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In Their Own Words
I was a big athlete. I got recruited to play lacrosse at the Naval Academy. Then I flunked out of the Academy. I lost my leg. Now I can’t even drive anymore. But you have to accept those limitations. You have to continue to pursue whatever you are supposed to be doing. It’s often confusing as to what that is. Continue to figure out why you are here, you know? Helping people is important, too; that’s where you get your real satisfaction.

Does that sound wise? It takes a long time to get to the point where the crap that comes out of your mouth is wise. Hey, you’re a lucky man. You met maybe the only wise guy on Main Street.

But really, I’ve had a wonderful life, and it’s amazing to be able to say that. I’m 67. I’m in the fourth quarter, you know? Have you ever seen The Scent of a Woman? In that, Al Pacino says, “You’re lucky if four women love you in your life.” And four women have loved me, so I guess I really am lucky. I don’t think I will get a fifth. You know how hard it is to get a girlfriend with one leg? And I don’t even know if I’d want another.
It would be a shame for one seat to go empty during this run.
Debuting to 10 Tony Awards 50 years ago, Hello, Dolly! is a rarity among musicals: song and dance blend seamlessly with story, its buoyant innocence saving it from contrivance. Based on Thornton Wilder’s play The Matchmaker, it’s a perfect vehicle for 2nd Star Productions, long recognized for outstanding musicals. The combination of strength in show and talent makes this the best amateur musical production I have seen in 13 years of reviewing. 
 
Dolly Levi (Nori Morton), as charming as she is perceptive and manipulative, is a marriage broker who, after a long widowhood, has set her own matrimonial sights on Horace Vandergelder (Gene Valendo), the half-millionaire from Yonkers who also happens to be her client. Horace is set to marry Irene Molloy (Pam Schilling), a lovely widow and milliner from the city. But his quest does not end as he — or six younger romantics — anticipated, as Dolly lets drop some slanderous rumors about Irene’s character.
 
Horace’s two clerks at Vandergelder’s Feed Store — Cornelius (Nathan Bowen) and Barnaby (Daniel Starnes) — close the store without Horace’s knowledge to follow him, intent on sightseeing and kissing a girl — all on two dollars. Horace’s niece Ermengarde (Emily Freeman), meanwhile, steals off to the city at Dolly’s urging with her forbidden love Ambrose (Josh Hampton). Dolly enters the pair in a polka contest at the swanky Harmonia Gardens Restaurant, where Horace will dine.
 
In the city, Cornelius and Barnaby spot their boss and take refuge in Irene’s hat shop, where Horace discovers them and abandons Irene. She and her assistant Minnie (Colleen Coleman) then fall for Cornelius and Barnaby. Dolly next sets up Horace with a mannequin, then with Ernestina (Rebecca Feibel), a crass floozy, interrupting their miserable tête à tête so that he will fall for her in desperation. Horace’s employees, meanwhile, are trying to entertain the milliners on a pittance in an adjacent booth when an accidental wallet swap saves their day but causes Horace to be arrested for not paying his bill. The polka contest turns into a riot. Everyone is hauled to court, but Cornelius saves the day with a speech on the power of love that moves the Judge (Mark Jeweler) to free everyone but Horace. Dolly, of course, is there to save his day.
 
There is not a clinker in this cast. The leads, all well cast, know how to sell their songs. With hummable hits like Put on Your Sunday Clothes, It Takes a Woman and It Only Takes a Moment, the singing is pitch-perfect and the dancing precise. Morton is every inch the marvelous meddler; Valendo delivers just the right blend of tightwad anxiety; Bowen charms with naïve sincerity and energy to burn; Starnes is an impressive presence as the teen playing a teen; Schilling sings like a lark in Ribbons Down My Back and Coleman is her perfect ingénue foil. Tim Sayles is hilarious as Rudolph, the maître d’ who barks orders like a German drill sergeant in the Waiters’ Galop, a stunning ballet of  tuxedoed servers. Feibel wrangles the laughs with her bumptious shenanigans. There are even children — two talented girls — always a welcome sight in community theater choruses.
 
Sets and costumes are a feast for the eyes with half a dozen ornate set changes and two dozen beautiful ensembles complete with parasols, plumes, boaters and bonnets. The robust nine-piece orchestra sometimes overpowers the soloists, but never a word is lost. 
 
