Seattle Men’s Chorus’ Wicked Wiz of Oz is less a traditional concert than a full-throttle celebration of queer joy, theatrical nostalgia, and the enduring emotional pull of the Oz universe. Blending songs from The Wizard of Oz, The Wiz, Wicked, and original material from The Oz Project, the production embraces the full spectrum of Oz mythology while reframing it through the Chorus’s trademark warmth, humor, and emotional sincerity.
The concert toured Washington for nearly a month, traveling from Bellingham to Tacoma between April 19 and May 16. I caught the May 9 performance at Seattle’s Benaroya Hall, where the audience energy matched the production’s oversized sense of fun and heart.
Under the direction of Artistic Director Paul Caldwell, the show becomes exactly what he promised: “a happy, happy, happy, feel-good spectacle.” Yet beneath the dazzling harmonies and crowd-pleasing mashups lies a deeper emotional current about belonging, identity, and chosen family — themes that have always made Oz resonate so profoundly within queer culture.
The evening opens explosively with “No One Mourns the Wicked / Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead,” immediately establishing the production’s ambitious musical architecture. Stephen Schwartz’s darker theatricality collides with the gleeful classicism of Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg, creating a clever bridge between generations of Oz storytelling. Andrew Seifert’s arrangement understands that these songs are not merely nostalgic artifacts but cultural touchstones, and the Chorus attacks them with thrilling force.
Throughout the first act, the production smartly refuses to stay confined to one version of Oz. “That’s Where You’ll Find Me” and “So Over the Rainbow” from The Oz Project slot comfortably beside Broadway standards, adding emotional continuity and contemporary perspective. Joey Barreiro and Amy Burgess’s songs provide connective tissue that transforms the evening from a revue into something closer to a unified narrative journey.
Some of the show’s strongest moments come from its inventive mashups. “Follow the Yellow Brick Road / Ease on Down the Road” is a particularly inspired pairing, blending the buoyant innocence of the 1939 classic with the swagger and soul of The Wiz. Likewise, combining “If I Only Had a Brain” with Wicked’s “Dancing Through Life” cleverly highlights the thematic overlap between Scarecrow and Fiyero — two characters masking insecurity beneath charm and performance.
Vocally, the Chorus shines brightest in the Schwartz material. “The Wizard and I” surges with emotional urgency, while “What Is This Feeling?” and “Popular” allow for bursts of camp comedy and sharply timed ensemble work. The audience clearly relishes these moments, especially as the recent Wicked film adaptations have reignited mainstream obsession with Elphaba and Glinda.
One element that occasionally created some confusion, however, was the production’s use of dual performers for its central witches. Galinda was portrayed by both Cameron Hollingshead and Kelvin Close-Kung, while Elphaba was played by Matthew Moura and Eric Wielock. All four performers brought strong vocals and distinct personalities to the roles, but at times the transitions between performers blurred the emotional continuity of the storytelling. For audience members less familiar with the structure of the production, it could take a moment to understand why different actors were stepping into the iconic characters throughout the evening. Still, once the show settled into its rhythm, the shared performances ultimately reinforced the communal spirit at the heart of the Chorus itself.
The production’s emotional intelligence is especially evident in how it embraces Oz’s longstanding queer legacy. Caldwell directly acknowledges the historical significance of “friend of Dorothy,” and the show itself functions almost as an act of cultural reclamation. Dorothy’s journey — arriving in a world where she feels different, assembling a chosen family, discovering her own strength — mirrors experiences familiar to many LGBTQ audiences. Wicked Wiz of Oz doesn’t merely reference that subtext; it celebrates it openly and joyfully.
Act II leans more heavily into The Wiz, and wisely so. “Don’t Nobody Bring Me No Bad News” electrifies the room with swagger and rhythm, becoming one of the evening’s undeniable highlights. That moment was made even more memorable by special guest Maya Russell, daughter of longtime Seattle broadcaster Angela Russell. Audiences might have expected Russell to step naturally into a Dorothy-like role, given the warmth and familiarity surrounding her appearance. Instead, she surprised the crowd by taking on Evilene, the wicked witch from The Wiz, delivering a powerhouse rendition of “Don’t Nobody Bring Me No Bad News.” It was a bold and clever casting choice that paid off spectacularly, allowing Russell to command the stage with attitude, humor, and fierce vocal energy.
Elsewhere in the second act, Sharon Udoh’s arrangement of “Home” brought gospel warmth and emotional intimacy, while Aaron Fink delivered a particularly moving solo during “Rainbow Connection,” filling the theater with tenderness and sincerity.
Later, “Brand New Day” sends the audience out euphoric, transforming the theater into something close to a communal revival. The encore mashup of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “Defying Gravity” is unabashed emotional manipulation — and it works beautifully. One song dreams of escape; the other declares liberation. Together, they encapsulate the production’s central message: finding the courage to become fully yourself.
What makes Wicked Wiz of Oz especially successful is its refusal to choose between sincerity and spectacle. It is proudly sentimental, proudly theatrical, and proudly queer. The Seattle Men’s Chorus understands that these songs endure not simply because they are catchy, but because they speak to universal desires for acceptance, connection, and hope.
As summer approaches and audiences emerge looking for joy, Wicked Wiz of Oz arrives at precisely the right moment. It’s a glittering reminder that somewhere over the rainbow — whether in Kansas, Oz, or Seattle — there is still room for wonder, friendship, and a little bit of magic.
