People who love singing songs from the canon of musical theatre are similar to people who love recreating Monty Python skits verbatim: highly irritating to others, blissfully undeterred. This makes the famed NYC musical theatre singalong-bar Marie’s Crisis a love/hate proposition – those who detest the form are advised to stay away, but anyone who’s ever tapped along to My Fair Lady or whistled the opening phrase of West Side Story, anyone who’s rushed to download the latest cast album for a hot Broadway show, can quickly become addicted to the rush.
Two of the bar’s best pianists, Kenney Green and Adam Tilford, are returning to Australia (they open for three nights only at Melbourne’s Trades Hall on Thursday), and spoke with Guardian Australia about the particular magic that happens when a bunch of people abandon their sense of cool and embrace pure showtune joy.
“It can get hairy,” Green says. And with everyone singing together at once, also loud. “Marie’s is extremely small. We only have one exit door and the windows are usually closed. So all of the song just sits there.” For the crowd, this is precisely the fun, being surrounded by people who are as enthusiastic, if never quite as on key, as you are.
Given that they are the engine of any successful night at the bar, one would assume Green and Tilford’s passion for the art form remains undiminished. But when asked whether the gig has increased or decreased their love of musicals, Tilford simply answers “Yes.”
It’s an ambivalence that comes from well-worn experience. “It’s two-fold. Because sometimes you can play a song like 6,000 times and then the right crowd comes along, and it becomes magic again.”
Green agrees: “Every night as performers we have to remind ourselves that there is someone coming for the first time, who’s never experienced what Marie’s Crisis can be.” And it’s true that coming to the bar for the uninitiated can feel like stumbling on to Shangri-La, the kind of place cults envision but with booze and an exit strategy.
The pianists can refuse to play a song, although they’ll usually do so for judicious reasons. “A lot of it comes down to reading the room,” Green says. “Someone might request an obscure ‘deep cut’ number from a small show, one that no one else knows, and it will kill the room flat. Because if nobody else knows that number, the magic of what we do has now gone away.” Tilford nods. “The whole point of communal singing goes away.”
They can also simply get tired of certain numbers, especially when sung by what are kindly known as untrained voices. “If we’re at [Marie’s] on a Saturday night, I will probably say no to Defying Gravity from Wicked. I don’t need 85 sopranos screaming at me.” Green smiles, although it’s also possible to see a slight shiver at the memory. Tilford relates. “I usually only say no if it’s gonna hurt.” Presumably, he means physically.
Marie’s Crisis is so well-established in the culture of Broadway that it’s often visited by legends of the stage, and sometimes entire casts will turn up. This sounds ideal, but it can also be a tricky situation to manage. “We pride ourselves on the fact that when they do come in, we don’t hawk them, we don’t highlight them. We try to let them do their thing and leave them alone.”
It can make for out-of-body experiences for the pianists, though. Tilford recalls one surreal moment, “playing Wilkommen for Alan Cumming [who famously played the role of the Emcee in Sam Mendes’ revival of Cabaret], and I had to help him with the words.”
The real lever of power at any Marie’s Crisis gig – something important for local audiences to remember – is the tip jar, because astonishingly “we don’t get paid to be there. It’s tips only.” And Green adds that “a please and a thank you will go a long way. People get excited, there’s alcohol involved, and they’re just yelling “PLAY WICKED!” I’m glad you’re excited, but I ain’t seen no money come out of your pocket.”
Marie’s Crisis pop-up is at Melbourne Trades Hall for three nights only from Thursday 23 February, as part of Melbourne Fringe
