My eyes flutter open. Michigan in March. What will greet me when I swivel open the blinds? It could be blue with fluffy whites high above or fluffy white all over. Will I be greeted with lofty clouds and the sun pouring its bright peach light over the horizon, or a hazy gray canvas punctuated with driven flakes of half-made snow gathering sullen in the brown corners around the garage? Spin the wheel, the arrow could land on almost anything. I hesitate and listen.
There is a temptation to hate the uncertainty — to loathe not knowing what’s behind door No. 3 — a lion or a lamb? But there is also excitement in not knowing. A minor thrill in the surprise. Not a tremendously exciting thrill like unexpectedly seeing an old friend in public, but a minor thrill like realizing there’s one more ice cream sandwich in the freezer after all. Where, on the nearly 70-degree spectrum, could we fall today? Where will we be by noon? Do the boots come back out?
Today, it feels like snow. It feels quieter than clear. It sounds hushed and deadened. I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong before. I lie back and listen to the birdsong. I wonder if it could tell me the weather if I were more tuned in? Warn me of the wonders of a warming March. I wonder if the sounds around me are clues to the world outside ... and if I’m listening intently enough?
Spring is the most magnificent time. It’s not indulgent like summer, or affirming and celebrational like fall or dangerous and defining like winter. Spring has a bit of each of them, but underlining the whole season is the tremendous violence of creation. Creation of something totally new in dark and quiet.
The gathering of strength in buds, in deep roots, the cracking open of lakes, and river banks, and the loosening of sands and soils. Magical force pushes bud from stalk, exhales leaf from bud.
Flowers are pretty, but they’re also insanely bold and nervy, so delicately insisten ... and dressed all wrong for the weather.
Here at the Opera House, as spring begins, our season is winding down. We’re creating things here, too. In the cold and relative dark we’re making decisions about our next season and building a fantastic lineup of shows that will open in the early fall and sustain us through next winter until spring of 2026.
I’m spending time listening here, too. Listening to you, to the offerings of the talent touring the country in the months to come ... making sure we’ve selected shows that will resonate with the seasons, offer challenging content, and keep toes tapping and hands clapping. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly.
Listening is the only way to know what’s about to happen — to take the temperature of the moment. Several years ago, I had the honor of performing in a musical written by Barry Manilow. It was a musical called simply “Harmony,” and it tracked the true story of a boy band through the rise of Nazism in Germany. It was a fascinating theatrical feat, combining humor and music and devastating history, and it was wonderful to be able to work with Mr. Manilow as he brought his dream to life.
There’s one moment that I’ll never forget. The ensemble was singing through one of the more challenging numbers and Barry was sitting at the front on a stool.
He was not a young man and from time to time we wondered where he was — lost in thought? We continued to sing until he stood up abruptly and said “stop,”
He pointed to someone in the third row and asked, “What are you singing?” The young actor stood mortified and sang the harmony line as written. Barry Manilow said, “No, that’s terrible. Did I write that?” and sang a version that he liked better. It occurred to me in that moment that he was not zoned out — he was tuned in.
Tuned in to every voice in the room, in real time, and making decisions about what was and what would come next.
The consummate artist and technician is awake to the resonance of the world around him.
One such consummate artist and technician is coming to City Opera House on April 25 and as fate would have it he is singing the seminal works of Elton John, Billy Joel, and one Barry Manilow. Mr Manilow has said of Craig A. Meyer, “he is one of the most talented people I have ever worked with; he can do anything!” (I’m fairly certain he never said that about me.)
So as we celebrate the arrival of spring, and the end of our season, I invite you to come and enjoy listening at City Opera House. Give yourself the gift of “Elton, Billy & Barry: They Write the Songs” and celebrate the artistry of three undisputed singer-songwriter geniuses delivered by a musical dynamo!
Happy spring, keep listening, dress appropriately for the weather, and see you at the theater!