Money is like manure. It isn’t worth anything unless you spread it around, Dolly is fond of saying. The same is true for talent. It would be a shame for even one seat to go empty during this run. So buy your tickets now, Before the Parade Passes By.
 
 
Hello, Dolly! by Stewart and Herman. Director and set designer: Jane B. Wingard. Costumes: Linda Swann. Musical director: Joe Biddle. choreography: Vincent Musgrave. Lights and sound: Garrett R. Hyde. With Heather Jeweler as Mrs. Rose and Brianne Anderson, Aaron Barker, Rosalie Daelemans, Austin Dare, Genevieve Ethridge, Samantha Gardner, Ethan Goldberg, Ann Marie Hines, Julie Hines, Amy Jones, Crista Kirkendall, Brigid Lally, Erin Lorenz, Rebekka Meyer, Spencer Nelson, Malarie Novotny, Sharon Palmer, Sophia Riazi-Sekowski, CeCe Shilling, Jordan Sledd, Deb Sola and Sarah Wessinger.
 
Playing thru June 29. F & Sa at 8 pm; Su at 3pm at 2nd Star Productions: Bowie Playhouse, White Marsh Park. $22 w/discounts; rsvp 410-757-5700; www.2ndstarproductions.com.
Some days, they listen
It was an ideal morning at Hacketts Bar (38° 51'; 76° 25'). A flood tide was just making up, a gentle southerly wind caressed the waters and the sun was hidden by a thin cloudbank that permitted just the right amount of warmth to permeate the air. 
 
The anchored fishing boats were strung out more or less in a line from just off of the green can in 25 feet of water due east to depths of 40 or more feet. We had anchored up in the middle, our chum bag trailing from a stern cleat and our baits settling nicely. Within minutes, we had action. 
 
My fishing partner was Vince Ransom who had accompanied his wife, Tarin Fuller, down to Annapolis from their art gallery, Iandor Fine Arts, in the Ironbound area of Newark, New Jersey. They were spending a few days with my sculptor wife and me in an artists’ meeting combined with a bit of fishing.
 
Vince once lived on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, becoming an insatiable angler, but he had been unable to continue his sport since moving to New Jersey. I hoped to help him remedy that.
 
We had four rods out using cut menhaden for bait. His was the first to go down. I netted a nice seven-pounder for him a few minutes later, and his long fishless spell was finally broken. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed this,” he said. His demeanor had changed, his whole frame relaxing, his face beaming.
 
Usually when you’re trying to show someone an especially good time on the Bay, things don’t go the way you planned. This time was different. Vince must have had a pile of charitable acts banked in his karma bin because his baits were seldom without some kind of attention from the rockfish.
 
We had several throwbacks and a few shorts, but we released all the fish under 23 inches and little by little we accumulated some very nice rock in our cooler. For the last fish, we chose to hold out for over 30 inches. That strategy is often self-defeating and this time appeared no exception. The bite stalled. 
 
We made to pull up our gear when I had a good run. I missed the strike, but we stayed put, thinking a new school of fish was arriving. But nothing happened until we made ready to move yet again. Vince immediately had a strong fish on, but the hook pulled.
 
Our remaining bait was running low with all the attention from the throwbacks, and we were also running out of time. But I believed Vince had some special juju, and we were going to capitalize on it or go home short a fish.
 
By this time getting a bite with every decision to move had become a running joke. We began threatening a move whenever we had gone a while without something nosing our baits. Eerily, a bite or a fish (though not a keeper) was almost always the result.
 
Finally, with just a chunk or two of menhaden left, I called out over the stern: “This is the very last time. We are going to go, and we need a big fish, not one of these little guys you’ve been sending us. And we need it right now, or we really are going home.”
 
I know that sounds silly. But what is more preposterous is that Vince’s rod promptly bent over in the holder, line screaming off the reel. Fifteen minutes later I netted a gleaming, 34-inch striped bass fat as a fireplug, the biggest fish landed on my boat this year.
 
If you’ve been on the water long enough, you know that peculiar things can happen.

Ouch! That’s uncomfortable!

