How you remember the 1970s depends chiefly on where you spent it—San Francisco, Philadelphia, Nashville, or Ann Arbor made for very different experiences, never mind the myriad economic, ethnic, chronological, and gender-linked factors. What distinguishes Rick Seeber's musical revue, 8 Track, from the numerous, often-parochial, exercises in nostalgia is the range of its diversification, coming with a playlist encompassing hits by both the Carpenters and the Commodores, lullabies by both Roberta Flack and Barry White, as well as outliers like the evangelical "Everything Is Beautiful" and "You Light Up My Life," the contemplative "Alone Again, Naturally" and the anarchic "Convoy."
Whether these gospels first spoke to you from a transistor radio, cassette-deck earphones, dance-club thunder-amps, or the boxy pre-recorded tapes referenced in the title, what they all share in 2021 is a dignity belying the flimsiness of their origins. The order of their presentation might not adhere to a discernible plot, but our perception of song lyrics was never meant to be comprehensive. Instead, what clings in our memories is more likely to be a phrase or two embedded in the flow of words and music—verbal glimpses suddenly rendered significant by the circumstances of their discovery. Presented onstage in succession, these images ultimately connect in our minds to suggest continuity: same-sex vocalists making eye contact while serenading one another with vows of unconditional fealty, for example, or the bacchanalic party referenced in "Mama Told Me Not to Come" pictured as a "Welcome Home" celebration for a returning Vietnam veteran.
The hazard in this brand of anthological arrangement is its propensity for drops in energy level between segments, but musical director Jeremy Ramey has orchestrated key-changing segues as swift and agile as the actors who flutter like moths through the intricate corners of Theo Ubique's cabaret storefront under the direction of Jamal Howard, to keep the stage picture vibrant and mobile at every moment. (Playgoers old enough to recall the era depicted may also find historical precedent in unexpected places: the synchronized hand-jive employed for "One Toke Over the Line" is clever but also serves as a reminder of a time when smoking cannabis was a communal ritual.)
