Blier’s Blog: October 19, 2011
Today is my late father’s 100th birthday. One of the cast members took his photograph down from my windowsill and put it on my coffeetable—the Danish Modern one I inherited from him. It gave my dad a ringside seat for the six-plus hours of rehearsal today, and I think he enjoyed it. I mean, he was grinning throughout the whole day. Of course, he’s been smiling like that since the picture was snapped in 1956.
He had a lot to grin about. The cast is doing sensational work, and I am in love with the music for next week’s concert. There is always a horrible interval between the optimism of conceiving the program and the first few days of working on the concert. During that six-week period I always think I have created a monster. I go through all of the Kubler-Ross stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance—acceptance that I am preparing a latke, a flat tire, a root canal of a concert. Then the cast walks in and starts singing the songs we sent them, and I am amazed at how beautiful the music is, especially in their hands. This drama is so predictable that by now I pay it no mind, but I have never lost the wonder of hearing the birth of the show. “In the Memory Palace” is so arrestingly lovely and fascinating; I am grateful to all the composers and all the singers.
Above: Steven’s dad, still smiling