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At the 92nd Street Y’s David Geffen Stage at Kaufmann Concert Hall, Stardust: From Tin Pan Alley to Broadway unfolded not simply as a concert but as a fully realized theatrical event — polished, intelligent, and deeply felt. Presented as part of the venerable Lyrics & Lyricists series, the evening traced the evolution of American popular song from ragtime’s syncopated spark to Broadway’s golden glow, focusing squarely on the performers and musicians who brought that history thrillingly to life.

Each Song Within Its Cultural Moment

From the first notes, it was clear this production understood that context amplifies melody. A large projection screen framed the stage with evocative imagery: sheet music covers, archival photographs of composers, bustling Manhattan streets, early radio studios, and vintage film stills. The visuals were not decorative but dramaturgical, placing each song within its cultural moment. Lighting shifts subtly, guided by an emotional tone — amber nostalgia for Tin Pan Alley, cool blues for Depression-era ballads, brighter washes for Broadway exuberance. The result felt like stepping inside a time machine powered by rhythm and rhyme.

Kathleen Marshall: A Quadruple Threat of the Highest Order

Kathleen Marshall, nine-time Tony Award nominee and three-time winner for the Broadway revivals of Wonderful Town, The Pajama Game, and Anything Goes, brought to Stardust not only formidable craft but something rarer still: a genuine, infectious love for the material that became positively contagious. As director, choreographer, writer, and host of this production, Marshall illuminated the essential contributions of African American composers — among them the incomparable Scott Joplin, Fats Waller, and Bert Williams — and of women songwriters such as Dorothy Fields and Kay Swift, who have too often been footnoted rather than headlined in the story of popular music. In this respect, Stardust achieved what can be identified as the highest purpose of theatrical storytelling: it expanded the moral imagination of its audience while simultaneously delighting them. This was, moreover, a program honoring the social history embedded in these songs — how the recorded music industry transformed distribution, how cinema amplified melody, and how the Great Depression demanded music that could uplift a weary nation.

The Performers: A Constellation of Broadway Brilliance

What distinguished this production most, however, was its ensemble — six Broadway-caliber performers whose vocal individuality and dramatic intelligence made every number feel immediate.

Krystal Joy Brown delivered a riveting “Maple Leaf Rag,” infusing Scott Joplin’s classic with brio and theatrical flair. Her mezzo-soprano carries both velvet warmth and steel-edged clarity, and she navigated ragtime’s rhythmic snap with athletic precision. Later, in Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields’ “A Fine Romance,” she shifted effortlessly into sly sophistication, shaping phrases with conversational ease. Brown possesses that rare ability to make virtuosic technique look spontaneous.

John Cardoza brought luminous lyricism to “The Way You Look Tonight.” His tenor flowed with a natural cantabile line, sustained and unforced, drawing the audience into a hush of collective stillness. He understands the architecture of a melody — where to lean, where to release — and his understated phrasing gave the standard renewed intimacy. In the ensemble number “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” his warmth blended beautifully with Brown and Zachary Noah Piser, the trio radiating an easy camaraderie that felt organic rather than staged.

Zachary Noah Piser proved a master of tonal contrast. His “Yes, We Have No Bananas” was comic timing at its sharpest — dry, deadpan, rhythmically exact. Yet in Vernon Duke and Ira Gershwin’s “I Can’t Get Started,” he revealed emotional depth and vocal bloom. Piser’s control of dynamics — gliding from hushed introspection to ringing declaration — allowed the audience to hear not just a song but a character thinking aloud.

Evocative Artistry

Oliver Reid anchored the evening with gravitas. His “Honeysuckle Rose” swung with relaxed authority, but it was “Nobody,” associated with Bert Williams, that stilled the hall. Reid shaded the lyric with dignified melancholy, balancing irony and pathos in equal measure. His command of legato line and subtle dynamic gradation gave the performance philosophical resonance without sentimentality. Sarah Stiles offered virtuosity of another kind. “Crazy Words, Crazy Tune” became a whirlwind of comic articulation — rapid-fire diction executed with astonishing clarity. Physical comedy punctuated each rhythmic turn, yet nothing felt forced. In contrast, her rendering of “My Man” revealed raw emotional transparency. Stiles’ range — both vocal and interpretive — is formidable; she can fracture a room with laughter and mend it moments later with sincerity.

