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Woody Sez is a warm, engaging tribute to Woody Guthrie, built around his songs and the stories that shaped them. The show blends biography, politics, humour and hardship into a fluid, fast‑moving piece of musical theatre. It’s presented with an easy, unforced charm that draws you in from the start.
I arrived knowing Woody Guthrie largely through his better-known songs, particularly the union anthems that have echoed down the decades. I left with a far richer appreciation of the man, his extraordinary catalogue and the experiences that shaped him. The production introduces audiences to songs that deserve to stand alongside the classics, performed with such conviction that they feel as fresh today as when Guthrie first wrote them.
The staging could hardly be simpler. Four musicians, a backdrop of photographs drawn from Guthrie’s life and the turbulent times through which he lived, and very little else. There are no elaborate sets or distracting theatrical flourishes. None are needed. The music, the words and the performances tell the story.
Although one performer remains Woody throughout, this is emphatically an ensemble piece. David M. Lutken reprises the role of Guthrie for this production, devised Woody Sez: The Life & Music of Woody Guthrie with original director Nick Corley and original cast members Darcie Deaville, Helen Jean Russell, and Andy Teirstein. The other three musicians step naturally into the voices of those around him, including members of his family, before returning seamlessly to the music. They play more than twenty instruments between them – and the spoons. No one dominates.The result is a genuine collaboration in which every performer makes an indispensable contribution.
The musicianship is exceptional. Every instrument is played with assurance, every harmony feels earned, and there is a warmth to the performances that draws the audience into Guthrie’s world. It never becomes a concert interrupted by biography, nor a play occasionally broken up by songs. The two are woven together so skilfully that each strengthens the other.
What surprised me most was how much of Guthrie’s life I didn’t know. I was aware of the Great Depression, of the poverty that scarred so many American families and of the political climate in which he found his voice. I knew far less about the personal tragedies that marked his life, the devastating fires that affected his family, and the cruel progression of Huntington’s disease that ultimately silenced one of America’s greatest songwriters. Understanding those experiences made his lifelong commitment to ordinary working people feel even more authentic. His politics were not abstract theories but convictions forged through hardship.
Yet the production wisely refuses to turn Guthrie into a solemn political icon. His mischievous streak is always present. There are moments of gentle humour and sly observations that reveal someone who could laugh even while confronting life’s harsher realities. That balance gives the evening its humanity.
The audience responded in kind. They listened intently throughout, joining in enthusiastically when familiar songs invited participation. By the end, the standing ovation felt entirely deserved.
One aspect particularly caught my attention. Listening to Union Maid, I could hear striking echoes of the Strawbs’ Part of the Union. Guthrie’s Union Maid uses the defiant refrain “I’m sticking to the union” as a straightforward declaration of solidarity. Strawbs’ Part of the Union echoes the same cadence and sentiment, but turns it into a wry, satirical take on 1970s British labour politics. One is earnest and rooted in American folk activism; the other is a pop‑rock pastiche that knowingly plays with the same idea.
The production touches briefly on Guthrie’s influence on figures such as Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan, but wisely keeps its focus on Guthrie himself. There is more than enough in his own remarkable life to sustain the narrative.
Perhaps the most powerful moment comes not in a song but in one of Guthrie’s newspaper columns, Woody Sez. Reflecting on war, he writes that a bomb is a bomb and a kid is a kid. It is an observation of disarming simplicity and enduring humanity. Decades later, with civilians still paying the price for conflicts across the world, those words retain their moral force.
That, more than anything, is why Woody Sez succeeds so completely. It is not an exercise in nostalgia. It reminds us that Guthrie’s compassion, wit and unwavering belief in the dignity of ordinary people still speak with remarkable clarity.
Reviewed by Pat Harrington
