Josh Kornbluth’s been making me laugh aloud for more than 20 years.

But he is changing.

In 1992, he was a bald, bespectacled chubby monologist in his 30s whose intelligence and offbeat sense of humor tickled me.

And made me think.

Today, he’s a bald, bespectacled chubby guy whose intelligence and offbeat sense of humor tickles me. And makes me think.

But he’s 54, graying at the temples.

And, in a colossal departure from his string of one-man shows, he leans on actress Amy Resnick (who does mock French and Valley Girl accents and uses a huge shawl to convert herself into God) and a four-piece band.

It’s easy to see, though, that Kornbluth’s new material at the Ashby Stage in Berkeley is infinitely more mature than previous introspections, interweaving themes without the scruffy seams he used to display.

“Sea of Reeds,” like its title, is multi-layered.

It’s a 90-minute-plus comedy that sporadically reveals Kornbluth’s earnestness and complexity — and leads playgoers to what promotional materials alternately call “the Promised Land of paradox” and “a story of faith and procrastination.”

It’s his latest exercise in cerebral self-pleasuring.

Yet his storytelling skills make it impossible not to enjoy the impressive flip side — his thorny wit.

The writer-performer draws chortles from unlikely places: having his violin ripped off by a Jewish/Hispanic street gang, childhood Red Christmases (his folks having been devotees of Marx — Karl more than Groucho), Exodus (the Bible book, not the Leon Uris novel) and the Dead Sea (“a good place to visit if you’re a scroll”).

He draws his biggest LOLs, however, from a risqué, slapstick oboe lesson designed by a spellbinding young temptress at camp, Monique.

Conversely, he bemoans his youthful inability to make a “leap of faith” off a diving board at an amusement park in suburban New Yawk.

The lifelong atheist segues into his decision to have an adult bar mitzvah two years ago in Israel atop a water tower in the desert — an outgrowth of an idea nurtured by his rabbi-friend, Menachem Creditor of Berkeley’s Congregation Netivot Shalom.

That mentor had paved the way for Kornbluth to reconcile his Communist upbringing with his cultural Jewishness by defining God with a catchall phrase, “the collective potential of the human imagination.”

But despite Hebrew terms and phrases being translated immediately, almost as if they were in parentheses, “Sea of Reeds” may be too sectarian for non-Jews.

And too Jewish for many Jews.

Some may flinch, too, when he dismembers his designated Torah portion, utilizing exaggerated body motions and fiery word-pictures to depict its violence and murder.

For those willing to remain open, his twin searches — for proficiency with his instrument and for faith — will make it all worthwhile.

Kornbluth, a Princeton dropout who’s been labeled “Berkeley’s favorite intellectual and provocateur” and who formerly stressed being a luckless bumbler, indicates his director and friend, David Dower has helped him grow — while structuring the chaos of the comedian-playwright’s improvisations.

“Sea of Reeds” was commissioned by the Shotgun Players, which co-produced the show with Jonathan Reinis (who just won a Tony for the Broadway revival of “Pippin”). Like Kornbluth’s previous efforts, it superimposes silliness onto soul-searching.

I’ve seen almost all his creations.

I became something of an addict-stalker after his first big stage hit, “Red Diaper Baby,” where I first noticed his addiction to red socks (shades of Garrison Keillor).

“Haiku Tunnel,” about being an incompetent legal assistant, solidified my high regard.

So did “Love & Taxes,” about the fiscal implications of not reporting royalties to the IRS, and “Ben Franklin Unplugged,” about his affinity for the historical figure he resembles.

In “Sea of Reeds,” Kornbluth uses an especially piquant line: ‘This is how rabbis roll.”

Well, this stretch is how he rolls these days — and I applaud it. Again he’s made me cogitate all sorts of stuff. And I still find him funny.

“Sea of Reeds” runs at the Ashby Stage, 1901 Ashby St., Berkeley, through Aug. 18. Show times, 7 p.m. Wednesdays and Thursdays; 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 5 p.m. Sundays. Tickets: $20 to $35. Information: (510) 841-6500 or www.shotgunplayers.org.

Jessye Norman

 

I have a couple of highbrow friends who braved all four parts of Wagner’s Ring cycle a while back in San Francisco.

