Authenticity on "Show People" on Broadway.com

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” ~ E.E. Cummings

     In August I was honored to do a super fancy "Show People" interview with the lovely Paul Wontorek of Broadway.com.
     Initially, I was nervous. Often in purely Broadway industry interviews (and this is not a reflection on those interviews or interviewers, just on how I feel within those situations) I find it hard to be all of myself. Almost as if there is a "palatable" or "vivacious" or "Broadway" or "Alexandra Silber Person," that is a thin slice of the whole story, and "she" is the only person welcome to the party. It is not that I feel fake, for those components are all parts of my story and parts of who I am, they are just a narrow slice of the whole story. Sometimes, my heart longs to strip away the pure personality and share more my quieter, more thoughtful, most authentic self. The self, in fact, that I share here on this blog.
     And while I may choose to share a certain percentage of myself, say at stage door, or on a red carpet, I guarantee you that none of what I ever share is a lie. You might not get all of me, but you will get the truth, however little of it you receive that exact day. I believe it is not only healthy but essential about keeping one's dearest and most inner thoughts, feelings and intimacies for our closest friends and family. But utter exposure and revelation is not what authenticity is. Authenticity isn’t the presence of something, but the absence of everything that is not authentic. If you think about the moments in your life that are meaningful—I mean truly meaningful—you will always find a degree of realness, of truth and of this elusive quality of "authenticity." Those heartfelt compliments, tough conversations, honest job reviews, and actually enjoyable first dates: all of them involve at least some degree of authenticity. That is to say, all of those moments drop some form pretending and pretense, give up the need to make things "okay" and allow them to be exactly what they are.
     This interview was all of me. It was authentic Al in all my colors—bright and muted. Paul was a hoot, but he was also honest, curious, open, welcoming, smart as a whip, and willing to go there. It was such a victory for authenticity—in the business or anywhere.  
     As Oscar Wilde said:

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

FIDDLER ON THE ROOF star Alexandra Silber on being #TheCutestPregnantWomanOnBroadway, her enduring obsession with Rebecca Luker, her upcoming books and what she didn't want to tell Angela Lansbury when they met.Alexandra Silber on Her Broadway Prom Date, Writing Fiddler Fan Fiction & Why She’s Fancy AND Fun:

An Open Letter to Rebecca Luker

Dear Rebecca,

So, Hi.
This is weird.
I think I know that.
I mean, we're sort of 'colleagues' now, though we haven't worked together (yet!), and we know each others' names and have come to each others' shows, but here is the thing:

I feel like I have to tell you something. Truth is, when I dig deep down and reeeally give it a good think, there really is no other single person who has influenced my artistic life as profoundly as you.

[*takes a deep breath... exhales...*]

I know.
I know that is an intense thing to say.
It is a "fan girl" thing to say and I am not, nor have I ever actually been a fan girl.
Not in real life.
Only about Angela Lansbury really (but I admit that falls under the category of "Crazy Love" and doesn't count... at least I hope not...)
Because first of all I'm of the pre-Tumblr generation, and on top of that I'm actually quite shy (I couldn't even come to meet you at stage door when I came to The Sound of Music in '98) plus, I dunno, I was born in LA, something about seeing celebrities at the bank and grocery store and all that...

But, listen, this is the crucial part:

you taught me how to sing. 

You didn't know that you were doing it, but you did.

I would listen to recordings of you and pour over them with a fine tooth comb, ear pressed close to the speaker, completely in astonishment of how you don't really seem to have a break, how your vibrato is so even and natural and "spinny" and how your tone is like velvet, and in attempting to emulate it, I learned how to sing. In addition, your depth of feeling oozes through your voice in a way that says you trust not only your own depth of spirit, but the depth of those that hear you--it is the ultimate in creative dignity. You make old songs sound fresh and vibrant as if they were written yesterday. You make new material soar. You showed me how a soprano could be a leader in the modern era and, I am unutterably grateful for everything you inadvertently gave me.

