Joanne Halev: Sailing On

This is a show, we’re told, in which Joanne Halev “looks back, looks forward, and sails on; it’s about love, sex, and babies, not necessarily in that order.” Having only sketched self introduction during her marvelous debut, she rectifies that tonight. Taking stock is not unusual in times of turmoil. The artist is sincere. There’s stage experience and polish, but no showing off. Her chronicle is true, performance authentic.

A few lines of “You Wait Little Girl” (“Sixteen Going on Seventeen”- Richard Rodgers/Oscar Hammerstein) segue into the sophisticated “Love” (Hugh Martin/ Ralph Blane) with penetrating vocal that might give a teenager pause.

Halev speaks with deep affection in perfect local accent about her first years in Maine. “My earliest memories are of the sea…Not only was I bawn in Maine, but I’m also a Jewish girl which meant no lobsta.” “Beyond the Sea” emerges in a musically fresh arrangement. Bespoke changes by MD Alex Rybeck enhance. The performer is wistful, not pop-bouncy. Later, bookending the show, she sings “La Mer” in its original French (Charles Trenet/Jack Lawrence, English lyrics).

A series of naïve, unconsummated relationships plague high school and early college years. Halev moved to New York City and, “from a very ‘That Girl’ apartment” (the Marlo Thomas TV series), experienced single life in the 1970s. Scenario is familiar, sympathetic. “Nobody’s Heart Belongs to Me” (Richard Rodgers/ Lorenz Hart) and “Live Alone and Like It” (Stephen Sondheim) personify devil may care attitude with a dash of casual irony. Ray Kilday’s bass adds sass.

Of course, there’s no free lunch. Francesca Blumenthal’s terrific “Lies of Handsome Men” describes romantic disillusionment. Sometimes I feel like “A Ship in A Bottle” (Amanda McBroom) follows, fine grained and discouraged. “I’ll take my chances,” she sings as if to herself, “On the wind and the sea.”
“And then suddenly there was this man…” begins a description of Halev’s husband-to-be.

Alex Rybeck, Joanne Halev

I suspect “Too Late Now” (Burton Lane/Alan Jay Lerner) is meant to signify Kismet, but its lyrics arrive more sad than hopeful. The lilting waltz is lovely. An anecdote involving the artist’s grandmother leads us to a song about Halev’s first child and one about a family reunion which evokes the realization, “Becoming My Mother” (Brian Lasser). The latter is skillfully acted (directed by Sara Louise Lazarus) as if facing a mirror with consternation.

Introducing Dilly Keane’s “Out of Practice” as an example of material written by women she admires doesn’t keep it from fitting tonight’s trajectory as if the artist had left her husband and is awkwardly dating. She has not. Since the show is presented as her story, I find this disconcerting. In itself, the song is entirely believable. Arrangement features short phrases. The character navigates. Halev exhibits aplomb and wit.

Aria da capo, “La Mer” prefaces “Sailing On” (Alan Menken/Dean Pitchford). Lush piano sweeps us up. It wouldn’t surprise me if the vocalist rose from the stage and drifted off like a kite. “I go sailing in my dreams,” Joanne Halev sings. Deep sigh. An encore of Irving Berlin’s “I Got the Sun in the Mornin,” caps this evening with grace and gratitude.

Caveat: The show occasionally bogs down with exposition.

Photos by Matt Baker

Joanne Halev: Sailing On
Directed by Sara Louise LazarusAlex Rybeck- Piano/Musical Director/Arranger
Bass – Ray Kilday

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