Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Hidden among this spring’s collection of lilac-themed posts, a song surfaces, breaking through the din of the food hall at Moynihan Train Hall as I find myself departing New York after a Mother’s Day weekend on Broadway with Mom. It’s been decades since she first brought us to New York to see ‘Peter Pan’ when I was just a kid, and though our roles have flipped somewhat (with me planning and steering us around the city as best I can) it’s still fun to see shows with the woman who instilled a love of theater from an early age.

When I was a kid I built a kingdom
There in my bed
Filled it with wisdom
And all of my friends
They were like superheroes
We’d go outside and play in the garden
I’d shown my eyes and give ’em a warning
And they’d run and hide while I counted down to zero
And forever I know I won’t stop dreaming, won’t let go

A few years later, when I was in middle school, Suzie and Missy joined us for a trip to New York, where we saw ‘Jerome Robbins’ Broadway’. A little older, and on the verge of knowing everything as teenagers, we thought we were shit as much as we thought we were the shit. Simultaneously uncertain and entirely sure of ourselves, we walked around the city like we were untouchable (except for the lady who patted me on the head and said my hair was so softy and shiny).

I know we’re older
Carrying the world upon our shoulders
But I know that forever we’ll be young and bold, oh, we’re full of hope
I know I know, I know I know we can be giants
Somewhere, I know there’s a world that’s waiting out there
For you and I to shine like we are made of gold, we were made to glow
I know, I know, I know, I know we can be giants
We can be giants, Oh, we can be giants
We can be giants
Yeah, I know I know, I know I know
We can be giants

A couple of years after that, Suzie and I and our Moms were back in New York for a pair of shows that remain favorites: ‘Lost In Yonkers’ and ‘Six Degrees of Separation’. Full-frontal male nudity with our mothers was not on my bucket list, but we checked that box that trip. Suzie and I were growing up (a floppy dick bouncing around on stage does that to a person…) and in our friendship I found a certain strength and stability that I didn’t sense with anyone else.

When I was a kid I was a dreamer
My room wasn’t big, my house wasn’t either
But I had enough love to fill up a city
And all of those nights I watched the stars
They lit up the sky, filled up my heart
I won’t let go

By the time I was in college, Norma Desmond and ‘Sunset Boulevard’ had taken hold of my psyche, and Mom and I were back on Broadway seeing Glenn Close in her Tony-winning turn. The next year we saw ‘Master Class’ with Zoe Caldwell as Maria Callas – diva-dom was still calling to me in delusional grandeur, and it would be a little while until I could take myself out of the scenes to enjoy from afar; I always felt things too keenly, too deeply, for my own good, and for my own safety. But growing up changes that, no matter when it happens.

I know we’re older
Carrying the world upon our shoulders
But I know that forever we’ll be young and bold, oh, we’re full of hope
Yeah, I know, I know, I know, I know we can be giants
Somewhere, I know there’s a world that’s waiting out there
For you and I to shine like we are made of gold, we were made to glow
Yeah, I know, I know, I know, I know we can be giants

Spring nights are the salvation of the sleepless. I don’t mind being awake when the nights stay warm early into the morning, or when a warm front arrives in the evening and everything feels suddenly tropical. Here’s one for the insomniacs and sleep-deprived, those who find themselves unable to sleep because their minds are too bright with something else. It’s Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of ‘Black Coffee’, a bluesy little song to help anyone through the night.

I’m feeling mighty lonesome
Haven’t slept a wink
I walk the floor and watch the door
And in between I drink

Black coffee
Love’s a hand me down brew
I’ll never know a Sunday
In this weekday room

Their’s something noirish in the underside of this music, lying just beneath the surface, insidious like the disappearing tail of a cigarette’s smoky trail. A diabolical piece of music that seeps into the darkest corner of the night – shadow of shadow of shadow…

I’m talking to the shadows
1 o’clock to 4
And Lord, how slow the moments go
When all I do is pour

Black coffee
Since the blues caught my eye
I’m hanging out on Monday
My Sunday dreams to dry

Scary music, not the silly stuff of Halloween, something more sinister, slinking through the spring like a snake, slip-slip-lisp-slip snake-talk…

Now a man is born to go a lovin’
A woman’s born to weep and fret
To stay at home and tend her oven
And drown her past regrets
In coffee and cigarettes

A cup of cold coffee sits on the table in the cold light of morning. Gray and muted, a different kind of noirish, and a more menacing one, because the morning is always the more menacing.

Right when I’d written off this year’s crop of lilac blooms as a bust, the backyard trees burst into bloom thanks to a heavy soaking of rain a few days ago. In the early morning, I went out to take a few photos, and it turned out to be the only part of the day that didn’t have rain. The lilacs seemed to know this, bowing their heads and biding their time until their long and lengthy thirst-quenching drink arrived to fill the rest of the day. While we needed the rain, I longed for riding into the sun…

Here’s a musical moment while we wait out the rain, courtesy of The Velvet Underground – a vibe perfectly-suited for a rainy day, the magical perfume of the lilacs, and a lazy spring.

Beneath the lilacs, the ostrich ferns unfurled their fronds, and a blanket of lily-of-the-valley began emitting its own scent profile, lower on the wind.

An enchanting moment in the garden, if ever there was one – a moment captured right before the rain, before the rain was right.