Metro Arts October 13

The first article discusses Jean Toomer's book "Cane" and its significance during the Harlem Renaissance. Toomer aimed to capture Southern Black folklife and preserve it in its purest form. The book explores the experiences of Southern women in the early 20th century South. Despite Toomer's refusal to be labeled a Black writer, "Cane" is part of a legacy of Southern Black literature. The second article talks about Georgia's booming film industry, which began in the early 2000s with tax incentives. Marvel movies, as well as other blockbuster films and TV shows, are filmed in Atlanta. Georgia's rise in the film industry is seen as a symbol of the New South, shedding its Civil War sins. Atlanta is chosen as a filming location due to its versatile settings that can be easily redefined and transformed into different cities. This program is intended for a print-impaired audience and is brought to you by the Georgia Radio Reading Service, GARS. Welcome to Metro Arts for Friday, October 13th. I am Kristen Moody for the Georgia Radio Reading Service. Metro Arts is brought to you by the Fulton County Board of Commissioners. For our first article, we go to the Atlanta Magazine online for, on the centennial of Jean Toomer's Cane and Rural Georgia's Turn as the Literary Backdrop for a Renaissance. The book, published during the Harlem Renaissance, is a brilliant experiment in racial memory and regional placemaking and holding by Regina N. Bradley. One of my favorite lines in Jean Toomer's masterwork, Cane, is the pines whisper to Jesus. I take it to mean what we cannot say out loud. We whisper to the trees who then pass the message on to God. The truths, desires, and needs that are too painful or powerful to say out loud must be whispered to remain intact. Cane is a book of multiple whispers, sighs, and quiets about the early 20th century South. Its title is a nod to the agrarian communities and labor that make up the rural South. The book was written after Toomer's stay in Sparta, the heat of Hancock County in central Georgia, where he served as head of the Sparta Agricultural and Industrial Institute, an industrial school for African Americans. Cane was born on the train ride home to Toomer's native Washington, D.C. A variety of poems, vignettes, and theatric writing, Cane's hybridized structure signifies the complex spirit of Southerness. Toomer aimed to capture Southern Black folklife, something he was adamant about preserving in its purest form. The folk spirit was walking in to die on the modern desert. That spirit was so beautiful. Its death was so tragic, and this was the feeling I put into Cane. Cane was a swan song. It was a song of an end, he wrote. This is important considering Cane's 1923 publication, Amid the Harlem Renaissance, a social cultural movement of Black people trying to establish not only their citizenship, but their cultural productivity as Americans in the early 20th century. A cornerstone of the Harlem Renaissance was the Great Migration, a mass exodus of Black people out of the rural South and into the Northeastern, Midwestern, and Western cities in search of opportunity and space to exist without the fear of violent retaliation based on their skin color. Opinions of the South collapsed under the spreading belief of it being a place in need of escape and not one of cultural vibrancy that buoyed the migration of Black folks leaving the region. They didn't leave empty vessels. They took their culture with them. Ironically, while adamant about preserving Black folks' experiences, Toomer refused to be labeled a Black writer. My racial composition and my position in the world are realities which I alone may determine, he argued to his publisher after refusing to market Cain as a work of Black modernism. Toomer's intentional straying away from traditional prose makes Cain a brilliant experiment in racial memory and regional placemaking and holding. Divided into three sections, Cain presents rural Georgia's southerness as cyclical in nature, the folk, the migration or venturing outward of folks out of the South into the Northeastern cities, and the return to the region. I am especially fascinated with the first section of Cain's vignettes about Southern women and their struggles to exist. Corintha, perfect as dusk when the sun goes down, hyper-sexualized at a young age. Becky, the white woman with two Black sons who is ostracized by Black folks and white folks alike for refusing to name their fathers. Karma, the Black woman who tires of her jealous husband. And Louisa, the young Black woman who is desired by both a Black and a white man with fatal consequences. The women featured in Cain are clearly folk women, stoic and at times complicit to their lives, but never far away from nature or the natural metaphors Toomer uses to describe them and their circumstances. Toomer's characterization of Southern women in Cain is in conversation with his contemporaries, like Zora Neale Hurston, and later writers like Alice Walker. I can see Corintha at a kitchen table with Janie Mae Crawford, the main character in Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God, comparing notes about pine trees and pear trees and how their desirability was not meant to be their own. Cain is a testament to how the South imprints on people and forces a reckoning of self-awareness and bias about the region and where it fits in American society. And while Toomer refused to be categorized as a Black writer, Cain is part of a long legacy of Southern Black literature that also does the work of documenting the South from a nonwhite lens. For example, it is not a stretch to connect Toomer's lush description of Southern rural landscapes with Mississippi writer Jessamyn Ward's equally beautiful description of nature, descriptions that plunge her readers deep into the complexities of Southern rural Black life. A century later, ripe with possibilities of interpretation with its beautiful writing and ambiguous structuring about what makes the South unique, Cain still whispers. That was on the centennial of Jean Toomer's Cain and rural Georgia turned as a literary backdrop for a renaissance by Regina N. Bradley. Next, we move to the Burnaway publication for How a Hollywood Invasion Turned the South's Capital into the Neutral American City by Claire E. Dumpster. Somewhere over Oklahoma, on a flight from Albuquerque to Atlanta, my eyes started to look like those of the CGI raccoon filling my tiny airplane TV screen, round, damp, and on the verge of spilling over. Yeah, I admit it. Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 3 got me. Rocket that raccoon had me weeping, or rather all the manipulative storytelling powers, crisp teary-eyed close-ups, the subject of animal cruelty, lost friends and chosen families, a soaring soundtrack, a medium funny joke to split tension, shallow emotional catharsis, et cetera. Of a marvel juggernaut bearing down on me at 30,000 feet. The credits started to roll just as the plane slipped across the Georgia state line. For narrative's sake, I'll say the state's film industry stamp, the symbol illustrated peach in Georgia, appeared just as the wheels touched down. In the early 2000s, Georgia began passing a series of tax incentives that led to a thunderous boom in films made in and around its capital. As it stands in 2023, Georgia's tax breaks for productions, up to 20%, and an extra 10% if you include the Georgia peach in the credits, are the largest in the country. The rapid creep of Georgia's cinematic takeover, which began in the late 2010s with the Walking Dead and the Hunger Games series, accelerated once Marvel arrived to film Ant-Man in 2015. Almost without exception, all Marvel movies are now filmed, at least in part, under Atlanta's canopy. DC Studios, ever a step or two behind Marvel's cultural domination, moved in with the Suicide Squad and Black Adam in 2021 to 22. The city has since become the hub for blockbuster films geared towards a broad, often meaning white, audience. Tyler Perry made his hometown the site of his mega studio in 2015, pumping out movies and TV shows at a record pace in South Atlanta. Prestige television has followed suit, even for shows set decidedly not in Georgia. Netflix's Ozark was filmed primarily on Atlanta's many nearby lakes and its lush suburbia. As of 2016, more movies are now made in the state than in California. If cinema was born in France and developed in Hollywood, it's now mass-produced in Georgia. The maturation of the Georgia film industry has been written about frequently in recent years. Post-2016, mass media has positioned the state's rising prominence in film as evidence of the latest addition of the New South, a term coined to describe a region reorganizing itself for economic boom times and finally ready to shed Civil War sins, which it has carried on behalf of the rest of the country since the nation's inception. There is little mystery to the reason for this industry growth. Combine the generous tax breaks of a business-friendly state, rapidly deployed infrastructure, a major airport and intersecting interstates, decent year-round weather, and geographically and architecturally varied surroundings, and it's easy to understand why studios have set up shop here. A 2018 Time article and photo essay outlines this trend, landing squarely on Atlanta's particular ability to be every town. An included quotation from the Duffer Brothers, creator of Stranger Things, described their decision to film in Atlanta. We gained this American heartland aesthetic, which now defies the show. We needed suburban neighborhoods that look unchanged since the 80s. Atlanta had them. We needed urban streets and skyscrapers for a Chicago set piece. Atlanta had those. We needed a quarry with a steep cliff. Atlanta had it, less than 10 miles from our sound stages. In other words, Atlanta is, according to the filmmakers, easily redefined and described as a place other than itself, all the markers of a canonical American city, but a faceless one. Chosen for its malleability rather than its specificity. Set dressing is an art, and locational camouflage has always been embedded in the practice of film development. Movie lots, set dressed locations, elaborate sound stage builds, and now computer-generated worlds are essential to the craft. But other major industry cities with cinematic dominance, New York, Paris, and most obviously Los Angeles, have cultivated a firm definition of placeness that collides industry with location. These locations both make movies and tell city-specific stories. There are whole meta-genres dedicated to movies about making movies that are intrinsically tied to location. From Sunset Boulevard in 1950, to Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, 2019, and others. Washed out by green screens and CGI, or cropped and edited until its urban streets and suburban sprawl are architecturally reconfigured into a different city, Atlanta plays host to the United States' most pervasive cultural output, while rarely being the subject. A generous read of this trend is that Atlanta's filmic contributions are in their infancy, and most of the film businesses who have set up shop there are still imported from California. Perhaps, as the Georgia industry develops, studios will be born here, rather than installed as regional offices, and there will be more consideration in cultural space given to stories about Atlanta. Case in point, Tyler Perry, who sets many of his television shows and movies in Atlanta. There are a couple other notable contemporary exceptions of the 2010s, Donald Glover's brilliant FX hit, Atlanta, and Edgar Wright's Baby Driver, and even the early seasons of The Walking Dead. These exceptions are chosen for and defined by a distinct sense of Atlanta that permeates the screen, either culturally, structurally, or both. But try Googling movies about Atlanta, and you only get exhaustive lists of the literal hundreds of films being made there. There is no doubt that Atlanta's adaptability, or