     There’s more I didn’t tell you about Bernie Fowler in this week’s feature interview leading up the 27th Annual Patuxent River Wade-In.
    A cross and a flag mark the entrance to the Prince Frederick home of the 90-year-old champion of the Patuxent and retired Maryland state senator. “God and country,” he says, are his mottoes.
    In his heart, Bernie Fowler is a conservative — in the old-fashioned meaning of that oft-preempted word.
    Conserving the bounty we’ve been blessed with is that old-fashioned meaning and what Fowler is all about. Even if conservation demands going to extremes of change. Extremes like paying taxes. Extremes like acknowledging our hand in changing ecosystems — from his beloved river to the global climate — and taking responsibility for fixing problems that won’t fix themselves.
    Conserving the bounty we’ve been blessed with takes getting more innovative every day.
    Life is too fast, we complain nowadays, and it’s true. We live in a vortex of speed, twirled by trying to keep up with the speed of our machines. In 1914, people were just hopping into automobiles. In 1814, the fastest thing on wheels was a horse cart; bicycles weren’t invented until 1817.
    In 1714, the typewriter was a far-fetched idea. In 2014, the Internet moves ideas digitally at the speed of thought.
    While we’re hustling to keep up with the future, the past is catching up with us. Yes, we’re the children faced with paying the environmental bills wracked up by at least six generations of our ancestors, back 200 years.
    In that perspective, our pittance of a flush tax or stormwater tax barely pays the interest, and the principal keeps mounting. The edifice towering over us is pretty scary. No wonder we don’t want to acknowledge it.
    Yet unless we want that mountain of environmental debt to come avalanching down on us, we’ll have to be willing to pay our share. And to think — as Fowler
advises — outside the box.
    Much of the problem comes down to cleaning up after ourselves. We pay the flush tax to clean up our toilet water, whether in our septic systems or wastewater treatment plants. The stormwater tax — plus our rain barrels and French gutters, rain gardens and pervious pavements — captures the rain that flows off roofs, parking lots, driveways and roads — not only in our homes but throughout our counties.
    The bigger the problem, the bigger the change and outcry, as every change means loss for people invested in what came before.
    As Bernie asked me, “have you got a magic wand?”
    Realistic solutions are going to cost us all, not only our money but also our cherished beliefs. Natural gas burns 30 percent cleaner than coal — but we’d have to swallow fracking or work fast to find better ways of getting the gas out of shale. Sustainable solutions — solar, wind, water and geothermal — each bring their own problems. Will we have to make peace with nukes, as scientist Burt Drake suggested in our Bay Weekly conversation back in April?
    Conserving the bounty we’ve been blessed with means that one way or another, each of us is going to have to think the unthinkable. I fear that’s what’s meant by thinking outside the box.

When you get your fish, all’s right with the world

When you’ve gone through a long series of skunks — as anyone who has fished much has — you start questioning your skill. Where were you going wrong? What else could you do? Serious uncertainties also creep in: Was the past season’s long string of successes real?
    That’s about the way I was thinking the other day, anchored a bit south of Hackett’s with only one other boat near. The finder screen was lit up like a fireworks display, but once again my baits went untouched.
    After almost an hour, one of the rod tips began to twitch. It stopped. I lifted the rig and moved the bait just an inch or two but felt no resistance. My heart was heavy. It had been a long spring with virtually no success chasing rockfish. Either the weather or the bite — or both — had been consistently horrible.
    The morning had started badly. Having gone to bed with excellent weather and good tides forecast for dawn, I opened my eyes at the appointed hour to the sounds of an approaching jet. Then I realized that it wasn’t airplane noise at all, it was thunder, lots of it.
    Another fishing trip scratched, I feared. Would things never go my way? Then, as if in answer, rain drummed down on the roof as if being poured from a giant bucket.
    I got up, reluctantly, to call my partner to cancel. But by the time I had a cup of coffee and picked up the phone, the skies had cleared and the sun was bright. Could lady luck be smiling at last? Or was she toying with us?
    Once on the Bay, we looked out over calm waters and a nicely moving incoming tide. It was looking good, but I steeled myself for more disappointment, reminding myself that dry spells make the good bites that much more enjoyable. But it was getting to be a very difficult sell.
    Then a rod tipped down with a serious run, the reel chattered as line poured out and all of those dark thoughts vanished. Feeling the weight of a good fish heading off against the drag, I smiled.
    It was a lively fight for a few minutes before my partner slipped the net under the six-pounder — and just that quickly our day had changed.
    As I buried the thick fish in ice and gave my buddy, Moe, a fist bump to celebrate the end of our rotten luck, another rod slammed down hard in its holder, and a 10-pounder took off for the other side of the Bay.
    With a couple of throwbacks and a pulled hook or two, we collected our limits in short order. The summer had officially started, and that miserable series of fishless days receded into the dim and forgettable past.
 

