Collabroworld

A couple of articles in the paper today got me thinking about collaboration. In the first, there's a somewhat sad little piece about Fred Kander in the NYTimes. Kander, of course, is one half of the venerable songwriting team Kander and Ebb. Ebb, his writing partner, died in 1994, and Kander is now working to bring their last collaborations to a finished place.

The grieving process of spouses is now a familiar subject. Less is said, though, about what it means to survive a professional partner. For 42 years Mr. Kander and Mr. Ebb spent part of most of their days together in a small room — often around the kitchen table or by the spinet in the study at Mr. Ebb’s Central Park West apartment — conceiving, giving birth to and guiding their works to maturity. That they went their separate ways when work was done each day did not make it easier for Mr. Kander to do so when their work was done for good.

If anything, the differences in their personalities, the contrasting traits that proved so useful to their songwriting, made the unwinding more complicated. Once Mr. Ebb’s apartment was sold, where would Mr. Kander work? And with whom?

Several unhitched lyricists, like suitors bearing casseroles, made it clear that they were available; Mr. Kander thanked them but said he was, for the moment, “otherwise engaged.”

Maybe it's the stories of the Lennon/McCartney partnership we've all downloaded over the last few decades, but I find that people are able to grasp songwriting partnerships far better than other kinds of writing partnerships. I've said before that the idea of "The Room" - is something that is probably best not even discussed ex famille, since it involves a level of intimacy, give and take, and freeness that doesn't translate across most other workplaces. Most people outside the business tend to have a distorted view of the creative process anyway, but there's something particular about the idea of a bunch of people working in a room to craft a story that rubs people the wrong way. I think it's because the only analogue they can come up with is a project designed by committee -- where compromises reduce any vision to pablum. You can try to explain that The Room is far more Darwinian than that - not a compromise, but a survival of the fittest hothouse where the best idea wins - but again, you're probably not going to get it if you're not involved. (Or unless you have ambitions to BE involved. It's the old saw about sausages and lawmaking -- if you enjoy the end product it's probably best not to see it made.)

That's why the article in the Times on Kander struck me as so interesting. It's very much in line with a lot of my views on collaboration, too. Two people so professionally in tune that everyone assumes that there's a deeper thing going on. And there is, but not in the way you think.

We get into trouble, I feel, when we expect collaborative relationships to be like friendships, or sibling relationships, or anything else where boundaries are more permeable. The myth of how we understand these things, imperfectly, demand that there be some sort of filial or friendship bond there. We want Kander and Ebb or Lennon and McCartney to have been the best of friends -- but really, at the end of the day, it's not relevant. Not at all.

(This is not to say that you don't see spouses or brothers or friends who collaborate, of course. But as someone who has collaborated and doesn't find it to be that natural an experience, I think the difference has to be that professional collaborations are defined not by the commonality of experience, but by the differences. It's easier to maintain that separation if you, well, maintain that separation. And if you do have a personal relationship with your collaborator, your professional collaborative relationship, if it's going to be stable, has to be established with different rules and boundaries. In other words, one doesn't grow out of the other, it's more like they develop on parallel tracks.)

I've only had a couple of experiences collaborating in a musical way. I wrote the book and lyrics for a spoof musical based on Top Gun that had some minor success here in Toronto and in a couple of other productions. My collaborator/composer in that show is a guy named Scott White. Scott and I get along well -- very well. Our skills complement each other. And I deeply enjoyed the collaboration. But what made the collaboration effective, and possible, is how different we were. Scott and I see each other from time to time, and we're warm, collegial acquaintances, but we're not best friends. We don't go out for beers. But when it came time to work, we were always there, ready -- and our differing approaches clicked and meshed. Which, I think, is how it should be.

I say all this because I think, when you're starting out trying to find your way and your voice, the natural first thing you do is start collaborating with a friend. And in many ways, it's the worst way to start. If you have a previous relationship, that previous relationship will always be in the room with you, and it has the definite chilling effect of making it way harder to be professionally honest. In any collaboration situation, I have to be able to say when I think X is a "%@#$ stupid idea." And anyone I collaborate has to be able to say the same thing. If you know that later you have to go meet the in-laws, or pick up the kids, or go to Jenny's housewarming -- I imagine all of that becomes infinitely harder.

Which brings me to the other article on collaboration in the paper today. Eric Bogosian is doing a new production of SubUrbia, and it's being directed by his wife, Jo Bonney, who's also worked with Neil LaBute. How they negotiate the professional/personal relationship, to me, is an utter mystery.

“What’s interesting to me working on ‘SubUrbia,’ ” he said, “is that the guy I was 12 years ago was fascinated with the whole topic of fame and fortune — I was just coming off a period of pretty strong stuff like that — but that’s not the leading plane of it for me anymore. Not to sound pretentious, but I’ve been reading ‘The Three Sisters’ again lately, and looking at the way Chekhov paid such close attention to character. Which is what Jo is also so good at, the earned small beats, the little nuances. And no director I’ve ever worked with is as precise about the writing. She won’t let you cover up the flaws.”

He is not alone in this opinion.

“Jo is quick to dismiss and exile anything in the writing that isn’t top-notch,” Mr. LaBute said.

What about you, collaborators? Tell me about the intimacies in your working relationship. Is distance important? How about differences of background, temperament, approach? Do your significant others understand? Do they get jealous?

I've heard some heartbreaking breakup stories in my time. The worst ones are always couples who have kids who can't put the kids first. But just below that -- ugly and gnarly and awful -- and way, way, way worse than the breakup of just about any personal relationship I've ever witnessed -- is what happens when professional creative partnerships implode. Oi. That's some bad mojo.

Anyway, all in all, not a bad muse for a Sunday.