I am going to start off 

by saying that this review 
will be written in a rather 
unconventional way. I usually 
try to remove myself from the 
performance and the artist 
when critiquing, try to paint a 
picture of the audience and the 
atmosphere of the place — I try 
to connect the performance to 
something that everyone can 
relate to. I saw the incredible 
Audra McDonald perform on 
the eve of my 19th birthday and 
the performance easily broke 
through my journalistic shell, 
completely penetrating into my 
body and touching my heart in a 
way that no other performance 
has, so it would be unfair for 
me to even try and write an 
objective review. 

As 
I 
walked 
into 
Hill 

Auditorium to see the six-
time 
Tony 
Award 
winning 

singer and actress, I was not 
prepared to be as affected by 
the performance as I was. For 
one, the set was comprised of 
a single stool and her band. 
It was peculiar seeing such a 
simple and bare-minimum set 
in such a large, elaborate space. 
Mark Vanderpoel took the bass 
tenderly in his hands, Gene 
Lewinsat at the drums and 
Andy Einhorn — an incredible 
and 
well-established 
music 

director — asserted himself at 
the piano, all of them dressed in 
fine evening wear. 

Hill Auditorium was packed, 

with no empty seats in sight. 
It 
seemed 
impossible 
that 

one person could fill such a 
massive space with her voice 
and presence. Tension rose in 
the eager audience waiting for 
the famed McDonald to come 
out, and when she did, her 
presence automatically lit the 
stage, and the audience came to 

life. Applause roared from the 
audience, before she even got 
a chance to sing a song or tell a 
story. 

McDonald’s voice in every 

song was incredible; it was 
almost maddening. Her sweet 
vibrato echoed through Hill 
Auditorium with such power. 
She made every single piece 
her own, putting her own spin 
on it. Pieces that I have heard 
a great deal, like “Vanilla Ice 
Cream” from “She Loves Me,” 
or “I Could’ve Danced all 
Night” from “My Fair Lady” 
— extremely popular songs 
found in the arsenals of many 
sopranos — were captured in 
a different and intriguing way. 
Even though I am very familiar 
with the plots surrounding 
most of the songs, McDonald 
sung them in a way where it felt 
as if I was listening to them for 
the first time. Through placing 
emphasis on different lyrics 
than usual and putting a new 
spin on the vocal tone used 
to sing the piece, I took away 
something new from the songs 
in her set. 

Her 
set 
included 
the 

borderline 
classical 
song, 

“Summertime” 
from 
“Porgy 

and Bess,” which she sang 
magnificently 
without 
a 

microphone, 
in 
traditional 

classical style. She sang two 
of my personal favorites from 
her repertoire, “Stars and the 
Moon” from “Songs for a New 
World” and “I Won’t Mind” 
from “The Other Franklin.” 
These songs are difficult to 
sing (I know from personal 
experience) because they are 
wordy and vocally challenging 
at 
the 
same 
time. 
These 

challenges 
seemed 
to 
have 

not phased McDonald, as she 
sang both songs as if they were 
an extension of her normal 
speaking voice. 

What was most impressive 

was 
McDonald’s 
incredible 

ability to tell stories. This is 
what 
set 
her 
performance 

apart from any another that I 
have seen. McDonald shared 
anecdotes 
of 
her 
life 
and 

anecdotes of memories she 
shared with the lives of others. 
She uses the power of her voice 
and her talent for storytelling 
through words and songs to 
touch the hearts of audiences 
everywhere, 
whether 
it 
be 

telling her own stories or telling 
the stories of others. What had 
really caused me to enter a state 
of raw emotion is how much of 
myself I saw in her. It was almost 
like watching the future that I 
want for myself play out in front 
of my eyes. Even more nerve-
wracking, she took me through 
this journey, reminiscing and 
reflecting on all the things I 
have accomplished throughout 
my life in one of the most 
effective 
mediums: 
song. 

While McDonald’s storytelling 
was 
incredible, 
what 
truly 

completed the story was the use 
of song. 

Yet, I was haunted by the 

fact 
that 
every 
story 
that 

McDonald told hit so close to 
home. It became impossible 
for me to remain objective and 
composed. There were so many 
parallels between her life and 
mine that it felt unnerving at 
times to listen to them. 

I grew up in New York 

City, and went to Fiorello H. 
LaGuardia 
High 
School 
of 

Music & Art and Performing 
Arts, where I studied vocal 
music. I knew too well the 
stories that McDonald told 
about being in a performing arts 
school. There were moments 
that we shared, such as a quirky 
story about her singing an age-
inappropriate jazz song for 
a competition when she was 
14-years-old, which was told 
in the perspective of a sexually 
frustrated housewife. 

It was fitting, with it being 

ISABELLE HASSLUND

Daily Arts Writer

Me, myself and the wonder of Audra McDonald

COMMUNITY CULTURE SPOTLIGHT

my 19th birthday, as I looked 
back on my time when I first 
started at a performing arts 
high school, and how I would 
just sing for fun. I sang because 
that is what I loved to do, and 
I did not care about whether a 
song was age appropriate or if 
anyone approved of my venture 
into the arts because it’s what 
I loved and knew. As I grew 
older, it seemed as if more and 
more obstacles got in the way 
of this dream. I grew up on 
Broadway, whether it was going 
to the theater and watching 
shows or watching YouTube 
videos 
of 
Broadway 
stars, 

including Audra McDonald. I 
remember fully believing that 
Broadway was where I was 
headed and destined for. As I 
grew more and continued on 
my performing career in high 
school to now, I started to lose 
sight of that dream as more 
and more obstacles seemed to 
get in my way. Whether it was 
being a woman of color having 
to work harder than my white 
counterparts for a lead in a 
show, it occasionally felt like 
my performance was ever good 
enough. 

McDonald 
reminded 
me, 

as a young performer, of why 
I started singing in the first 
place. As I sat and watched her 
perform, 
seemingly 
without 

inhibitions, it got me thinking 
as to where along the way I lost 
my sentiment and will to sing. 
It reminded me that I sing for 
myself and that people want to 
hear others sing. Of course, it 
would be extremely difficult — 
almost impossible, in my mind, 
to reach the level of fluency 
that McDonald has reached in 
her career through hard work 
and a gifted voice, but seeing 
McDonald as a human with 
real stories to tell and a real, 
raw voice was enough to get me 
motivated to try and reach for 
that level.

The most intriguing thing is 

that during this performance, 
it felt as if I was having this 
personal 
connection 
and 

conversation with her and so 
did others around me. I had 
never seen so many people 
get teary-eyed at a rendition 
of 
“Somewhere 
Over 
the 

Rainbow.” Hill Auditorium did 
not seem so big anymore. It was 
as if I was back in kindergarten 

again, arranged in a circle and 
listening to stories told by my 
teacher attentively, sitting at 
the edge of my seat. It was as if I 
was sitting with my mother, an 
English teacher, and listening 
to her tell me stories in both 
song and book. I felt at home 
and nostalgic. 

What I took away from Audra 

McDonald’s performance was 
a message of hope and love. 
She had used her voice to 
empower the audience, and she 
expressed her message of hope 
and love for the generations 
to come, saying that as young 
performers and young people 
in general, she has faith in us 
to fix what has been botched by 
previous generations. She urged 
those in power and in a higher 
position to nurture the coming 
generations, singing the fitting 
song “Children Will Listen” 
from “Into the Woods.” There 
was message of love to be found 
for all audience members. The 
concert was more than just a 
journey through the American 
Songbook, it was a beautiful 
performance that has taught 
me so much about who I am and 
who I want to become.

FLICKR

6A — Monday, November 26, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