Can you change the future with a few super powers?

The future isn’t very bright for Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart: American Dad) and his X-Men. Machine sentinels have been created by a fearful human population to exterminate mutants. Excellent hunters, the sentinels are able to adapt to any mutation, taking on their targets’ powers and finding a way to vanquish them. Only a handful of mutants remain, running for their lives.
    The most successful group of fugitives is a scavenging team led by Kitty Pryde (Ellen Page: The East). When the sentinels attack, Kitty uses her powers to transport the consciousness of a teammate back in time to warn the group.
    Impressed by Kitty’s success, Xavier believes he can use this trick to send himself back in time — to 1973, when the sentinel program began — and avoid the mutant war. The problem with the plan: Sending a mind that far back in time will rip it apart. Fortunately for the X-Men, a teammate with the power to heal rapidly might be able to withstand the journey. Unfortunately, this teammate is Wolverine (Hugh Jackman: Prisoners), whose volatile personality is unsuited for a delicate mission of diplomacy to change the political tide and the future.
    But beggars can’t be choosers. Wolverine’s mission is to reunite a despondent young Charles Xavier (James McAvoy: Filth) with his best friend and nemesis Magneto (Michael Fassbender: The Counselor). If he’s successful, X-Men will have a brighter future. If he fails, everyone will die. No pressure.
    Think of X-Men: Days of Future Past as a dark retelling of Back to the Future with Wolverine in the Michael J. Fox role. The film has lofty goals and metaphors. But its jumble of odd performances and logic gaps make you wonder how the X-Men survived so long in the mutant wars.
    The biggest mystery may be Wolverine, who is always the most entertaining character in these ensemble films but is consistently terrible when taking the lead in an X-Men origins movie. Here Jackman is in his element, snarling, flexing and quipping with aplomb. Jackman uses his natural charisma to make Wolverine a fun fish out of water, exasperatedly dealing with the younger versions of his friends and enemies.
    As the mercurial Magneto, Fassbender is a cunning villain. However Magneto’s inevitable turn to the dark side, now a third-act staple of the X-Men series, makes Fassbender’s character work moot. Magneto will always choose to kill humans, given the opportunity, so it’s mind-boggling that Xavier (supposed to possess the greatest mind in the world) and the rest of the good guys continue to trust him.
    Mutant motivation aside, director Brian Singer (Jack the Giant Slayer) packs the movie with some impressive action sequences. Who has time to wonder why Xavier and Wolverine would trust a mortal enemy who has betrayed them at every turn when we’re watching a mutant lift a stadium and zoom it around Washington, D.C.? Unfortunately, Singer is so busy with these tricks that he shortchanges the plot, which had some possibly interesting things to say about politics and weapons.
    Singer is now adept at superhero franchises that are light on logic and heavy on effects. So X-Men is a diverting film that offers great spectacle at the cost of a good story.

Good Action • PG-13 • 131 mins.

Time your pruning for both desirable growth and flowers

While azaleas were blooming mid-month, I passed a home in the Deale area where the bushes were so large that it must have been impossible to look out through the lower part of the front windows. They must have been sheared at some point because the middle of the plants appeared very bushy.
    This is a common problem and one that is simple to correct — once you get out the pruners and get past fear. 
    Well-established azaleas are almost impossible to kill. Their only sure death is by over-mulching or repeated mulching with hardwood bark. The plants are very shallow-rooted; over-mulching them suffocates the roots. Repeated applications of hardwood bark lowers the acidity of the soil and releases high levels of manganese, which prevents iron from being absorbed by the roots.
    If azaleas are well established and growing too well, simply prune them back 12 to 18 inches below the windowsill now, as the flowers are wilting. The sooner you prune the better. Stems up to three-quarters-inch in diameter will sprout new branches by the hundreds. Do not prune all of the stems at the same height. Cut some stems back 12 inches, others 18 and others 24 to give the plant a more natural appearance.
    Within three weeks after pruning, you will see small green dots emerging from the bark. Each of those is a potential branch. If you allow all the green dots to develop, you will get too many branches, giving the plant a bottle brush appearance. To avoid this, in mid-June or early July, use your fingers to rub away half of the developing nubs. These newly emerging branches are soft, succulent and easily removed. In mid-August repeat the process, this time keeping the best-developed and strongest branches and removing the others.  
    Do not fertilize or mulch the plants with compost until after vigorous growth appears on the pruned stems. Keep them thoroughly irrigated during dry periods.
    Since azaleas initiate flower buds beginning in mid- to late September, avoid shearing the plants after the middle of August. Flower buds are initiated at the ends of newly developed branches. If you delay shearing until mid- to late September, you will be eliminating most of the new growth, and the plants will have no flowers next spring.

