For those of you who are unfamiliar with Mr. Mitchell, he co-wrote and starred in a little off-Broadway rock operetta called "Hedwig and the Angry Inch". I was fortunate enough, through a friend, to see the show from the front row. The show, the music (oh, the music), and Mr. Mitchell's performance are to this day among the highlights of my theater going life. I met him briefly after the performance. Given the tour-de-force I had just witnessed - or perhaps because of it - he was surprisingly subdued, but exceptionally gracious. I am a fan of his as much for that graciousness as I am for his considerable talent. He went on to write, direct and star in the film version of "Hedwig", and the translation captured and expanded the experience of the show without compromising its impact and appeal. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it.
"Shortbus" had been touted, in the few reviews I had read, to be a frank, no-holds-barred examination of the obstacles to intimacy that existed in New York City post 9/11. He captured perfectly the duality of that moment in the city's history, when people banded together in an unprecedented way, while conversely giving in to the personal isolation of a world where such a hor
rible act was even possible. Mr. Mitchell had assembled the cast through a series of ads in the trade papers on both coasts. Drawing from the pool of relative unknowns who had responded, he subjected them to a series of auditions designed to bring together a final cast that would be capable and comfortable when it came to the vision he had for the film. Given that the storyline and "script" were constructed from a series of workshops and improvisations, he also need a troupe of performers, musicians, and artists who connected with one another on a very basic and creative level. To say that he hit the jackpot is a gross understatement. Most of the cast are still close, personal friends with one another. The finished product is frank to the point of being shocking (initially), but ultimately it is a work of collaborative genius and a beautiful piece of art in the canon of film.
As I sat in the theatre, marvelling at what I was experiencing on the screen, a young character entered the frame, clutching a PDA and fussing about his hair. His name was Ceth (yes, with a "C"), and he was brought to the screen by a young actor named Jay Brannan. In the moment he appeared onscreen, I experienced what could on be described in retrospect as Tribal Recognition. I knew this kid. We had never met. I'd never seen or heard of him, but the recognition strummed through me. It resonated. I kept watching, increasingly affected by the movie, and each time Jay reappeared, there was that feeling again. Don't misunderstand, it wasn't a carnal thing (although he is a beautiful boy). For lack of a better word, I was drawn to him on a more "spiritual" level. It was as though we were made of the same stuff - from the same "tribe". The movie ended. I left the theatre, walking the streets, letting the cool air work its magic, clearing my head. I know that feeling of recognition. I've felt it many times over the course of my life. It's been responsible for most of the significant relationships I've had. I'd just never experienced it without the object of its inspiration actually being in the room. Curiouser and curiouser...
I took the train back to Pennsylvania, went back to my daily routine, and put it out of my head. I had promised my friend Ian that I would take him to New York the day after Christmas. He wanted to see "Shortbus", but had missed its run in Philadelphia. It was still at the Quad, so we decided to make a day of it. I had spent Christmas day in D.C. with my best girlfriend, where we saw "The Children of Men" and "The Good German". I made the drive back to Philly that afternoon, where I was meeting friends for an 8:00 showing of "Dreamgirls", then got up the next morning for the trip into Manhattan, where Ian and I saw "Volver" and then "Shortbus". Yes, kids, that's five movies, in three states, in two days. A personal best. No applause, please. Just throw money. Despite my fatigue, I spent the first ten minutes of "Shortbus" excitedly watching Ian's face as his jaw made its gradual trek toward the floor. That alone, would have been worth the trip. Then Ceth/Jay entered the frame, and there it was again. That feeling. That recognition. I wasn't so quick to dismiss it the second time.
