Like her on-stage vaudeville persona, Angel Russell herself is a variety act.

A barista, herbologist, florist and painter — most recently she has been painting large, close-up portraits of chickens — Ms. Russell is first and foremost a musician.

She currently lends her nimble fingers to four Island bands, playing piano, guitar, trumpet, drums and bass.

Dudley Brooks sits cross-legged on the floor of room 405 at the regional high school, staring intently at two students in the center of the room. His eyes flicker back and forth between the performers, analyzing their movements with an expert, subtle gaze.

The wall calendar that hangs beside the kitchen telephone, or on the wall behind the home office desk, is a dutiful thing. First and foremost, it lays out the days of the month with the pleasant organization of a numbered grid, so that we might make plans, set goals and schedule the chaos of our lives to the best of our ability, however futile such endeavors may be.

“A little over to the left, bitte? Danke, thank you, okay now let’s try it again.” The cameraman makes a few last minute adjustments, the actors get a quick preening, and the camera rolls. “Cut! Schön,schön,” says the director, and the massive television crew begins to reorganize itself for the next shot.

Even when filtered through telephone lines, Carly Simon’s voice is distinctive; those warm, husky tones laid over bright backgrounds cause a listener to leap immediately to her songs, her albums — you know that voice.

The house was full, as ever, when 95-year-old Helen (Hellcat) Lamb took the stage at the Camp Jabberwocky studio. The sweltering heat was amplified by the spotlight that ignited her usual white blouse and matching, freshly styled shock of white hair. She looked out into the crowd sternly, and waited for a relative quiet to settle on the room before beginning: “Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe . . ..”