David Byrne’s American Utopia can be described as a theatrical concert, but let’s call it what it really is: musical therapy for emotionally traumatized audiences. When the show originally opened nearly two years, we were suffering under the Trump administration and then an attempted insurrection. In the period that the production was on hiatus, the world has endured a deadly pandemic. So is it any wonder that we all feel like “Burning Down the House”? If there was any justice in the world, this show would remain on Broadway forever as a respite from future crises.
The former Talking Heads frontman has always delivered complicated messaging in his music. This is a songwriter, after all, who famously got people on their feet and dancing to the nihilistic first-person ramblings of “Psycho Killer.” But with this show, which toured much larger venues internationally before landing on Broadway, Byrne provides a soothing emotional balm to a world in which we seem to communicate largely through social media.
The evening begins with Byrne onstage, pondering a model of the human brain and wondering why babies apparently have more neural connections than adults. This leads to the opening song, “Here,” as he points to different sections of the model and sings, “Here is a region of abundant details, here is a region that is seldom used/Here is a region that continues living, even when the other sections are removed.”
[Read Steven Suskin’s ★★★★★ review here.]
Reprising a stylistic concert device that he’s often used in the past, he’s slowly joined by the other performers, who come onstage as if summoned by a musical pied piper. Eventually, the stage fills with eleven other musicians, including singer/dancers Chris Giarmo and Tendayi Kuumba, guitarist Angie Swan, bassist Bobby Wooten III, keyboardist Karl Mansfield (perhaps the MVP of the band), and no less than six percussionists: Jacquelene Acevedo, Gustavo Di Dalva, Daniel Freedman, Tim Keiper, Mauro Refosco and Stephane San Juan. Their names are all mentioned here because their brilliant musicianship is absolutely integral to the show’s success.
The deceptively simple but genius notion that Byrne had was to have all of the musicians performing wirelessly, so that they can move around the stage while they play. And move they do, constantly, with Annie-B Parson’s endlessly inventive choreography and musical staging making the show as fascinating to watch as to hear. Many musical artists have incorporated choreography into their acts (Motown made it a trademark), but not to the extent of this show. The dancing and movement feel both precisely calibrated and joyful in its simulated abandon, with Rob Sinclair’s protean lighting making an invaluable contribution. There are times when the ensemble feels utterly individual, each marching to the beat of a different drummer (or in this case, six drummers), and other times when it seems to function like a single, multi-faceted organism.
The set list (almost a banal term for a show like this), includes 21 songs culled from the Talking Heads and Bryne’s solo career, as well as a cover of Janelle Monae’s protest song “Hell You Talmbout,” which Bryne informs us he asked permission to play since he’s a “white man of a certain age.” The number is composed largely of chants of the names of African-Americans killed by the police, and it’s a discouraging sign of the times that it seems to need continual updating.
While the newer songs and deep cuts don’t have the anthemic power of the Talking Heads hits, they have such lyrical resonance and are performed here in such stirring fashion that the evening never flags. Throughout the show, Byrne acts as a genial, frequently self-deprecating host; introducing “Everybody’s Coming to My House,” he describes hearing a high school choir’s rendition that made the song sound much sunnier than it is. He then cheerfully admits that while he likes their version better, he nonetheless has to do it his considerably darker way. He also makes an impassioned plea for people to vote, having a spotlight trained on a small section of the audience to represent the tiny percentage of registered voters who participate in local elections.
There are striking visual touches throughout. At the beginning of “Once in a Lifetime,” Bryne jerks his body around, as if he’s being buffeted by unseen forces. “Glass, Concrete & Stone” starts out with the musicians performing from behind the metallic curtains, only their instruments peeking out. All of the performers, including Byrne, are clad in light grey suits and button-down shirts and yet barefoot, as if unable to figure if they’re hipsters or hippies.
The show is largely unchanged from its original incarnation, although some of the between-song patter reflects recent events. When Byrne once again thanks the audience for leaving their homes, he comments that the greeting has a very different meaning in light of the pandemic.
Ultimately, it’s the rousing polyrhythmic music that produces the joyous effect and has the audience on their feet. The show ends in optimistic fashion with the soaring “One Fine Day,” but leave it to Byrne to send us home on a more ambiguous note with “Road to Nowhere.” We may not know where we’re going, but we can certainly dance on the way.
David Byrne’s American Utopia resumed its run on September 17, 2021 at the St. James Theatre and continues through March 6, 2022. Tickets and information: americanutopiabroadway.com
