Word: tschudin
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There are several great musicians in Boston, people as good as any in the country: Mike Tschudin and Walter Powers of Listening, both among the top in their instruments; Peter Ivers, Harvard graduate and harp virtuoso, if he'd ever get out of the Chinese Anal-Retentive New Orleans Do-Dah Band bag; Richard Shamach of Eden's Children, matched in guitar speed only by Danny Kalb and in virtuosity by Mike Bloomfield; Peter Wolf and J. Geils, who between them have kept blues alive in Boston since Al Wilson left; the old rhythm section of the Bead Game, Lassic...
...diverse elements of Babe's production clash worst in the play's first third--rendered almost entirely inaudible by poor sound on the film track and Michael Tschudin's silly music which underscores dialogue with all the precision of a dead organist slumped over his keyboard. But Babe's crowded battles, rendered more evocative than specific by bouncing light off shiny armour are, when best executed by Coriolanus's decidedly unconfident extras, unnervingly realistic and indicative of Babe's proclivity toward cinematic stage effect...
...jazz. When they do play someone else's songs (Mick Jagger's Empty Heart, for one), Ivers tends to throw his harp away and accompany the other four with a running chorus of "I hate this song!" yelled at the audience. "We're The Streetchoir," whispers former Renaissance man Tschudin into the microphone, "and we don't play anything you've ever heard before...
...stage, the 5-man Streetchoir is a pulsating unity. "We need another two months to really get to know each other," says Tschudin; but even now, when one of them takes a solo break, the others move around him, beaming with pleasure when he does something new and it works, each one truly interested in what the other is trying...
...soloists, the five are diverse and brilliant. Ivers, the most aggressive, plays harp at capacity volume, punctuating his solos with sharp staccato blasts shaking him from head to toes. Tschudin, scorning more pedestrian methods, gets high on his organ and builds climatic crescendos of musical phrases. As for Hillman, the other four call him the Ghost Rider, because "he can draw fast enough to shoot a knife that's being thrown at him." He has a wonderful habit of bending the final electronic note of his beautiful guitar solos--a habit which invaliably draws a series of awe-struck screams...