My sixty year old adrenaline is pumping as I try to do as much as possible during this last week in New York, but I realize now that my adrenaline is a trickle when compared to the hydrant-like adrenaline that flows from a young punk rocker. Last night I went to see American Idiot, the new musical based on Green Day's album. I like Green Day's music and thought I'd appreciate the music having been a sideline observor to punk and emo during the late 90's and early 2000's when I followed the progress of Saves the Day. Indeed, I first heard Green Day when Saves the Day opened for them on a tour in 2002 (?).
I enjoyed the energy and intensity of An American Idiot. The cast was fantastic and tireless. The staging was convulsive and percussive. In fact, its a good thing Greg didn't join me as he would have acquired a migraine with the combination of sound blasting and strobe lights pulsating. A day later, in re-reading Charles Isherwood's review, I am better able to appreciate the negativity that drove the plot and to realize that my reaction by the end of the play, when I wanted to shout "oh grow up" was exactly what all the ruckus was about.
One of the characters, Tunny, chooses to escape his suburban existence by enlisting; he is sent to Iraq where he loses a leg. Watching Tunny's world in a regimented, idealistic army facing true life-and-death decisions contrast with the angry, dirty, needle-pushing world of Johnny caused me to recall Sledge Hammer from the recent HBO series The Pacific. This memory, in turn, brought me full circle to my first musical this season, South Pacific. Even when I was a young woman, I never felt the connection to rock that molded most of my generation. I was always an Oscar Hammerstein idealist, a cock-eyed optimist, and this has served me well. I can enjoy the pulsating beat of rock, but I don't think I've ever connected to its "anomie and apathy" and anger. Luckily, most of these rebels do grow up.
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