Mercifully, I didn't have to work the next day. I sat at the computer, checking e-mail, researching. The usual. It struck me that I should google Jay, to see if maybe I had seen him somewhere before. The search turned up a few listings on YouTube, his IMDb page, and a Myspace listing. I checked IMDb first. There was a single credit - "Shortbus". On to YouTube. There were three videos. I clicked on the one called "Body's a Temple", sat back and watched. His hair was buzzed off. He was shirtless, because of the heat in his small apartment. He cradled a guitar. I knew he was a musician, because he had played a song ("Soda Shop") in the movie. After a short intro, he played his song. I sat mesmerised. I'm not usually comfortable watching other people sing. I don't know why, it's just a quirk of mine. He was so effortless and honest, I couldn't NOT watch. I went on to the next song, "26-Hour Day". I listened to the lyrics and by the end of the song, I had tears in my eyes. He had it. That thing that makes artists great. The "It" factor. The lyrics alone were enough to garner my devotion. I grew up on Joni Mitchell, Jim Croce, James Taylor, Dylan, Joan Baez. My mother was a musician. Folk music speaks to me in a way that is surpassed only by my beloved Big Band music. Folk was the soundtrack of my childhood. Here was this beautiful, sweet boy, with his brilliant lyrics, and his shy, unassuming performance. Killing me softly. I went onto Myspace, found his profile, sent him a friend request (couldn't hurt), and an e-mail telling him how much I appreciated his performance in "Shortbus", and how beautiful I thought his music was. To my surprise, and his credit, I received a response thanking me. It was the start of an unintended correspondence. That April, he played a show at The Living Room in New York. I went to the show, but didn't tell him I was coming. I stood in the back, with no intention of introducing myself. I was there for the music, nothing more. He even brushed against me on his way to the stage, and still I said nothing. I held my breath and waited for him to start playing. He thanked everyone for coming. He thanked the staff at the Living Room for the opportunity to play there. Gracious. Charming. Then he started his set. Each and every song was worth the two hour trip. It was the start of quite a run for me, watching him perform live. I e-mailed him the next day to let him know how much I enjoyed the show. He chastised me for not letting him know that I was there. I apologised and promised that I would make it a point to do so at his next show. He booked a pair of shows at Mo' Pitkin's in New York the following month. I went to both shows. I was hooked. He spotted me before the first show started, recognising me from my Myspace profile picture, and made his way over to introduce himself and thank me (THANK me!?!) for my kind words. Was this really the same boy to whom I'd had such a profound reaction at the Quad Cinema such a short time ago? It was. Our association has unfolded slowly over the last two years. I've discovered other tribe members through him - Brent, Dee, and my darling Amy - whose talents and presence astound me at every turn. I pledged to him in those early days that I would do anything and everything I could to support him. All he has to do is ask. I think his music and his voice are important and necessary.
Jay doesn't always understand the devotion he inspires in people. It's not in his nature to tout his own abilities. Personally, I will be forever grateful to John Cameron Mitchell for the many opportunities afforded to Jay by his participation in "Shortbus". He has been invited to present the movie at festivals around the world. He now has 73 videos on YouTube. That number doesn't include the countless videos taken at his live shows and posted by fans. He has self-produced and released "Goddamned" - a CD of original music. He has played shows all over the world, with an ever increasing international fan base clamouring for more. I myself have attended 15 of those shows in the last 18 months, from coast to coast. I flew to L.A. for a much needed mini-vacation when he played at the Hotel Cafe. It was worth it to see the look on his face. He saw me and said, "Hey! Thanks for coming." Then it struck him that we were 3000 miles from our respective homes. "Holy shit, what are you doing here?!?" Good times. I took the train to Boston to catch the first show of his official tour. I've seen him in Philadelphia and D.C. I like to think I've contributed in my own way to his being able to eat his beloved Ramen on more than a few occasions. He questions my sanity fairly frequently, but I don't care. I promised him at the beginning that I was in for the long haul. He has contributed so much happiness to my life, it's a small price to pay in return.
I encourage people all the time to check him out online. Start with YouTube. Start with 26-Hour Day. It's a scathing, beautifully written commentary on the policies of the previous "administration". It is mercifully on its way to being outdated, but spectacular nonetheless. Buy his CD. Buy a t-shirt. Call me, I'll take you to one of his shows. What do I get out of it, besides the chance to see one of my favourite people in the world? I get the knowledge that an important voice is being heard. The quiet thrill of seeing a friend expand his success. I get to feel something that comforts and invigorates me. It's a little thing called Tribal Pride.
