‘simple and hedonistic’
Is there room for nine straight men on the West End? Choir of Man, the globetrotting fringe hit, has reshuffled its feathers and stepped out-beer in hand, swaying just a little.
My first statement might seem more controversial than it is. But we West End Wendies have had a chokehold on the musical genre and, despite the heterosexual content of many, the camp, glitter or choreography mean they are queer in all but name. Not so Choir of Man, set in an apparently male space: the pub, a male choir, and-apart from a token homosexual/Black character-a white world.
So, I ask again, is there room for this kind of privilege? I’ll throw you off once more and answer yes (with caveats, of course)! This show is a thumping song cycle with nine performers, four live musicians, free beer from the working pub on stage, and some hair-raising a cappella covers.
It all started, fittingly, in a beer garden-an idea between creator/producer/director Nic Doodson and fellow creator Andrew Kay. Since then: shows in Scotland, European and Australian tours and three US, three seasons at the Sydney Opera House, two cruise ships, a run in Chicago, and an Olivier Award nomination. All this, and popping into the Udderbelly festival in 2021, where I first stepped into The Jungle (the boozer named after the title-kicking Guns N’ Roses song).
But what has prompted this sprinting success? Well, the concept is simple and hedonistic: a beloved British institution (the pub), juice flowing, and an equally respected pastime (choirs) mixed with something we all love (wink wink)… men! Ben Norris weaves in some spoken word magic, loosely tying together themes like the loneliness epidemic in men, the cost of living crisis, modern individualism, and personal stories. Sandwiched sometimes uncomfortably between the mainly upbeat songs. Freddie Huddleston’s movement keeps the eye darting as the men mop, slide, and play cards-always on beat. Constantly clambering configurations conjure the Sodom and Gomorrah that unfolds up and down the country at last orders.
The musical skill is an undeniable pull. A cappella performances-Sia’s Chandelier and the Irish/Scottish folk ballad The Parting Glass are rolled out into the now-silent air in full nonet splendour. The new cast equally inhabit the vague, archetypal characters with pluck. Paul McArthur is our poet/narrator, breathing a heady mix of metaphor and cringe into the monologues-also, some celestial pipes on him! Ifan Gwilym-Jones flexes his considerable piano muscles alluringly in a playful rework of The Proclaimers’ I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles). Oliver Jacobson dry-humps some humour as the privately unlucky-in-love barman, with Rupert Holmes’ Escape (The Piña Colada Song) bringing us to hot, hilarious tears. Jason Brock injects some much-needed fruitiness and doesn’t crumple under the pressure of Adele’s classic Hello. Darius Luke Thompson stands out from his incredibly talented fellow musicians with a fiddle solo straight from the fingers of the devil.
Whether due to a nasty cold or a heavy night (hey, look at the content), we get a who’s who of the swings-making the experience all the more impressive. Tom Carter-Mills channels some Tom Jones crooning, while Alex Mallalieu taps across the bar and snooker table, later picking up the trombone. Multi-instrumentalism is nothing new for a cast that ends up swapping between 20 different music makers. Another swing rounds off the evening of stand-in talent as David Shute becomes the playful joker with a side-splitting urinal song (you’ll have to see it to believe it).
The energy is high, and the blood-alcohol levels follow suit. The new cast are bouncing and boisterous, but the same flies in the Peroni are present that were swimming in bubbling circles back in 2021. The deeper elements are kept shallow to maintain the good vibes despite a nice partnership with the charity Campaign Against Living Miserably at the end. The lack of gender, sexual (bar one), and racial (bar one) diversity feels a little archaic and unexplained, brushed aside in favour of feel-good cheer. And with a West End location comes West End prices: around £70 for stall-side-seats for a 90-minute jukebox musical feels cheeky and then some. At those prices, you’ll need the free pint.
Although it is extending it’s run yet again maybe the pub crawl has finally come to an end? But what a glorious rampage it has been.
Get lost in the sauce, grab a ticket HERE!