rather, its positioning as infinitely adaptable, is a financial boon for the state, its companies, and its film workers. The Georgia Film Office, the governmental body that manages and attracts the industry to the state, produces a whole series of slick promotional YouTube videos that tout the wonders of moviemaking in Georgia by interviewing the stars and directors who work here. The video for Spider-Man No Way Home, filmed in and around the city in 2020, highlights Atlanta transforming into New York City for the feature, and ends with a producer proudly proclaiming, you won't know it's not in New York when you see it. Obviously, it's cheaper to send Spidey, the superhero, who is arguably more than any other inextricably tied to his hometown identity, swinging through the Atlanta streets. After all, unlike Brooklyn, Atlanta has both city grit and room for the massive sound stages necessary to achieve Marvel-level CGI polish. No level of marketing or adaptability, however, has insulated the state from the fickle nature of the industry. When the Writers Guild of America walked off the job in early May, films and TV productions with finished scripts continued to push forward. Crews, makeup artists, production assistants, et cetera, kept working. Then, when the Screen Actors Guild and American Federation of Television and Radio Artists joined the writers in July, with no actors to film, everything shut down. These strikes have had stunning, if utterly predictable, ramifications for every single sector of the industry. According to NPR's Marlon Hyde, there are some 20,000 film industry workers in Georgia, and only 4,000 of them are part of the striking unions. Likely, almost all of them are out of work for the foreseeable future. In addition to its tax incentives, part of Georgia's appeal is its status as a union-hostile, right-to-work state. Practically, Atlanta's location and origins as a railroad town mean it has nearly always been a vital state for trade and commerce. It would be a falsehood to categorize the arrival of Hollywood as a purely expansionist force. The city's relationship with the film industry and positioning as a hub for cinematic infrastructure is one actively courted in the latest example of the state's century-long orientation towards commerce and production, often at the expense of its citizens and cultural identity. One of the rallying cries for the growing movement against Atlanta's cop city, an expansive police training facility planned for the city's largest green space, which will include the development of another gigantic soundstage, is no Hollywood dystopia. Atlanta is not faceless. From its cultural and civic titans to the maze-like pitted surface roads and the dramatic slope of its skyline, Atlanta is viable for cinematic masterpieces bolstered by locational specificity. Dozens of neighborhoods with distinct identities and unique cultural communities with fraught, joyful histories spread out from under the skyline. The city, at a distance, appears improbable, almost futuristic, a symbiotic collision of steel and foliage. Yet, while historically, economically, and geographically noteworthy, Atlanta has been denied the opportunity for in-depth storytelling on a mass cinematic scale, despite its emergence as a headquarters for the craft. Why? The answer to this question speaks to the current state of the medium. As any contemporary film critic will tell you, the marvel-fication of the industry alongside the advent of streaming and the accelerationist effect on contemporary media consumption precipitated by the pandemic has led to a flattening or simplification of the types of stories that are produced. Facilitated in part by Georgia's practical and cultivated relationship to production, the current entertainment industry is perfectly positioned to churn out endless Star Wars and superhero movies on Atlanta's ever-expanding soundstages. The writer and actor's strikes demonstrated that the companies who have film in a stranglehold are concerned chiefly with profit, not the quality or complexity of the storytelling. Capitalism designs every one the intimacy of detail, and Atlanta is not a simple place. We all, as a culture, deem certain cities and locations as iconic, and thus worthy of our most nuanced narratives. In those cities, we willingly grapple with the intricacies of identity informed by place and history. In the resistance to Atlanta's identifiable picturing in mass cinema, it is evident that the culture prefers to keep the South and its cities relegated to the nation's faceless economic engine, rather than engage with the complexities of its specificity. Frustratingly, describing Atlanta as an every town hints at the possibility embedded within it. For all of its multifacetedness in its racial diversity and economic disparities, for its under-appreciated musical, artistic, and civic genius, Atlanta is the perfect place and backdrop to tell deep, nuanced, grand, even revelatory stories. That was How a Hollywood Invasion Turned the South's Capital into the Neutral American City by Claire E. Dempster. Next, we move to the Arts ATL publication for review. Home, I'm Darling Minds Dark Comedy from Glorification of 1950s Culture by Alexis Haack. Home, I'm Darling, which runs at Synchronicity Theater through October 29th, opens with a scene familiar to anyone who's watched 1950s domestic sitcoms like Leave it to Beaver or Father Knows Best. Over breakfast, we meet Judy, Bethany Ann Lind, and Johnny, Marcus Hopkins Turner. Judy's dress is impeccable as she glides around the kitchen preparing breakfast for her husband. She does every little task so that he barely needs to lift a finger, including breaking the top of his hard-boiled egg. Their conversational pitter-patter covers food, home planning, and of course, declarations of utter happiness that seem surely too good to be true. But there's a twist. Shortly after Judy sends Johnny on his way to work, making sure to hand him his lunchbox and briefcase, she returns to the