Going Bacharach Review: The Wall Street Journal
‘Going Bacharach’ Review: A Revue Done
Right Off-Broadway
Stuffed with the songwriter’s hits and led by the remarkable Adrian Galante on the piano and clarinet, this intimate show is both warmly nostalgic and musically irresistible.
As this unusually frigid winter continues on its baleful way, New Yorkers can take a brief escape by dipping into the warm bath of nostalgia that is “Going Bacharach,” a pleasingly small-scaled, musically dazzling revue of the songs of Burt Bacharach and (mostly) his longtime lyricist Hal David.
The production is being presented at the Marjorie S. Deane Little Theater, which has just 145 seats. It’s a wise choice: The venue gives the show the intimate feeling of a nightclub act, and it’s far better suited to a revue of Bacharach’s music than a larger space. (A similar show was produced on Broadway; it didn’t go well. Many years ago I also saw in San Diego another large-scale production that was such a dud its Broadway ambitions were scrapped.)
Usually at songbook shows, the vocalists are the focus of our attention, with the musicians, even if they are onstage, as they are here, taking a backseat. Here that’s decidedly, and refreshingly, not the case. While the three capable singers—Hilary Kole, John Pagano and Ta-Tynisa Wilson—all have their turns in the spotlight, the music director, Adrian Galante (who is aptly also listed as a cast member), is such a protean talent, at the Steinway and on clarinet, that he and the gifted musicians under his direction (Patrick Firth on keyboard, Derek Duleba on guitar, Nate Francison bass and Jakubu Griffin on drums) are equally vital participants. I can’t say enough about the remarkable level of musicianship on display. The handsome, personable Mr. Galante dazzles at the piano. During a thrilling overture—Mr. Galante also did the orchestrations and arrangements—his fingers flew so fleetly and dexterously across the keys that he made a snippet of the song “Promises, Promises” sound like a riff from Rachmaninoff. (Kudos to the lighting designer, Matt Berman, for spotlighting Mr. Galante’s hands at work.) He’s equally proficient on clarinet, providing intermittent solos of captivating beauty. And such is Mr. Galante’s irrepressible enthusiasm for the songs that I occasionally saw him singing along (or mouthing the lyrics).
Audience members are naturally Bacharach fans, and the show, which runs about two hours with an intermission, doles out the great hits lavishly, beginning with all three singers performing “Always Something There to Remind Me.” Ms. Wilson shines on the beautifully languid “Walk on By” (supplemented by one of Mr. Galante’s entrancing clarinet solos). Mr. Pagano, who we learn toured with Bacharach for more than 20 years, sings “Close to You” as a duet with Ms. Kole. He also renders the mournful ballad “A House Is Not a Home” with sensitivity. And his comic rendition of “What’s New Pussycat?” is inspired by memories of a skipping and scratchy 45 he listened to as a kid; I frankly preferred his version, reproducing those imperfections, to the original, made famous by Tom Jones.
A medley from “Promises, Promises,” the only Broadway musical Bacharach and David wrote the score for, features Ms. Kole delivering “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” with wry comic verve, and Ms. Wilson performing one of my own favorite
Bacharach-David songs, “I Say a Little Prayer.” (Just don’t ask me to choose between the version by Dionne Warwick, widely regarded—including by me—as the foremost interpreter of Bacharach’s songs, and the more soulful Aretha Franklin recording.)
The evening is lightly dappled with personal or informative patter. Mr. Galante recalls first hearing Bacharach in concert at age 14 in his hometown of Perth in
Australia—with Mr. Pagano being one of the featured singers. (Astonishingly, given his musical sophistication, Mr. Galante is just 29 years old.) We learn that Bacharach composed more than 1,000 pieces of music, including such oddities as the theme song for the cult classic 1958 Steve McQueen thriller “The Blob.” Ms. Kole, a composer herself, points out that almost all of Bacharach’s songs are written in “mixed meter,” with the first seven bars of “Promises, Promises” moving through five time changes.
But the narration is delivered lightly and sparingly. Music is always front and center, and its careful treatment can be credited to the show’s co-creators: Mr. Galante; Will
Friedwald, perhaps today’s finest writer and historian of jazz and pop vocalists (and a Journal contributor); the veteran musical director Tedd Firth, who works with such performers as Michael Feinstein, Bernadette Peters and Marilyn Maye; and producer Jack Lewin, of “Our Sinatra,” which clocked more than 1,300 performances off-Broadway. David Zippel, a Tony-winning lyricist, directs the show with a smooth and skilled hand.
The set list is expansive, so will naturally include a few nonfavorites. I have always found “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” the theme song from the movie “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” to be both musically and lyrically cloying. And the show’s finale, “What the World Needs Now Is Love,” would be on my Spotify skiplist.
Nevertheless its anodyne prescription feels appropriate for these turbulent times. Who could object to more warmth in the world, or for that matter just warmer weather?