The Shaggs: Philosophy of the World

As opposed to the last entry, Knickerbocker, of which the less said, the better, I'm overwhelmed even thinking of how to capture or discuss the new musical The Shaggs: Philosophy of the World, one of the weirdest, boldest, most fascinating things I've seen done in about...ever.

The Shaggs are the world's most interesting band. Three sisters who were taken out of school and forced to start a rock band because their grandmother had a psychic vision they'd be a famous band, they eventually recorded one (and only one) album. Part of me wants to say that's because they had no discernible talent. And certainly, if you choose any five seconds of one of their songs to listen to, it's a credible theory. What makes it so much more interesting though, is that if you keep listening (which I admit is a challenge), you start to hear a method to the madness. And it does seem to be madness. The lyrics are juvenile to an extent that is discomfiting given that the sisters were in their teens and not, say, four. Meanwhile, one of the three musicians will be pounding away at a single note for the entire song. Somewhere in the mix, the lyrics will start to overlap with such discord that it sounds like it has to be intentional. If it is, though....why? Okay, there's no way to describe this accurately. Just take a listen to the first Shaggs song I ever heard, "My Pal Foot Foot." I dare you.



The show take a bit of license with their backstory, but only the slightest bit. We still have a father motivated by the grandmother's psychic prediction, but the how and why is tinkered with (for entirely sound reasons).

Here's the thing about the musical: it's as weird as The Shaggs themselves. There is a creative team involved that clearly allowed themselves to go balls to the wall in any way they wanted to, most notably with the choreography which often has the sisters dancing like spastic rejects from the set of the "Thriller" video. The sets all feel like they could have been created out of a rec room. And the music, while certainly a lot more traditionally ear pleasing than the album that led to the show's creation, aren't at all afraid to push the boundaries of silliness, sincerity, or emotional akwardness.

But what's most fascinating here is that the story of these three sisters plays out in a way that feels as discordant and atonal as the music of The Shaggs themselves. While one could argue that it's simply messy, it's ultimately far too successful and thoughtful to have come together as it has by chance.

Oldest sister Dot is the biggest enigma. Played by Jamey Hood who is all big eyes and awkward line deliveries, she seems to at once be the force holding the family together and the most disturbed member of it (which is saying something). Youngest sister Helen is played by Emily Walton in a hugely expressive performance somehow not hindered by the fact that Helen one day just stops talking. Middle sister Betty is the most identifiable and is given the most naturalistic performance by Sarah Sokolovic whose discomfort within the family mixed with her protectiveness of her sisters and her desire to get out of their small town drive much of the action and are offered to the audience as a sort of rope to hold onto as the madness spins around and through the family at large.

Peter Friedman, who I loved so much in Ragtime and Circle Mirror Transformation, is the volatile father whose single-minded drive is terrifying but who we don't necessarily get to see as a force of good or bad until the end of the show, in a moment of reflection. Which felt like a bit of cheap writing at first until I considered how the sisters' perceptions of him would have been so easily hidden beforehand for each other's sakes.

Annie Golden plays the mother who for the most part is a doormat but who delivers the most stunning song of the night, "Flyin'" and completely blew me away. I've listened to her on the original cast recording of Assassins so many times, and while I've seen her before, this was the first I heard her sing live. She is amazing. Actually amazing.

I also loved Cory Michael Smith as Helen's love interest Kyle. Yeah--Helen. The mute. She's the one with the love interest. And it didn't make me cringe. Because that's the thing about this show. It's all so intensely strange, but every piece works so fully within the greater context.

I know that there will be people who HATE this show. There were definitely points throughout where it felt unclear whether or not I should be laughing or cringing or just simply observing. But when I got to the end, I respected the hell out of it. And it's been about a week, but I cannot stop thinking about it. The show has all the trappings of a natural born cult hit. It's aggressive and strange and will invite an incredibly wide range of responses. Who knows? Maybe down the line I'll look back and realize that my convictions about the show were a case of the emperor's new clothes. But I don't think so. Right now, I'm convinced it's sneakily brilliant even as it ignores convention, drops in and out of cliches, and seriously has the most unsettling choreography I've ever seen. I loved it. And I'll likely go back.