For the sake of the wonderful young singer I heard perform ballads at an East Village bar tonight, I hope Broadway's ready for a slightly overweight twenty-four year old black, gay leading man. This guy was good! His voice said Sondheim, Kushner, Wilson, in bright lights, while his body said Jack LaLanne where are you when I need you? I thought about how at least for writers, we don't have to look good--though looking good never hurt. But when you're a performer, my goodness, workouts every day are essential, as are, I'm guessing, creotine and shakes and egg whites, wheat germ and protein substitutes. This young man was very at home not only with Stevie and Mary and Marvin, but also with Man of La Mancha and Cats. The only time he betrayed his youth was when, during the standing ovation he got from the friends in the audience, he clapped for himself.
Any theatrical agents in the house...?