Ana Villafañe brought luminous elegance to the title song, “Stardust.” Hoagy Carmichael’s melody demands sustained breath and supple phrasing, and Villafañe shaped it in one seamless arc, her tone glowing across the hall. The legato line floated, unhurried, allowing each harmonic shift to register fully. It was one of the evening’s most transcendent moments — a reminder that simplicity, when honored, can feel sublime.

The program’s historical breadth was mirrored in its musical execution. Ragtime exuberance flowed into Jazz Age sparkle, Depression-era yearning into Hollywood romanticism. Songs such as “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” “Pennies from Heaven,” and “Can’t We Be Friends?” illuminated how popular music served as both escape and autobiography for a nation in flux. The production did not belabor history; it embodied it.

The Musicians: An Orchestra of Authentic Mastery

Arrangements, Orchestration, and Musical Leadership

Much credit belongs to the musical leadership shaping the soundscape. David Chase’s orchestrations respected period idioms while keeping textures fresh and theatrically responsive. The arrangements never felt museum-bound. Instead, they breathed, allowing singers space to interpret while maintaining stylistic integrity.

At the piano, Greg Anthony Rassen proved indispensable. His touch ranged from percussive stride patterns to lush Hollywood voicings with seamless stylistic fluency. Rubato passages unfolded naturally, supporting vocal nuance without indulgence. Rassen’s playing clarified harmonic detail often lost in larger orchestral settings, revealing the compositional craftsmanship beneath familiar melodies.

The instrumental ensemble functioned not as accompaniment but as collaborative storytellers.

Violinist Robin Zeh provided shimmering obligatos, her tone warm and centered. She understood when to emerge and when to recede, weaving around vocal lines with chamber-music sensitivity.

Woodwind virtuoso Aaron Heick displayed astonishing versatility, moving between saxophones, flute, and clarinet with idiomatic assurance. A velvety flute passage might yield to a growling baritone sax line in the next number, each color perfectly suited to its era.

Trombonist Taja Graves-Parker expanded the palette further. With mutes deployed expertly — Harmon, cup, plunger — she conjured smoky jazz inflections and playful slides that enriched the texture without overpowering it.

Bassist George Farmer grounded the entire enterprise. His pizzicato lines were steady yet buoyant, providing rhythmic spine and harmonic anchor. One felt his presence even when barely aware of it — the quiet heartbeat beneath every flourish.

Historical Sweep and Philosophical Resonance

The production’s structure carried audiences through technological and social change — from sheet music parlors to radio waves, from phonographs to film soundtracks. Yet what resonated most was how consistently these songs speak to human longing. Whether buoyant or bittersweet, they retain emotional clarity across decades.

The finale — George M. Cohan’s “Give My Regards to Broadway” — gathered the entire company in communal celebration. Voices blended in full-throated harmony, and the audience responded in kind. It was less a curtain call than a collective affirmation.

Throughout, pacing remained brisk, transitions fluid. The interplay between solo numbers and ensemble pieces prevented monotony, and the thoughtful sequencing of comic and contemplative selections sustained engagement. One sensed careful dramaturgy shaping the arc without ever feeling manipulated.

In the end, Stardust succeeded because it trusted both its material and its artists. The Great American Songbook was neither embalmed nor over-reimagined; it was inhabited. These performers did not treat the songs as relics but as living texts, capable of surprise.

What lingered after the final applause was not nostalgia alone but renewal. Ragtime’s syncopation, Gershwin’s urban sophistication, Kern’s romantic sweep — all sounded startlingly current in the hands of this company. The production reminded us that these melodies endure not because they are old, but because they remain true.

At the 92nd Street Y, the Songbook did more than return home. It stood upright, vibrant and unbowed, carried forward by artists who understand that history sings best when sung boldly.

All That Glitters Is Gold: Stardust Shines Brilliantly at the 92nd Street Y

STARDUST: From Tin Pan Alley to Broadway

The 92nd Street Y, New York

1395 Lexington Avenue, New York, NY 10128 · Tel: (212) 415-5500

Website: www.92ny.org · Tickets for the current Lyrics & Lyricists season: 92NY Lyrics & Lyricists Tickets

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