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Down Beat Waitlister Auditions


....... More of a hovel than a traditional theatre, this off off off Broadway collection of flea bitten seats, and a couple of old theatre lights served sas the home for "The Theatre Company". Nearly thirty squeezed into the room meant for ten, as this would be a one night only performance of Petersen's new musical.

Pete had collected the ticket money, which would feed him and the four actors for the next week. The troupe changed regularly, as Pete’s expectations of performance and performers did. But with so many performers out there, finding new people to push further than they were expecting was never hard.

Some had wondered why music theatre... surely a dead art form, as dead as the dream of Curly’s “bright golden haze in the meadow”. These days the meadows were factories and the only bright golden haze came from the tablets that everyone seemed to take. As Pete moved over to the piano he reflected on the importance of theatre now more than ever as a vehicle for social change. Tonight he was trying something new on his audience and he hoped it would work as he expected.

His fingers sat on top of the piano for a moment, until the right hand began an arpegiation requiring him to cover the interval of a thirteenth. Instantly accessible, the audience held their breath as heartbeats quicken the way a dimming house light will always create. In darkness now, the left hand begins adding the meat and pain of the lawless world. A face appears in the darkness.

The piano seemed to take Pete's soul and propel it into the hearts of the performers, who were now slaves to Pete’s writing. They are his voice now, the many sides of his soul. He had rehearsed them, pushed them, destroyed them and rebuilt them now into an ensemble that had no stars, only a collective group creating a synergy far more than their individual parts. Pete took the idea of Musical Direction to new places. At once demanding a dramatic reason for every sound produced and a musical language for every scene required.

For the next two hours the audience moved from ecstatic highs, to the depths of human expression. Every note calculated to move, every melody used to underline, comment and express the story, the universal story of a people downtrodden and powerless.

The final scene of the musical, has the the company facing the audience in the brightest light anyone has seen in this neo steam age for an eon.

“You are the reason we are held back
The Apathy you feel allows the attack
How long now will you be pushed down ?
How long, How Long How long?”

The close harmonies of the group get more and more dissonant through the repeated chorus, causing the audience to collectively tense up, until, with resolution, the power of the audiences anger returns to their souls. The stage is plunged into blackness. The applause a vindication of the suffering of the human spirit. The stage returns to light, but Pete and his players have gone.

There is no encore. The audience left only with a need to do something as strong and powerful as the performance they have witnessed.

From a bar across the street, Pete watches the audience leave his theatre. Silent, yet empowered. They would meet again, this audience, and discuss what they had seen. They would, he hoped, form groups and begin to subvert the society that held them back.

He turned to his company... “Drinks on me... we did well tonight.”

Smiles all round; laughter, the feel of completion. People are at their best when they have done well. The bar is full and the cast are basking in their success. Closing time and with bottle in hand they return to the theatre, to continue their celebration.

Angie had joined the company from the beginning. Pete reflected on the day he had first seen her singing in the subway.Pete had been looking for a place to put on a show, and instead had found one of his players. She had been there lit by a candle, under the earth; her voice echoing around her. She had sung “Tomorrow” from Annie. The song had been stripped of any hope and optimism... It was sarcastic,dark and beautiful.

Shaking his head from the memory of the train station, and the soul within it, Pete heard Angie ask “What next ?”

What Next? The success of the evening only underlined what must be the next step. Only a large scale recording and performance could begin the revolution so desperately needed. He knew there were performers to coax and inspire. Songs that would change the face of the world. He would find the performers and the backing to get there.

Pete opened his mouth to start to speak but was interrupted by a loud noise outside. “What the .... ?”

The rest of the company moved quickly; this has happened before and they were well rehearsed in the quick move. It wasn’t going to be so easy for Pete; with the shows score still sitting on the piano he started to grab it when he smelt smoke

Theatres are full of curtains. And fabric. And old theatre flats. And wooden stages, and old dusty chairs. They burn well and quickly. The other members of the company ran for the stage door exit, quickly vacating.