But I am even more grateful that you are the loveliest, most gracious person in real life, who clearly loves her husband and family, who allows people to share their toothpaste (and forgives them for being super weird about it weeks later), who comes to shows Downtown, who then waits around to be generous with praise for those that are coming along behind her legacy. I am grateful for your humility, genuine, charming self-effacing sense of humor, and for your deep well of inner beauty, as much as for your talent.

When I was growing up, the classics of Broadway were the stories that shaped me; Rodgers & Hammerstein, Lerner & Lowe, Jerome Kern, Bernstein, Irving Berlin, the Gershwins, and those that picked up their batons. And interestingly, when I began my career in England (where I never dreamed wind would blow me) I never really came across the people that I spent so much time listening to in my bedroom, in the car, mimicking in the shower, or on a bunk bed at summer camp. I suppose, when I returned over three years ago now, I couldn't stop reeling from how commonplace it seemed to "run into" these iconic people, to share stages and Greenrooms with them-- it felt like a veritable "Whose Who" of teenage theatrical appreciation.

     "Oh hey, Brian Stokes Mitchell, thanks for clasping my hands so sincerely, welcoming me to Broadway and then telling me casually as we exchange Voice Over stories that you were ONE OF THE VOICES OF THE CALIFORNIA RAISINS. Because the world just got THAT much better."

     "Heeeeey Marin Mazzie, allow me to sing at Carnegie Hall opposite your husband and you can just sit next to my Mom in that box up there and you and Peter Freidman--stars of the first Broadway show I ever saw--can just, you know: come backstage afterward and we can all just pal about like this happens ALL THE TIME." 

     "'Sup, Sheldon Harnick? Thank you for being my real life 'Dear Friend.'"

     "And hey there, John Cullum, allow me to just call you at home on the 5th of July after weeping over 1776 which was on cable last night, and we can have a real heart-to-heart about your legacy and how much it and the theatre means to both of us..."

WHATEVER. NO BIGGIE.
JUST SOME MAJOR LEADERS THERE.
I AM TOTALLY KEEPING IT TOGETHER.
And I mean, I am. I basically know how to keep my cool. At a certain point all these people become people because they are, and you grow up (and to) realize that we all have similar processes, and the show must go on and everyone has bad vocal days and dry spells and relationship problems and coffee addictions and cellulite and its actually really marvelous. I just hope that my inner child never stops finding joy in encountering these people--never stops marveling at how I got to be so fortunate. And if I am ever so lucky to be one of those people for the generations to follow, may I be as down-to-earth-elegant as you about it.


And this is where I suppose I open this letter up to everyone-- we all have these people. Not "idols," though I am certain we have those too, but I am speaking of the real, true Role Models present in our lives in the purest sense of the word. Those individuals who form and shape the people we become by their example by simply being themselves and allowing the world to observe and edify their own paths from their precedent.

May we all revere such people, and, no matter what we do, how public or private, may we all endeavor to become role models ourselves for those we may never even know to be watching us...


So Rebecca, it occurred to me the other night at 54 Below when I came to see your glorious cabaret of Jerome Kern tunes, how much I wanted to be there. How much I wanted to hear you sing with a capital 'S.' But what really grabbed me by the collar was in fact after the show, when I came up to you and you said, sweetly as ever,
     "Alexandra, hello! Thank you for coming!"
... and we had a really nice, lovely, cordial exchange because... I don't know, I guess we're in this together now. When did that actually happen?
And I felt it--right there in the bar.
I felt that moment more than ever that I had somehow Arrived. 
How glorious. 
How commonplace.
How simple a little 'hello--'
--a greeting that could never, ever fully articulate my appreciation for all of the above.
And how perfect that that precise moment of clarity, should come from you.

So (not at all creepily, but in an utterly normal manner), I thank you.
For all of it.

