Lonesome Blues

Akin Babatundé, with the outstanding support of guitarist David Weiss, is giving a heck of a concert in Lonesome Blues at the York Theatre Company. Babatundé's voice travels from pure falsetto to rumbly bass and back again, and it can thrill every step of the way. Babatundé's interpretation of the blues offers a wide palette of emotions, and he's charming.

Akin Babatundé, David  Weiss
Photo: Carol Rosegg

However, Lonesome Blues is billed as a musical rather than a concert, and on that level it is less successful. Based on the life of Blind Lemon Jefferson (1893-1929), it takes place on the day of his death as he reminisces about his life and his music. Unfortunately, his story is not clear as written (by Alan Govenar and Babatundé), performed, and directed (by Katherine Owens), and it can be hard to tell who he's talking to and what he's saying. As a  result, the show is never really engaging.

The authors write in the program that "Lonesome Blues is not a literal bio-musical, but instead a poetic rendering of Blind Lemon's memories." Unfortunately, the poetic renderings just don't track. It's also unfortunate that Babatundé wears dark glasses, because it puts a barrier between the actor and the audience, a barrier that is particularly damaging in a one-man show. (Yes, I do understand that Jefferson's blindness necessitates those dark glasses, but they still come at a cost.)

Here's the thing, though: Akin Babatundé really is giving a heck of a concert in Lonesome Blues. For all its flaws, the show offers a dynamic and rewarding evening in the theatre.

Wendy Caster
(press ticket, sixth row)
Show-Score: 80

Texas in Paris

Osceola Mays was the daughter of sharecroppers and the granddaughter of slaves. She sang for the love of singing, her family, and Jesus. John Burrus was a rodeo cowboy who sang cowboy songs and hymns. In 1989 they were brought to Paris to sing a series of concerts together. Texas in Paris, presented by the York Theatre Company, was written by Alan Govenar, based on his interviews with the actual Mays and Burrus and on the actual concerts they gave. Govenar is a writer, folklorist, photographer, and filmmaker. What he is not, unfortunately, is a playwright.

Photo: Carol Rosegg

Texas in Paris is slight and rife with missed possibilities, some of which are also director Akin Babatundé's responsibility. The plot, such as it is, follows the changing relationship between Mays and Burrus. Specifically, it shows Burrus's growing acceptance of a friendship with the cheerful, talkative Mays, despite his lack of experience with African-Americans, mild-mannered racism, and general laconic grumpiness. It is a slight plot, but potentially serviceable--except that it is treated as little more than filler between the songs. For example, [slight spoiler], the pair sings their songs separately. Mays sings a cappella; Burrus accompanies himself on the guitar. The first time she sings harmony with him, it should be a moment. Burrus should at least give her a look of surpris. He doesn't. And the first time he starts playing guitar for one of her songs, it should be a big moment. In fact, it should be as climactic as anything can be in this little piece. It's not. [end of spoiler]

Texas in Paris is not without its charms, the main one being Lilias White's lovely performance as Mays. White tamps down her usual theatrical exuberance and gets to the heart of this unassuming woman who sang for the love of singing. Scott Wakefield is good as Burrus. Best of all, they are not miked, and it is a treat to hear their unadorned voices in the York's cozy theatre.

Ultimately, Texas in Paris is a pleasant but minor 80 minutes in the theatre.

(press ticket, fifth row)