselves through their talents, “… it also might make it feel like a job once you do that.” Although a few Whitehaus-related people are indeed seeking professional careers in music, more seem to have an autotelic devotion to art for art’s sake.

The line-up for Blastfest III has some performers whose dusty Americana or folksy twee will be represented by catchy tunes tinged with nostalgia. Conversely, there are also some with a bold avant garde spirit and an enthusiasm for long, a-melodic arrangements and unfamiliar sounds that some listeners find challenging. I asked a careful question: Will there be material at Blastfest III that more than a few audience members are likely to find inaccessible?

Shaker thought and answered, “Inaccessible? I don’t think so. Inaccessible’s a weird word. If folks are interested in listening, I can guarantee you that all sounds that are going to be generated that day are going to be a high quality listening experience. So in that case, it’s accessible, of course. Is every one a total radio friendly whatever? It’s tricky…”

But he also added “…can it be on the radio? Yeah, we’re on the radio.” He went on to mention, WZBC (Boston College), WMBR (MIT), WUMB and other local and non-local stations that have played Whitehaus Family Record music. Noting that Whitehaus Family Record music tends fall into the “left of the dial category,” he says what even the weirdest Whitehaus stuff does get exposure through small, cool, stations.

Shaker might also have mentioned that the Blastfest schedule only allows for about twenty minutes per performer. If you really can’t dig a certain vibe even after trying, that’s not a long time to wait for the next act.

The music represented at Blastfest III, like the music in the Whitehaus Family Record catalog itself, is remarkable in its variety, its creativity, and its raw authenticity. This music has a large following of people who don’t care much about genre. Rather, they’re receptive to the music of Whitehaus Family Record and other very indy music makers that share a certain DIY aesthetic and people-positive sensibility. It’s fun to call this attitude “the yes wave.”

YES WAVE

Shaker asked, “You know noise pollution? You got to believe in the opposite of that. Beautiful sounds are going to make a space more beautiful. So if you make music, and you really inform people, or turn them on, or whatever you want to call it, you make the world a better place, right? Guaranteed.” That’s the frequency of the yes wave.

When I asked for a working definition of yes wave, Shaker laughed and referred me to the Urban Dictionary entry posted by Whitehaus beat poet Brian S. Ellis. In it, the lauded wordsmith calls the yes wave a “model of staying personally and interpersonally true in a world full of infinite moral possibilities.” Other Whitehaus people suggested “the yes wave that can be named is not the true yes wave.”

All true, but more can be said. The yes wave is also about using music and art to create transformative experiences that help people feel connected. Organizers and fans may communicate and coordinate online through various social media, but the ultimate purpose is gathering in real space not just to talk, or to party, but to be moved by authentic creative expression untainted by the corporate touch.

According to Shaker, events like Blastfest “…help people male connections. The show is about just doing something with the world. There’s this infrastructure out there, you know? There’s this big empty theatre. Fill it with something awesome.”

Shaker has a gift not only in making connections, but in appreciating each individual involved, and that’s yes wave too. According to him, “anyone who goes to a show, or wants to talk about this stuff, or comes to a hoot, or comes to any Whitehaus thing–that emotional connection happens to each and every person who was there, so the story becomes as much about the person who is showing up. Like John, why did you reach out to talk to me about this? That’s just as interesting as ‘why Blastfest is cool.’ It’s informing our future decisions and the things that we care about.”

VOCATIONAL AWARENESS

Morgan Shaker told me how the Whitehaus hoots helped him find his own vocation and said, “…you probably remember when the hoots were going…and there was this moment when we were all suddenly captivated.”

He continued, “I was a little bit younger, and I had a lot more question marks up in the air, I was a lot less sorted out than I am now. Just something about this musical expression-sharing sort of concept we came up with just really rang came true. Then it let a little light in the door. Like, ‘my goodness, I am seeing something that’s really connecting right to my core: promoting and hosting music and helping make connections between great musicians and people who like to listen to them.’”

Now, he says, “the vocational aspect of hosting shows and making those connections has consumed the part of me that had the question ‘what do I want to do with myself?’” While many of the musicians he works with have established followings, he also actively encourages the burgeoning creativity of everyone he can. “If you’re interested in playing music or writing songs, you probably can do that,” he says, “if that’s what you’re into and you have a deep passionate side of yourself.”

