In the theatrical concert You’re Just a Place That I Know, singer/songwriter Adrian Glynn McMorran sets out to tell the story of his grandparents’ flight from Ukraine, post-WWII, to Montreal. But he doesn’t really know that story, so the core of this piece is hollow.
More meaningful elements accrue around this core, and I’ll get to those. But let’s start with the middle.
McMorran begins by telling us that Nazis took his grandmother from her home in the Carpathian Mountains when she was 17 and sent her to work as an indentured servant (essentially a slave) to a Nazi family in Austria. But, he admits, that’s all he knows about this period. He doesn’t know if his baba was taken by force, what the train ride to Austria was like, or what she might have endured in servitude. Then he sings a song about it anyway, vaguely imagining what his grandmother’s dreams about that time might have been like later in her life. Vague is the operative word here. Because it’s uninformed, “When I Close My Eyes” has no heft.
And, for me, that was true about all the original songs in at least the first half of You’re Just a Place That I Know. I wasn’t interested in amorphous, ungrounded, slightly sentimental imaginings of history. And the folk-rock flavour of the music felt at odds with the story it was trying to tell.
On the upside, McMorran’s stage presence is charismatic and his musical arrangements, which include the striking use of a cappella as well as subtly impactful endings, are engagingly dynamic.
As I said, there are riches in the surrounding material. McMorran has invited other members of his band to share their ancestries. In their own, unique ways, they’re just as charismatic as he is — and, fortunately, they know what they’re talking about.
First up is the ridiculously charming drummer Sally Zori, who delivers an essay, of sorts — a passionately informed essay. Queer, trans, and Iraqi, he says, “In reflecting on my ancestry, I felt alone”: some family members are dead, other won’t talk to him, documents have been lost to war. But then he reflects on his chosen family and trans ancestors, who include Marsha P. Johnson and Billy Tipton. There’s not a whiff of self-pity in any of this. And, because he’s reflecting on his lived experience, because we have this lovely guy speaking directly to us, it’s touching when Zori says he’s honoured to be able to share his true self with us.
Marlene Ginader’s story about her great grandfather, George Chin, who came to North America from China, is packed with revelations and her delivery is wickedly funny.
Vocalist Chelsea Rose Winsby demonstrates what the whole show could have been like when she tells us about her grandmother Betty, who had “11 children that we know of”, all of whom were taken from her. Rose Winsby couldn’t stand her grandmother when she was alive, but rethought everything when she found out, after Betty’s death, that she had been incarcerated in a so-called residential “school.”
Rose Winsby’s storytelling is grounded in details, including the bubble-gum-flavoured Miss Piggy toothpaste that, along with “a couple of lightly used bingo dabbers”, was the only Christmas present Betty ever gave her.
This concrete, resonant framing makes the song “Touch the Ground”, which Rose Winsby co-wrote with McMorran, and which she sings, one of the highlights of the evening.
And, towards the end of You’re Just a Place That I Know, McMorran’s solo songwriting finds its groove. “I Won’t Sleep”, in which he imagines his grandparents’ mature love, includes the (for me) evocative refrain, “I won’t sleep until I’m here beside the sound of your breathing/ I won’t rest until you lay inside the curve of my chest.” Yes to that. And thanks for the tender melody.
Speaking of melodies, the patterns of the final number, “Just a Place That I Know”, were still running through my head hours after the show.
Throughout, Parjad Sharifi’s lighting is subtly evocative. And director Marcus Youssef’s staging includes the skillful use of a physical motif: at various points, McMorran and then, in unison, other members of the company, cross their arms and put one hand on their cheeks, a memory of Baba’s attentive gaze.
Under the direction of conductor Adam Kozak, The Righteous Ramshackle Choir adds choral depth.
You’re Just a Place that I Know has strengths. With a more informed central narrative — and more songs confidently placed within the details of that narrative — You’re Just a Place That I Know could have been a more fully realized work.
YOU’RE JUST A PLACE THAT I KNOW Conceived by Adrian Glynn McMorran. Music and lyrics by Adrian Glynn MDirected by Marcus Youssef. An Arts Club Theatre presentation on the Olympic Village Stage until February 1. Tickets and information.
PHOTO CREDIT: The musicians of You’re Just a Place That I Know (Photo by Kristine Cofsky)
THERE’S MORE! You can get all my current reviews PLUS curated local, national, and international arts coverage in your inbox FREE every week if you subscribe to Fresh Sheet, the Newsletter. Just click that link. (Unsubscribe at any time. Super easy. No hard feelings.) Check it out.
0 Comments