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Formed in 2017, art-rock ensemble Je’raf arrange bits of hip-hop, jazz, funk, and postpunk into whimsical, progressive jams. All seven members (they’re split between New York and Chicago) play in similarly animated, eccentric bands outside the group too–bassist and vocalist PT Bell is in art-punk unit Blacker Face, for instance, and vocalist Brianna Tong fronts jazz-fusion group Cordoba. On Saturday, February 29, local labels Amalgam and No Index release Je’raf’s rambunctious and politically charged debut album, Throw Neck. That night they celebrate with a headlining set at Hungry Brain; Udababy opens, and tickets are $10.

Morrissey’s swerve into reprehensible political gibberish, mediocre albums, and lackluster live shows over the past 20 years has left many sweet and tender hooligans reaching for their Smiths albums far less often than they used to. Local electronic musician Nicky Flowers has a solution: a covers project called the Smynths, which recently dropped the charming EP The Smynths Return. It seems bound to offend the famously synth-averse Mozzer: Flowers turbocharges Johnny Marr’s melodies with a raft of ringing keyboards and glorious vocoder-assisted crooning. Giving offense is the point–the Smynths are “dedicated to psychically destroying Morrissey,” Flowers says. “Johnny Marr was the Smiths, 100 percent.” Shots fired! Due to prohibitive licensing costs, the Smynths aren’t on any streaming services, but the EP (and a 2018 self-titled full-length) are available via Flowers’s Bandcamp.

Justin Samuel Martin (of indie-rock group Automata) makes stylistically loose indie-pop as Otherly, with occasional help from his friends–Automata front woman Rachel Sarah Thomas, for example, adds luscious vocals to recent singles “Nadia” and “Leave.” Both those tracks appear on Otherly’s debut album, Darkling, which drops Friday, February 28. Otherly plays a free release party that night at the Whistler. v

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Ruby (Brooke Reams) and Wilson (Kevin Tre’Von Patterson) seem to have a picture-book marriage. While their daughter is away at summer camp, they plan on trying for another baby. But when Ruby’s best friend, Claire (Deveon Bromby), comes to stay a few weeks while recovering from the loss of a husband shot by a white cop, the couple’s seemingly blissful existence is shattered.

Christopher Burris directs this midwest Redtwist premiere of Rabbit Summer, Tracey Conyer Lee’s tense, funny, and angry 2018 relationship drama, which, rather than shying away from facing some of the most complex and systemic issues plaguing this country, takes them all head-on. When it’s not dealing with gun violence, it’s addressing racism; then, for a breather, it tackles infidelity, abortion, and absent fathers. In less-capable hands, this material would have sunk under its own weight, but Lee has fashioned three characters who can pick it up, lift it, and keep going. It is a testament to these three talented actors that no matter how heavy the message they’re tasked with delivering, I never felt for a moment that they were less than fully-formed human beings rather than conduits for information.

Wilson’s prized chifforobe–passed down for generations and used at one time to shelter runaway slaves in its false backing–is the central metaphor and physical manifestation of the warring forces facing African Americans in this country. It conceals as much as it reveals. It carries a weighty load, but with its doors flung open is ready to take on whatever comes. v

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In 2013, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Deborah Blum wrote an article for Wired magazine titled “The Imperfect Myth of the Female Poisoner” that dispelled the persistent cultural assumption that, as far as murder methods go, homicides-by-poisoning are inherently ladylike. “It’s not, you see, that poison is a woman’s weapon,” says Blum. “It’s that it is an evil one.” And yet, dubiously sourced in historical criminology as they may be, there’s something wickedly satisfying and elegantly badass about artistic depictions of women dispensing revenge with perfume-like vials of death.

In that respect, in this 90-minute dark dramedy set in 17th century Paris, playwright Dusty Wilson has his cake and eats it too, indulging in a fantasy of outlaw women paving their own way while also wrestling with the gender and class-based roles that permit justice for some while dooming others. A talented chemist (Carina Lastimosa) and her tarot-card-reading lover (Lynnette Li) create a cottage industry helping wealthy women murder their plutocrat husbands. Christina Casano’s production for The Plagiarists keeps the grisly consequences of its protagonists’ actions at arm’s length for the most part, focusing instead on their justifications and nights spent spritzing toxic plants in a sparse but romantic hamlet tucked on the outskirts of society. A framing device featuring an interrogator (Bryan Breau) doesn’t quite reach the emotional contrasts Casano and company seem to be aiming for, but there’s some decent fun to be had with a flamboyant rival poisoner (Julia Stemper) and a naive woman of leisure (Brittani Yawn). v

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This Lynn Nottage drama is pure kinetic energy, exploring the illicit ivory trade through the haunting death of Mlima, an African elephant. Griffin Theatre Company’s production, a midwest premiere directed by Jerrell L. Henderson, thrives on its use of movement, sound, and staging to illustrate our shared complicity in the poaching of a vulnerable species. Mlima, whose name means “mountain” in Swahili, is played by a mostly silent David Goodloe, who looms large, literally, over the entire 90 minutes. He’s the show’s emotional canvas, employing ethereal, athletic movements and an intense, textured gaze that as reads both accusatory and mournful. As Mlima’s tusks become increasingly objectified, Goodloe turns his body into a floppy piece of meat, resigned and exhausted.

