STEREOPHONIC

Duke of York’s Theatre

★★★

“when it does come together, the result is musical magic”

Michael Lindsay-Hogg’s 1970 documentary film, ‘Let It Be’, used two film cameras that rolled from the moment the first Beatle appeared each day and continued recording until the last one had left. It wasn’t the first film of its kind, and it certainly hasn’t been the last. But it was appraised for its fly-on-the-wall glimpses into the dynamics and tensions that would lead to the band’s break-up. But criticised, too, for its indulgence. Such exercises can indeed be dull and draggy and are often only rescued by the subjects’ celebrity and enjoyed by the fans. It is therefore quite a risk to construct a fictitious band, give it the same treatment, and then unleash it onto a theatre audience as a three hour play with music.

“Stereophonic” follows an unnamed British-American rock band on the cusp of superstardom as they struggle to record their new album. Set in the mid-seventies, it takes place solely within the confines of a recording studio in California. The time and place are both beautifully evoked by David Zinn’s nostalgically perfect set complete with its working reel-to-reel deck and analogue desk. Enver Chakartash’s choice of costume is equally in tune with the post-hippy, West-coast vibe. The band has a strong resemblance to Fleetwood Mac, not necessarily in appearance but in its line up and relationships within. A lawsuit filed by the author of the Fleetwood Mac memoir, which was settled out of court, didn’t dampen the play’s success on Broadway last year, breaking the record for the most Tony Award nominations.

There is no getting away from the uncanny comparisons to the real-life band. In writer David Adjmi’s thinly veiled counterpart we follow the shenanigans of married couple bassist Reg (Zachary Hart) and keyboardist/vocalist Holly (Nia Towle); longtime partners guitarist/vocalist Peter (Jack Riddiford) and singer Diana (Lucy Karczewski); and drummer Simon (Chris Stack). It is quite a long time before we get to sample some of the music they are making, composed by Will Butler – former member of the indie rock band Arcade Fire. It takes a long time for anything to happen. In fact, the play takes a long time. Period. Or rather, full stop – in honour of the three-to-two majority of British members in the band. The performances, however, do allow us to get to know the characters quite swiftly. Riddiford plays the control freak who surreptitiously adopts the role of producer and is abusive to his bandmates and his partner, Diana. Karczewski’s performance as Diana is the most gripping, as she pieces together her confidence despite Peter’s damaging swipes, eventually conquering all and outgrowing the collective success by securing a lucrative solo contract. Hart’s Reg epitomises the coke-addled bassist who is more interesting in his brief flashes of sobriety than his shouty, shallow jibes. Towle’s Holly is torn between rejecting and accepting her husband’s behaviour, finding solace in her music and her friendship with Diana. In the midst is Stacks as the drummer, Simon, not just the backbeat to the band but the backbone to the line-up. Peacemaker and therapist, but even so, not averse to occasionally throwing his own tantrums.

It is a world of booze, cocaine, coffee and cigarettes. Tempers fray frequently (too frequently), but everyone is exhausted by the recording sessions that constantly creep into the early hours. We occasionally feel the same. The stop-start frustrations in the sound booth often cut short the beautiful moments of the music. And inside jokes can outstay their welcome. How long does it really take to tune a snare drum? We are furiously willing the actors along in their attempts to settle artistic differences – but when it does come together, the result is musical magic. Butler’s compositions perfectly suit the setting and are beautifully performed by the cast. Both Karczewski and Towle have the voices that can easily give Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie a run for their money.

No recording studio can function without the engineers. Eli Gelb and Andrew R. Butler are Grover and Charlie, the ill-fated, tech-wizards at the console who are often the uncredited heroes of the day. In this respect, Gelb and Butler are the saviours of the show too. A breath of fresh air, they provide the comic relief that is much needed, and also the most memorable and believable characters. Hilariously absurd but in tune with the precariousness of their position. Dismissive of the egos they are working with but knowing how to pitch their servility just right to keep their jobs. Until they’ve had enough, that is.