kitchen, reaches under the sink, and pulls out a laptop. Turns out, we're living in the 21st century, and this may have more in common with Black Mirror than Ozzie and Harriet. In Home, I'm Darling, British playwright Laura Wade takes a familiar theme, the rigid and suffocating gender roles baked into the marriage and family structure of the mid-20th century, and the role that pop culture played in propagandizing it, and flips it around. In this scenario, protagonist Judy has opted into this kind of regressive arrangement, coaxing her reluctant husband into trying to live out the 1950s as an experiment, because she favors what she views as the simplicity and kindness of the era. Obviously, this is an extreme fantasy, bordering on delusion, something that Hopkins-Turner's caring but concerned Johnny seems to be struggling with more and more. Judy's mother, Sylvia, played with delightful take-no-BS brassiness by Shelley McCook, is quick to point out that those glossy celluloid depictions of Doris Day and Rock Hudson had no real bearing on what life was actually like for women in the 1950s. This is a cartoon, Sylvia says, of her daughter's dolled-up house and attire. She points out that they were still rationing in the immediate aftermath of World War II, and they didn't have amenities, like central heat in the winter, which means it was always cold. We find out that striving toward domestic goddess status is Judy's form of rebellion, having grown up in a commune where absolutely no one cleaned up ever. My filthy childhood, she says with a nervous laugh. Eventually, we also learn that things were more balanced and normal in the past. Johnny used to do most of the cooking, and he liked it. And Judy had a successful career in finance, making more money than Johnny. As the story progresses, it becomes clear that no longer making two incomes has created a serious gap in their finances, as it would with most households today. This couple is clearly dedicated to each other, helped by the easy chemistry between the two leads, but their roles for how to operate in this setup are nebulous. For instance, Judy has abandoned having a cell phone in favor of good old-fashioned landlines, but she frequently finds her retro chic outfits on eBay. In one dynamic scene, Johnny invites over his new boss, a young woman named Alex, played with snappy comic timing by Lizzie Liu, who rightfully balks at the setup when she walks in, and then begins to poke holes in the structure of this exercise. For instance, she points out, the 1950s may have been great if you were straight, heterosexual, white, male, and rich, but not so much for anyone else, and particularly not if you were black or gay. Would you go to a hospital with modern medicine, Alex asks? Of course, Judy snaps back. We're not a religious cult. Potato, potato. When the play debuted in London right before the pandemic, it garnered rave reviews, particularly for its lead, British comedian and actor, Katherine Parkinson, recognizable as a core cast member of workplace comedy, The It Crowd. It also won the Lawrence Olivier Award for the Best New Comedy Play in 2019. The role of Judy is tricky, because she must be funny in her misguided notions, but remains sympathetic, so that we never fully turn away from rooting for her, like Johnny and Sylvia seem to be, to come back to her senses. And on that typewrote balancing act, Lind nails it, confidently holding our attention, even in wordless moments, when she's frantically trying to keep the bubble from bursting. As fissures in this veneer of perfection begin to grow, Judy's desperation to cling to the beautiful paper house she's constructed around them grows more profound. The subject of 1950s sitcoms and their incongruity with harsher realities has gotten the cinematic treatment before, often in much more dramatic ways, from the when eras collide fantasy comedy, Pleasantville, to last year's dystopian thriller, Don't Worry, Darling. And then there's the horror angle, which Setford Wives perfected 50 years ago. But this show minds the dark comedy in this kind of scenario for all it's worth. We get some nice jabs at our ongoing glorification of nostalgia, currently being felt in the return to 1990s fashion and cultural IP, which never quite gets the full, messy picture of what that decade was like to live through. Wade also brings in some Me Too themes in a couple of later scenes, which serve as a stark reminder of the misogyny still permeating our culture. Most of all, Wade's script zooms in on how this nostalgia for things we've never experienced firsthand can permeate our present day relationship dynamics. Who has not, at one point or another, worn different identities or tried out different idealized scenarios for the sake of maintaining appearances or connection? Shout outs to the snazzy sound design by Dan Baumann, and pitch perfect scenic design by Dustin Pettigrew. Aided by the charm and chemistry of the cast, and the cleverness of Synchronicity Artistic Director Rachel May's direction, this show offers a trip through time you'll want to take. That was Review, Home, I'm Darling, Mine's Dark Comedy from Glorification of 1950s Culture, by Alexis Haack. Next up, Review, Fiddler on the Roof at City Springs is Enjoyable but Lacks Intensity, by Luke of Evans. City Springs Theater has always operated with the ethos of not trying to invent the wheel, and I'm not saying that I wanted this production of Fiddler on the Roof on stage through October 22nd to transform the way I view the Bach and Harnett classic, but it doesn't seem to strive for much more than being serviceable. The choices on display are effective, but not terribly interesting. The story is clear, and it has affecting moments. The performers are capable, and the music sounds good, but none of it makes much of a final impression because it doesn't seem tied to any clear directional intent. That is not to say the production does not have its virtues, merely that it does little to distinguish itself or deepen