READY FOR BLAST OFF

When asked how he’s getting ready for Blastfest III, Shaker said, “I don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s gonna be sick. I got the energy. When we did Wierdstock, I ran sound for like 3 straight days from noon til eleven. That took a lot.” He also acknowledges the unpredictability of such a popular, well-publicized event saying, “There’s always the chance that sum fucked up shit is gonna happen.”

Besides peace, love, and understanding, Blastfest III is poised to showcase some of the best, coolest, most enjoyably authentic, most unexpectedly creative live music that can be heard. “It’s conscientious for sure,” Shaker said before adding pragmatically, “but at the end of day, people like to go to shows.”

Gardner After Hours is a festive tribute to Isabella

At Gardner After Hours, it’s crowded, but it’s not too crowded. Lighting is dim, cozy, and flattering. Music thumps but doesn’t drown out conversation. In the museum’s many rooms, guests chat and laugh unguardedly; the rules governing their elementary school field trips are forgotten.

Many old, collection-holding institutions now seek to offer a greater variety of museum experiences. Events with a festive atmosphere are a big part of this trend, and at Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum they also reflect the spirit of it founder, a bold woman who enjoyed being the life of the party.

Past the Velvet Ropes

A pastiche palazzo, standing stately but incongruously on a reedy New England rivulet, is an interesting place to gather. One evening a month, on the third Thursday, velvet ropes on the Fenway direct a crowd inside its doors. The admission is free for members and just $5 with a college ID, the latter assuring a healthy infusion of young blood. Art majors and international students are well-represented.

Other party-goers are grown-ups here after work, and generations are brought together in a cheerful atmosphere. There’s a sense of people dressing for the occasion, even among those looking casual, but bits of whimsy keep things light. There are bold feathers in a young lady’s hair. A man’s expression hints that his pied sports coat isn’t to be taken seriously.

You’ll find a bartender station stops you from getting close to El Jaleo, and your cocktails can’t come along as you wander upstairs to really start yammering about art, but certain things are understandable. Even with such restrictions, it’s easy to relax. With so much to engage the senses, boredom’s a challenge.

The Gardner Café is open for After Hours; you can either grab a snack or sit down for a full meal. The food here is superb (it’s one of my favorite places to eat in Boston) but one might more frugally find sustenance in the $1 “bites” sold at several stations around the courtyard.

At After Hours, some attendees linger downstairs with glasses of wine. Others spend more time upstairs, pointing and chatting. Guests seem happy. The latest soirée at Isabella’s house is a successful museum experience.

For Everything, a Season

There’s also a trend for museums to have more seasonal events. Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum follows this trend in some cool ways, such as the café’s “edible nasturtiums menu” referencing the dramatic display of hanging nasturtiums that blooms in April.

Along a similar vine, each monthly After Hours is given a name, but these don’t fully bloom into themes for the evening. Though folks were in a palazzo drinking bellinis, February’s After Hours didn’t have much Carnevale di Venezia flavor. The upcoming March 18th “Equinox” After Hours might similarly be mostly a name. This mightn’t bother you; don’t expect much theme and you won’t miss it.

But each third Thursday here is indeed different, especially in the performance you can see with an “After Hours PLUS” ticket. Last month, it was Cirkestra , a gypsy-jazz-klezmer band assembled by former circus clown Peter Bufano. In March, Christian Wolff presents Songs from Brecht, a world premiere written for the Callithumpian Consort. The artists perform upstairs, in a cordoned area, to an attentive sit-down crowd.

After Hours Concert in the Tapestry Room

After Hours Concert in the Tapestry Room (Courtesy of the Gardner Museum)

In addition to notable entertainers, Gardner After Hour offers creative diversions that change from month to month. There are games, opportunities to sketch, and informal gallery talks that take place at different locations. If you want to get involved with any of this, be proactive and ask the helpful volunteers on hand for info. Unlike an inelegant cruiseship, the museum has no big signs or loud announcements about what is where, when.

People, music, refreshments, activities–all of these add to the festive atmosphere. But for many, the emotional highpoints of the evening will come from gazing at the precious art stuffed into room after room. It’s tough to compete against the likes of John Singer Sargent and a squadron of Italian Renaissance masters.

