Gary Barlow's heartfelt and authentic autobiographical one-man stage show hits the West End.
Boy-band member, solo singer, decorated songwriter, musical theatre writer, author, and ex-X Factor judge. Dozens upon dozens of number-one singles and top-ten hits both with Take That and solo, millions of album sales. It's undeniable that Gary Barlow is a star. Pop royalty. And, like everyone worthy enough of that title, scandals and gossip columns have been the order of the day. Most recently, he's admitted to a tax avoidance scheme. Ah, the trappings of fame!
He's now penned a one-man autobiographical theatre show. Road trunks litter the space, setting the scene for what will be a stage memoir of sorts. He offers an unplugged version of himself, one that's surprisingly genuine about his wins but also his failures.
From his early love of music as a child growing up in Cheshire ("Music, it made everything better") to being chosen as frontman by Nigel Martin-Smith ("It was like meeting Jesus"), and from touring the world with Take That ("You can't fake what makes your heart beat faster") to their sudden disbanding ("There were no tears from us, we were knackered"), there's a bittersweet vein.
His milestones are accompanied by the people who made them happen in this generous and life-affirming account that's part concert and part honest confessional. Barlow holds the crowd in the palm of his hand, regaling them with tales from a busy career; it's when he gets to the Millennium that his tune changes slightly.
While he could gloss over the ugliest sides of his past, he doesn't. He is candid as he reveals his food-related coping mechanism that, in the face of seemingly losing everything he'd worked for (and watching his old pal Robbie Williams climb the charts steadily), turned him into a "Professional bulimic" for a while.
Even the financial predicaments get a mention ("Everybody hated me"), although he doesn't linger or comment. His success and public drama don't come without personal loss, which he recounts with sombreness and reflection. From the passing of his dad (who'd bought him his first instruments by selling his time off and working overtime) right when things were falling in place again in 2009 to his baby Poppy being stillborn a few days before singing at the 2012 Olympic Games Closing Ceremony.
He concludes with a newfound perspective - what he calls "Poppy philosophy" - on what's important. With humour and nostalgia, he introduces a man with a striking cultural baggage and enviable life experience. It looks like he's done it all. Throughout, he celebrates what actually got him to this stage: the music and the fans.
Renditions of beloved Take That songs are scattered throughout, as well as some Phantom of the Opera and Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" thrown in the mix with a few reprises of "Copacabana" for good measure (everyone starts somewhere). While Barlow is on the scene alone but for a grand piano and an organ, he's working with a few names behind the scenes.
Tim Firth dramatised the piece, Es Devlin is in charge of its sets while Bruno Poet is at the lighting design. It all comes together well; a few cross-stage shuffling feel awkwardly rehearsed and the narrative delivery can be a bit stiff, but the dad jokes and unflappable self-deprecation are on point.
A Different Stage contextualises the Gary Barlow the tabloids know, giving him the chance to be at the forefront of his own version of the story whilst reconfirming him as an exceptional entertainer. Sure, it's biased and obviously made to make him look good, but it's heartfelt and authentic. Mostly, it's a bloody great show that will appease the superfans and mellow the sceptics.
A Different Stage runs at the Duke of York's Theatre until 25 September and then goes on tour.
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