Ian Shaw (vocals); Barry Green (piano)
From the opening number of Stephensong, you know you’re in safe hands. Ian Shaw steps into Sondheim’s world not as a mimic or archivist, but as an interpreter—one who understands that these songs are living, breathing pieces of emotional theatre. Barry Green’s intimate piano arrangements strip away the orchestral “Broadway” varnish, leaving space for Shaw’s voice to explore, question, and communicate. The result is a collection that is less a tribute album and more a deeply personal celebration of Stephen Sondheim’s craft.
Everybody Says Don’t– A Mission Statement. The album sets its tone immediately:
Everybody says can’t,
Shaw sings this not as a polite opener but as a philosophy. Like Sondheim, he asks us to reject fear and complacency. The song becomes an argument for courage: progress only happens when someone dares, disobeys, or refuses to wait. For Shaw—a long-time activist and campaigner—these lines resonate deeply. His delivery bristles with conviction, giving the album a clear emotional compass.
Sondheim’s own belief in individualism, defiance, and artistic risk-taking mirrors so much of what Shaw represents. The idea is crystallised in the iconic lines:
Shaw has used these lyrics on the sleeve notes, and it’s easy to see why. He sings them as if they were written for him, recognising Sondheim’s metaphor for change, courage, and pushing the world forward—one ripple at a time.
A Voice Built for Storytelling
Known for his expressive, versatile vocals and theatrical instinct, Shaw brings a warm, slightly husky tone that feels tailor-made for Sondheim. His phrasing is masterful: elastic when needed, conversational when the story demands it. He can inhabit a tender ballad like Good Thing Going, then pivot to Another Hundred People, capturing its jittery, urban momentum with a jazz-inflected ease.
Shaw is, at core, a storyteller. He blends jazz improvisation with emotional honesty, and his natural entertainer’s instinct—humour, vulnerability, and heart—shines throughout the set.
Minimalism That Reveals, Rather Than Reduces
Green’s solo piano and Shaw’s voice are all the album needs. The arrangements are uncluttered but never simplistic; they give Shaw the space to explore the emotional subtext woven into Sondheim’s writing. This scaled-back setting makes the songs feel more accessible than their theatrical origins might suggest, drawing attention to the craft of the lyric and the truthfulness of the performances.
A Curated Journey Through Sondheim
Shaw has chosen songs from across Sondheim’s career, mixing well-known standards with lesser-travelled corners of the catalogue. What unites them is the respect and insight he and Green bring to each one. Rather than reinventing the songs, Shaw stamps them with his own musical identity simply by singing them honestly—his way, in his voice.
He invites the listener to experience Stephensong as an album rather than a playlist, and when heard in order, it forms a journey through longing, defiance, regret, humour, and hope.
A Stunning Culmination: Somewhere
The emotional apex comes with Somewhere, delivered in a version that is both expansive and intimate. Shaw opens unaccompanied, his voice laid bare—an instrument in its own right. When Green enters, it’s with a kind of musical empathy; the interplay between the two is quietly magical.
The line is both literal and symbolic—longing for peace, but also imagining a world healed of division. Shaw’s interpretation moves between tenderness and urgency, building to a final section that feels earned, inevitable, and profoundly moving.
Conclusion
Stephensong isn’t just a vocalist singing Sondheim. It’s Ian Shaw—activist, storyteller, jazz musician, and theatre-lover—holding these songs up to the light and revealing new facets in them. It’s an album of clarity, courage, and deep emotional intelligence.
Sondheim’s songs ask difficult questions. Shaw answers them—not by solving them, but by living inside them. And the result is one of the most heartfelt and insightful Sondheim interpretations in recent years. Glenn Wright
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