I’m on stage in New York City with my one-man show “Borscht Belted.”
The audience is noshing out of my hand. I’m killing it. Then … the first screech. Maybe a bus is sideswiping the building. I try to go on, and the screech comes again.
It’s the mic. I have a headset mic wrapped around my right ear. I tried it out during tech rehearsal, and it was fine. But now, every time I talk, the audience gets a high-pitched spike in their ears.
“Just go without the mic,” somebody from the middle of the crowd shouts. Others murmur in agreement.
I take off the mic and try to project as loudly as I can. But after a few minutes, I hear from a woman in the back row: “We can’t hear you!”
AGAIN, I soldiered on.
Talk about your theater nightmares.
A few weeks ago, I wrote a piece in The Bulletin about ambitious plans with my play “Borscht Belted.” I’d written and performed this tribute to my hometown of Monticello, New York, in the wonderful Millibo Art Theatre in Colorado Springs in 2019.
I performed a revival weekend at the MAT in August, and thanks to the topnotch equipment and talent there, two shows went off without a hitch. My friends and family were there, and it was such naches, Yiddish for joy and gratification.
Then, in late September, I made my big New York debut on the main stage in the New York Society for Ethical Culture, an 850-seat hall. They put my flier out in some of the city’s main event kiosks. I found some in a rack at Columbus Circle, right next to “The Lion King.” Wow.
But considering I and my show are unknowns in New York City, we didn’t come close to selling out. Each night averaged about 150 theatergoers.
(Courtesy image)
Still, it’s a respectable audience, and I’d give it my all, sharing a fictional story of Jimmy Greco, a comedian who achieved fame in the Borscht Belt resort area of upstate New York, but could never break out. The play dramatizes his rise and fall, along with the rise and fall of the Catskills resorts.
Now, during my first of two performances in the city, I am in the middle of what feels like my own fall. The ear mic isn’t working, there are no backup mics and my best efforts to project to the back rows aren’t working.
My friend Nori Rost, who works at the Society and got me the gig, approaches the side of the stage and suggests, “Use the hand-held.”
Oh, my. This play requires the use of my whole body. Trying to get through it with a mic in one hand would be crazy. But what choice do I have?
I grab the mic off the stand and go on with the show.
The result … an artistic compromise that would have made my directors cringe. But at least I got through it. Afterward, we had a public discussion about the Borscht Belt, and one after another, folks shared their stories.
“I was a waiter and busboy in the hotels for over 30 years,” one said. “We stayed at bungalow colonies in the Catskills every summer,” said another.
How I judged my performance seemed irrelevant to these folks. They loved it. It brought back to life, for a moment, this place they adored, that enriched their lives.
The next night, after a rigorous tech rehearsal, the mic gave me problems again, this time constantly slipping off my ear. I’d requested tape, but the tech guy, a freelancer the Society had hired, didn’t have any.
Oh, well. Again, I soldiered on. It was moderately better than the first night, and again, audience members shared their stories. One gave me two books of matches from the legendary Concord Hotel, which was torn down in 2008.
My bruised ego didn’t at all tarnish my wonder at this gift, this symbol of a place, now nearly lost in history, that tied us together for a moment.
I packed up my props, loosened my tie, walked out with friends and my wife, and we went out for wine. Everyone was encouraging, telling me how good the show was despite the tech problems.
Maybe. Performers rarely know. But what I do know is I performed in New York City, just a couple of blocks from Lincoln Center. I shared a piece of the Borscht Belt, and a piece was shared with me. A lot of people worked really hard to get me here, and for that … my naches knows no bounds.
I will go into my next performance of “Borscht Belted” with such a feeling of gratitude, and a knowledge of headset mics that you would not believe.