the story. That may be fine with some of the more spectacle-heavy shows that City Springs has done in the past, like Anything Goes or Cats, but Fiddler is a show that is anchored by its story and its characters. I don't think any blame rests with the actors, all of whom are at least competent, and several of whom have shown remarkable talent elsewhere. Rather, there is something subdued about Shuler Hensley's direction, which while at times effective, often makes an already long show feel even longer. Jacob Fisher's Tevye is a great example. His asides to the audience regarding his daughter's marriages are uniformly fantastic, and the scene where Setzel begs him not to force her to marry Lace or Wolf is genuinely moving. However, his softer performance lends itself to a rather sluggish, if I were a rich man, and some of Tevye's angrier beats lack intensity, Shalva's rejection being one of the most noticeable. One can assume this is attributable to Hensley's direction. As most of the other actors are also giving more restrained performances, save Courtenay Collins as Yandy, as her character is impossible to play subtly. It works well for Liza Jane's Gold, who comes off as a no-nonsense mother hen. It also mostly serves the daughters, who are each strong performers, though their characters are at times poorly distinguished. Again, more a consequence of the writing than the performances. Carly Ann Lovell is one half of the reason why Setzel's plea to Tevye is so affecting, and Lee Ellen Jones gives a lovely rendition of Far From the Home I Love. I will say, the show looks gorgeous. Jacob Oldson's set design is highly evocative, using small effigies of houses to evoke a sense of community. I am curious about how the movement of the houses relates symbolically to what is happening on stage. Mike Wood's lighting design is similarly strong, particularly during Tevye's dream, where he gets to cast the stage in gleefully eerie greens and purples, perfect for the Halloween season, in my opinion. Costume designer Jeffrey Meek also sinks his teeth into that scene, making the ensemble look ominous in a tongue-in-cheek way. The cast also sounds, for the most part, excellent. I did find myself wishing, during tradition, that the male voices didn't overpower the female ones during the mother and daughter sections, but I suppose that is an unavoidable side effect of the way Bach and Harnik's score is written. Upbeat songs like To Life and Wedding Dance really liven things up, due in part to Marla Fellin's choreography. Those songs essentially serve as built-in opportunities for crowd-pleasing spectacle and a musical that is mostly devoid of it, which is not a bad thing, by any means, and Fellin takes full advantage of these opportunities. Despite these strengths, one cannot help but feel that there's something missing here. The show is entertaining because Fiddler on the Roof is an engaging show, but the production seems content to rest on the show's inherent virtues, rather than add or amplify anything. That's fine, if all you're looking to see is Fiddler on the Roof, as you'd be able to see it anywhere else, but if you've previously seen the show professionally produced, you may find yourself feeling like you've been here before. That was Review. Fiddler on the Roof at City Springs is enjoyable, but lacks intensity, by Luke Evans. Next up, what to do see and hear. Beatrix Potter, a praise house, He-Man Ball, and more, by Arts ATL staff. Theater. This weekend is the final curtain call for True Colors Theater's That Serious He-Man Ball at the Southwest Arts Center. The production stars real-life friends Eugene H. Russell IV, Neil Gaunt, and Enoch King, and is directed by Eric G. Little. Arts ATL writer Benjamin Carr's preview of the show describes He-Man Ball as a fitting kickoff for the theater company's 20th anniversary season, and recalls a 1987 production starring True Colors founder Kenny Leon. Tickets start at $20. Conyers Rockdale Council for the Arts Inspiration Theater will present Perfect Arrangement, written by Atlanta playwright Topher Payne. Inspired by the gay rights movement, Perfect Arrangement merges sitcom-style laughs with provocative drama, as two closeted State Department employees struggle to maintain their cover in 1950s America. Performances are Friday and Saturday at 7.30 p.m., and Sunday at 3.30 p.m., in the Black Box Theater. Tickets start at $20, with discounts available. Passing Strange is on stage at Theatrical Outfit, directed by Thomas W. Jones II. Featuring books and music by Stu, the musical is partly biographical, and deals with themes such as religion, leaving home, and the creative process. Arts ATL writer Alexis Hawks Review praises Christian Magbie in the main role as youth for leaps, swoops, and swirls across the stage, seamlessly shifting from one phase of this developing artist's identity and adopted persona to another. Tickets start at $50. Art and Design. Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddenduck, Mrs. Tiggly Wiggly, millions of children the world over have grown up with these endearing characters created by English author and illustrator Beatrix Potter. Beatrix Potter, Drawn to Nature, opening at the High Museum of Art on Friday, features Potter's illustrations, as well as background on her life as a farmer, scientific observer, and naturalist. It's presented in conjunction with the Alliance Theater's world premiere musical, Into the Burrow, a Peter Rabbit tale, which opens Saturday on the Hertz stage. The art exhibit runs through January 7th, 2024. Tickets are $18.50 for non-members, free for members. Artist and activist Charmaine Minifield has been deeply engaged with her Praise House project for a couple of years. The next installation of this multifaceted project will take place Sunday at noon on the grounds of Glenn Memorial Church at Emory University. This site-specific public artwork is modeled after a traditional praise house, a place of worship for enslaved peoples. Arts ATL art writer Donna Mintz reviewed Minifield's related art exhibit at the Carlos Museum in August 2022. The house will be open for a special Elevate Atlanta viewing Saturday and Sunday, and again October 20th through December 15th. Gregory Harris, the High Museum of Art's curator of photography, will talk with photographer Raheem Fortune on Thursday, October 19th, about Fortune's creative practice and his new book, I Can't Stand to See You Cry. Some of Fortune's images are on display in the High's current exhibit, A Long Arc, Photography in the American South since 1845. 