After locking up my heart with renditions of Lucinda Williams, The Roches, and, most recently, Bruce Springsteen, Pinky Rose has done thrown away the key with this performance of Samuel Beckett’s one-woman play Rockaby.
Losing, lost, a warbling echo swallows me up. There, where are we but there: in a large, empty house, on a wide, empty stage. Her voice bounces around. Still, then stillness, waiting, as if only, searching—patient now. There, there. The day is almost at a close. The bright light, the dull chatter, will soon be lost to the interminable night. Sit back, for this will all be over soon, my sweet, my darling.
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