There was a time, not so long ago, when The Choir of Man felt like a well-kept secret: a scrappy, big-hearted hour of song and spoken word tucked away in a makeshift pub, equal parts gig, theatre and late-night lock-in. Back in 2021 at the Underbelly in Earl’s Court, just as the world was blinking back to life, its charm lay not only in the raucous camaraderie of its bearded, beer-swilling performers, but in the gentle, homespun reflections threaded between the songs by original narrator Ben Norris, an award-winning slam poet whose words gave the show unexpected depth.

Now, as the production embarks on a UK tour following a longer West End run, it has undergone a transformation. Bigger, louder and more polished, The Choir of Man has traded some of its intimacy for scale. The running time has expanded to a two-act, 90-minute affair, and while Norris’s writing remains, he has stepped aside as performer. In his place, Oluwalonimi Owoyemi takes on the role of “Poet”, guiding us through the evening with warmth and charisma, if with less of the understated nuance and reflectiveness that once grounded the show.

The setting remains the same: a lovingly detailed old-school pub called The Jungle, complete with sticky floors, battered furniture and an upright piano. As we’re told early on, while most pubs boast a darts or football team, this one has a choir — and what a choir it is. Each member embodies a recognisable archetype: the Barman (Joshua Lloyd), the Romantic (Sam Walter), the Beast (Rob Godfrey), the Hard Man (Levi Tyrell Johnson), the Joker (Ben Mabberley), the Handyman (Jack Skelton), the Bore (Aaron Pottenger) and the Maestro (Gustav Melbardis), whose pianistic prowess anchors the evening.

The setlist is eclectic, veering from ‘The Impossible Dream’ to ‘I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)’, via ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’, ‘Chandelier’ and ‘Dance with My Father’. The vocal arrangements (by Jack Blume) are rich and stirring, the harmonies frequently exquisite, the soloists powerful. When the cast strips things back and performs acoustically, the show briefly reconnects with its roots — these are its most affecting moments.

Whilst the cast all play their own instruments, less successful are the occasions when a heavy backing track kicks in, the amplified drums threatening to shake the pictures off the walls. It’s here that the production’s expansion feels most at odds with itself, as if unsure whether it wants to be an intimate pub singalong or a full-blown arena-style concert. Audience interaction remains a key part of the experience: pints are handed out, crisps and beer mats are flung into the crowd, and there’s a sense of orchestrated chaos that keeps the energy high. It’s undeniably fun, if occasionally a little forced.

The Choir of Man has grown into a global hit, even picking up an Olivier nomination along the way. While this slicker incarnation may have lost some of the quiet magic that once set it apart, it remains an undeniably uplifting night out. It’s boisterous and unabashedly crowd-pleasing — the kind of show that invites you to sing along, raise a glass, and leave with your spirits lifted. Personally I missed the subtlety of the earlier iterations, but having said that, it’s a joyous show, and if last night was anything to go by, audiences around the UK are going to love it.

Reviewed by Alan Fitter.

Photo credit Mark Senior.

Four Stars.

https://thechoirofman.com/