Theatre Editor SARA STEMMONS reviews the West End transfer of Stereophonic.
“No one deserves anything. You either get it or you don’t.” (Holly, Stereophonic)
Flown over from Broadway, from May to November, the Duke of York’s Theatre becomes Sausolito, California, 1976.
The band: two Americans, Diana (Lucy Karczewski) and Peter (Jack Riddiford), products of the Summer of Love, in love, or at least supposed to be. They are joined by three Brits, two in wedlock, Holly (Nia Towle) and Reg (Zachary Hart), or at least supposed to be. One, Simon (Chris Stack), the father of the band, and a father of two, or at least supposed to be.
The sound engineers: two technical musicians that lack the charismatic eccentricity of their employers, Grover (Eli Gelb) and Charlie (Andrew R. Butler), who are certainly not as qualified as they are supposed to be.
The studio: intricately created by David Zinn, is exactly what it is supposed to be. The recording booth is masterfully manufactured with instruments and microphones played in real time by the actors, and sound manipulated so that the barrier between booth and control room is nothing but convincing.
The result: seven characters trying and suffering to be what they are supposed to be; a social collective on a constant precipice of emotional eruption, striving for artistic excellence. The studio is the only stable element of the escapade of the unnamed band’s second album recording. The audience, as an onlooker, is able to visualise a journey which is otherwise only heard.
Stereophonic situates the audience inside the studio, among the tumult of the characters as they shift between the recording booth and control room, constantly tangled up in the vintage equipment of the 70s. In an industry that is constructed solely upon performance, this “electrifying Odyssey” (The Guardian) gives an insight into how such performance manifests behind the stage and cameras. For the lovers in the band, passion is soured by their personal ambition and/or failures: Dianna and Peter’s relationship is reduced to bitterness and rage as the former finally recoils from Peter’s incessant, and futile, brawl for perfection on and off stage. For Holly and Reg, it is the tragic cycle of drugs and recovery that aborts the trajectory of their affections.
But where the characters suffer internally, they achieve externally. Tucked neatly within the personal dialogues are mentions of the band’s success outside of the studio. From Dianna’s single rising into the top 40 and on to number one, the band’s rise in popularity that swiftly follows, and the subsequent spike in budget, we see the effects of that “sleeper hit” fame. All key events happen outside of the room, beyond our sight; it is only the consequences we are allowed to observe, a total reversal of the performative life of a musician.
The studio is the only constant, an anchor for the rapid evolution of the album and its seven creators. Character development, or perhaps deterioration, is beautifully captured by costume designer Enver Chakartash. Diana’s move from form-fitting trousers to free-flowering ethereal dresses reflects her personal expansion in the industry. Her liberation from an emotionally consuming relationship allows her to take up space as an individual, a character arc that is neatly tied off with her offer of a solo album at the end of the play. Peter similarly moves towards power, although his is filled with an egotistical intoxication. As Chakartash points out in an interview, Peter’s most striking piece, a purple Lennonesque suit, appears unsettlingly early in relation to the band’s journey, marking his abandonment of the collective in favour of individual control. Like Dianna, Holly has a maturing aspect in her clothing, but hers lies in a subtle sophistication which accumulates with a nod to the disco scene that will soon dominate the billboards.
The most regurgitated piece of criticism the play has received regards its running time. Lasting three hours and ten minutes including an interval, director Danial Aukin’s work necessitates dedication from his audience. When considering the fundamental obstacle of the production —the painstaking repetitiveness of pursuing musical perfection—I would allow the abnormal length as a necessary condition. Writer David Adjmi teases us with snippets of songs, feeding us with the frustration of recording and re-recording, eventually allowing us the ecstasy of a successful tape.
Perhaps where the timing could have been tightened, was within the dialogue. Occasionally, there were collective pauses across the ensemble that extinguished the heat of the studio. The aim to manufacture tension was clear, but it faltered in its very evident “manufacturing”, with the pauses sometimes appearing too choreographed. On stage, energy between actors is vital and fragile; if not kept in constant momentum, it is left to trickle onto the stage floor, the pace of the production becoming stunted. This being said, there were many captivating moments of interruption and flow (such as the gradual crescendo of hungover greetings that opened the show) which allowed for convincing configurations of realism on stage.
This is a play of intimacy and escalation, charting the interpersonal relationships of those who live their lives in front of thousands. It airs subtle reflections on what it means to be in a world that accelerates and decelerates faster than the people in it.
Stereophonic runs from 24 May 2025, through 22 November 2025, at the Duke of York’s Theatre, St Martin’s Lane, London WC2N 4BG.
Featured image courtesy of Duke of York’s Theatre.