THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
By David Hare
Duke of York’s Theatre, St Martin’s Lane, London WC2N 4BG until June 6, 2026
Following hot on the heels of the great Stereophonic, the Duke of York’s finds itself home to another ear blasting rock ‘n’ roll play. This one’s a very rare revival of an early work by David Hare, which first appeared at the Royal Court in 1975 with the great Helen Mirren making a major splash as the Janis Joplin-esque singer.
By all accounts it was a piece of provocation and a symbol of the late ‘60s counter culture in its death throes (it is set in 1969). Today it seems more akin to a history play. Acclaimed director Daniel Raggett has given us a production which, while spirited, potent and technically impressive, feels more like an elegy, albeit a loud one. Hare was arguing. even then, that the class system had successfully co-opted and neutralized the youth revolution. We meet this band, after all, while setting up for a gig at Jesus College Cambridge, where they are playing for ‘posh swots’ at their May Ball.
This time the star of the show is Rebecca Lucy Taylor, better known as the pop icon Self Esteem, who plays the alcoholic, nihilistic frontwoman of the fictional band ‘The Skins’. It’s perfect casting because of her rock star experience and magnetic stage presence. She also lets us wallow in her glorious ‘70s wardrobe (by Alex Mullins), all voluminously fringed brightly colored jackets and shawls accessorized with great boots that ain’t made for walkin’.
Reports of the original stated that Mirren presented as a more raw and dangerous figure while here Taylor gives us a more vulnerable take. Her entrance has her comatose from booze’n’drugs, slung over the shoulder of roadie Snead (Christopher Patrick Nolan) whose job it is to get her compos mentis each day (“I’m not washin’ ‘er again”) as they arrive to soundcheck for the next gig on their seemingly endless tour. Taylor also leans into the psychological toll of being a female performer in a male-dominated industry – very Gen Z and probably less of a focus in ’75. While she wins our empathy, her performance lacks the nuance needed to fully understand this character and in particular the crucial relationship with the moody soul mate Arthur (Michael Fox), the band’s Cambridge-educated songwriter, who is torn between his love for her and desire for a stable future.
Part of the culprit here is the writing. Characters are not fleshed out enough and the play is, in a sense, interrupted by the songs. It’s not a musical. These are fully staged and brilliantly evoked musical numbers, six from the original composers Nick and Tony Bicât and two which Taylor herself has composed including a very poignant, soulful ballad titled ‘Maggie’s Song’. The songs all feel authentic and are performed with great gusto.
Chloe Lamford’s design and Matt Daw’s chiaroscuro lighting lend the show a ‘gig theatre’ vibe which is very ‘au courant’, and while this approach aids the music numbers it often hobbles the momentum of the dramatic scenes, which end up fragmented.
Hare’s dialogue is perfectly judged, as you’d expect, but often meanders, as when the bored band members engage in word play games to pass the time.
The great ensemble cast, which Raggett orchestrates so well here, vividly capture the chaotic atmosphere of the touring band life. Jojo Macari is a particular highlight as the psychotic, drug-crazed bassist Peyote, and Roman Asde provides light relief as the fussy student organiser, Anson.
Adding to the dark humor of the piece is the brilliant Phil Daniels as the oily, Machiavellian, manager Saraffian and he delivers his biting lines with a perfect sneer. In many ways he’s the cold conscience of the piece, standing for the ‘the industry’ and how it chews people up, and his observations on talent and career trajectories are as valid today as they were back then.
In all it’s a welcome revival of a piece which, while having a few structural flaws, still speaks to us today about rebellion and art and the love and pain of it all.