7 p.m. free for members, $15 for non-members. Registration is required. Music. The church became an indie band darling when they burst on the scene in the 1980s with such classic albums as Starfish and the hit song Under the Milky Way. The Australian group has forged ahead through five decades and has just released its critically acclaimed 26th album, The Hypnagog, and is on a world tour that brings them to the Variety Playhouse Saturday at 8 p.m. Tickets are $25. Ranky Tanky, a South Carolina band that digs into the music of the Gullah people with two Grammy Awards under their belt, performs Saturday at 8 p.m. at the Rialto Center for the Arts. Their special guest is Lisa Fisher, the preeminent background singer of her generation. Featured in the documentary 20 Feet from Stardom, Fisher spent 22 years singing with Luther Vandross and 25 years with the Rolling Stones. Be sure to read her interview with Arts ATL where Fisher discusses her career. Tickets start at $39.10. Film and TV. Visit the Terra Theater for an exclusive screening of 32 Sounds, an immersive documentary and profound sensory experience from filmmaker Sam Green, exploring the elemental phenomenon of sound. With music by J.D. Sampson, this film is a meditation on the power of sound to bend time, cross borders, and shape our perception of the world around us. 2.15 p.m. to 4.15 p.m. Tickets are $15. Dance. Beacon Dance has been performing in and around Atlanta for 62 seasons and is known for its site-specific public performances, community engagement, and inclusivity. This weekend, the company will perform Perception, an invitation through the senses, a new evening-length work by artistic director D. Patton White and members of the ensemble, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at 8 p.m. The B Complex Gallery, free. For reservations, which are recommended, email info at beacondance.org. Monica Hogan Danceworks will present an evening of new contemporary works on Saturday and Sunday. Hogan returned to her native Atlanta in 2019 after eight years leading a company in New York. This is her ensemble's second concert here and will feature short works by several Atlanta choreographers. Hogan's new Counterpoint will also be on the program. Emory Performing Arts Studio, Saturday at 7.30 p.m., Sunday at 3 p.m. Tickets are $15 to $25. It's not exactly dance and not exactly theater. It's clowning. Fly on a Wall presents A Clown Double Bill featuring My Grandmother's Eyepatch, a solo show by Julia Vander Veen and One Man, No Show by Isaac Kessler. New York-based Vander Veen and Canada's Kessler are both award-winning performers. She has toured My Grandmother's Eyepatch nationally and internationally. Kessler has been performing and producing comedy for over 18 years and was nominated four times for the Canadian Comedy Award. One Man, No Show won the Artist's Pick Award at the Edmonton Canada Fringe Festival. That's Saturday at 7.30 p.m. Windmill Arts in East Point. Tickets are $30 in advance, $35 at the door. Books. Tecumseh was one of the greatest Native American leaders. He tried to build an alliance of Eastern tribes to collectively fight the Western expansion of Europeans at the sacrifice of tribal lands. Author Peter Stark delves into that pivotal moment in American history with Gallop Toward the Sun and will discuss his book October 19th at 7 p.m. at the Atlanta History Center as part of its Author Talks series. Tickets start at $5 for members, $10 for non-members. That was What to Do, See, and Hear, Beatrix Potter, A Praise House, He-Man, Ball, and more by the Arts ATL staff. Next up, Lisa Fisher on Singing with the Stones, upcoming show with Ranky Tanky by Scott Freeman. Lisa Fisher's voice can roar at you with the force of a crossfire hurricane, yet it can also whisper in your ear with a soft and seductive coo. She's the greatest singer you've never heard of, even though you've heard her voice on countless songs and stages. She shared the spotlight with Mick Jagger on the epic song Gimme Shelter for 25 years of touring with the Rolling Stones. She is the siren's voice on Sting's classic, The Helms of Winter. She sang with Luther Vandross for 22 years of touring and recording. She scorched the stage with Tina Turner on the legendary singer's worldwide 50th anniversary tour, stepping out front nightly to duet with Turner on It's Only Rock and Roll, But I Like It. She even had her own number one hit as a solo artist, How Can I Ease the Pain in 1991, which earned her a Grammy Award for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance. Yet Fisher is not a star, at least by conventional terms, and that's by choice. She had her taste of the spotlight, and she didn't like it there. Instead, she has become the preeminent backup singer of her generation. She was featured in the acclaimed documentary 20 Feet from Stardom, which explored the fascinating world of backup singers. Fisher performs at the Rialto Center for the Arts Saturday night with the Roots band Ranky Tanky, the two-time Grammy Award winning group based out of the Gullah community in and around Charleston. The name is a Gullah expression that roughly translates to get funky, an apt description of the band. It is an association born out of mutual admiration. After opening a concert for Fisher in New York, the band asked if she wanted to tour with them as a guest artist. She feels a deep connection with Ranky Tanky's exploration of Gullah music through her family's