Rock Show at the Belasco!

When the songwriter called Stew first appeared in the pages of New York Press, he was pretty much unknown as the frontman for The Negro Problem. Back in 1999, he was mainly trying to free his ambitious band from the Los Angeles power-pop scene. Stew discussed that in some detail, including a nice dismissal of his whiny contemporaries as a bunch of nerds whose “shit isn’t sexy.” Those power-pop types hadn’t mastered the Internet back then. Instead, a few went through the trouble of making copies of the article and handing them out at The Negro Problem’s shows in L.A. It would’ve been funnier if Stew had looked out at his hometown audience and seen picket signs proclaiming, “Boycott!”

Stew had other problems, of course. He was almost into his forties and working as a telemarketer. Maybe it was subtle racism that stood in the way of Stew’s pop career, or maybe it was simply that he’s overweight. That guy from Hootie & The Blowfish did OK, though. Anyway, things got better. By 2003, Stew had finished up three solo albums and a third from The Negro Problem. His trips to NYC had him graduating from Tonic to Joe’s Pub and Lincoln Center. Writers at The New York Times took notice of Stew’s incredible range and charming stage banter. Most importantly, Stew and longtime collaborator Heidi Rodewald had begun to pursue other projects—mostly a screenplay and the small-scale rock opera that has bloomed into Passing Strange.

It’s pretty exciting to see Stew and Heidi on Broadway. Passing Strange has been around for a while, but things obviously changed for the production in the wake of Spring Awakening. Fortunately, the setting’s still stark at the humble Belasco Theatre. The audience files in to see a podium surrounded by a drum kit and three other settings for musicians. Except for the lighting, there’s never anything more elaborate than a bunch of chairs on the stage. That’s all the seven amazing cast members need as Stew narrates the tale of his young Buddhist self discovering gospel, pot, punk, Amsterdam, Berlin and mortality.

As Stew explains in his Playbill interview—hey, Stew’s in Playbill!—Passing Strange was inspired by learning that George W. Bush had never been to Europe before becoming president. The play makes a good case for Bush having stayed home. Stew may have been formed by his travels, but he also worked through plenty of idiocy. Passing Strange goofs on a lot of the artistic experience, including Stew’s adept conning of angry Berlin artists who are offended by his love for classic pop songwriting.

Thinking quickly, Young Stew gets a place to stay after yelling at the krazy Krauts that he’s an oppressed black man, and they’ll never know what it’s like to hustle for dimes in the mean streets of South Central. “Nobody in this play,” adds our narrator, “knows what it’s like to hustle for dimes in the mean streets of South Central.” You’ll laugh, you’ll cry and you’ll be relieved for Stew and Heidi—especially if you think about all the underrated talents who faded away while Rolling Stone and Blender embraced Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan. Which isn’t to say that Passing Strange doesn’t have flaws. Stew remains fearless about throwing in a few clunkers amongst his lyrics. That’s part of his charm. There’s a gag where he explains that the play is missing a Broadway show tune because he doesn’t know how to write one. That’s a lie. Stew can write anything—and sometimes that includes a lovable dopey rhyme.

The ending is more difficult. Stew and Heidi aren’t subtle about their recurring theme of finding “the real.” Maybe that’s too nebulous of a concept to expect even some resolution. Still, the epic struggle between Stew’s artistic wanderings and sentimental ways adds up to a big climax of, “I dunno.” To be more precise, Stew and Heidi leave it up to the audience to decide whether there’s been any point to the play—and that’s a pretty big risk.

It’s hard to tell what kind of reaction Passing Strange will get. The only sure thing is that Stew will discover a new world of moronic racist comments. Some dolt from Entertainment Weekly once described Stew as an “inner-city Burt Bacharach.” Those gullible Germans would have done the same. The talk outside of the Belasco will provide plenty of similar moments. Among the things I heard from different theatergoers: “It is so funny how black folks look at Europe.” “A lot of funny things have come from the idea of the black middle-class.” “He’s clever, but it’s just trying to be the black Rent without the universal chord.”

Actually, that last line isn’t racist. It’s more like the typical douchebaggery you expect in this city. As Stew himself said back in ’99, “You people in New York are all fucked up.”

Open run. Belasco Theatre, 111 44th St. (betw. 6th & 7th Aves.), 212-239-6200; $26.50-$111.50.