Culture, identity & the meaning of the blues in Soulpepper’s powerful, entertaining Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Top: Alex Poch-Goldin. Bottom: Marcel Stewart, Diego Matamoros, Beau Dixon, Neville Edwards & Alana Bridgewater. Set & lighting design by Ken MacKenzie. Costume design by Alexandra Lord. Photo by Cylla von Tiedemann.

 

Soulpepper takes us to 1920s Chicago, where the race, power and creative exploitation collide in a lively, tension-filled recording studio session in August Wilson’s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, directed by Mumbi Tindyebwa Otu. This is the first time Ma Rainey has been performed in Canada since 1985, shortly after its 1984 premiere on Broadway.

A faint haze hangs over the dark, empty Chicago recording studio, conjuring visions of musicians and singers smoking between—or even during—takes (set and lighting design by Ken MacKenzie). Gradually, the space is peopled with the steady, quiet pace of familiar routine. Cranky, gravel-voiced studio owner Sturdyvant (Diego Matamoros) and Ma’s put-upon, ingratiating manager Irvin (Alex Poch-Goldin) get set up in the booth and on the floor. Then the boys in the band arrive: the bookish, philosophical piano man Toledo (Beau Dixon); the quiet, no-nonsense bassist Slow Drag (Neville Edwards); and fastidious, practical band leader/banjo player/trombonist Cutler (Lindsay Owen Pierre). Last to arrive is the energetic, stylish Levee (Lovell Adams-Gray), the new whiz kid on the trumpet, arriving late and showing off a new pair of shoes. The band hangs out in the rehearsal room downstairs (downstage), shooting the breeze and rehearsing a bit while they wait for Ma to arrive. The tension is already cooking, as Ma is running late, the play list is ever-changing, and the ambitious new kid—who has his sights set on starting his own band and recording his own music—doesn’t seem to think he needs to rehearse.

When the big energy, take-charge Mother of the Blues Ma (Alana Bridgewater) finally arrives an hour late, resplendent in a green dress (costumes by Alexandra Lord) with her young flapper girlfriend Dussie Mae (Virgilia Griffith) and sharp-dressed nephew Sylvester (Marcel Stewart) in tow, there’s more arguing and scrambling. An irritated policeman (Derek Boyes) has followed them into the studio, charging Sylvester with reckless driving and Ma with assault; Irvin quickly “handles” the situation, then finds himself under orders to arrange for repairs to Ma’s car. And then there’s the ongoing debate over which version of “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” they’re going to record: the original or Levee’s version. And Ma wants Sylvester, who stutters, to do the spoken intro on the recording; a decision that’s greeted with thinly veiled annoyed cynicism. Irvin continues bouncing like a ping pong ball between Sturdyvant, Ma and the band, playing peacekeeper, and taking care of all the concerns and issues. Young Levee has eyes for Dussie Mae; Cutler is trying to keep the band on track, especially Levee; and Slow Drag just wants to get it over with and go home. Toledo has his books to keep him company, while Sylvester and Dussie Mae are thrilled to be there—and Dussie Mae has taken notice of Levee’s attention.

Conversations among the band range from the comic to the tragic, from day-to-day shenanigans, to stories of personal struggle and the lived experience of being Black in America. And though she comes off as a diva, Ma is a shrewd businesswoman; she knows what she does and does not have control over. Where she can have a say, you can bet she’ll have it! Commanding respect with her seemingly unreasonable demands, Ma navigates a world where artists—particularly artists of colour—are used up for their creative talents then cast aside; in the meantime, they’re paid a fraction of what they’re worth while white producers, managers and studio owners profit handsomely from their work. And, for Ma and the band, the blues are more than just a money-making music genre—it’s “life’s way of talking.”

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Virgilia Griffith & Lovell Adams-Gray. Set & lighting design by Ken MacKenzie. Costume design by Alexandra Lord. Photo by Cylla von Tiedemann.

Outstanding, compelling work from this tight, multi-talented ensemble. Bridgewater shines as the unstoppable, talented Ma—a force to be reckoned with. A large woman with a larger than life personality, Ma is an exacting professional; a fierce mamma bear when it comes to protecting loved ones; and a tender, generous lover. Like most women in her situation, a respected and highly popular artist like Ma has a reputation for being “difficult”—a charge that would never be levelled at a white male artist in her shoes.

