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Stereophonic Moves to Broadway, and Thunder Happens
It’s a love song, bittersweet and wounded and ferociously loyal, to the act of making art.
No one misses a beat, from Brill’s itchy, writhing, slurring, somehow still strangely sweet mess of a bassist (just wait for his mind-blown effusion on houseboats) to Butler’s cheerfully bizarre assistant engineer — his lack of room-reading skills is one of the show’s great entertainments, and the band members’ repeated inability to remember his name is one of its small, hilarious heartbreaks. Canfield gives the outwardly cool Holly gorgeous depths — it’s devastating to hear her, enraptured, tears in her eyes, describe the sex scene from Don’t Look Now as beautiful “because you know it’s coming from grief” — and Stack expertly turns Simon into that guy who’s at once the most lovable and least readable in the room. Pidgeon and Pecinka have been nimbly messing around with the dials of their characters’ relationship like Grover at his soundboard, and have found a dynamic that feels marvelously complicated, a rich, sad place where it’s no easy task to point to a singular victim.
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