Gunfire doesn’t fill the air. In the movies shells rip past with reverb and compression and even from the smallest pistol roar like cannons. In real life guns go pop pop pop. It’s such a small sound to propel a piece of lead through someone's body, removing life and rearranging flesh on the way through. The sounds at stage door were undramatic but spelt their purpose as clearly as any sound effect in the old action blockbusters. They had found the company and were ensuring only a limited season.

Pete had been collecting act two when he heard the sounds and finally realised the trap he was in. The theatre would burn if he stayed, and the bullets would fly if he ran. Somebody somewhere didn’t like the show.

“Critics!”

The old speakeasy had started to burn and the smoke was choking. Pulling his T shirt over his mouth Pete made his way to the flytower. The heat and smoke were thicker but he found the skylight long since blacked over to prevent light coming in. Pushing with his shoulder it wouldn’t budge.

“Dammit ! There’s still work to do !”

Throwing every piece of strength at the skylight, it finally yielded. The cool night air soothed his lungs and throat, but this was no time to relax. Climbing out to the roof Pete quickly moved to top of the building away from the vehicles and lights below. He noted the heat of the roof beneath his hands and knew he didn’t have much time. Clearing his mind he began to consider the next scenes choreography.

Standing Apex of the theatre’s roof Pete knew what had to be done. Grabbing the score Pete threw it left while beginning his run to the right.

A huge thump was heard as the score landed on the sloping roof of the building next to the theatre. Torches and guns pointed towards the roof. No one had seen the body flying to the right. The score had landed and started sliding back to the stage door where the police were waiting.

On the ground the appearance of the paper surprised the force below. As the paper danced it’s way to the ground Pete leapt his way to freedom. Normally in the dance a huge leap would be follow spotted like the climax it is. This effectively blinds the performer. Jumping in the dark would not be a problem . Pete’s landing was soft and silent. On the next building Pete continued the momentum and leapt again, and again. Now four buildings over from the burning theatre, Pete turned to look back.

The theatre was well ablaze. The surrounding NYPD vehicles headlights lit the scene. Unlike the days of old a burning building did not draw a crowd anymore, and particularly not with a heavily armed audience like the one Pete was surveying. A white van stood out amongst the black police vehicles. The sign on the side did not surprise Pete.

Federal Department of Performing Arts

Looking for the bald head he found Jorgensen standing, holding a piece of the score he had performed that night. Jorgensen read through, his left hand inadvertently beating time. Jorgensen smiled and then threw the piece onto the flames.

Pete would not look back again... it was time to move on.




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Stage Name and Real Name: Pete Petersen

Instrument: Musical Direction, Composer, Piano, Voice,

Pete’s main ability is to coax the best performances out of others, by pushing coaxing and bullying until a true synergy is achieved between the song and the performer carrying it. Although self taught his pianistic skills are prodigious. He can evoke the feeling of an entire orchestra from just the piano. His voice while acceptable is better used to demonstrate his requirements to the performers that follow him. Pete understands an audience and how to affect them through his creations.

Style of Music: Music Theatre

Not the plink plonk of the music hall, not the syrup of old Broadway. Pete’s music covers the gamut of contemporary music expression, while always understanding the baggage that any genre of music brings with it.

If a tango will best demonstrate his theatrical scene then it will be a tango. Pete is fluent in all forms of music and uses them to drive his pieces beyond the expectations of his audience.

Weapons:

Pete has trained in the dance all his life. The discipline of the daily rigor has tuned his body into an explosive weapon able to strike or parry . Choosing mainly to avoid conflict, his body has served him well as performers are pushed into places they are not comfortable with. A disciple of the Japanese dance form Hap Koto , Pete is well able to defend himself when the need arises.

Bio:

Pete has lived theatre his entire life. Painting and building sets the fateful day of Woodstock 94, he came to understand that using theatre as a vehicle for social change was the only way he could help get society back online. Dedicating himself to this “The Theatre Company” was formed, taking performers to new levels of expression and influence.


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