Last Monday night, as the new year’s first sunset glazed the skies a deep magenta, a small group of friends gathered at the Lunar Cabaret to hear an informal revival of Maestro Subgum and the Whole.
Kids scurried across the stage and floor of the Lunar Cabaret as Micky Greenberg held court on piano and the O’Reilly clan (Beau, Kate and Clem) and Jenny Magnus harmonized.
“But my heart/ my heart/ my heart/ But my heart/ my heart/ my heart/ I start at the penthouse/ Drop down to the basement/ My stomach jumps out at every floor/ I’m caught in a love elevator/ With no elevator door.”
There are people in Chicago who know those words by heart, who could sing along right now, and probably did back on Halloween in 1995, when the Lunar Cabaret was making its raucous debut and Maestro Subgum played for the last time — until a forthcoming reunion concert.
“We didn’t know it’d be the last show,” says Greenberg, who has gotten all the Maestros together for the reunion concert — which will take place Jan. 20 at the Old Town School of Folk Music (where he is a manager).
What happened was that Maestro Subgum and the Whole — a side project of the prolific Curious Theater/Lunar Cabaret/O’Reilly/Magnus extended clan — got eaten up by the group’s other activities.
Beau went off to teaching and solo theater projects. Ditto Magnus, who also recorded her own solo record. Greenberg took up management of the Lunar, which at that time functioned as a cafe and cabaret. And everybody else went their own creative way too.
But that no one may have noticed Maestro’s exact demise doesn’t mean it wasn’t missed. Since its inception back in 1980, when Beau, his sister Cecelie and pianist Kit Keasey first took the name, the group had a special place in Chicago’s music and alternative art scene.
Maestro was different from the rock and R&B that was happening in the city’s North and South Side clubs, mainly because it was a cabaret ensemble based around a fictional character of Beau’s creation. The character, called Lefty Fizzle (the name was a play on words referring to the end of the ’60s’ ideals), was a guy who claimed to have been born in the ’20s and stuffed into a vaudeville trunk for a good number of years.
“The character was kind of important because you didn’t do the show as yourself,” remembers Greenberg. (Greenberg’s character? Micky Da Lip, who — contrary to his name and Greenberg’s effusive off-stage personality — didn’t ever say a word.)
Greenberg came on board in 1986, and in 1987 Magnus signed on. In Greenberg, Beau had found the perfect songwriting partner. Wildly inventive and a workhorse, Greenberg became the group’s leading composer.
And in Magnus, Beau found a terrific stage foil. Whereas his stage persona, Lefty Fizzle, was this funky, freaky fellow, Magnus’ was oversized and outrageous. That produced a kind of Maestro golden era, from 1988-94, which included various tapes and CDs, especially their last one, “Lost Lost Lost.”
“`Lost Lost Lost’ got great reviews,” Greenberg says, but the major labels weren’t interested. “The thing about the band is that a lot of people who came out for us were in the performance art scene, that place where avant garde theater and performance and music meet,” he says.
Still, their CDs and tapes usually sold out their runs of 1,000 in a matter of months, if not weeks. Right now, nothing’s available, and Greenberg says they have no plans to reprint.
“We’re always onto the next thing rather than spend money on something old,” he says. “We don’t usually look back. The weird thing about the reunion show is that it’s the first time we’re going back to old stuff. But maybe that’s because we’ve been so long since doing something together.”
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Besides his day job at the Old Town School, Greenberg keeps himself busy with his band The Fetal Position. And he’s also recorded a CD of solo piano works called, appropriately enough, “Michael Greenberg: Solo piano.” It’s a combo of Erik Satie-style musings, a dash of jazz and cabaret, swirls and trills that could easily accompany a silent movie, and a cache of beautiful melodies that won’t surprise anyone who’s ever heard Greenberg live.
“It’s totally my own release,” he says. “It’s got a handmade packet, and it’s meant to be a small crafted thing. The thing is, I believe in recording things you do. You make records because you’re finding the form of your art. It’s the only way you’re going to put together a body of work and think about it. “
For more information about all things Maestro, call 773-327-6666.afterhours
