While pondering on this critique, The War of Art (author Steve Pressfield) came to mind. One of the most effective passages in this useful manual for would-be professional artists is this: “About pros: We do not over-identify with our jobs. We may take pride in our work, we may stay late and come in on the weekends, but we recognize that we are not our job descriptions.“

This thought came to me on returning home from Katie Gassert’s romp.  Her show, so similar to many others I have seen using the template of “girl loves show music, girl goes to city, girl can’t get cast in a show, but girl is thrilled with the amount of gay friends she has supporting her.” I do not deny any of the reality of this story, as I must confess that I have experienced that passage in life. BUT it is dangerous ground artistically to base one’s early shows on autobiography. This type of cabaret usually works best with iconic and mature ladies such as Lena Horne or Elaine Stritch.  When a girl (or guy) does a wholly autobiographical piece at the beginning of her career, it smacks of a naïveté or narcissism that might leave no one but family entertained.

That’s how I was struck by this show.  The decidedly cute and squeaky voiced Gassert opened her show boasting that even though she was from Boston, she wanted to make sure that we knew she did not hobnob with working class types such as Ben Affleck or Matt Damon because she was from a rich section of the city.  To me, that’s a tragedy.

Opening with a huge, frenetic “I’m a Star”(Scott Alan)/”Live Out Loud”(Andrew Lippa), the performer made it clear that the stage was her calling, as she informed us of that a couple of dozen times.  Following the forgettable tune, “Her Sweater,” she got into to the core of the show with her Rodgers and Hammerstein medley.  I had a glimmer of hope as I prayed she might calm down and serve the masters, but that was not to be.  One great song after another was butchered into short clips served up with manically clown-like antics.  Carrie Pipperidge and Ado Annie are amusing characters, but their music is not farcical or shallow, as interpreted here.

Ms. Gassert does have a voice of potentially professional quality as it is rangy and can go from soft to loud, without much difficulty if she wants to. But what she is doing—playing the now stereotypical girl with her “gays” (she said it)—is screaming, cavorting and playing to her intimate ring of friends who eat it all up.  What would happen if she and the other hordes of women out there forged a real identity of their own?   As of now, it seems they are channeling these guys through their personas—as the men conversely speak through the woman.

Having a lot of “gays” or any friends is a great thing in this lonely city.  That does not mean there is always artistic merit to be gleaned by these or any other intimate friendships.  Just because Kathy Griffin can make it hilarious, does not mean that every stage-struck female can use that vehicle.

Melody Breyer-Grell
Cabaret Scenes
September 26, 2010
www.cabaretscenes.org