A tight, propulsive story, this production leverages a capable ensemble of six to bring to life the entire chain of events from Mlima’s death in Kenya to the unveiling of an ivory carving in the home of a wealthy collector across the world. By bringing so many people and geographies under the tent of this shameful practice, from police to park rangers to government officials to pilots, Nottage makes the world a bit smaller and the tragedy less abstract. As does her insertion of well-researched and disturbing facts, like poachers using tourists’ safari photos on social media to locate their prey. After absorbing the question an ivory dealer asks a collector–What price are you willing to pay for beauty?–you’ll walk away questioning the provenance and unknown costs of any rare valuables you possess. v

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“I would let [insert name here] ruin my life” is a phrase that anyone who’s radiated their eyes with thirsty comments online over the past few years will recognize as a hallmark of the genre. What does it mean? If Dex (Michael Vizzi) and Shellie (Allison Plott) feel that way about each other in Leslye Headland’s The Layover–a total masterpiece, ultimately just as devastating as it is hot–presented by The Comrades under Drew Shirley’s direction, as I contend they do, what does that feeling entail? Is it a disease? Is that, heaven help us, what love is now?

If I would let you ruin my life, I’m obviously looking for trouble already. Dex’s engagement to Andrea (Emma Jo Boyden) is over the second he sits down with Shellie at the bar in O’Hare after their Thanksgiving flight gets cancelled. You get the sense he would have let anyone ruin his life, given half the chance. Shellie’s life is practically in ruins already–she’s the full-time caregiver to an epileptic father (the amazing Jim Morley), unhappily married, tied down in every sense. She’s got a fair bit of one of Headland’s other protagonists in her: Natasha Lyonne’s character in the Netflix series Russian Doll, which Headland cocreated with Lyonne and Amy Poehler.

Dex, Shellie, and Lyonne’s Nadia Vulvokov are all alike–deacons in the church of “ruin my life.” But crack that pained thought open, and you see what it really is saying: I would let you kindle these dead nerve endings again. I would let you see if I’m still here. v

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I guess a bad play could be written about the hostile overthrow of a Cleveland Heights karaoke bar at the hands of a hard-cider magnate named Ethan, whose business card says, “purveyor of fine spirits and sophisticated settings.” I don’t see how, though. Some ideas are just too good. Regardless, Mike Beyer and Kirk Pynchon haven’t written that bad play. Factory Theater’s Last Night in Karaoke Town, directed by Kim Boler, is a fantastic play, one that gets to the heart of so many issues that matter, such as what varieties of taxidermy should be allowed in bars (squirrels? buffalo?), who gets to sing Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” when both Audrey and Lily claim it as “mine, bitch,” and whether the rusted-out factory your dad used to work in getting rebuilt as an REI is OK if you happen to like shopping at REI. You know, the important stuff.

The rainbow of die-hards hanging out at owner Diana’s joint could carry a production by themselves, so rife are they with quirks and infighting and opinions about Van Halen. And then you have Ethan, played by Tommy Bullington, who saunters in one fine day with his crates of pear cider and long black shawl to inform Diana (Wendy Hayne) that he’s bought the building and intends to refine its spirits and sophisticate its settings. What follows is a raucous showdown between the dual opposing forces of innovation and authenticity. I can’t say who wins. I can say that I laughed so hard at everything Bullington did that I thought I would be asked to leave the theater. v

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Actors Gymnasium primarily functions as a training school in the circus arts, but they put on a full-length show for an extended run every winter. And in the case of The Ghost in Gadsden’s Garden, you’d be a fool to miss it. A reclusive gardener, Gadsden (Adrian Danzig) spends his days tending the beautiful flowers on the grounds of an old (and allegedly haunted) mansion. And indeed, his interactions with the lovely ghost Vivian (Hayley Larson) provide the only semi-human contact he enjoys. But when Kid (Grace Sherman) creeps past the gate on a dare from classmates, they discover that Vivian may not be what Gadsden thinks.

With echoes of Oscar Wilde’s fable “The Selfish Giant” mixed with ecology lessons (Lucy Carapetyan plays Kid’s supportive science teacher), writers Chris Mathews (who also directs) and Sully Ratke incorporate the natural and supernatural with seamless aplomb.

Larson’s aerial work on the silks is particularly breathtaking, and Carapetyan joins with acrobatics creating clever physical metaphors for various scientific relationships, from symbiotic to parasitic. (Sylvia
Hernandez-DiStasi created the circus interludes, with Kasey Foster choreographing dances to Kevin O’Donnell’s original sound and music.) The teen ensemble plays various impish garden flora and Kid’s Scooby Gang of tormentors-turned-allies with assured wit and charm. Danzig, cofounder of the beloved 500 Clown troupe, brings poignant charm to his lonely aging Gadsden. The entire show is a treat for the eyes and heart from beginning to end. v

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Normally, in a fantasy life, you obsess over your pets. Dog cloning figures largely in the mind anytime I think about how it would feel to be Barbra Streisand, personally. But there comes a point in any conversation with a decadent person–around hour two, perhaps–when you wonder if or when this fascinating individual will move on from dog talk and feed you dinner. That moment never comes in Dex & Abby, a 130-minute tepid fiasco, written by Allan Baker and directed by Daniel Washelesky.