Let it guide you through the night

Friday evening, look in the wake of the setting sun low in the west-northwest for the nascent crescent moon and Mercury. Mercury is just a few degrees to the upper right, but both are so close to the horizon that you may need binoculars and you won’t have long. Within 90 minutes of sunset Mercury is gone. And that window is shrinking each day. Mercury is surprisingly bright — equal to any star. But don’t confuse its white glow with the much brighter and golden hue of Jupiter, 20 degrees higher.
    By sunset Saturday, the moon has climbed well above the horizon, leaving Mercury in the dusk. Now the thin crescent is just seven degrees below Jupiter, easily the brightest object other than the moon. The moon, Jupiter and Pollux higher still form a near-straight line.
    Sunset Sunday finds the waxing crescent moon well positioned in the west. Jupiter shines 10 degrees to its right, while below and to the left, making a wide triangle, is the first-magnitude star Procyon. The eighth-brightest star in the heavens, Procyon is one of two bright stars in the constellation Canis Minor, the Little Dog.
    Monday the moon is amid the dim stars of Cancer. Look a few degrees to the right of the moon for a dim patch of light at the constellation’s center. Unlike the sharp, clear light of a star, the hazy glow you’re seeing is the combined light of hundreds of newborn stars within the Beehive Cluster 570 light years away. While our own sun is 4.5 billion years old, the stars of the Beehive Cluster are only 600 million years old, mere infants in the life of a star. Binoculars are enough to distinguish dozens of these lights; a modest telescope reveals many more.
    Tuesday and Wednesday the moon is several degrees to either side of Regulus, the blue-white heart of Leo the lion. Regulus marks the dot at the base of what looks like an inverted question mark, called the Sickle of Leo.
    As twilight turns to darkness, Mars glows like an ember in the south. Far to the lower left is Spica. The red planet sets around 3am.
    Saturn shines in the southeast at sunset, is high in the south around midnight and sets in the west around 4:30am. The ringed planet is flanked by the two brightest stars of Libra — both second-magnitude — Zubenelgenubi and Zubeneschamali.
    In the hour before sunrise, Venus appears low in the east. At –4 magnitude, there’s no confusing the Morning Star for anything but an airplane or satellite — except that it holds steady in place until daybreak.

Calvert Marine Museum chips away at 58 million years

Persistence pays off. That’s the case with retired farmer Bernard Kuehn of Accokeek.
    After 30-plus years combing the stream bed running through his farmland for fossilized sharks’ teeth, Kuehn hit the jackpot this month.
    He discovered the soft-shell turtle fossil that lived over 58 million years ago in the Paleocene epoch.
    Heavy rains this spring exposed new layers in the creek bed, revealing the significant paleontological find on Kuehn’s farm, which was under water millions of years ago.
    The reptile would have inhabited fresh water near the ocean.
    Kuehn’s rare find, which he donated to Calvert Marine Museum, is one of only three known specimens of this species.
    Paleontologist Peter Kranz from Dinosaur Park in Laurel investigated the fossil, then asked Calvert Marine Museum for help in quarrying it.
    Joe and Devin Fernandez from Diamond Core Drilling and Sawing Company had the special equipment, a diamond-blade chainsaw, to cut the turtle out of the rock while preserving most of its shell. The turtle was delivered to the museum wearing a coat of rock.
    Unlike a normal turtle’s smooth shell, the fossilized soft-shell turtle’s shell is bumpy from a skin over the living shell.
    The ancient two-by-two-foot reptile appears to be whole.
    The inch-thick hard shell — like a coat of armor — would have protected the turtle from most predators all those millions of years ago.
    It will take many hands — and months — to remove the rock from around the bones as Calvert’s marine paleontologists study the rare specimen.
    Stop by to see the fossil and the work in progress in the Museum’s Prep Lab.

