Craig Pomranz

October 31, 2011

“Love and the Weather”

Metropolitan Room  –  October 5, 9, 12

Craig Pomranz is the cabaret singer of the people. He calls to mind a working-class politician—a populist candidate trying to earn my vote down at the general store.

On the afternoon I saw him, Pomranz didn’t bother with a grand entrance from the lobby, but instead simply stepped to the stage from the floor of the Metropolitan Room to begin his set. Dressed decidedly down—in jeans, with shirttails hanging out—he gestured emphatically at points while singing, as if delivering a musical stump speech. He trained his eye on particular members of the audience, zeroing in as if to be sure they got his message. There were no babies on hand for Pomranz to kiss or corndogs for him to devour, but it would not have surprised me had he asked us all out for a beer after the show, just so we could talk things over.

For me, such an approach to cabaret does have an undeniable grass-roots appeal, but it also has its limitations. It seemed there was little if any sense of occasion to Pomranz’s act. What’s so terrible about putting on the dog just a little? There’s something about a big entrance that turns the excitement level up a notch. And, as Jerry Herman told us, there’s no blue Monday in our Sunday clothes.

Adding to the sense of ordinariness was the meteorological theme of Pomranz’s program. What could be more mundane than hashing over the weather? Obviously, Pomranz exploited the theme for its metaphorical value—he was not just singing about weather, he was also singing about love. And the theme gave him the chance to include some lovely and even stirring songs. Still, the notion of weather talk as the epitome of small talk hung over his act like—pardon the expression—a cloud. And Pomranz’s ordering of the material created a sort of overly tailored effect. He sang his rain songs and then moved on to wind songs and so forth. It felt a bit like a well-outlined PowerPoint presentation.

Nevertheless I found much about the show (directed by Ron Cohen) to be enjoyable. In his quieter, intimate moments the singer could be quite moving. There was, for instance, a controlled intensity in Pomranz’s delivery of the haunting “Blackberry Winter” (Alec Wilder, Loonis McGlohon). On the other end of the spectrum, Pomranz wore his “male belter” badge with pride. His louder side announced its presence in the opening number, “All God’s Chillun’ Got Rhythm” (Gus Kahn, Bronislaw Kaper, Walter Jurmann), which ended in the sort of outpouring of volume and emotion that some singers would have saved for the finale. (Afterward, he explained the relationship the song had to weather: essentially, he told us, there wasn’t any.)

Pomranz found thoughtful pairings of songs, especially his medley of Ted Koehler and Harold Arlen’s “Ill Wind” and “Gone With the Wind” (Herb Magidson, Allie Wrubel). The first selection is dark and ominous, while the second takes a somewhat more resigned, philosophical, approach to broken love. Pomranz ended the piece with a crashing return to the first tune—a coda that dashed all vestiges of foolish romantic hope. Later in the program he sang the ultra-sultry “Hot in Here” (Amanda McBroom, Michele Brourman), which luxuriates in the agonies of carnal desire. I wasn’t entirely convinced by Pomranz’s approach to the song, which reminded me a little of those TV commercials for dark chocolate where the creamy-voiced announcer revels indulgently in sinful temptation. Pomranz had better luck with the follow-up number, Cole Porter’s “Too Darn Hot,” delivered in barking anger—suggesting that a heat-thwarted libido can take only so much luxuriating before it turns ornery.

A sort of predictable compare-and-contrast pattern emerged with the pairing of two more songs, again by Ted Koehler and Harold Arlen: the quiet and intense “Stormy Weather” led into the thunderous “When the Sun Comes Out.” These numbers were well sung, but I felt I’d been on a similar ride with the “Ill Wind” / “Gone with the Wind” mash-up.

For a couple of the lighter selections—Cole Porter’s “Well, Did You Evah!” and Martin Charnin and Luther Henderson’s “Ten Good Years”—Pomranz wrote additional lyrics; this allowed him to take topical jabs at Rick Perry, Herman Cain, and the like. He also traded barbs with accompanist/musical director Stephen Bocchino, who served at times as a sort of droll Cher to Pomranz’s loquacious Sonny. (Bocchino also provided occasional—and agreeable—vocal harmonies). At the show I saw, the comedy occasionally seemed too sly and rapid-fire to register fully with the audience, but it did come across as spontaneous and natural. I could have done without one crass bit about Madonna (which no one else in the audience seemed to find sidesplitting either).

All in all, “Love and the Weather” made for a pleasant afternoon—balmy, not too humid, not too dry. Perhaps adding a few more surprises would have made the show even better. Toward the end, Pomranz sang Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne’s “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!” and the novelty of hearing the number sung outside of its usual Christmas context, on an 80-plus-degree October day, was bracing. Who could have known that before the month was over, New Yorkers would in fact be reaching for their overcoats and snow shovels? Perhaps Pomranz is as much a prophet as he is a populist politician.

 

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About the Author

Mark Dundas Wood is an arts/entertainment journalist and dramaturg. He began writing reviews for BistroAwards.com in 2011. More recently he has contributed "Cabaret Setlist" articles about cabaret repertoire. Other reviews and articles have appeared in theaterscene.net and clydefitchreport.com, as well as in American Theatre and Back Stage. As a dramaturg, he has worked with New Professional Theatre and the New York Musical Theatre Festival. He is currently literary manager for Broad Horizons Theatre Company.