deeply southern roots. It's been such a gift for me, she says. I feel like I'm on tour with family members or cousins. When you leave their concert, you feel uplifted. That's what they do. It's a beautiful thing. Singing is her bliss. Fisher is comfortable in her skin as a background singer, and she comes by that naturally. There is a moment early on in 20 Feet from Stardom where there is a montage of voices from the nearly dozen people featured in the film, all saying the same thing. I was a pastor's daughter. Fisher is the exception to that rule. She was born in Brooklyn in 1958. Her mother was from Statesboro, and both of her parents were backup singers in local bands. There often were vocal rehearsals at their apartment. Fisher says there was no sudden moment as a child when she understood that she was a gifted singer. It was more the realization that I loved doing it, whether I was good or not, she says, during a Zoom interview from her Brooklyn apartment. Fisher is soft-spoken and thoughtful, yet vivacious when she laughs, or a memory raises her broad smile. You don't know how you sound. As a kid, you're singing out loud, and you're singing out strong. You're happy just to make a sound. But her talent was obvious, and Fisher attended the High School of Music and Art in Manhattan. That was the longest walk, she says with a laugh. Every morning, you'd have to climb a mountain to get to class from the train station. It had these stone stairs, and there was ice and snow. Every day was a challenge, just getting to school. But I didn't care. I just loved it so much. Fisher received formal music training at the school. She was taught to sight-read music, learned music theory, and how to sing well with others. Then Fisher went to Queens College, where she was mentored by a teacher named Robert White, who would go on to teach at the Juilliard School. He was an amazing voice teacher, she says. I'd never had a solo voice lesson. He was so kind and so supportive. He would give me free lessons when I didn't have the money. He just wanted to make sure I had the lessons. One of Fisher's first professional jobs was singing with an incarnation of the Marvelettes, the Motown girl group best known for the hit, Please, Mr. Postman. That led to an introduction to Luther Vandross in 1983, and an audition in front of the R&B singer. It's like one of those moments in time that you photograph, and it's in your life forever, Fisher says. I still remember where the piano was, the shape of the room. Vandross put her through a series of exercises to hear her voice and her range. Then came a moment of panic. Vandross said, if you can dance, you've got this gig. The problem was, Fisher says, she dances with two left feet. But she danced just well enough to earn the job, and then stayed with Vandross until his death in 2005. It was so amazing, she says. I love him. I love his laugh. I love his playfulness. I love how his mind works. I love his eye for detail, and the way he loves the people around him. I miss his spirit. When you find someone you want to play in the sandbox with, and it's fun, you want to hold on forever. Gimme shelter. In 1988, Fisher sang backup on Mick Jagger's solo tour. And when the Rolling Stones reformed in 1989, after a long hibernation for a new album and tour, she went on the road with the band as one of three background singers. It was a gig she would hold on to for the next 25 years. It was so much fun, she says with a laugh. I was like, where am I? Her spotlight moment was always the iconic Gimme Shelter, singing the part originally created by Mary Clayton. Fisher says she was a nervous wreck at the first few concerts. As a background singer, you want to support all the time, she says. I'm always conscious of how soft I am, how loud I am, how much energy I'm giving. I want to match the energy and be simmering just under the lead singer, not having to fight to be over the vocalist. It's a really delicate balance. The balance was thrown completely out of whack by Gimme Shelter, where Fisher and Jagger made their interplay a vital part of the performance. You come out and you feel naked, she says. The dynamic has changed and you think, how do I honor the Stone, their history, Mary Clayton's sound, and still be myself? But Mick was really helpful. He gave me notes on what he thought I should do. After a while, the fear went away. When I'd hear Keith Richards play the riff, the energy on stage and the whole arena just changed. The song became a perennial showstopper on the Stone's set list. Fisher stopped the stage like Tina Turner and was a perfect foil for Jagger. Every night I'd look into Mick's eyes, seeing sweat and this whole energy, she says. He never does anything twice. He might tap me on the butt. He might push me away. He might spin around. You never know what he's going to do. At first, that was very nerve-wracking, but I let go and enjoyed it. It was the surprise of not knowing where he was going to land and where he was going to go. It was a blast. Twenty Feet from Stardom. In 1991, Fisher took her own shot at stardom with a solo album that produced a Grammy-winning hit single. But there was turmoil at her record label and pressure to produce another hit that inhibited creative energy. Fisher says she was not prepared to deal with the offstage things required of a budding star. She wound up without a record label or a second album. When I got my deal, I was 29, and they already considered me old, she says. When I lost the deal, I thought, is this how this goes? I kind of like the background singer thing. It's way more chill. Fisher's association with Ranky Tanky began at a concert in New York City. This was right before their first Grammy, and they opened for me, she says. I was watching their sound check and thinking, I should be opening for them. They were so amazing. Listening to Fisher talk about how she managed to fit in with a band that already had a strong female lead voice and harmonies is to listen to her talk about how