Fun at Fenway Court

Isabella Stewart Gardner might have enjoyed seeing us clink glasses in the house she bequeathed to the public. In Boston, our ears grow so accustomed to the elegant name of the museum’s eponymous foundress, we can forget what a pistol she was.

Married to Jack Gardner, one of Boston’s wealthiest sons, NYC-born Isabella was too ostentatious for the taste of certain Beacon Hill matrons. Their rejection didn’t much faze her. Isabella surrounded herself with a coterie of artistic bachelors who appreciated her more diva-like qualities. They all had a fabulous time in her big fancy house.

That house, “Fenway Court,” was built to look like it had been shipped in one piece from Europe. She filled it with beautiful things, including some that might be literally considered the pillages of the Old World. Although her home was purposely built to become a museum, she still entertained guests. Talented noteworthies were sometimes invited to perform, but Mrs. Gardner remained the center of attention. The press called her “Donna Isabella.”

Once, Fenway Court was a party spot for invited guests only, though the public was allowed to file through and gape at the astounding collection twice a year. Then it became the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a charming museum where the public could gape at her astonishing collection year round.

After Hours Education in the Gothic Room (Bethany Versoy, Courtesy of the Gardner Museum)

Per Isabella’s stringent stipulations, The Gardner is a museum that changed little when it stopped being a private home. The highly-personal arrangement of the collection, the lack of identifying labels, the subdued illumination, and the idiosyncratic nature of the collection itself–all of these keep this museum in a class with very few others.

Isabella’s mandate on the preservation of Fenway Court is an attempt to freeze a bit of time and space. Reconciling both the spirit and the letter of her wishes with the desire to create better museum experiences has been a particular challenge facing this institution from the start.

They generally do this well, and the After Hours is a fine example. They’re putting the established space to new use without making any changes that aren’t undone by morning. They’re also honoring one of original uses of the property: a place for friends to relax, get animated, and socialize amid glorious objects.

The Gardner’s $118 million expansion, scheduled to be open in 2012, should allow this historic institution–so long cramped inside its original footprint–many new options for engaging the public.

Time to Go

After Hours closes at 9:30 pm, three hours after doors opened. Yeah, it would be great if it went until 2 in the morning, but do we really want tipsy shenanigans around a billionty-zillion dollars worth of our art?

If you have nowhere to be Friday morning, think of Gardner After Hours as a distinctive cocktail party to start a night on the town. Whether you grab a taxi to somewhere posh, or seek out a barstool within walking distance at Brigham Circle, the joy of having begun your evening with Botticelli and Vermeer might linger.

Gardner after Hours takes place on the third Thursday of each month; the next one is March 18th and people named Isabella really do get in free.

Wolff at the Door: A Foray into the Boston Athenæum

She wrote, “Posh library. Sanctuary for eminent Bostonians. Brahmin enclave. There has always been a mystique surrounding the Athenæum“.

Yet when, as young woman, Katherine Wolff discovered the Boston Athenæum’s fortress-like door, she wasn’t intimidated. Curious, she entered. I asked if coming from the state of New Jersey, so far from the compass of Beacon Hill’s shadow, had much to do with her being undaunted by the Athenæum’s stately façade or, more importantly, its exclusive reputation.

“No,” she told me “I’ve always been a trespasser.”

Scholarship often requires trespassing in areas of thought which people have portioned off, re-examining institutionalized understandings, and delving into private lives. Wolff does this and opens the door for the curious in Culture Club: the Curious History of the Boston Athenæum, recently published by University of Massachusetts Press.

Educated Bostonians being some of the most textually self-referential people ever, the Boston Athenæum has already been written about, repeatedly and at length. Wolfe turns this into an advantage, as the time is right for someone to write not only a new history of the Athenæum, but also a fresh histiography as well. Wolff has some fascinating things to say about what has already been said, elucidating points by putting them in the context of her own theories.

Class-based interpretations of the Boston Athenæum dominate scholarly analysis. But Wolfe believes that prominent scholars have been distracted by rigid ideas of high and low culture. She also calls the emphasis on separating high culture from popular entertainment “a particularly American preoccupation.” So, rather than focusing her discussion on class, Wolff concentrates on culture. She examines the role the Athenæum played (or failed to play) in shaping the evolving identity of the young United States. She looks at “the vexing relationship between democracy and culture.” In these things, she places emphasis on the “emotional history” of matters personal, aesthetic, and political.