And then they had the stamina to sit through the whole thing again in Manhattan.

Frankly, I wouldn’t endure that on a bet.

I also know some lowbrow folks who’ve been on pins and needles waiting for the next “American Idol” or “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” reality show.

Not my druthers.

On the third hand, I and my middlebrow colleagues agree we’ll attend carefully selected symphony, ballet and opera events, Shakespearean festivals, art-museum openings and the like, as well as pop this ‘n’ that — and, as a rule, thoroughly enjoy our cherry-picking.

Which brings me to the San Francisco Symphony and its recent variegated concert in tribute to John Goldman, who has relinquished the symphony’s presidency after 11 years.  

Pieces by Ravel, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff, Gershwin, Stephen Schwartz and Rodgers and Hammerstein, and guest performers Jean-Yves Thibaudet, Gil Shaham, Lisa Vroman and Kenny Loggins (in a “surprise” appearance) have all ranked among Goldman’s favorites.

The result? A potpourri of pleasure.

Said he to an appreciative audience, “You can tell I have eclectic tastes — some would call it weird.”

But it wasn’t a weird night at all, merely another extraordinary one.

Many uncommon nights can be expected in the near future — such as an orchestra-less concert with Jessye Norman Aug. 9 at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco.

She’ll sing a collection of songs, in the first half, by George Gershwin, Harold Arlen, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Kurt Well, Leonard Bernstein and Duke Ellington. After intermission, she’ll perform homages to Nina Simone, Lena Horne, Odetta and Ella Fitzgerald.

The soprano, who’ll be backed by pianist Mark Markham, rescheduled from July 31 because she wanted to sing instead at a U.S. Congress ceremony for the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington.

Other future San Francisco Symphony goodies will include “Disney in Concert: Magical Music from the Movies,” a Sunday afternoon pops event July 28; a “Jerry Garcia Symphonic Celebration” featuring Allman Brothers and Gov’t Mule vocalist/guitarist Warren Haynes; and the new season’s “Opening Night Gala” with Audra McDonald on Sept. 3.

The night of the Goldman tribute, Michael Tilson Thomas led the orchestra. Brilliantly. And the guest artists radiated talent as they played and sang.

The truth is, MTT and the SFS provide the extraordinary so often it’s become what’s anticipated. Certainly it’s what I always expect.

One glance at the diverse pops-loving folks jamming Davies — many decked out, some in chinos and jeans — proved the musicians had collectively fashioned one thing this balmy June evening: Fun.

That was especially palpable in the final piece of the evening, which found Tilson Thomas trying “to bring all these musical worlds together” as the symphony intermingled passages from Beethoven’s 5th with Loggins’ vigorous vocal of Chuck Berry’s 1956 rhythm ‘n’ blues smash, “Roll Over Beethoven.”

The pop hit’s lyrics, ironically, suggest R&B should replace classical music, a concept the Davies crowd would never accept.

Loggins also drew untamed applause when he performed the raucous “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright” and the more pensive “Return to Pooh Corner.”

But the crowd was equally delighted with classical strains.

My own favorite was the excerpts from Ravel’s “Piano Concerto in G major,” with Jean-Yves Thibaudet displaying finger gymnastics with both soft and percussive segments.

Gil Shaham’s violin skills headed my wife’s list. His mastery of Tchaikovsky’s finale from “Violin Concerto in D major, Opus 35” was immediately clear, his confidence in full evidence as he fiercely stroked his instrument.

Lisa Vroman, a Broadway veteran with a striking voice, drew the biggest laughs with her rendition of “Honey Bun,” from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “South Pacific” — her high-stepping and white sailor suit comically augmented by a chunky male accomplice in fright wig, grass skirt, mock-coconut bra and spats.

Vroman also delivered a couple of Schwartz tunes from his score of “Wicked,” with resident conductor Donato Cabrera on the podium, following her quick-change into a shimmering turquoise gown.

MTT, as is customary, was at the top of his game, whether leading the finale from Rachmaninoff’s “Symphony No. 2 in E minor, Opus 27” or Gershwin’s sprightly “Walking the Dog.”

Tilson Thomas drew chuckles when he dedicated the latter to concertgoers who have dogs and then added he wasn’t ignoring “those of you who have lemurs — we love them, too.”

