Playwright: conceived and directed by Rick Seeber
At: Metropolis Performing Arts Center, 111 W. Campbell St. in Arlington Heights
Phone: (847) 577-2121; $30-$40
Runs through: Aug. 24
The tune-filled documentaries popularized by Black Ensemble Theatre were a welcome departure from the conventions of the musical revue, an entertainment more often designed, not to educate, but to reinforce comfortably superficial images of the past in accordance with the nostalgic fancies of audiences weary of confronting unvarnished truths. In other words, geezers. And with the advent of niche marketing, both Forever Plaid and Smokey Joe’s Café can claim to represent popular American music circa 1950-’63 without fear of contradiction.
Rick Seeber’s 8-Track: The Sounds of the 70’s embodies the latter aesthetic. The decade portrayed in this 90-minute compendium gives no recognition to David Bowie, Bruce Springsteen, Steely Dan, Clash, Rod Stewart’s ‘Maggie May’ or Wings’ ‘Silly Love Songs.’ The roster includes Elton John’s ‘Your Song,’ but not ‘Daniel.’ Billy Joel’s ‘Just The Way You Are,’ but not ‘Only The Good Die Young.’ The Eagles’ ‘Desperado,’ but not ‘Hotel California.’ The baroque sentimentality of Barry Manilow and gay subtext of the Village People are gently mocked, but ‘Afternoon Delight’ and ‘You Light Up My Life’ are performed with never a wink or grimace. The waning of the turbulent ’60s and the stirrings of the egocentric ’80s have no place in a universe exemplified by the smiley face and ‘Have a nice day.’
More problematic than the show’s concept, however, is its execution. The cavernous Metropolis auditorium, its helipad stage unadorned by even a single platform, dwarfs the four non-equity cast members, stranded with only their costumes and Nicholas Sugar’s minimal dance choreography to sustain visual interest. And the recorded instrumental accompaniment imposes on their vocalizations a relentlessly unvaried tempo, lending a vaguely robotic quality to the proceedings.
But if the uber-wholesome ambiance sometimes calls forth flashbacks of Up With People rallies (notwithstanding Daniel M. Riley’s conviction on shopworn ballads like ‘Tie A Yellow Ribbon’ and ‘Alone Again, Naturally’), a crowd of Wednesday-night playgoers leaping to their feet to semaphore ‘Y-M-C-A’ can’t be wholly faulted—however premature may be the myopic hindsight necessary to appreciate so restricted a historical summary as Seeber proffers.
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