Sincerely,

Al

x

I stole Rebecca Luker's toothpaste...

Rebecca Luker: actress, soprano and flouride benefactor extraordinaire...

I did.
I did.
And then I confessed.
And she let me keep it.

[*travel back in time music*]

[At rise: Hello Again post show bustle. The entire show Rebecca and her über incredible husband Danny Burstein have been sitting just beside the central mirror-- starring straight into my freakin' face. I must hasten to add however, that in contrast to the ridiculous line-up from the McNally tribute concert the previous night, this moment seems over-come-able compared to bowing between Edie Falco and Roger Reese, and being in the mere presence of THE Angela Lansbury...but still, this is Rebecca Luker and I have loved her for years and she made me publicly weep when we shared a stage at Lincoln Center in January, and yes, OKAY, I broke The Secret Garden cassette. Fact. Plus this moment might be okay if I didn't have a guilty conscience {see title!}...]

Rebecca: Alexandra? Hi! Do you remember me?

Inner monologue: Do I remember you? Do I remember her?! Um. Well gosh how do I say this? Why yes, yes I do. I can’t believe I was in the same room as, let alone the same concert as, let alone bowed next to-- you— I broke The Secret Garden cassette lady. I broke it. You were the standard of soprano that formulated my entire youth. I listened to you with my friends on my bunk-bed at summer camp. [incredulous scoffing noises] Do I freakin' remember you? Puh-lease. I can’t believe you remember me. And furthermore, just so we're clear, just so everything is out on the table: I stole your toothpaste. That’s right. I viciously stole the toothpaste I asked to borrow just so I could nonchalantly speak to you for a millisecond in the Lincoln Center dressing rooms. I am a thief. A dirty, pathetic, childish, star-struck thief with incredibly clean teeth.

Real dialogue:

Rebecca: [continued, she is sort of staring at me now, willing me to respond] ...from Lincoln Center?
Al: [fake nonchalance. Don't give away your crazy Al!] Yes, Rebecca, of course. So nice to see you…
R: Well done--You were wonderful tonight.

[I think for a moment that I might need respiratory assistance.]

A: Thank you so much.
R: And the piece. The performances. The music! My goodness the music I want to sing every single song in this sh--
A: --I STOLE YOUR TOOTHPASTE.

[there is a terrible moment here where she stares harder at me and I stare hard back. As if, in doing so, we can both hope, we may will, we can possibly pretend that last little outburst just did not happen. But lest we forget that I am in this story, we know that it cannot end there. We know, all too well, that it is simply in my nature to just make things far, far worse...]

A: AND I AM SO SORRY.
R: ...what?
A: I AM SORRY. I stole it and it wasn't even totally an accident.
R: What are you talking about?
A: Plus IT WAS DELICIOUS.
R: Really? [she smiles]
A: And I know I came in and asked for toothpaste and you let me take it but! but! but you said you would come back for it and although you didn’t, [huge sigh] I didn’t exactly remind you. [There. Said it.]
R: [she pauses, eyebrows cocked, considering me] ...Are you being serious?
A: [unfortunately, I am] Yes.
R: Truly?
A: It is in my dressing room right now, let me go get it for you.
R: Darlin’… [she is amused and starts to laugh in the most charming way, the manner of a true lady] you know what? You can just go ahead and keep it. [A lady: see what I am saying?]
A: Really?
R: Yes, seriously.
A: Um… thank you.
R: Gosh. You are so funny [she laughs, it is sweet] and a bit odd.
A: Thank you. And odd, yes, [hands up] guilty!
R: And you were wonderful in the show. I mean your voice...
A: [inner crazy 11-year-old-squeal] Coming from you… that means the world...

It does.
Words cannot describe how much it does.
We hug.
And say goodbye.
And I just brushed my teeth and frankly my teeth now feel as pure as Rebecca Luker's very own crystalline voice, and as clean as my conscience.