Into the Woods I went, portraying Jack in the musical about the choices we make and why we make them. The music was complex and varied, the lyrics smart and playful, and the characters three-dimensional and fascinating. Everyone around me had that expectation and was familiar with the show; I didn’t know it at all, and I barely even remembered the writer’s name. I got to know it eventually through our music director, who would complain about irregular chords and simply mutter “ugh, Sondheim.”
So down the rabbit hole I went. The song that really hooked me was “Being Alive.” After the show closed, I was sick at home and I recalled a classmate talking about using it as an audition song, so I looked it up and found Raul Esparza’s performance of it. When I saw that video for the first time, without the context of the show or the characters or even what was entirely happening, I still managed to connect with it entirely, what the song said about commitment and how scary yet absolutely necessary it is (for many) to find fulfillment, said in such a specific way that it became universal. I finally got why the name Sondheim carried that weight, why many considered him the greatest to ever write for the musical theater. There’s so much about any song of his to analyze and appreciate – the way, for example, “Being Alive” has dissonant chords strike on phrases that reflect them (“someone to hurt you too deep”), the way the key changes as Robert’s attitude does the same. But what makes Sondheim truly great is that, despite the fact that I (and so many others) know every word he ever wrote by heart at this point, he never expected or wanted that. He wrote songs that were just as good the first time your ears ever crossed them, entirely complex but also deceptively simple. That’s what inspires me the most about him, that while he could certainly show off his vocabulary and prowess when he wanted, the most powerful moments of Sondheim shows are the simplest ones, the moments tied to the people he inhabited. Yes, Sondheim would write “while her withers wither with her” or “the hands on the clock turn but don’t sing a nocturne just yet.” He would also dispense rhymes entirely if a character required it, or end a song on the simplest, most beautiful line of the show. Those who aren’t fans find his shows too cerebral, focused on intellect rather than emotion. I couldn’t disagree more; the reason I love Sondheim is because what he cared about the most was the feeling behind the words, the human spirit he tapped into. Lyric writing was never about showing off to him, and many of the self-criticism leveled at his shows later were for lyrics that felt indulgent to him. He got subtler as he got older, with later shows that cared less and less about trick and quadruple rhymes; those later shows also contain some of the most profound lyrics he ever wrote. And while the lyrics are gorgeous, and the things easiest to share as we compare favorites or the inevitable relevance any one line will have at a moment in time, they are missing what made the emotions soar: his music, which was just as varied and distinct with every score he wrote. A show like A Little Night Music sounds entirely different from Merrily we Roll Along, as does Assassins compared to Pacific Overtures. His style is certainly distinct and identifiable no matter what mode he’s working in (dissonance abounds no matter where you look), but always for a purpose, and always with an approach entirely different from the last show he did. The music, too, was all about character – whether in establishing different themes for the people inhabiting each world or simply matching whatever feeling they had musically. It’s the most obvious in moments where he got to show off (the panic and fear reflected in the frantic pace of “Getting Married Today”), but it somehow feels like every chord reflects what’s happening, a feat that seems inhuman until you remember that Sondheim is the person penning the show. If there’s any good that’s come out of his passing, it’s been in feeling the impact he had. I’ve loved reading people’s stories, the inspiration or unity so many of us felt with his work. Teaching was a “sacred profession” to him, and so it became his second job, in masterclasses and must-have books on lyric writing, in how he would respond to anyone who wrote to him, in his generosity towards the new and the encouragement he gave to many up-and-coming artists. As a writer of non-musical theater, Sondheim still manages to be one of my main influences. The rules that he stuck by are easy to apply in any type of writing – “Content dictates form,” “God is in the details,” “Less is more” – but only as you start to write do you realize how difficult it is to abide by them. Somehow, he did. People talk of Sondheim as the reason why Rent and Hamilton exist the way they do (or most Broadway shows, for that matter) but writers from every facet of storytelling (novelists, playwrights, poets) mourn him and honor him because he influenced them too. It’s impossible not to be when someone is that thrillingly good at what they do, so endlessly inspiring by way of sheer talent on display. And yet someone who felt immortal is gone. Many of us never met him or knew him, yet he still changed our lives entirely. And so we feel a loss and a sadness where it feels like we shouldn’t - melancholy for a 91 year old stranger! Yet it still hurts that Sondheim won’t get to write anymore (for he was still working at it somehow), that whatever comes of his newest show will be somewhat incomplete. Luckily, he left a body of work many hope they can someday leave behind, shows that are funny and sad and terrifying and beautiful, and even more emotions you can expect or hope for when you see theater. New spins will be put on them, new twists to spice up the shows that feel familiar; yet even without them, will we ever tire of these shows? As I re-listen to everything this week, it all feels so timeless, and I truly hope it is. It’d be a sadder world if, 500 years from now, all of his music had vanished. So many people wouldn’t know what they’d missed, never having believed such joy could exist. It’s the music that has taught me, moved me, and continues to every time I revisit it. And it’s mine - ours - forever. If you're interested, here's a video of me singing one of my favorite Sondheim songs. May his memory be a blessing.
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