Mary Deady’s American songbook at the West Bank Cafe

Mary Deady

Some singers are so good you can literally hear how much a song means to them as they perform it. It doesn’t happen very often, but it did last week at the West Bank Cafe on 42nd Street as Irish singer Mary Deady unveiled her latest musical journey at the Broadway hotspot.

A familiar face on the Irish scene in the city, it felt as though we were being collectively re-introduced to her since she is perhaps best known for singing Irish music. For many, including myself, this was our first introduction to her as a singer of the American songbook.

Aided by the utterly flawless musicianship of pianist and musical director Jeff Cubeta, Deady’s show From Ireland to America: A Musical Journey In Song was a marvel from the opening number.

It was Deady’s good fortune to be born in Co. Kerry, holy ground for generations of world-class singers and musicians. There she learned to play the harp, and later she left for Dublin for classically trained singing lessons that would eventually take her far from home on the musical journey that was her own life.

Deady chose songs that conveyed the immigrant love (and sometimes secret pining for) the homeland, and this she did as well as I have ever had the good fortune to hear. But the show has wider ambitions than merely relying on all too easy sentiment. Deady has a compelling tale to tell, and that is part of what takes this performance to the next level.

What I did not anticipate was being so moved by the deep connections between her life and the music that she took ownership of, each time from the first note.

Deady also sang songs in praise of the fairly demonic energy of New York City itself, and her version of the 1930 Cole Porter classic I Happen to Like New York seemed to conjure the whole damn city in a tribute that delighted the hard bitten New Yorkers in her audience. Believe me, that takes some skill.

“Last Sunday afternoon I took a trip to Hackensack,” she sang. “But after I gave Hackensack the once over, I took the next train back. I happen to like New York. I happen to love this burg.”

You know you’re deeply connecting when your audience is applauding you wildly before you’ve even reached the final chorus. That happened many times during Deady’s performance, and it’s a tribute to her skill as a singer that she could switch between the conflicting demands of the American songbook with its changes of mood and melody so nimbly.

You can’t sing a Stephen Sondheim song until you lived it first, and you can’t match his phrasing until you know exactly what he means. When you do, though, you can nail an audience to the wall with sincerity, experience, yearning and smarts that are his hallmark, and Deady did this so effortlessly that I found myself hoping selfishly she will consider offering an exclusively Sondheim evening in the near future.

In particular Deady’s rendition of “No One Is Alone,” culled from Sondheim’s masterful musical Into the Woods, found its emotional mark, conveying both rueful experience and the wisdom that it brings in the same note.

“Anyone Can Whistle” did likewise, but her version of “Not While I’m Around” from Sweeney Todd, which on the night she dedicated to her daughter, was so heartfelt and so carefully conveyed that it became one of the high water marks of the night.

There was fun to be had too. “Look to the Rainbow,” an irresistible number from the equally irresistible musical Finian’s Rainbow, lent some golden age of Broadway lyricism to the proceedings. In life as in song you won’t go too far wrong by following the fellow who follows a dream, and Deady made time for this reflection in her well-chosen set list.

I would have liked to have heard even more detail about her life and her relationship to the songs she sang on the night, but that was because Deady’s a natural storyteller, gifted with identifying the lessons of her own experience (and knowing how to have a laugh about them in the process). Hopefully that will be a feature of future productions.

Deady has travelled the world as the lead singer with the National Folk Theater of Ireland, but luckily for us she has found a home in New York City, where she has sung at signature venues throughout the city.
Knowing her audience on the night, Deady led a spirited encore of “Molly Malone,” and sent everyone home singing. What could be more Irish, or more delightful, than that?

Tiny Dynamite displays new Irish talent

Love's essence is always intangible, but it produces substantial consequences. In Abi Morgan's absorbing new drama, which has been given a compelling production by Origin Theatre Company at 59 East 59 Theatre, who we are to each other is at the heart of a bruising lifelong dance between three characters.

Lucien was a shy boy who has grown into a overly cautious and haunted young man (Christian Conn) and Anthony (Blake DeLong) is a ne'er-do-well who was struck by lightening when he was six and looks fated to live out a damaged existence under the watchful eye of his old friend.

Morgan underscores the enduring love between the two friends, which crucially runs just a little deeper than the mistrust that occasionally brims to the surface between them. As adolescents we learn that both men once loved a young woman who took her own life. The affection was so deep, the loss so profound, they can barely bring themselves to speak of it.

Instead what they do is go on an annual ritual: Lucien makes his yearly attempt to rehabilitate Anthony by taking him on a back to nature summer vacation. Fresh air, a bath, some new threads, regular meal times - these are the fairly patronizing moves Lucien makes to reconnect with his old pal and his past.

But gratitude and affection share the stage with moments of snarling anger and clearly unfinished business. Morgan knows that the two men, locked in a dance they can not end, have reached an emotional impasse and so she introduces a blow-in in the shape of Madeline (Olivia Horton) a free spirit who works the spot during the summer vacation months.

Left to their own devices the two men have worn themselves out with abstract philosophical speculations about the nature of creativity and destruction, which they at all times seem on the edge of themselves, until Madeline makes all that fine talk concrete through her presence and through recognizing the wrenching heartache that's behind all the smoke and mirrors.

Men, the playwright reminds us, can exhaust themselves with drunkenness and competition indefinitely, and perhaps Morgan indulges them too much in this respect. It is left to Olivia to be the foil and to bring the plays overarching themes of betrayal and redemption into focus.

But along the way the play meanders and then focuses in a way that can prove jarring to the viewer. Each time we find ourselves getting closer to the three characters and the interior objectives that motivate them it seems a philosophical debate erupts that pushes us away again or holds us at arms length. It's a frustrating tic that throws a veil of uncertainty over the proceedings just at the points when you most hope to connect. Morgan certainly seems as interested in experimenting with the plays form as she is in creating compelling characters and although this is admirable artistically it continually undermines the drama onstage.

Director Matt Torney has created one of the most lucid productions of a new play that I have witnessed in New York in a decade. Torney strips the stage and the production to their theatrical essence as though to compensate for and clarify the abstractions in the text. In the process he has mined the emotions that propel the three young characters and he has added immeasurably to the depth of this work. Torney's staging is eloquent, immensely confident and frequently beautiful to look at, coaxing remarkable performances from the cast.

In the end though it's Morgan's curious and reflexive introspection in the text that fails to satisfy. We learn of the private passions that have driven her characters and we come to care for them too, but the plays thematic obsessions consistently trump all other considerations.

Love may be intangible, but after witnessing how it has first leveled and then promised to redeem her three characters, there's a steep human dimension to these engagements that the play demurs.