The Bear

On a steamy Thursday summer evening, tucked tidily into the Reading Public Museum's Neag Planetarium, a small audience looks on, eagerly anticipating the merger of two seemingly counter-opposing arts: jazz and opera. The Bear, is a jazz operetta written by Vicki Haller Graff, director of the Reading Theatre Project, and composed by Reading jazz saxophonist Chris Heslop. The narrative combines themes of family, secrecy, betrayal, and forgiveness in a dramatic reimagining of the Mexican folktale, sharing in its namesake. A one-act performance, the production highlights sacred vocal elements of operatic styling and combines them with rhythmic dynamism commonly associated with jazz. There is a part of me that expects the result as a murky agglomeration so full of musical dissidence it would be impossible to hear anything more than a shell of noise. The venue—providing an encapsulating acoustical effect akin to planetariums— merely threatens to amplify what seemed to be an extenuated concern.

Making a hurried attempt to silence any underlying worries, I turn to speak with Reading-based jazz pianist Lars Potteiger. Just as I express interest in his upcoming performance of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, Tamera Black, the director of tonight's production, calls us to attention with poignant grace. We are reminded that, as it is a dress rehearsal, there may be stoppages for tweaks and adjustments. "Tweak, might be an understatement..." I think to myself, looking up at the sonic carapace above us. Spontaneity and immediacy are both central elements of jazz. How can there be musical dialogue when the acoustics amplify a hushed conversation happening ten feet away, and you can't make out the person practically shouting next to you? But knowing the brilliant minds behind the project spurs a naive confidence of sorts—the suspense is thrilling.

Luke Perkins Cast as The Bear ©️Maya Burdick

As the opening remarks came to a close, Tammy stepped to the side, and the metaphorical curtain rose—the curved walls around us illuminated with a lush green forest. The aria to follow immediately set any preconceived notions of criticism to rest. The small jazz combo laid down an expressive rhythmic foundation, playful and whimsical yet supportive and accepting—gifting a perfect pocket for the soprano to slip into. The delicate melodic soliloquy of the soprano seemed to have lifted on the wings of the drummer's gentle washing ride—the brassy cymbal punctually crisp with each stroke. A soft trickle emitted from the set’s corner as the pianist's fingers danced across the fingerboard. The accompaniment effectuated layers of acoustic texture paired with complex tonal colors that cascaded seamlessly—synthesizing a backdrop for each soloist from which to emerge. The interchange was vivid, luscious, and authentically dramatic—exactly what one would expect of an operetta.

And in tandem, the pianist’s position was no exception to jazz's notoriety for being spontaneous—Lars Potteiger, mentioned earlier, was slated to play this very dress rehearsal. However, due to commitments involving the Berk's Sinfonietta's upcoming Gershwin performance, he passed this rehearsal to the substitute pianist (Ron Stabinsky). This meant that the dress rehearsal was the first time Stabinsky touched the music! Yet, his sound seemed to meet each soloist presently, supporting their narration with rich harmonic structure— even playfully offering counter melodies to deepen each musical moment. The result was positively marvelous! It is often a challenge for jazz musicians to communicate precisely when reacting to written music—so many factors can sneak to the surface and can even threaten total derailment. This is especially true when musicians tackle a project for the first time together, not having had the opportunity to learn each other's unique tendencies both when soloing and accompanying. It's like executing a group project live and without prep time. Yet, despite the underlying challenges, each number felt authentic and natural. I felt tied to the story—my emotions reacting to the changing of moods. From the sultry and alluring blues belted by The Moon, a carnivorous character played by alto Suzannah Waddington, to the airy and wisping nonsensities of wizards (all voiced by the tenor Jeremiah Loubriel) meant to guide Nina (our relentlessly optimistic heroine played by Olivia Prendergast) along her journey.

Jeremiah Loubriel Casted as a Wizard ©️ Maya Burdick

The narrative, rooted in Mexican folklore, is fairly linear and shares the story of a cursed prince forced to live out his days as a bear—hence the title— yet, with the passing of each night, he returns to his human form. A woodcutter—father of two daughters—wanders into this enchanted bear's forest to collect wood as a means to support his household. The prince catches him (while in bear form) and forces him to give one of his daughters' hands in marriage, as compensation for the woodcutter's transgression. Nina is selected as tribute—though she quickly realizes the luck in this deal the evening after their bearable wedding. The "bearish-prince?" only makes one request, that she tell no one the truth about his curse. Well, Nina, attempting to help her prince, returns to her father's abode and shares the news with her sister (Mariana). After some debate, Nina is convinced to tie the prince up in his sleep. With some light spicy jazz, a bit of rope, and an elegant wedding gown, the scene quickly slides down a colorful gutter. Don't worry, it's not that kind of operetta—unless you want it to be... Rising towards the production's climactic finale, the witch that initially cursed the prince appears and declares she is to marry the prince. Now fueled with a surge of self-confidence (that may or may not have risen after tying her fury husband up the previous evening), Nina spends the remainder of the show seeking a cure for her (soon-to-be-ex-husband's) curse.

I confess I'm almost embarrassed to have had initial reservations. The performance was spectacular from start to finish. If by no other reason than America's greatest contribution to the modern arts—jazz—meets the Eurocentric artistic behemoth that is opera. It's almost a stand-alone David and Goliath paradigm potent enough to drown out any uncanny dialogue, or particularly dissident whole-tones. But it doesn't need to. The narrative and composition are captivating even without the genre's existential crisis. And the humor the cast brought to the stage only served to fan the intoxicating tension—truly, a unique production too large for its humble locale.