24 – 28 March

A gung-ho jukebox musical on steroids, the basic concept of The Choir of Man is that it is a celebration of the pub as a key cultural asset, a home from home, particularly for men looking for a space to express and open up about themselves.

Oli Townsend and Verity Dadler’s set is a perfectly realised on-stage bar framed by backlit multicoloured glass-tiled shelving, up to which the audience is welcome to meander before the show starts. Cast members are there to mingle and chat before a button is suddenly pressed and we are headlong into Welcome To The Jungle the first of 16, mostly stomping tunes performed at the highest octane by nine talented ‘blokes’ who can all sing, dance and play. The noise levels and sheer boisterousness of the show would surely have made the discreet ghosts of the Theatre Royal think about a relocation.

Purporting to recreate the atmosphere of a tavern, this foot-stomping, table-leaping crew would have had most punters running for the exit! But hey, this is show business – drinking, mates, good songs – decent enough plan for a show, why not push it all the way?

With a super talented cast on hand to deliver numbers curated to examine ideas of relationship (Hello); sex (Teenage Dream); love (50 Ways to Leave Your Lover); cheating (Escape – The Pina Colada Song) and protest (You’re The Voice), you could choose to let the whole thing sweep you up in its giddily entertaining vibe, but at times cringe at the overt, over-the-top smiley happy clappy-ness of the presentation.

The nine characters were, at best, tangentially explored as characters. With names like ‘Beast’, ‘Bore’, ‘Maestro’ and ‘Handyman’ it would have been enriching to learn more of their backstories. However, with little to no narrative between them to put flesh on their qualities, bar a somewhat flimsy connecting monologue by poet Ben Norris that occasionally strayed into the saccharin and cliché, the onus was on the songs to rescue the night, which largely they did.

Trumpet, guitar, mandolin, cajon (box drum), piano, melodica, accordion, banjo, tambourine and bodhran were played with aplomb by the cast, while the singing, occasionally in acapella 8-part harmony, was always top notch. Barman (Joshua Lloyd) had the audience in the palm of his hand with a powerful rendition of Queen’s Somebody To Love, while Poet (Nimi Owoyemi) struck a more introspective and sensitive tone with Dance With My Father. Jack Skelton’s excellent tap dancing across bar, table tops and just about anything else in his way, was a standout. Choreographer Freddie Huddleston has made this lot work hard – his dance with beer glasses was a piece of geometric genius.

While The Choir of Man’s raucous showmanship is fun, it is unashamedly light touch. There is no examination of why pubs are shutting, no nod to the cost of a pint being prohibitive to many, or really very much to illustrate the darker side to masculine vulnerabilities. But undoubtedly its full-of-beans theatricality will send many punters home happy.

★★★☆☆. Simon Bishop, 25 March 2026

Photography credit: The Other Richard