"Shortbus" had been touted, in the few reviews I had read, to be a frank, no-holds-barred examination of the obstacles to intimacy that existed in New York City post 9/11. He captured perfectly the duality of that moment in the city's history, when people banded together in an unprecedented way, while conversely giving in to the personal isolation of a world where such a hor
rible act was even possible. Mr. Mitchell had assembled the cast through a series of ads in the trade papers on both coasts. Drawing from the pool of relative unknowns who had responded, he subjected them to a series of auditions designed to bring together a final cast that would be capable and comfortable when it came to the vision he had for the film. Given that the storyline and "script" were constructed from a series of workshops and improvisations, he also need a troupe of performers, musicians, and artists who connected with one another on a very basic and creative level. To say that he hit the jackpot is a gross understatement. Most of the cast are still close, personal friends with one another. The finished product is frank to the point of being shocking (initially), but ultimately it is a work of collaborative genius and a beautiful piece of art in the canon of film.As I sat in the theatre, marvelling at what I was experiencing on the screen, a young character entered the frame, clutching a PDA and fussing about his hair. His name was Ceth (yes, with a "C"), and he was brought to the screen by a young actor named Jay Brannan. In the moment he appeared onscreen, I experienced what could on be described in retrospect as Tribal Recognition. I knew this kid. We had never met. I'd never seen or heard of him, but the recognition strummed through me. It resonated. I kept watching, increasingly affected by the movie, and each time Jay reappeared, there was that feeling again. Don't misunderstand, it wasn't a carnal thing (although he is a beautiful boy). For lack of a better word, I was drawn to him on a more "spiritual" level. It was as though we were made of the same stuff - from the same "tribe". The movie ended. I left the theatre, walking the streets, letting the cool air work its magic, clearing my head. I know that feeling of recognition. I've felt it many times over the course of my life. It's been responsible for most of the significant relationships I've had. I'd just never experienced it without the object of its inspiration actually being in the room. Curiouser and curiouser...
I took the train back to Pennsylvania, went back to my daily routine, and put it out of my head. I had promised my friend Ian that I would take him to New York the day after Christmas. He wanted to see "Shortbus", but had missed its run in Philadelphia. It was still at the Quad, so we decided to make a day of it. I had spent Christmas day in D.C. with my best girlfriend, where we saw "The Children of Men" and "The Good German". I made the drive back to Philly that afternoon, where I was meeting friends for an 8:00 showing of "Dreamgirls", then got up the next morning for the trip into Manhattan, where Ian and I saw "Volver" and then "Shortbus". Yes, kids, that's five movies, in three states, in two days. A personal best. No applause, please. Just throw money. Despite my fatigue, I spent the first ten minutes of "Shortbus" excitedly watching Ian's face as his jaw made its gradual trek toward the floor. That alone, would have been worth the trip. Then Ceth/Jay entered the frame, and there it was again. That feeling. That recognition. I wasn't so quick to dismiss it the second time.
