Broadway-ready: Goodman’s magnificent ‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom’ primed for a post-Chicago run

“Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” — 4 stars

Every once in a while, a show stops you in your tracks. Goodman Theatre’s tectonic revival of August Wilson’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” is one of them.

Take note, New York producers: director Chuck Smith’s “Ma Rainey” — with its virtuosic 10-actor ensemble led by Al’Jaleel McGhee and E. Faye Butler — is perfectly pitched and Broadway-ready.

Part of the Pittsburgh Cycle — Wilson’s 10-play magnum opus chronicling the African American experience across each decade of the 20th century — “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” is the only play set outside Pittsburgh’s Hill District.

It’s also the only play in the cycle where music, specifically the blues, propels the narrative. Wilson uses America’s original music as the prism through which the play examines power and exploitation, the tension between art and commerce, and the lingering trauma Black Americans endure.

Inspired by real-life mother of the blues Gertrude “Ma” Rainey, Wilson’s fictional tale unfolds in March 1927 in a white-owned Chicago recording studio, where the singer (Butler in the role she was born to play) and her quartet are cutting records for the label’s highly profitable “race” division.

The instrumentalists arrive first. Trombonist Cutler (David Alan Anderson) is the pragmatic elder statesman and de facto leader. Bassist Slow Drag (Cedric Young) is the easygoing journeyman who wants to do his job and be on his way. Pianist Toledo (Kelvin Roston Jr.) is the resident philosopher and moral compass. Trumpeter Levee Green, brilliantly played with joyful arrogance and desperate swagger by the charismatic McGhee, is the youngest. A fiercely ambitious, quick-tempered rebel, he’s eager to form his own band and write his own songs. Dismissive of Ma’s old-fashioned “jug-band” style, Levee wants to modernize the blues — a vision the traditionalist Ma rejects.

Awaiting Ma’s arrival, the men banter about music, women, legacy, the responsibility Black people have to each other and their exploitation at the hands of powerful white men.

Their jibes and stories emerge as a kind of improvisation, with characters taking turns riffing on a theme. Some exchanges take on the driving style of electric blues. Others are more elegiac, like Levee’s dual cri de coeurs recalling trauma he cannot escape.

The second — “Ma Rainey’s” equivalent of the 11 o’clock number — builds to a towering crescendo of passion and pain delivered by McGhee with soul-wrenching conviction that left the audience spellbound.

The tragedy is Levee’s. But it’s Ma’s show — and everyone from her musicians to her manager Irvin (Marc Grapey) to record exec Mel Sturdyvant (Matt DeCaro) knows it.

Outside the studio, Ma is powerless. To that end, Linda Buchanan’s two-story, brick-enclosed set and Jared Gooding’s atmospheric lighting make the space feel like a prison (note the boarded-up lower windows). Yet these Black artists are never freer than they are within its walls.

Outside, Ma can’t hail a cab; her players can’t cash their paychecks. Inside, she reigns supreme as the label’s most successful artist, evidenced by her velvet coat trimmed with fur, her velvet dress (green like money), the pearls cascading from her neck and the diamond glittering on her finger.

Recognizing she wields power for as long as her voice lasts and her records sell, Ma uses it. She insists her nephew Sylvester (Jabari Khaliq) introduce one of the records; she vetoes Levee’s musical arrangements after Sturdyvant approved them; she refuses to sing unless she gets a Coke. And she orders Irvin to handle the minor fender-bender and a run-in with a racist cabbie that delayed her arrival.

“You better tell this man who I am,” Butler’s Ma booms to Irvin, gesturing to the police officer (Scott Aiello) threatening to arrest her and her entourage, which includes new gal pal Dussie Mae (Tiffany Renee Johnson), a grasping young dancer who has also caught Levee’s eye.

Butler is a force of nature who uses to superb effect her greatest instrument: her voice. Barking orders to subordinates, she speaks with a sandpaper growl. Encouraging Sylvester, the timbre softens but remains flinty. Putting her boss in his place, her diction sharpens as her voice turns menacingly melodic. But it’s when she reflects with longtime colleague Cutler on the purpose of the blues, that Ma reveals her authentic voice.

Blues is “life’s way of talking,” she says. “You don’t sing to feel better. You sing ’cause that’s a way of understanding life … The blues help you get out of bed in the morning … this be an empty world without the blues.”

A production of this magnitude demands a maestro’s touch. Smith — Goodman’s longtime resident director — supplies it. The tempo is sharp. The embellishments (Ma wiping her face after Irvin kisses her cheek and later pocketing his pen) are spot on. The acting is masterful.

Smith’s ensemble doesn’t miss a beat. Here’s hoping after Goodman’s run concludes, another theater picks up the tune.

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Location: Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn St., Chicago, (312) 443-3800, goodmantheatre.org

Showtimes: 7:30 p.m. Wednesday and Friday; 2 and 7:30 p.m. Thursday and Saturday; 2 p.m. Sunday. Also, 7:30 p.m. April 12

Running time: About 2 hours, 30 minutes, with intermission

Tickets: $34-$109

Parking: Nearby garages; discounted parking with Goodman Theatre validation at the Government Center Self Park at Clark and Lake streets

Rating: For adults; contains strong language, sexual content and violence