The first thing to be said about The Black Mikado is that it is the
sexiest, funniest version of the G and S favourite ever produced. Norman
Beaton was [in 1975] a very handsome young Nanki-Poo and Patricia
Ebigwei was a heart-stoppingly beautiful Yum-Yum. The sexual tensions
that are implicit in the plot were exploited to the full.
The setting of the production is a Caribbean island. All cast members
are black, except for Pooh-Bah [the fine English character actor,
Michael Denison] who is a minor English colonial official who has
over-reached himself. The Titipu Town Band is a mix of black and white
musicians who, in the production, sit on the stage under a tropical,
palm-thatched rotunda.
The instrumentation gives an indication of what to expect of the
arrangements: Trumpet; flugel horn; French horn; alto sax; baritone sax;
lead, rhythm, bass and acoustic guitar; keyboards, drums and percussion.
Norman Beaton turns "A Wand'ring Minstrel I" into a plaintive song of
sexual longing that sets the tone for what follows. The treatment of
Sullivan's music is a sort of amalgam of the original, plus reggae,
calypso and rock overtones.
To picture the production you have to imagine that it is set on a
tropical island, colonised by the English, where British rectitude,
exemplified by the white-suited, pith-helmeted Pooh-Bah, is in tension
with the natural, sweaty, sexy exuberance of the locals.
For instance, in the stage production something that is hinted at in
the music itself on the record the entry of the Three Little Maids
[three young women of exceptional beauty] from School was turned into a
trio strip routine. The girls arrive from their proper English school,
dressed up in uniforms of floor-length tunics, elbow-length gloves and
straw boaters. As they come on stage singing of their release from the
confines of the lady's seminary they throw off the surplus clothing. The
hypocritical Sullivan probably would not have approved. Gilbert would
have loved it!
Patricia Ebigwei's version of "The Sun whose rays..." is, in the words
of the Gramophone reviewer of this recording, the performance against
which all others must now be judged. It is one of those remarkable
interpretations that makes all others pale and unsatisfactory by
comparison. No G and S lover is unmoved by this sensational piece of
music making. Her version is a slow, erotic, languid ballad of vanity
and sexual self-satisfaction that makes the conventional renditions seem
prissy and just plain silly.
Anita Tucker's Katisha is a woman who is more tragic than ridiculous.
Gilbert's plain, middle-aged, unloveable ladies are politically
incorrect in this day and age, and Tucker gets it right for our times.
She is not so much an ugly predator as an unhappy woman searching for
love. Appropriately Derek Griffith's "Tit Willow" is a touching allegory
of a mutual attraction between two people who are drawn to each other by
what they have in common not simply two people forced into each
other's arms in order to survive and because they cannot do any better.
This is the most human production of The Mikado that I have ever seen.
It tends to make all other versions seem misanthropic and misogynist. In
this production you actually feel something for the characters.
The Black Mikado was a hot ticket in London in 1975. After finishing its
West End season it toured the provincial cities and then disappeared,
leaving only the recording of the highlights as a record of its
existence. I believe that the record company no longer exists and I
cannot find out what might have happened to the original tapes. It would
be a tragedy if they were to be lost. My 20 year old LP has only a
certain number of plays left in it. Both the production and the
recording are worthy of resurrection.
Martin Lewis pointed out that the publisher of this recording, Transatlantic
Records, has since gone out of business, and its catalogue purchased
Castle Communications, a firm that specializes in mid-price re-issues.
Although, as Martin recalls, the album sold moderately well, it was deleted
after the show closed.