Memphis: A New Musical

By Pearl Chen

A year ago this month, Barack Obama was inaugurated President of the United States. Over the past 12 months, the celebratory fervor for this country’s first black President has ebbed and flowed along with the ripples from the stock market, the unemployment rate, and the endless political mud-slinging that has perhaps become most symbolically visible in Obama’s rapidly graying hair. But tonight, watching Memphis on Broadway and its exuberant and heart-aching portrayal of race relations in the 1950s during the birth of rock ‘n’ roll, I found myself with a renewed appreciation for the road this country has taken – more so than even during Obama’s inauguration. Onstage, race could dictate everything from music on the radio to whom you could love; offstage we have an African American in the White House. I couldn’t help but feel moved that the former was theater, the latter reality, and until relatively recently, this was far too easily the other way around.

The cast of Memphis. All photos by Joan Marcus.

Even if you’re not an Obama lover and could care less about race dynamics in this country, you’d be hard pressed to not have a good time at this show. Memphis isn’t just a story about the first white DJ to play “race music” on the radio, shaking up not only the nation’s notions of rock ‘n’ roll but also of interracial love; it’s also quite simply the most hair-raising, can-I-get-a-Hallelujah musical-and-dance extravaganza on Broadway right now.

Joe DiPietro and David Bryan (creators of the hilarious Toxic Avenger) have done it again: They’ve written and composed a musical that is dazzling from start to finish. But unlike Toxic, which some have accused of being “cheesy” (how dare they; the cheese was the best part), Memphis probes darker waters on how love and career can be constrained by the color of your skin. Has this been done before? Absolutely. But what’s not cliché is that all of this is told with one jaw-dropping show-stopper after another. If the story and the racial significance of this musical don’t do it for you, the music – from sultry rhythm and blues to rollickin’ gospel to toe-tapping pop harmonies to sizzling early rock – surely will. It’s Broadway does soul, and who cares if it’s not authentic – this is the kind of musical fusion that often made me want to get up and wave my arms like I just didn’t care. Add to this mix an ensemble of expert, athletic dancers who pump not only energy but passion into each vibrantly choreographed number, and you’ve got a production that is every definition of what a Broadway show should be.

Montego Glover as Felicia and Chad Kimball as Huey Calhoun.

Chad Kimball is charismatic and perfect as Huey Calhoun, a white high-school dropout in 1955 Tennessee who adores African American music. He doesn’t know much about the music business, but does know how to follow his instincts with a loopy but dogged knack for impromptu. After ambushing a local radio station (by locking himself in a DJ booth while the real DJ stepped away for a moment), he introduces the people of Memphis to “Negro music” – and becomes an instant hit. Though he climbs up the industry ladder, eventually hosting his own R&B television show, he’s less successful in publicizing his love for Felicia, a phenomenally talented and ambitious black singer he features on the radio.

Felicia is much more cognizant of the limits of their relationship and her career if she stays in Memphis instead of moving to the less conservative North. “You can be white any time you want to be,” she tells Huey, noting that her “choices” are far less possible. When the couple is clubbed and beaten for a public display of affection, we know that this is a love story that is anything but boy-meets-girl. Montego Glover brings spunk to Felicia (“A woman can tell when a man is lying – he opens his mouth”), and while she can be a little affected during the more serious scenes, her powerhouse vocals more than compensate. Both she and Kimball have absolutely inspirational, goose-bumps-worthy moments in the spotlight: For her, it’s “Colored Woman” in the first act; for him, “Memphis Lives in Me” in act two. If ever there was an anthem for digging down into your roots, this is it.

Kimball and Glover are supported by a fantastic cast with not a single weak link among them. As Felicia’s sibling Delray, J. Bernard Calloway is super tough and mistrustful of Huey’s intentions – the overprotective older brother I certainly wish I could’ve had growing up. Cass Morgan is ruthlessly racist as Huey’s mother, and though her transformation in the second act is unconvincing, it is also impossible not to laugh at her campy gospel vocal runs. My favorite is Bobby (James Monroe Iglehart), a radio station janitor Huey later invites to perform on his show. All I can say is, the man has GOT MOVES.

J. Bernard Calloway as Delray and Montego Glover as Felicia.

Memphis could’ve pushed the envelope a little further in exploring the actual history and consequences of white appropriation of African American music, something that is only voiced in Delray’s occasional accusations of Huey (e.g. “My soul doesn’t want your soul stealin’ our music.”) But in the context of this story, did Huey really benefit from his appropriation? That’s something that is questioned in the surprisingly bittersweet final scenes of this show. Here is where Memphis becomes less satisfying but more realistic than other shows of this nature. Hairspray unabashedly celebrated how music breaks down racial barriers; Memphis takes a much more subdued, less feel-good approach – acknowledging music’s transgressive powers while also hinting at the emotional costs involved in such cross-overs.

The complicated sentiments that run through the end of Memphis speak to the often unspoken but nevertheless controversial race relations that continue on into today. (The upcoming census survey, for instance, has riled some up over the inclusion of “Negro” on the same line as “African American” in the “check your race” box.) At the end of act one, the cast poignantly brings to life “Change Don’t Come Easy,” a song that carries unique emotional resonance in light of a campaign of hope that became more than just a dream. Memphis didn’t make me believe that this country is anywhere near as colorblind as it often pretends to be, but it did lead to a dramatic juxtaposition – of past prejudices and present-day Presidents – that has given me more perspective on just how far we’ve come.