Starmites. Probably the stupidest script I've ever slogged through in a show. And the lyrics were just a few circles of hell closer to not totally sucking. But the music. Oh, the music. It was higher than any bro-dude should be biologically capable of singing, but it was catchy and harmonious and soaring and I got the privilege of belting way above my range with two mega-tenor friends as we sang backup to our sexy and hopelessy heterosexual Space Punk on stage for a whole month of holiday performances somewhere in the mid-'90s. Plus with two of my favorite rockstar singers bringing their oh-my-god-those-voices awesomeness to the female leads, I was truly humbled to don my blue superhero leotard and gel my hair to the heavens every show and raise the roof with this mighty chorus.
Despite my complete denunciation of the book and lyrics, if you ever get a chance to see (or be in!)
Starmites, I do recommend you do it. The show has a lot of heart. And some fun, silly humor. And a full-company contrapuntal gospel number in Act II called "Reach Right Down" that will blow you against the back wall with its belty, joyful, transcendent powers.
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