Less a play than a live-action doggy-themed greeting card, this show imagines what it would be like if a rich gay couple, Sean and Corey, moved in together, and if their dogs, who can talk, took a while to become friends. Daniel Vaughn Manasia and Chesa Greene as the titular pooch duo can wag those behinds all they want: they’re dressed normally, their lines are inane garbage, and I just didn’t buy that they were dogs. Sure, they’re cute. But so is actual character development. So is costume design.

The overall weakness of the thing turns unsettling at times, as when Sean (Josh Pablo Szabo) tries to win an argument with Corey (Jesse Montoya) about whose experience of struggle is more valid by shouting point-blank into his partner’s face, “I’m a crack whore’s son!” Or when an inexplicable foldout bed emerges from the wall, stays in the scene for two quick and vapid cuddle scenes, then retracts once more, never to be seen again. v

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In 2017, young Latinx people entered the mind of Julia Reyes, the protagonist in Erika L. Sanchez’s New York Times bestselling novel, I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter. Now through March 21, they can enter her world and serve as her confidant in the stage adaptation premiering at Steppenwolf, as part of the Steppenwolf for Young Adults series. (Sandra Marquez directs.)

The story follows teenager Julia, an aspiring writer from Chicago who is often seen as rebellious and a nuisance by her family, as she grieves the death of her older more traditional sister, Olga. She also attempts to find herself in a world that tries to keep her identity confined to specific boxes of what a Mexican American daughter should and shouldn’t be. Throughout this path of self-discovery, she faces adversity in mental health, domestic violence, and sexual trauma–topics that are widely dismissed and seen as taboo in Latinx households.

“[These topics] are what I think has brought the book so much popularity over the last few years,” says playwright Isaac Gomez. “It resonates because of all of the various intersection points, especially for people who identify as Mexican, Mexican American, or Latinx.”

Gomez, who says he has read the book around 18 or 20 times, wanted to embody the world that Sanchez created and include all of the central themes that make the protagonist’s journey so challenging. This is especially important because although not everyone’s upbringing was the same as Julia’s, a lot of the struggles she faces ring true for many. Gomez, for example, says despite being a man raised in a home with four boys “there were some things that Julia said about not being the perfect Mexican daughter that allowed me to connect with her, especially because I was an aspiring writer who struggled with mental health and because I was someone who just wanted to get out and dream.”

Similar to Julia, many first-generation Americans face this pressure to adhere to specific standards of both their culture and the American culture while simultaneously having to provide for their families and put their dreams aside. First-generation daughters, specifically, have a harder time shedding these limitations and remain tied down by old-fashioned roles.

This is what makes Julia so inspiring to many Latinx individuals. “We have this Mexican girl who is 15 and grappling with ribbons of grief,” says Karen Rodriguez, longtime collaborator of Gomez’s and the actress playing Julia in the play. “Part of her grief and part of her struggle is that she is so unabashedly herself and won’t let others put her in a box, even if it comes at great pain and great disconnect for her family and friends.”

Gomez sent her the novel when he had first decided to adapt it into a play. “I read it and I just felt like Julia, Erika, and I were like kindred spirits,” Rodriguez says. “There’s something about Julia and the way that she talks and the way that her mind works that felt like projects Isaac and I had worked on before.”

Gomez says Rodriguez was a crucial part of his adaptation process because of their shared backgrounds. The two are from border cities between Texas and Mexico (Gomez grew up in El Paso, Rodriguez in Matamoros, across the border from Brownsville) and know what it’s like to feel like they’re from two places and everywhere all at once. “Every play I’ve written, except one, has featured Karen in some capacity because she brings so much energy into everything she does,” he says. “She brings a piece of home in everything she does.”

But another aspect of the adaptation process was getting the rights from Sanchez herself. Luckily, the author and current Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz chair at DePaul University trusted in Gomez immediately. “As soon as I met Isaac, I felt like I could trust him with the story, and he put so much care in transforming it in a way that was respectful and very true to the original vision,” Sanchez says.

Though the material remains the same, some changes were made to fit the medium. This includes adding asides, since the novel is told from the first-person point of view. But according to Gomez and Rodriguez, this allows the audience to actively serve as Julia’s confidant as she finds her voice.

More than anything, what Gomez, Sanchez, and Rodriguez hope audiences gain from the play is a chance to feel seen in a new medium. “I think it’s really great that so many young people of color are going to see the play. I find that really moving for me because when I was growing up, I didn’t really have that,” says Sanchez. “I never saw any plays that were related to my communities or who I was, and so the fact that so many young people are going to have access to it is something that makes me feel really proud.” v

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