At Catch One, a funk concert transports you to 1974 - and it's immersive theater at its finest

"The man I'm talking to tells me he has no name. "Hey" is what he responds to, and he says he can be best described as a "travel agent," a designation said with a sly smile to clearly indicate it's code for something more illicit. About eight of us are crammed with him into a tiny area tucked in the corner of a nightclub. Normally, perhaps, this is a make-up room, but tonight it's a hideaway where he'll feed us psychedelics (they're just mints) to escape the brutalities of the world. It's also loud, as the sounds of a rambunctious funk band next door work to penetrate the space."

""Close your eyes," I'm told. I let the mint begin to melt while trying to pretend it's a gateway to a dream state. The more that mint peddler talks, the more it becomes clear he's suffering from PTSD from his days in Vietnam. But the mood isn't somber. We don't need any make-believe substances to catch his drift, particularly his belief that, even if music may not change the world, at least it can provide some much-needed comfort from it."

""Brassroots District: LA '74" is part concert, part participatory theater and part experiment, attempting to intermix an evening of dancing and jubilation with high-stakes drama. How it plays out is up to each audience member. Follow the cast, and uncover war tales and visions of how the underground music scene became a refuge for the LGBTQ+ community. Watch the band, and witness a concert almost torn apart as a group on the verge of releasing its debut album weighs community versus cold commerce. Or ignore it all to play dress-up and get a groove on to the music that never stops."

Brassroots District: LA '74 stages an immersive evening at Catch One that blends live concert performance, participatory theater, and experimental storytelling. Audience members choose how to engage: follow characters to reveal Vietnam-era war tales and queer refuge narratives; watch the band as internal conflicts over community versus commercial success threaten a debut album; or dance and dress up, prioritizing music and celebration. A character dubbed 'Hey,' a mint-selling 'travel agent,' sells mints described as psychedelics while revealing PTSD from Vietnam and a belief that music can offer comfort even if it cannot change the world. The production evokes 1974 Los Angeles without relying on pure nostalgia.

Read at Los Angeles Times