“GHOST QUARTET”: Performances are underway for Princeton Summer Theater’s production of “Ghost Quartet.” Written by Dave Malloy, and directed by BT Hayes, the song cycle runs through July 16 at Princeton University’s Hamilton Murray Theater. Above, from left, are actor-musician storytellers Radon Belarmino, Sam Melton, Grace Zhao, and Kate Short. (Photo by Faith Wangermann)

By Donald H. Sanborn III

Composer, lyricist, and performer Dave Malloy memorably describes his Ghost Quartet (2014) as a “song cycle about love, death, and whiskey. A camera breaks and four friends drink in an interwoven tale spanning seven centuries, with a murderous sister, a tree house astronomer, a bear, a subway, and the ghost of Thelonious Monk.”

Princeton Summer Theater is presenting Ghost Quartet. The offbeat, macabre song cycle demands formidable musical versatility from its performers. Fortunately, the talented cast — made up of three recent alumni and one current Princeton University student — provides this versatility, singing and playing an eclectic variety of instruments.

In addition to singing, soprano Kate Short variously plays banjo, guitar, mandolin, accordion, kazoo, and kalimba. Alto Grace Zhao plays guitar, accordion, piano, autoharp, and waterphone. Tenor (and music director) Sam Melton plays piano, while bass Radon Belarmino plays cello. All four performers play various percussion instruments, including Melton on drum and Short on tambourine.

In a program note, director BT Hayes articulately and poetically describes Ghost Quartet as a work that “moves through doubt, fear, grief, wonder, connection, memory, and more, folding four souls together across several lifetimes and incarnations. Their memories play out on our stage at the end of the world.”

Audiences may or may not be able to glean this overarching theme from one hearing. Indeed, Ghost Quartet often seems to resist such a tidy summary. Its libretto revels in labyrinthine opaqueness, juxtaposing multiple, seemingly random elements against a sense of pre-ordained order.

Jeffrey Van Velsor’s set reinforces this. Upon entering, we see a stage that looks like it belongs in a Greenwich Village nightspot. At the back is a blackboard covered in writing. A telescope is off to the side, sitting near a guitar that hangs on the wall. A large box sits at the center of the stage, inviting us to wonder about its contents.

There are overt textual references to works such as Arabian Nights and “The Fall of the House of Usher,” among many other sources. The equally eclectic score evokes — among other idioms — folk (including American and Chinese) music, cabaret, doo-wop, and composers such as Stephen Sondheim.

Malloy divides Ghost Quartet not into acts or scenes, but rather into “sides” and “tracks” that are announced by the performers. The use of a term connected with vinyl, rather than later formats, is striking. It can be interpreted as celebrating the preservation of stories in a tangible (rather than digital) format.

A single piano key is played; this is the cue for a brisk a cappella piece that borrows a four-note melodic motif from “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and uses harmonies that evoke a 1940s big band singing group. The performers’ voices blend exquisitely, and this immediately is on display. An oscillating cello note signals an abrupt change in musical language to a percussion-laced, steady rock sound.

“I don’t even know how to begin … where is the ghost in the mirror? I want one too,” the performers sing enigmatically. Hinting at multiple Scheherazade references, they add, “I’ve got a thousand and one stories; every single one of them is a lie.”

A chromatic cello solo (smoothly performed by Belarmino) underscores a brief dialogue scene in which “Rose” (Zhao) seeks to replace a broken camera (“the pieces are lost”), and “Pearl” (Short) offers her some whiskey.

This leads to “The Camera Shop,” an expressive, lilting cabaret ballad in which Pearl describes her great-grandmother and great-great-aunt — also named, respectively, Rose and Pearl. We discover that the unscrupulous editor of an astronomy journal stole a poem she wrote, so she “asked a bear to maul the astronomer.”

The modern Rose probably speaks for multiple audience members when she admits, “I’m a little confused.”

Echoing the Witch in Into the Woods, the Bear (Belarmino) demands a list of items in return for mauling the astronomer: “one pot of honey, one piece of stardust, one secret baptism, and a photo of a ghost.”

We learn that (the great-grandmother) Rose performed the baptism on a baby she abducted from a teenage mother; the baby was named Starchild. Notably, Zhao often clutches her instruments — which include a zither-like autoharp — to her as though they were small children.

Zhao’s voice and musical phrasing are particularly lovely in “Starchild,” in which the titular character describes memories of the baptism, and her determination to be all that she can be. Melton accompanies Zhao on piano, adding gentle arpeggios to Belarmino’s expressive cello notes.

This is followed by a foreboding quartet, “Subway,” which tells of a victim being pushed onto the tracks, and a photographer who neglected to help. Here, the (more agitated) arpeggios are given to the cello.

Memorable moments include “Tango Dancer,” a duet for Short and Zhao in which features the latter playing an ocarina (a flutelike instrument); “Any Kind of Dead Person,” a brisk, up-tempo quartet that highlights Zhao’s skills as an accordionist; and the contrastingly introspective, a cappella chorale, “Prayer.”

Hayes’ direction generally ensures that the pace is steady, and that the movement on stage — which includes frequent
changing of instruments and characters — flows smoothly. The running time is less than two hours, but the show gives audiences quite a bit to process, and might benefit from an intermission.

Sound Designer Minjae Kim adds reverb at strategic moments, giving the performers’ voices, and some astute blending of instruments, an otherworldly — ghostly — sound. At its best, Alex Slisher’s lighting is striking, enhancing the mood and themes of the piece. It often looks as though stars envelop the stage, underlining the astronomy motif.

The opening of the second half is titled “Lights Out.” Fittingly, that piece is performed in a darkened theater. Unfortunately, a decision has been made to have minimal to no lighting not just for that number, but for a sizeable segment of the third “side.”

According to a performance note in the published score, this also was done in the original production. At the Hamilton Murray, at least, what might have been a striking and effective device for a shorter period of time becomes something of an annoyance, as the audience starts to wish they could see what is happening.

Costume Designer Clara Bloom avoids styles that are conspicuously of a specific time period. Belarmino and Melton are given slacks and vests. Zhao is given a dress whose delicate fabric suggests an (unspecified) earlier period, while Short’s dress is more modern black outfit.

The final few songs unify some of the wildly varying thematic elements. In the pensive, impassioned — and still very stream-of-consciousness — “Hero,” (which, like “Starchild,” greatly benefits from Zhao’s delivery), Rose sings, “I want to take a picture at the end of the world … I’m not a monk, I’m not special.”

For the finale, “The Wind & Rain,” the audience is offered instruments (including a child’s xylophone) and asked to join in the singing. The lyrics, adapted from a traditional folk song, describe “two sisters who lived by the sea,” echoing the saga of Rose and Pearl.

The audience participation element is intriguing when juxtaposed against the plot point of the photographer failing to help a victim who is pushed onto train tracks. The photographer is at fault for being a passive viewer of events, rather than actively helping.

Our invitation to join in the finale signals to us that we should be active participants, rather than passive listeners. This interactivity, along with the scope this show affords its actor-musician storytellers to give performances full of versatility and high energy, ultimately are what make Ghost Quartet come to life.

“Ghost Quartet” will play at the Hamilton Murray Theater in Murray Dodge Hall, Princeton University, through July 16. For tickets, show times, and further information visit princetonsummertheater.org/ghost-quartet.