The Daily Iowan (the University of Iowa newspaper) interviewed Nate just before his show at the Englert theater. Excerpts below:
By Adam Greenburg
Magician Nate Staniforth tilts his head toward the floor and pauses. “I have no interest in any of the crap that’s associated with magic – laser beams, or smoke, or tight leather pants, or rabbits and top hats,” he said in a recent UI classroom lecture. He must have spouted this anti-magic creed 1,000 times before, but his tone assured all that he meant what he said.
His theory is simple: Strip down magic to what it is – the illusion of persuading people they are viewing the impossible – and rid the act of all the side notes that, he says, give magicians too much to hide behind.
“So much of magic is ego – pretending you have special powers – and lots of smoke and lights, and that just gets in the way,” the 23-year old religion and history major said in an interview with The Daily Iowan. “I’m trying to get past all that, so I can communicate something honest to people. That puts the emphasis on the show [itself], rather than what I’m saying in the show.”
In performance, Staniforth is anything but hot air. His presence on stage is dry but irresistibly commanding. He owns the show. During one hypnotic scene, Staniforth went to great lengths to choose a random audience member – chosen in part by the audience. Staniforth instructed the woman, perched on a folding chair on stage, to close her eyes as he walked her through an imaginary tour of downtown Iowa City in her mind. His hand held an envelope containing a sheet of paper with a random number on it. The woman was told to picture a white poster, to walk closer toward it in her mind, and to find a number written on it. Asked what the number on the imaginary poster was, she replied: 68. Staniforth handed her the envelope. The number on the sheet of paper inside? 68. Shrieks and puffs of laughter reverberated through the crowd.
“Nate is probably the most talented performer I have ever seen close-up,” said Andy Stoll, an independent talent agent and Staniforth’s co-producer for the Englert event. “His stage show and personality set him apart from most entertainers I’ve seen.”
“The people who influence me most are not magicians but, rather, musicians and filmmakers,” Staniforth said in a voice of confident but meticulous clarity, aware how odd the connection he was trying to make might sound.
“In the current pop culture, it’s music and movies that are really affecting people,” he said. “When I think of what I’m trying to do, I think of the songwriters and filmmakers I like, because that’s what I’m trying to do, more than what Houdini or Copperfield did. They just had different goals.”
Staniforth’s personal goal is to connect with his audience in the unspoken realm of disbelief. His epiphany came last year at a concert in Chicago – a U2 and Kanye West concert, actually – where in the audience the magician was awed at the connection between the musicians and their fans – 20,000 minds attuned to what was happening on stage.
For Staniforth, it is the artist following her or his muse that holds his attention and drives his own efforts.
“I am attracted to any kind of artist who is doing what he wants, regardless of how other people take it,” he said. “People hated Bob Dylan when he went electric, but nothing was quite the same after he broke onto the scene, and I respect that.”
We see examples of people compromising their art for mass success nearly every day: in action- and CGI-overloaded blockbuster movies, on “American Idol,” and on records by musicians coasting on trends rather than forging to where the music takes them.
Staniforth assumes most people think magic is uncool, and, yet, there he is, performing his brand of adult magic, wowing crowds with sleight-of-hand card tricks and disappearances.
“At the core of it, the heart of the matter, there is something really, really cool, really amazing. It’s the whole idea of experiencing mystery,” he said, then waxed on modern society’s inability to acknowledge the unknown. “It’s so important for us to have an answer for everything. The Western mind is stuck in the belief that the forces that govern us are not only knowable but known.”
Then, in one quick statement, Staniforth reveals his credo: “[People] pretend like they know everything, and a great magician could remind people that we don’t know everything and do that in a way that’s really entertaining.”
Admittedly, however, Staniforth is not yet there. He is set on living his life as a magician and “never getting a real job.” If he fails, it will only be because he cannot quite connect with his audience in the way he would like to.
“If I’m to succeed, it will be because I can figure out how to get out of the way,” he said.
The Englert show is a homecoming for the Iowan, and though it is not the final stop on his tour, it represents a culmination of his year on the road. A film crew funded by Staniforth has been following him since the tour began in LA last June, shooting footage of him in concert, hanging out, and performing magic for unsuspecting strangers on American streets.
This, Staniforth said, is akin to a band deciding it needs to make a record.
“I’m ready to put it down in a format I can show people, because you can only do so many live shows,” he said “It’s a way to reach a wider audience.”
Staniforth knows how to work the press. Aware of just how important – and difficult – it is to reach that wider audience, the magician subscribes to the bar-band philosophy of never turning down a gig or, in his case, a chance to perform, even if it is an impromptu gathering on the street.
Whether or not Staniforth is the next Blaine waits to be seen.
Staniforth knows a pothole-riddled road lies ahead, but logic has not been his guiding force over the years, anyway.
“I didn’t join the circus,” he said. “I became the circus.”
