EDITOR’S NOTE

— of did. We certainly both remember it well. It was in a small, sweaty black box on Vermont Ave. in Los Angeles in the early ’90s, and actors were singing right into our faces. Only we couldn’t see them. They had entered in a blackout and were snarling a full-chorus rendition of, but it certainly qualified as a strong choice. What came next was inevitable but nevertheless shocking: The lights popped on, and there they were, inches from our seats, visages contorted in smears of spit and makeup, Grosz gargoyles come to life. It was so intense it struck us both as funny, at least in retrospect.