Mercifully, I didn't have to work the next day. I sat at the computer, checking e-mail, researching. The usual. It struck me that I should google Jay, to see if maybe I had seen him somewhere before. The search turned up a few listings on YouTube, his IMDb page, and a Myspace listing. I checked IMDb first. There was a single credit - "Shortbus". On to YouTube. There were three videos. I clicked on the one called "Body's a Temple", sat back and watched. His hair was buzzed off. He was shirtless, because of the heat in his small apartment. He cradled a guitar. I knew he was a musician, because he had played a song ("Soda Shop") in the movie. After a short intro, he played his song. I sat mesmerised. I'm not usually comfortable watching other people sing. I don't know why, it's just a quirk of mine. He was so effortless and honest, I couldn't NOT watch. I went on to the next song, "26-Hour Day". I listened to the lyrics and by the end of the song, I had tears in my eyes. He had it. That thing that makes artists great. The "It" factor. The lyrics alone were enough to garner my devotion. I grew up on Joni Mitchell, Jim Croce, James Taylor, Dylan, Joan Baez. My mother was a musician. Folk music speaks to me in a way that is surpassed only by my beloved Big Band music. Folk was the soundtrack of my childhood. Here was this beautiful, sweet boy, with his brilliant lyrics, and his shy, unassuming performance. Killing me softly. I went onto Myspace, found his profile, sent him a friend request (couldn't hurt), and an e-mail telling him how much I appreciated his performance in "Shortbus", and how beautiful I thought his music was. To my surprise, and his credit, I received a response thanking me. It was the start of an unintended correspondence. That April, he played a show at The Living Room in New York. I went to the show, but didn't tell him I was coming. I stood in the back, with no intention of introducing myself. I was there for the music, nothing more. He even brushed against me on his way to the stage, and still I said nothing. I held my breath and waited for him to start playing. He thanked everyone for coming. He thanked the staff at the Living Room for the opportunity to play there. Gracious. Charming. Then he started his set. Each and every song was worth the two hour trip. It was the start of quite a run for me, watching him perform live. I e-mailed him the next day to let him know how much I enjoyed the show. He chastised me for not letting him know that I was there. I apologised and promised that I would make it a point to do so at his next show. He booked a pair of shows at Mo' Pitkin's in New York the following month. I went to both shows. I was hooked. He spotted me before the first show started, recognising me from my Myspace profile picture, and made his way over to introduce himself and thank me (THANK me!?!) for my kind words. Was this really the same boy to whom I'd had such a profound reaction at the Quad Cinema such a short time ago? It was. Our association has unfolded slowly over the last two years. I've discovered other tribe members through him - Brent, Dee, and my darling Amy - whose talents and presence astound me at every turn. I pledged to him in those early days that I would do anything and everything I could to support him. All he has to do is ask. I think his music and his voice are important and necessary.
Jay doesn't always understand the devotion he inspires in people. It's not in his nature to tout his own abilities. Personally, I will be forever grateful to John Cameron Mitchell for the many opportunities afforded to Jay by his participation in "Shortbus". He has been invited to present the movie at festivals around the world. He now has 73 videos on YouTube. That number doesn't include the countless videos taken at his live shows and posted by fans. He has self-produced and released "Goddamned" - a CD of original music. He has played shows all over the world, with an ever increasing international fan base clamouring for more. I myself have attended 15 of those shows in the last 18 months, from coast to coast. I flew to L.A. for a much needed mini-vacation when he played at the Hotel Cafe. It was worth it to see the look on his face. He saw me and said, "Hey! Thanks for coming." Then it struck him that we were 3000 miles from our respective homes. "Holy shit, what are you doing here?!?" Good times. I took the train to Boston to catch the first show of his official tour. I've seen him in Philadelphia and D.C. I like to think I've contributed in my own way to his being able to eat his beloved Ramen on more than a few occasions. He questions my sanity fairly frequently, but I don't care. I promised him at the beginning that I was in for the long haul. He has contributed so much happiness to my life, it's a small price to pay in return.
I encourage people all the time to check him out online. Start with YouTube. Start with 26-Hour Day. It's a scathing, beautifully written commentary on the policies of the previous "administration". It is mercifully on its way to being outdated, but spectacular nonetheless. Buy his CD. Buy a t-shirt. Call me, I'll take you to one of his shows. What do I get out of it, besides the chance to see one of my favourite people in the world? I get the knowledge that an important voice is being heard. The quiet thrill of seeing a friend expand his success. I get to feel something that comforts and invigorates me. It's a little thing called Tribal Pride.
More JAY!!!!???? Why don't you just whip out the baby pictures???? ;)
ReplyDeleteVery funny. Of course, we both know that if I had baby pictures, I probably would.
ReplyDelete