ROLLING STONE
TOP 100 MUSIC SCANDALS OF THE PAST 50 YEARS
#14: KATEE ROSE DESTROYS RYAN LANEVE’S HEART (AND HER CAREER)
It will make you feel old as dirt to realize that there are youths today who are completely unaware that Ryan LaNeve, movie star, was once Ryan LaNeve, teen sketch show cheeseball. The short-lived Show N Tell was a launchpad for many a star, including his former flame, Katee Rose. LaNeve and Rose first met on the set when they were teens, but their relationship was thrust into the spotlight as they both gained popularity—her as a solo act and him as one-fifth of CrushZone, the hottest boy band of the time.
Their reign as the prince and princess of pop ended abruptly when LaNeve revealed that Rose had been unfaithful. Although it was never confirmed, the scandal gained even more traction when it was implied that Rose had been cheating on him with none other than fellow CrushZone member Calvin Tyler Kirby.
In a case of life imitating art, LaNeve left CrushZone to take a star-making role in Kiss Me First, as the sad-sack husband who watches his marriage dissolve when his wife prostitutes herself, in a loose remake of Indecent Proposal.
As for Katee Rose? The nasally performer had already been on the way out, and the scandal was just the final nail in the coffin of her career.
OVERTURE
It was trial by fire, musical theatre–style.
Once our bags had been unpacked, instead of the first-day bonding activities I was accustomed to at my usual Jewish summer camp, everyone had been herded into the theatre and told we’d be auditioning for the end-of-summer showcase.
Right. Now.
Camp Curtain Call was not fucking around.
Most people would be shaking in their boots, but I wasn’t. I was more than up for the challenge. I was ready.
It was exactly the reason I’d wanted to come here in the first place.
I had it all planned out.
Step one: Convince unsupportive parents to spend bat mitzvah money on expensive, exclusive theatre camp.
Step two: Astonish everyone at said camp with my talent, charm, and can-do spirit.
Step three: Perform—to a standing ovation—at the end-of-summer showcase, impressing an audience full of agents, managers, and other theatre powerhouses.
Step four: Theatrical domination.
I sat in the back row and observed my competition.
Even though I’d anticipated step one to be the hardest to pull off, I knew the rest wouldn’t be a Sunday walk in the park. There was talent here—plenty of it—but that didn’t discourage me. There was no pride in being the best of the subpar. If anything, this would make my triumph all the more glorious.
Auditions were being conducted alphabetically, so I had the advantage of watching everyone with last names from A to Rosenberg go before me. We were an hour in, and I’d already changed my audition song twice, after watching the front row of instructors sigh at yet another rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” and “Don’t Rain on My Parade.”
Luckily, I’d prepared at least a dozen potential performances, ranging from the expected to the more obscure. Right now, I was debating between “If I Were a Bell” and “Lion Tamer.” One was funny, one was wistful. Most singers were leaning toward the latter, so I was leaning toward the former. Luckily, I was excellent at both.
It was essential that I stand out.
The next camper stepped onstage.
“Rachel James,” she said, her hair thick and shiny, her teeth perfect.
There was a soft groan next to me. I glanced over to find a face scrunched with disdain behind big, round glasses.
“It’s a stage name,” she said when she caught me looking. “Her real name is Rochelle Illowski.”
A stage name. I was probably going to need one of those.
Though, when I imagined receiving my (first) Tony Award, it had always been “And the winner is Kathleen Rosenberg!”
I could tell, from the way the instructors leaned forward, the way the whole room went quiet, and the straight line of her shoulders, that Rachel knew what she was doing.
And she did.
Her voice was gorgeous. Crystal clear and emotive.
We weren’t supposed to clap after auditions, but half of the campers did anyway. No one stopped them.
“She’s good,” I said.
“She’s been on tour,” the girl with glasses said.
I was unspeakably jealous. And a little nervous.
“Wow,” I said.
“She’s a bitch.”
I looked at my new friend, surprised and delighted by the outburst. She shrugged.
“She put pine cones in my bunk last year,” she said. “And stole my signed Rent playbill.”
“That bitch,” I said, and meant it.
“I’m Harriet,” she said. Her box braids were pulled up away from her face in a towering twist.
“Kathleen,” I replied.
We shook hands.
“First summer?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Fourth,” she said.
“You must know everyone,” I said.
She shrugged, but with a pleased smile.
“It is very nice to meet you,” I said.
I meant that too. A Rent fan and someone who knew the ins and outs of Curtain Call? It was as if the patron saint of musical theatre—Stephen Sondheim—was smiling on me.
Perhaps.
“What do you sing?” I asked.
“I’m an alto,” she said.
Lucky indeed. A new friend that I didn’t have to compete with.
“But I mostly write songs,” Harriet said.
“You write your own songs?” I asked.
She nodded.
It was like she’d just confessed to having a superpower.
“You’re my new best friend,” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
Harriet knew everyone and everything about them. At least the important things, like how many summers they’d been attending, if they’d been featured in the showcase, and if they’d ever performed professionally.
“That’s Courtney,” she’d say. “Six summers. Was only in the showcase once and it was an ensemble role.”
Or “That’s Shauna. Only her second summer, but she had a duet last year.”