The Fab Four

Forever Plaid is in tune

by Bill Rodriguez

FOREVER PLAID by Stuart Ross. Directed by Patrick Trettenero. With Keith Mahoney, Rob Sutton, Lennie Watts and Andy McKim. At Theatre-By-the-Sea through June 14.

They were nerdy and they were as straight as the grid lines on their plaid jackets, but the harmony quartets of the '50s and '60s sure could croon a tune. The appeal is apparent in Forever Plaid, at Theatre-By-the-Sea, the summer theater in Matunuck.

The show had a four-year Off-Broadway run, powered by the aw-shucks, glee-club charm popularized by such groups as the Four Freshman, the Four Lads and the Hi-Los. Before the Beatles kicked out the jams and showed that young guys didn't have to come across like four Tony Bennetts, they had their heyday.

It's a trippy set-up, with the curtain opening on four bodies on gurneys covered by sheets, toe tags dangling. One toe twitches, as though to an unheard beat that won't stop, and soon we're listening to four dead guys in white dinner jackets. They had been on their way to the highpoint of their career -- a gig at the Airport Hilton's Fusel Lounge. But their car was side-swiped by a bus full of parochial-school kids on their way to see the latest sensation, the Beatles, on The Ed Sullivan Show. Apparently, the constellations are lining up to let Forever Plaid give the performance of their cut-short life.

Frankie (Rob Sutton) is the smooth one, but too sincere to be suave, hair slicked back and a million miles from his day job in dental supplies. Sparky (Andy McKim) is the boyish one, a lot like Opie after his voice settled for one register. Wearing thick Buddy Holly glasses, Smudge (Keith Mahoney) is the shy guy, although he manages to come out of himself near the beginning when he's left to hold the stage. And there's Jinx (Lennie Watts), big and, eventually, brazen.

And they sound pretty good -- even when they're using long-handled toilet plungers as microphones to simulate their rehearsal in the basement of Smudge's family plumbing supply business. Whether it's the finger-popping "Undecided" or the doo-wop "Rags to Riches" or the lovey-dovey "No, Not Much," they can pull it off.

The highpoint of the whole show for me -- and, judging by the outburst of applause, for the audience -- is Watts belting out "Cry" as the others back him up. If he had torn off his tie and there had been a half-naked chorus line behind him, it could have passed for a Las Vegas show-stopper.

What follows that is completely different, yet doesn't disappoint, demonstrating the range of the music's style. Relying on the deep velvet bass of Mahoney, they do "Sixteen Tons" and "Chain Gang," dripping with the irony of white-bread vocalists getting all furrow-browed in work songs.

It's a toss-up as to which scene is the funniest. Similar to that working-man incongruity, there's the reminder of how a Calypso craze swept the nation back then. As they whoop it up, Harry Belafonte's "Day-O" and "Matilda" get a run for their bananas and the audience gets some conga line participation. Likewise, sight gags abound in a 3:47 parody of The Ed Sullivan Show, with everyone from Senor Wencas to a plate balancer to a bullwhip act performing to "Lady of Spain."

Another favorite moment was quasi-serious, when Frankie waxes eloquent about seeking the Perfect Chord like a surfer seeks the Perfect Wave. The show's writer, Stuart Ross, makes harmony sound as elusive and delicate as Mid-East diplomacy.

Close harmony keeps getting rediscovered, whether by the Roches or the Nylons, to remind us that while various musical styles may peak and valley, the subdominant and dominant notes in a chord will sound great together until something replaces ears. Forever Plaid is a cute reminder.