Adams-Gray does an amazing job peeling back the layers of Levee. From a traumatized child to a volatile young man, Levee is confident in his talent and eager to make a name for himself as a composer and band leader—but, unlike his more seasoned bandmates, has yet to learn how the game is played. Stewart is a delight as the shy, child-like Sylvester; wide-eyed, and filled with wonder and joy to be in the studio. With Ma’s support and encouragement, and bolstered by his plan to send money home to his mother, we see Sylvester’s self-confidence blossom as he works hard through his speech impediment to do the best he can on the recording.

Though set in the 20s, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom speaks to the situation of artists today. While artists have gained more control over their work and working conditions, the industry still has work to do with regard to cultural and creative exploitation, and assigning labels of “difficult” on women and artists of colour. And we only have to look at Ma and Levee to see that artists must learn to play the game and be at peace over that which they cannot control—or be swept up in the undertow of their own frustrated ambition and expectations.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom continues in the Michael Young Theatre at the Young Centre—now extended by popular demand to June 9. Get advance tickets online or give the box office a shout at: 416-866-8666 or 1-888-898-1188.

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Toronto Fringe: Privacy and identity in the digital age in sharply funny, edgy Cam Baby

cambaby.groupfunny.beaudixonbrandoncoffeychristinehorneashleybottingandrewcameronkarlang - cam babyJessica Moss and Theatre Mischief get into the guilty pleasures and discomfiting side of social media consumption and interaction in Moss’s new play Cam Baby, running now on the Factory Theatre Mainspace for Toronto Fringe. Directed by Charlotte Gowdy, assisted by Taylor Trowbridge, Cam Baby is the 2016 Toronto Fringe New Play Contest winner.

Joseph (Andrew Cameron) and Matabang (Karl Ang) are bros and business partners, running an Airbnb business with a little something extra on the side called Cam Baby, where the guests become the show. Joseph’s conscience gets the better of him when his crush Natalie (Christine Horne) moves in after breaking up with her boyfriend. Meanwhile, guest Clara (Ashley Botting), in town for three months while taking a course, is navigating a burgeoning romance with Tim (Brandon Coffey). Things all go to hell when new guest Ezra (Beau Dixon) outs the Cam Baby operation. Schadenfreude, voyeurism, commodifying other people’s lives – for money or social currency – and issues of identity on and off screen all play prominently, as does the meaning of connection in an age when our devices become an extension of ourselves.

The sharp social commentary, which shifts between hilarious and discomfiting, is delivered with lightning speed by an outstanding cast. Ang is a manic, despicable sleazebag as Matabang; a slick fast talker with an amoral sensibility – as Tim mentions at one point, he is Red Bull personified. Cameron does a great job with Joseph’s inner conflict; the good guy to Matabang’s bad guy, his hands are just as dirty. He wants to come clean, but does he have the balls to walk the talk? Botting does an awesome job with Clara’s see-sawing between self-possession and low self-esteem; articulate and smart, she’s basically a good person, but even she crosses the line at times. Horne is delightfully quirky as the conflicted, self-absorbed Natalie; the “beautiful one” of the female guests, she is happy to consume and use the lives of others, but does little with her own life. Coffey is adorkable as the sweet, sensitive Tim; he is the most genuine of the bunch, but even he’s not entirely innocent, as he gleefully watches videos of people taking a bad tumble. And Dixon brings a lovely, child-like innocence as the lonely, socially awkward Ezra; he’s a troubled guy, but is he dangerous?

In the end, we’re all culpable; judging by appearances and gossiping about others online and in person to gain attention and social standing. And maybe if we stopped being such lookie loos and turned our gaze inward more often, we’d see that we’re all so much more than the sum of our likes and followers, and more than our body shape, job title or hotness rating. Maybe we might get a better idea of who we really are – and who our friends really are.

With shouts to set/costume designer Brandon Kleiman for the trippy, modular set – the apartment spaces delineated in part by a structure of boxes painted with a QR code design, which carries over into the chairs.

Who are we when others are watching? When nobody’s watching? Do we even know? Privacy and identity in the digital age in sharply funny, edgy Cam Baby.

Cam Baby continues at the Factory Theatre Mainspace until July 10; definitely book ahead for this one, folks. For ticket info and advance tickets/passes, check out the Fringe website.