There is no denying that this is a microscopic and detailed look at the blood, sweat and tears of genius. Art isn’t easy. It takes time. “Stereophonic” certainly latches onto that requirement. A literal translation of the drawn-out process of making an album. There are moments of pure genius in this play, but they are buried under the weight of self-indulgence and multiple takes.

STEREOPHONIC

Duke of York’s Theatre

Reviewed on 14th June 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Marc Brenner

Previously reviewed at this venue:

BARCELONA | ★★★★ | October 2024

AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE | ★★★★ | February 2024

BACKSTAIRS BILLY | ★★★★ | November 2023

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING | ★★★★ | February 2023

Stereophonic

★★★★★

“Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision”

In its Barbican transfer, director Jordan Fein’s revelatory Fiddler on the Roof retains the elemental power that made it a five-star phenomenon in Regent’s Park. He strips the beloved 1964 musical of its nostalgic veneer to expose something more potent and contemporary: a raw and resonant meditation on tradition, displacement, and the endurance of community.

Fun, too, in case there should be a misunderstanding. Great fun.

Set in 1905 in the menaced Jewish shtetl of Anatevka before the Russian revolution, Fiddler follows Tevye, a weary but devout milkman, as his five daughters begin to choose love over arranged marriage, and the outside world encroaches upon his way of life.

Anchored by songs like Tradition, If I Were a Rich Man, and Sunrise, Sunset, it’s long been cherished for its warmth and wit. But Fein’s version – subtly but decisively restaged – asks more interesting and topical questions too: what happens when the traditions that once sustained a community begin to fracture under the weight of change? What is the true impact of displacement, of a people menaced from their homes?

Where the musical was once critiqued as “shtetl sentimentalism,” this staging leans into pared-down grit, stoic humour, and haunting lyricism. There is a modern feel to the witty script – and to the resolutely ambiguous ending.

Tom Scutt’s gorgeous design is emblematic of the approach: instead of quaint rooftops, we see cornstalks uprooted and suspended above the stage, evoking both harvest and trauma. The titular fiddler (a magnetic Raphael Papo) becomes not just a symbol but a shadowy companion, echoing Tevye’s inner world with eerie cadenzas and an eventual duet with Hannah Bristow’s Chava – whose marriage outside the faith breaks her father’s beleaguered heart.

The huge cast is potent, using impressive numbers to magnificent effect, a dream sequence appearing like a fully-realised Hollywood dance number. Meanwhile, Adam Dannheisser’s Tevye is no grandstanding showman but a wry, tired father trying – and failing – to hold his family together through reason, prayer, and rueful monologues. His comedic timing is sharp and he plays out with great relish the classic sitcom paradigm of the father and husband who declares his dominance only to have it slyly eroded by the headstrong women around him.

But it’s his gentleness that resonates most, particularly opposite Lara Pulver’s commanding Golde, whose grounded and wary pragmatism keeps the domestic scenes taut and touching.

Fein’s direction and Julia Cheng’s muscular choreography is marked by sublime precision. The Bottle Dance at Tzeitel’s wedding is performed under a canopy that rises and falls. On top of that precarious canopy, and ominous, the fiddler makes clear that everything is poised on the brink of a mighty disaster. The Russians are coming.

The cast functions as a true community, especially in the spine-tingling finale as they sing Anatevka, their voices braided with longing, resilience, and bitter clarity. In a final image, the toppled milk cart, beautifully lit, appears like an oil painting. Everywhere, indeed, there is beauty and catastrophe.

One of Fein’s many achievements lies in his refusal to oversell modern parallels. The production trusts its audience to make the connections – to recognise in Anatevka’s forced dispersal the long shadow of global displacement. It neither moralises nor rants; it simply tells the story with integrity and emotional intelligence.

For all its sumptuous visual invention and musical flair, Fiddler is most powerful in its silences: a father cut off from his daughter, a community carrying candles into the dark, a fiddler playing an aching lament.

A joyous and moving triumph from beginning to end.

Tag Archives: Marc Brenner

STEREOPHONIC

★★★

Duke of York’s Theatre

STEREOPHONIC

Duke of York’s Theatre

★★★

“when it does come together, the result is musical magic”