On December 23, The Choir of Man arrived at the Kravis Center as part of its official U.S. tour, transforming the Dreyfoos Hall stage into a working pub, inviting the audience to order a pint. Nine men gather in a bar, they drink, they sing, they tell stories, and they invite the audience into the ritual. Over the course of ninety-some minutes, the show presents a sequence of musical numbers drawn from rock, folk, and pop, each loosely anchored to one of the men, the Joker (Conor Mellor), the Hard Man (RJ Griffith), the Poet (Conor Hanley), the Bore (Lewis Bennett), the Romantic (Tristan Whincup), the Beast (Rob Godfrey), the Handyman (Adam Hilton), the Barman (Mark Loveday), and the Maestro (Lee O’Reily). There is no narrative arc in the traditional sense. Instead, the evening unfolds as a night at the pub would, with songs, banter, toasts, moments of vulnerability, and a collective closing number and last call.
That lack of plot is both the show’s defining feature and its most significant limitation. “The Choir of Man” does not pretend to be a book musical, nor does it aspire to psychological depth. What it offers instead is atmosphere. As a young Irishman who enjoys drinking and socializing, I found myself disarmed by how precisely the production seemed calibrated to my sensibilities. The watering hole as a sacred space, the blending of music (live or over-speakers) with personal confession, the way humor and sentimentality coexist, all of it felt familiar. It is easy to enjoy oneself in this environment, especially when the cast’s musical prowess is as formidable as it is here.
The show’s stated message centers on the idea of the “third place,” that social space beyond home and work where community is forged and sustained. This theme, articulated explicitly and implicitly throughout the evening, is larger and more generous than the drinking culture that frames it. Alcohol is present, sometimes excessively so, but it functions more as shorthand for communion than as an endorsement of excess. The bar becomes a modern hearth, a place where people who might otherwise remain isolated come together to sing, argue, joke, and grieve. When the production leans into this idea, it finds its most resonant moments…