she approaches her role often, standing 20 feet away from stardom. As a background singer, you're trained to listen and see where you can best serve the music and the artist, she says. Ranky Tanky already had a sound. They didn't need me. There are times when I sing background, and they have the harmonies pretty much covered. So I have to think, what weight of voice do I use? How do I move around without disturbing the beautiful synergy they already have? We rehearsed, and I found my sweet spot. That's her gift. No matter whether it's Ranky Tanky, the Rolling Stones, Luther Vandross, or Tina Turner, Lisa Fisher's voice always finds the sweet spot. That was Lisa Fisher on Singing with the Stones, upcoming show with Ranky Tanky by Scott Freeman. Next up, review. Soprano Maria Valdez and tenor Christopher Bozeca spin a lovely duet by Jordan Owen. The First Presbyterian Church of Atlanta's Concert First series continued its 23-24 season, its first with new music and arts director Tom Barra in grand fashion on Sunday with an afternoon of opera standards. Soprano Maria Valdez, who grew up in Marietta, and tenor Christopher Bozeca held court over an entranced audience as pianist Valerie Poole provided accompaniment. For such a minimalist presentation, it proved to be a tour de force of passion and projection. The set was divided into three parts, each catering to audience-pleasing facets of the opera canon. First and most prodigious in length was a tribute to star-crossed lovers, namely the legendary Romeo and Juliet in the form of Charles Gounod's opera of the same name and their contemporary counterparts, Tony and Maria from West Side Story. The shifting back and forth between Gounod and Leonard Bernstein was hardly as jarring as it might sound and gave Valdez and Bozeca an opportunity to reinterpret the chapel as a makeshift stage with the choir deck becoming a balcony for Valdez's Juliet and arched doorways serving as hiding places for Bozeca's Romeo. The ability to fully embody characters can often make or break an engaging operatic performance and the pair was clearly having tremendous fun hamming it up. Valdez emerged first with Gounod's Joie Vivre and was quickly confronted by a notable spatial limitation. Church worship chambers are generally constructed to sculpt the collective voices of the choir together into a unified whole and carry the spoken sermon out to the congregation as a whole. That unique sculpting is often at odds with operatic vocal delivery and blunted Valdez's delivery by adding endless reverberations to her powerhouse, vibrato. Listeners had to separate the glassy overtones created by the room from Valdez's own voice. None of this, however, is meant to detract from Valdez's performance. Her voice is marked by the absence of the sort of humanizing undercurrents that are normally apparent in a performer. The usual sharp intakes of breath and waverings on the tail end of sustained pitches and other inflections that typify even the most capable opera singers are nowhere to be found in Valdez's delivery. In their place is a disarmingly robust tone that seems to come from some outer dimension where breath support is not required. And her soaring tones remain just as vibrant on the back end as the front. Most vocalists are content to be soulful, but Valdez reaches for the superhuman. Bozeka fared better with the acoustic limitations with his stirring opening performance of Maria from West Side Story. The piece lends itself to a soft and gradual buildup in dynamics and as such allows the performer to skirt just under the degree of projection necessary to clash with the architecture. Though Bozeka was more than capable of dramatic technical delivery, it was his softer side that shined most brightly. Maria, and later his half of the duets Tonight and Oh Divine, showed that he is a markedly gentle singer, one for whom each note is its own handcrafted sculpture. The afternoon continued with opera composers in song, a selection of standalone works by Giacomo Puccini and Vincenzo Bellini, composed as preliminary sketches in the development of larger works. It was an interesting assortment of ideas, but offered nothing as substantial as the more cohesive segments that bookended it. The final segment, Giants of Italian Opera, returned a crowd-pleasing favorite. Valdez delivered another showstopper with Puccini's O mio babbino caro from Gianni Schiini. The piece is instantly recognizable to even the passing opera fan, and Valdez filled it with warmth and youthful energy. Bozeka had his own moment with Una Furtiva Lagrima from La Sera d'Amor, and it was here that we really got to hear him belt out at full volume. The segment closed with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Fragli Amplessi from Cosi Fani Tutti. It was another bombastic affair complete with pantomimed staging and the charming vocal interplay that made their duets such a pleasure throughout the afternoon. They soared to a finale that brought the audience to its feet. Valdez and Bozeka are captivating talents in their own right, but together they have a palpable chemistry that never ceases to shine forth. It is always a joy to watch performers who are clearly having tremendous fun with their craft, and for that alone this is a pair that belongs together. The Concert First series has always been its own small oasis in the Atlanta classical music world, a place where performers from larger ensembles can let their hair down in a more intimate environment. But for Valdez and Bozeka, the space became something else, a transcendent realm of the imagination. They are both in-demand vocalists, but hopefully the time will come when they pair together once again. That was Review. Soprano Maria Valdez and tenor Christopher Bozeka spin a lovely duet by Jordan Owen. That concludes today's Metro Arts program, which is brought to you by the Fulton County Board of Commissioners. This has been Kristen Moody for GARS, the Georgia Radio Reading Service. Thank you for listening to GARS.