Speaking of pooches, I spied two: a small Spaniel service dog on a leash inside the theater, and a smaller Chihuahua in the arms of a homeless woman beggar just outside.

Were there any hiccup in the concert itself, it came when the nearly 100-member strong San Francisco Symphony Chorus, under the leadership of Ragnar Bohlin, presented excerpts from the soundtrack of “2001: A Space Odyssey” — that is to say, György Ligeti’s “Lux aeterna.”

That piece — though exquisitely performed — is definitely weird. To me, it emphasizes eeriness and what seems like hollow, metallic echoes.

Before the event, The Martini Brothers entertained in the lobby with dance tunes. Eight or nine couples gleefully strutted their stuff as many onlookers stared — and one wag talked about taking what she called “a tour of some of the finest facial surgery in the Bay Area.”

San Francisco Symphony concerts take place at Davies Hall, Grove Street (between Van Ness and Franklin), San Francisco. Information and tickets: (415) 864-6400 or www.sfsymphony.org.

 

Seconds after the musical comedy’s second tune ignited, I was positive I wasn’t the show’s target demographic.

I was decades too ancient and absolutely the wrong gender to get off on the sophomoric parody, “50 Shades! The Musical!”

Clearly I wasn’t a 20- or 30-something woman with a hyperactive libido given to shrieks of joy and raucous laughter at the less than subtle, salacious lyrics and text of the cartoonish show.

(I’d pre-assessed what was ahead by seeing a theater crowd unusual for San Francisco: heterosexual, mostly female.)

To make matters worse, I hadn’t read Word One of the runaway best-selling E L James novel, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” which the production was burlesquing.

Yet, despite my apparent mismatch with both characters and audience, I found the show funny more often than not.The book  — 32 million copies sold in the United States, and counting — and its two sequels center on sexual novice Anastasia Steele’s erogenous explorations with super-wealthy Christian Grey, a “beautiful, brilliant and intimidating” man “tormented by demons and consumed by the need to control.”

“50 Shades! The Musical!” — written in effect by a “committee” of half a dozen men and women — focuses on what three ladies reading the first novel fantasize about.

It’s somewhat more than a revue, less than a full-blown musical.And considering that the concoction is aimed at the so-called weaker sex, it’s surprising comic Chris Grace, as a pot-bellied Grey, steals the show through exaggerated gestures and body movements (and an over-the-top rendition of “I Don’t Make Love”).

Amber Petty, as the virginal Anastasia Steele, and seven others ably reinforce his labors.

(Petty, not incidentally, can hold a note with the best of ‘em, and draws thunderous applause early on for “There’s a Hole Inside of Me.”)

Director Al Samuels deserves major plaudits for successfully integrating tons of slapstick with outrageous mock-eroticism.

Choreographers Joanna Greer and Brad Landers merit praise as well, their spoofs being the antithesis of what theatergoers normally expect.A robust three-piece band, featuring musical director/pianist Dan Reitz, bassist Christopher Ditton and drummer Douglas Levin, keeps everything amped up.No one gets credit for the set, and that’s a good thing because there really isn’t one — a makeshift couch and end table are basically it.

The opening night audience was oddly noisy before the show, but quickly channeled their energy into hoots, hollers and howls — and frequent laughter. But the musical presented me with a problem because of what goes on (simulated, ad infinitum sex acts and voluminous use of vulgar language).It leaves me with nothing to quote.

Promotional materials insist the musical “is not for those under the age of 19, but does not cross boundaries that would make general audiences squirm.”

I didn’t see anyone squirming, cringing or leaving the theater.

But one befuddled male could be heard to comment, “I don’t get it. It’s midway between pure raunchiness and pure porno.”A movie based on the book will be released in about a year. That guy may skip it.

But hordes of women most likely will turn it into a box-office smash.

“50 Shades! The Musical” runs at the Marines’ Memorial Theatre, 609 Sutter St., San Francisco, through July 28. Performances: Wednesday and Thursday, 8 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, 6:30 and 9:30 p.m.; Sunday, 6:30 p.m. Matinees, Saturday and Sunday, 3 p.m. Tickets: $30 to $65, (888) 746-1799 or www.shnsf.com. Info: www.50ShadesMusical.com.