In a fair few bars around the world tonight, bands will be playing “That’s The Way (I Like It)”, “Give It Up” and so many more of KC and the Sunshine Band’s bangers. They’ve filled dancefloors for half a century and Harry Wayne Casey (KC to you and me) has a claim to having written the first ever disco hit with George McCrae’s “Rock Your Baby” – Benny and Bjorn’s inspiration for “Dancing Queen” no less!
He’s a significant figure in the much undervalued history of pop music. His songbook is a strong foundation for a musical. All you need to add are great singers, great costumes and a great band. And a great book. Definitely a great book to engage us in a riveting story. Please?
We open on Harry addressing us directly, a smart move in a theatre that’s long and narrow and is all the better for a bit of fourth wall demolition. We’re going to learn about Harry’s early life, growing up in Florida with his horny teenage friends, smoking pot and making music (eventually), all set against the turmoil of protests against the Vietnam War and demands for Civil Rights.
"Are you going to San Francisco?" Sorry – "Are you going to Miami?" Okay, the second question may not carry quite the same hippy cachet, as the first, but the counterculture was there on the East Coast too, along with the flares, the tie-dye T-shirts and platform shoes.
Writer JF Lawton, who counts the book for Pretty Woman: The Musical in a long list of film and theatre credits, draws on his experience, treating us to some meta fun as Harry and best friend, Dee, banter how they’re going to tell their story in musical theatre form. Lots of in-jokes pepper the dialogue with references to "I want" songs, "11 o’clock numbers" and even, perhaps inevitably, Hamilton. Oh, us critics get a shoutout too.
It’s all done in such a winning way that it’s more of a welcoming to the party than a primer for that Drama School audition you’re panicking about. That’s in no small part down to Ross Harmon, who gives us a Harry who is shy, a bit low on self-esteem and bullied in his dead end job, but determined to make it big in showbiz. His character is off-set by Paige Fenlon (pictured above with Annabelle Terry and Adam Taylor), whose Dee is part older sister, part ex-lover (this is the late 60s remember) and part narrator when Harry goes off at a tangent. It’s amusing stuff.
They’re joined by sex-mad Gina (Annabelle Terry), who is turned down by Harry (we can guess why) but, somewhat inexplicably, can’t seem to find a man elsewhere either. And, a bit later, after discharge on completion of his service in ‘Nam, Orly (Adam Taylor), who gets to say a few “You had to be there man” lines and meets a fate that we suspected the moment we clocked the moustache.
And that’s the issue for the show. Tonally it’s all over the place – one moment hedonistic delights, identities being formed, success arriving in the face of adversity and, moments later, a bleak reflection on the fleeting nature of friendships, the fragility of our tenure on this planet, the search for love. The second half of the all-through 90 minutes show somehow welds (or tries to) elements of Chekhovian gloom to songs as bright as the midsummer sun in Orlando.
Not that too many punters will be overly concerned. They’re here for the songs, superbly sung by the principals and backed by a fine ensemble of dancers worked hard by director/choreographer Lisa Stevens, all in an array of well-observed costumes by Tom Rogers (there really is a terrifying volume of man-made fabrics in one room at one time). Mark Crossland’s band deliver the goods too in a space that isn’t always friendly in terms of acoustics.
So it’s not a warts’n’all exposé of the dark underbelly of Florida’s music scene in the 70s (it’s no Scarface with a poppy soundtrack ) but it’s not quite a feelgood hit fest either. Never mind – everyone is back at the end for a foot stomping (and, given the age of some punters at the matinée I saw, cane stamping) encore.
If that’s your thing, Get Down to Charing Cross Tonight to Shake, Shake, Shake, Shake Your Booty – and don’t forget your Boogie Shoes!