The author describes how certain early Americans looked to the lowest ranks of English aristocracy for a genteel, yet seemingly-meritocratic, model to follow. Her description of the Athenæum’s origins in “the attempt of a worried and self-conscious group of anglophilic readers to ennoble their nation through a purposeful institution” doesn’t necessarily contradict what she calls “the founding myths,” but it’s more candid, better contextualized, and easier to grasp emotionally.

While sharing a sense of stewardship, members haven’t always agreed who and what they are stewarding. Opposing personalities and contradictory ideas have resulted in conflict. The principle of accessibility versus the benefits of separation is a matter of perennial concern. Some of the most interesting pages of this book explore these various tensions.

Adding to the curious history of the Athenæum are colorful characters, some with well-known names or pedigrees that add interest. In seeking to illuminate the emotional lives of these people, Wolff poured over intimate letters exchanged between its 19th century founders, a process she likens to “going back in time only to eavesdrop.”

When Katherine Wolf lectured at the Athenæum last month, her main subject was the correspondence between William Smith Shaw and his intimate friend Arthur Maynard Walter. Shaw, formerly a private secretary for his uncle John Adams, was a bibliomaniac collector of all things written. While his relationship with the younger Walter may have not been physical, their emotion-charged messages had the tropoi of love letters.

Wolff’s revelation that Walter died at age 26 brought gasps from the audience. She opined how the Athenæum then became, in effect, Shaw’s “new lover.” She mentioned how a contemporary even kidded Shaw by referring to it as “your Grecian wife.”

Though her book is appropriately objective, Wolff is under the Athenæum’s spell as well. Standing before a truly gigantic painting of one of the Perkinses, facing a rapt audience seated between a Gilbert Stuart and busts from Jefferson’s breakfast room, she describes the Athenaeum as a “perfect space.” It does have many endearing old charms.

The building holds an art collection of unimaginable value, and galleries feature new exhibits, but it’s not really a museum. The author, who admits to being a “library addict,” reminds us that the Athenæum was and is, firstly, a library. In this, it’s very much a living place. It’s even a welcoming place, and the ranks of its membership are permeable.

Wolfe points out the sort of lectures and reading groups increasing seen in public libraries is similar to what the Athenæum has been doing all along. It’s true, but the Athenæum retains a refined and idiosyncratic character that keeps it distinct. Photography is forbidden past the threshold, but one may enter with a well-behaved dog. In the reading room, the air is disturbed only by the perfume of fresh floral arrangements–the pitterpat of laptop use is not allowed.

Shaw’s “Grecian wife” is so fetching, one might overlook that serious research takes place here. The Athenæum has important resources for inquiry into local, American, and English history. As Wolff mentions, most of the interior is reserved for paid members and researchers with proper credentials. While the annual membership fee is more than a token sum, it’s not exorbitant. Easily, one could spend as much on just a few hours of diversion (dinner and a show, a sporting event) rather than a year’s access to one of the city’s most pleasant and fascinating places.

Katherine Wolff, who received her doctorate in American literature and history from Boston University, began formal analysis of Boston Athenæum history while she was still a student. When asked what she would work on next, she laughed and said “maybe a children’s book” before hinting that she had ideas for more grown-up books as well.

Culture Club: the Curious History of the Boston Athenæum is engagingly and written and full of intelligent analysis. If your personal library has well-worn texts by Thomas H. O’Connor, this book deserves a place alongside them. It could be an appropriate text for courses in Boston history, post-colonial identity, and various topics in American Studies.

Editor’s Note: The Boston Athenæum offers heavily discounted memberships to those under 41 and does open up its doors to the public for art exhibitions and some of its lectures. Those with more interest might be interested in this 1851 history or this 1907 one (both now in the public domain and thus downloadable) as well as this video on the Brahmin accent, featuring two old blue bloods in, I’m pretty sure, the Athenæum.

Jonathan Demme receives Coolidge Award, premiers “Neil Young Trunk Show”

Oscar-winning director Jonathan Demme was in Brookline yesterday to receive the Coolidge Award. The award is given by the Coolidge Corner Theatre as the focal point of what they accurately describe as “an annual celebration honoring a film artist whose body of work is recognized as consistently original and challenging.”