Gather under the stars for satins and sequins, top hats and tails and vocal harmonies with that Merry Melodies brand of manic sweetness

It seems only yesterday we were urged to come and meet those dancing feet … on 42nd Street. But the 2001 revival of the 1980 Broadway hit (both multiple Tony Award winners) debuted as a 1933 Warner Brothers film starring Ruby Keeler and Ginger Rogers. Now Annapolis Summer Garden Theatre brings back this buoyant musical extravaganza, after a 20-year hiatus, in a show billed as a “bold celebration of the transcendent joys of Broadway.”
    Packed with show-stopping classics, it stars several dynamic leads guaranteed to satisfy the strongest nostalgia craving. ASGT’s stage can’t provide the same trademark visuals of Busby Berkeley’s film choreography, but the tapping is complex and tight, highlighting the virtuoso performances of Hannah Thornhill as Peggy Sawyer, the sudden starlet, and Summer Garden Theatre newcomer Nicholas Carter as her friend Andy, the dance captain of her star vehicle, Pretty Lady. Maggie (Allie Dreskin), the show’s wisecracking writer, is equally impressive for her singing.
    Because even the spunkiest musical needs a story line, no matter how flimsy, Peggy the small-town-girl takes the city by storm and wins the hearts of hard-nosed producer Julian Marsh (Brandon Deitrick) and sweet chorus boy Billy (Kyle Eshom).
    Meanwhile, aging diva Dorothy Brock (Allison Erskine) gives Peggy her lucky break, literally, when age trips over youth in rehearsal. Dorothy was due for a change, anyway, having tired of her sugar daddy who is the show’s backer, Abner Dillon (Wendell Holland), and desperate to reunite with her secret love, Pat Denning (Thomas Brandt).
    For a show with two love triangles, there is nary a spark beyond the music. But with hits like We’re in the Money glittering green as a lotto commercial, Lullaby of Broadway with its great male harmonies, and Shuffle Off to Buffalo staged in train cars, the rest is fluff.
    Thornhill, ASGT’s star of Thoroughly Modern Millie and Chicago, has it all: voice, moves, personality and Renée Zellweger’s looks. Carter astounds as an Astaire for the modern age. Dreskin brings a Bette Midler quality to Maggie, wowing early on in Shadow Waltz, and dominating the stage for a third of the show. Newby Erskine’s strong contralto is best showcased in About a Quarter to Nine and I Only Have Eyes for You. Eshom shines in Dames. Caitlyn Ruth McClellan, Lacy Comstock, Amanda Cimaglia and Trent Goldsmith excel in the tertiary lead chorus roles of Anytime Annie, Phyllis, Lorraine and Brent, featured in the big-production numbers.
    From an acting perspective, Aubrey Baden is worth mentioning for his terrific impersonation of a rehearsal pianist, despite the fact that he doesn’t play or speak. All the music, in fact, is provided by a tiny, tinny backstage combo. Holland is a quintessential milksop. Deitrick does a decent job with his famous pep talk, “You’re going out there a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star,” but he has trouble navigating 42nd Street in his solo reprise of the title song in the finale. Similarly, some dragging tempi and a lighting problem siphoned some of the show’s energy on opening night.
    Still, if you love satins and sequins, top hats and tails, and vocal harmonies with that Merry Melodies brand of manic sweetness, you will thrill to this chestnut.


With Samantha Curbelo, Ashley Gladden, Debra Kidwell, Maureen Mitchell, Erin Paluchowski , Aaron Quade and D.J. Wojciehowski.
By Stewart, Bramble, Warren and Dubin. Director and choreographer: Kristina Friedgen. Musical director: Julie Ann Hawk. Dance captains: Nick Carter and Caitlyn Ruth McClellan. Set designers: Friedgen and Dan Snyder. Costumes: Miriam Gholl. Lights: Alex Brady. Orchestra conductor/pianists: Hawk and Laura Brady.
Playing thru June 21. Th-Su plus Wed. June 18 at 8:30 pm @ Annapolis Summer Garden Theatre, 143 Compromise St. $20; rsvp: 410-268-9212; www.summergarden.com.