DECEMBER 15, 2024 – Yesterday evening we (my wife and I and our nine-year-old granddaughter) attended my showman brother-in-law’s Christmas show in front of a sell-out crowd at the Fitzgerald Theater in downtown St. Paul. The full-on three-hour production of A Prairie Home Companion Christmas, with indefatigable veterans, sound effects man extraordinaire Fred Newman; Tim Russell and Sue Scott of the “Radio Acting Theater”; singers Heather Masse, Christine Digiallonardo, Ellie Dehn[1], Maria Jette, Helen Edinger; Guy’s Shoe Band members Chris Siebold and Larry Kohut; the inimitable pianist Rich Dworsky; and special guest star Howard Levy on his mind-blowing harmonica—not to mention Garrison Keillor, the grandmaster of all things Lake Wobegonian—was so overflowing with good Christmas cheer, you felt as though you had to wade through bright red extra sweet ankle-deep cranberry sauce to get out of the theater at the end of the show.
At the very outset, Garrison observed that politics would have no place at the Christmas dinner table this year, and he explicitly eschewed politics in his construct of an ambitious script—though mention of Syria slipped into some lyrics but only via the most tangential reference, as in “. . . Syria, which no one understands” [laughter]. Avoidance of politics—a topic that’s always on Garrison’s mind, as I can attest from conversations—certainly didn’t mean the absence of parody. I mean what would A Prairie Home Companion be without it? What would our lives be if deprived of it?
But by the same token the central role of parody in Garrison’s re-write of A Christmas Carol, The Twelve Days of Christmas, and countless other carols didn’t dilute the magical impact of the “group sing” a cappella rendition of Silent Night—three verses worth—that closed out the show. As Garrison directed us and the stage performers, I marveled at how in this chaotic world and land of rugged individualism, a thousand people—not all of whom were Democrats and Lutherans—wearing a broad spectrum of sweaters and flannel shirts could stand up, face the same direction (except for those on stage but who in the same direction, faced the crowd!) and sing together on pitch and in the same key and in perfect harmony. If that wasn’t a Christmas message to be noted and remembered, none other could be.
I also noticed and celebrated that the musical backbone of the show included the extraordinary talent of Rich Dworsky, whose roots in the local Jewish community run deep, and who, in the same tradition as Howard Levy, hails from the remarkable musical genius of the Jewish Diaspora. How impoverished the world would be without that divine endowment!
As virtuosic as ever, Rich assembled a mind-altering medley of Christmas songs and carols—a phrase of Deck the Halls stitched to the opening measures of Glory in Excelsis Deo to just enough Jingle Bells to be recognized to the same for Frosty the Snowman to the “Adestes fideles” part of O Come All Ye Faithful to the opening of Feliz Navidad . . . and so on down an exhaustive list. Rich’s work was so over-the-top that at the same time you wanted to shout “Wow!” you burst out laughing, as if you were witnessing the pretzel lady at a carnival freak show.
In the same category as the pretzel lady was Garrison’s lightning-fast recitation of all 87 counties of Minnesota—a skill that he developed back in sixth grade, when Minnesota history and geography were a standard component of public school curriculum. If most of us had to remember the number of counties, few of us were required to memorize their names. Garrison, ever the outlier, decided it would be fun not only to memorize them but to repeat them in alpha-order as fast as his tongue could move.
In a skit in yesterday’s show, he worked himself into the role of the freak show “Kid Who Couldn’t Be Understood” (next to the stall featuring the “Gentleman Who Wouldn’t Talk”). When Garrison started in, however, he mistakenly began with the street names of Minneapolis. “Oops!” he self-corrected immediately. “Wrong set!”
I’d heard him say the 87-county list before, but I don’t think he’d ever done it in as few breaths as he did on yesterday’s show. I swear: the 82-year-old guy, writer and leader of a three-hour stage show is the Energizer Rabbit running on a forever-charged lithium battery.
But for me, and perhaps the crowd, who cheered wildly in applause of Howard Levy’s amazing talent, the highlight of the show was the Harmonica Man’s Blues rendition of the Hallelujah chorus from George Frederic Handel’s Messiah. It was yet another example of what wondrous works our flawed and troubled species can produce. Against the heaps of grief and sorrow we cause ourselves and one another, we’re also capable of creating beauty and greatness that soar over all our wickedness.
The great takeaway from yesterday’s show was that even in the depths of our despair over our dysfunction, we must never give up on ourselves. In what other corner of the universe could we possibly luxuriate in the timeless musical work of a Baroque genius rendered by a 21st century harmonica player from Chicago influenced by the Blues?
It’s a beautiful world, my friends, and a wonderful life—especially at this time of year.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
[1] A rising star of the Metropolitan Opera, Ellie is from my little hometown of Anoka, Minnesota, also the birthplace of the show’s host himself (in the same little hospital where my youngest sister—his wife—was born . . . a converted old Victorian home that was a 10-minute walk from our house). When I was growing up, everyone knew the business that Ellie Dehn’s grandfather started—Dehn Electric—and her dad and uncles, all of whom grew up to be outstanding citizens. In retrospect, it’s quite amazing how many kids from that small town went on to do big things—including the Mud Truck Racing Championship of the World (see May 6, 2023 post, “Talkin’ Trash” – https://writemakesmight.net/talkin-trash/ ).