Besides being a renowned narrative filmmaker (Melvin and Howard, Something Wild, The Silence of the Lambs, Philadelphia), Demme is known for his ground-breaking performance films. The most notable example of the latter might be Stop Making Sense, the 1984 concert movie that made David Byrne a superstar. Demme’s latest film in this genre, Neil Young Trunk Show, had its New England premier Monday as part of the Coolidge Award festivities.

Robyn Hitchcock, the English musician who is the subject of Demme’s 1998 performance film Storefront Hitchcock, was on hand to introduce the director and perform a song. Demme talked briefly about the recent death of Larry “L.A.” Johnson, a documentary filmmaker who worked with Neil Young from Woodstock to the present. Declan Quinn, the award-winning Irish-American cinematographer who worked as director of photography on Neil Young Trunk Show, joined Demme onstage briefly.

Neil Young Trunk Show, along with Neil Young: Heart of Gold (2006) and a yet-unfinished film, is part of a Neil Young trilogy being created by Demme. Both men are in their 60s and are arguably at the height of their abilities. Both are consciously creating both art and chronicle.

Neil Young: Heart of Gold was characterized by Young’s pretty music. It focused on songs from his acoustic-based album Prairie Wind, though the encore set featured a run of Harvest Moon, Heart of Gold, Old Man, and The Needle and the Damage Done–the folksy early tunes which remain Young’s most popular. Neil Young Trunk Show has a different character. It’s unabashedly-rock heavy.

It’s also built with a clear artistic vision that doesn’t waver or worry about not being accessible to everyone. As Demme told Rolling Stone, “… if you’re not a Neil Young fan, don’t waste your time…if you don’t love electric guitar, don’t go.”

For the rest of us, Neil Young Trunk Show in a truly great concert movie. After a relatively quiet opening, Young launches into a grinding, growling, tooth-rattling version of “Cinnamon Girl”, one of the few songs in the film non-hardcore Young fans will recognize. While occasionally dipping back into a mellow mood, the show’s rock and roll tension builds throughout the film.

Young doesn’t look great for his 64 years. His eyebrows are unruly, his mullet-ish hair is thin, and his neck hangs in folds from a wrinkled face lightly-stubbled with gray. Time’s harsh effect on the artiste’s mortal shell magnifies his capacity for authentic expression. The lumbering contortions of his body are captivating. His imperfect voice is perfect Neil Young. The look in his watery eyes is thrilling and terrifying. The overall effect is sublime.

As Demme shows him, Young is astounding in the literal sense, i.e. he captures the viewer’s full emotional attention. In one of the film’s most challenging numbers, Young performs a twenty minute version of No Hidden Path. Young and two other sixty-something men jam on and on in a rock and roll explosion that sounds like an orchestra of chainsaws and grizzly bears. At some point, my confidence in this song wavered and I started to wonder how I felt. Then I felt a voice whisper excitedly, “This is so good,” and realized it was my own.

As he’s done in the past, Demme makes great musical performance seem easy to capture on film. A split screen here, a grainy panorama there, and not much else demands notice. His camera lingers long, but never too long. The cinematography never competes against Young’s music for attention.

Although the eye is never hungry for images, Neil Young Trunk Show isn’t really about the show all. It’s about the sound. Tim Mulligan, the chief sound artist, should be recognized for his role in presenting noise that’s both pleasingly clean and superbly rock and roll filthy. Enjoyment of this film could be severely reduced in a venue that doesn’t have an excellent and well-maintained sound system, as does the Coolidge.

The fact that folks like Demme or past Coolidge Award winner Meryl Streep come to Massachusetts to accept their trophies is an affirmation of their support for the superb Coolidge Corner Theatre. It’s an independent, non-profit institution whose audience is highly engaged in the screenings and various cultural activities that takes place there. In addition to other events on their calendar, the Coolidge will celebrate the Akira Kurosawa Centennial with special showings of Ran (1985) (March 19) and Rashomon (1950) (Apr 16).

If you want to see Neil Young Trunk Show before it goes to video, there are only a few theaters in the country where you’ll have the opportunity. One of them is the Kendall Square Cinema in Cambridge, a place that’s more commercial than the Coolidge, but is still another great local venue for films that are out of the ordinary.

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