Last night, the husband and I went to listen to a talk by
Stephen Sondheim. It was actually not a talk, but a conversation between Stephen
Sondheim and some lady named Mary. Sorry, Mary, I have forgotten your last name,
as I almost always forget names. It’s to your credit that I remember your first
name. You did a fine job. To give myself credit, let me say that I bought the
tickets as a birthday present for the husband, who performed in “Sweeney Todd”
in college, who was a composer before he was a doctor, and who just may get
back to composing one of these years. Except that he’ll never be able to
retire, because I, his wife, make too little money; but eventually, we will run
out of British crime dramas to watch on Netflix, and he will have time of an
evening to create.
It was really some kind of miracle that I found out about
this Stephen Sondheim gig. I’m so out of every loop – except my own internal,
neurotic ones – that it amazes me that I came across this event, in time to
order tickets for it. It was, of
course, sold out last night.
Mr. Sondheim is 83, and still working. Artists never stop. He
talked about his shows, mostly. He also gave little glimpses into the wild
evening life he used to lead and had a couple stories about Elaine Stritch, who
played Jack Donaghy’s mother on “30 Rock”, in case you don’t know her from
Broadway. I learned that the phrase “Everything’s coming up roses” is from the
lyric to the eponymous song from “Gypsy,” written by Stephen Sondheim. He
admitted that coining a phrase that entered the lexicon was satisfying. I
should think so.
But really, the most compelling thing he said, he said early
on in the conversazione. (Throwing in
a little Italian, just for kicks.) Mary Whose Last Name Escapes Me asked him
if, when he was starting out, he worried that he would fail. He said, “I don’t
think that ever occurred to me.”
Thank you, and good night. That explains a lot. That
explains why I was sitting in the audience listening to Stephen Sondheim, and
not the other way around. Or, at least, it explains one reason. It never
occurred to him he might fail? That’s pretty much all I think about when I
consider my writing.
Of course, it might have been a little easier for Stephen
Sondheim to forget to consider the possibility of failure than it was for me.
He had Oscar Hammerstein as a father figure. I had a father figure, but he
wasn’t Oscar Hammerstein. He was my father. (Still is.) A fine man, a lawyer, but in no
position to help me become a successful writer. He did help me get the job in a
law firm that led me to decide against pursuing law. This was helpful, in its
way, although more for defining what I wouldn’t do than what I would do with my
career. Kind of like negative space in a drawing is important, but it’s not
where the artistry lies. Usually.
So Sondheim’s first job was in the “family business,” too. Although
he had some lean years, Sondheim had Oscar. Oscar Hammerstein helped him
develop his skills and got him involved writing lyrics with Leonard Bernstein
for “West Side Story,” when he was twenty-five. If he wasn’t working for Oscar
Hammerstein, he could call Oscar Hammerstein for advice. So, you know, failure
seems pretty unlikely to me, too, in that scenario.
I am glad that I didn’t call it a night after that
astounding proof of self-confidence. After hearing that, I just listened and
marveled at a person who had such self-confidence that he could question
aspects of any of his works, without questioning his basic right and ability to
work at that art.
In fact, he had a few shows that didn’t do all that well.
One of them, “Merrily We Roll Along,” of which I’d never heard, closed after 9
shows on Broadway. It was, you know, a flop. Guess what? He revised it. He
fixed it. That's the growth mindset at work, by the way, Readers. He kept on working at it, and eventually it showed in London and then
on Broadway – years, indeed decades, later – and garnered great reviews. So he
believed in his idea, and he had strength of character enough, or confidence
enough, to deconstruct the parts that didn’t work for audiences, and to keep on
revising them until they played well. Along the way he did “Company*,” and
“Sweeney Todd,” and “Sunday in the Park with George,” and “A Little Night
Music,” and a bunch of other musicals that you probably have heard of, even if
you don’t care for musicals.
All of these works were collaborations, by the way, and all
developed over months and often years. He’s working on something now that’s
been steeping for twenty-five years. What really struck me, was that once
Sondheim felt some idea he came across had “something to it,” he didn’t look
back and question that judgment. He worked, and continues to work, to get that
idea out. All of that work is built on a steady foundation
of accepting his judgment of what is worth pursuing. For those of us who work
at bringing ideas into the world, that is a great lesson in success.
*Video clip of my favorite song from "Company," sung by Carol Burnett here. She sings it a little slower than others do, but you can hear the lyrics clearly.
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