It's hot outside and the joint is jumping. There is a smokin' house band, a crack quintet of crooners and 30-odd stomping hits from the catalogue of Thomas "Fats" Waller. What more could you ask for?
Well, a narrative would be nice. Anyone who loved Five Guys Named Moe will surely dig these five cats called Fats. But while Five Guys . . . had the slenderest pretext of a story, Ain't Misbehavin' ditches the book altogether and pounds through the numbers end-to-end. It's impressively Fats but ultimately thin.
It did seem that the packed house was rather glad that there wasn't any dialogue getting in the way of the entertainment. These tribute musicals are all too often guided by a contrived attempt to locate a story behind the songs.
But the lacerating self-mockery of songs such as Fat and Greasy, and the exquisite heartbreak of (What Did I Do To Be So) Black and Blue, beg to have some light shed on the songwriter's private darkness and the autobiographical progress of Waller's oeuvre.
There's nothing to characterise Fats's poignant, rollicking career as the Falstaff of jazz. Nothing to fill out the background of a man who harboured longings to be recognised as a serious jazz musician while trapped behind an unbroken line of novelty hits.
And while Steven Richardson's set has a sunny, art-deco speakeasy feel, it's a pity that we never see Al Capone tipping his favoured piano man.
Without any dramatic through-line to propel it forward, the show rapidly settles into a formula of a couple of upbeat numbers followed by an introspective smooch around the piano.
Nicola Hughes, smokily voiced and slinkily attired, does this particularly well, and the guys are great value in their voluminous suits.
Ain't Misbehavin' is brilliantly played, stylishly sung and snappily choreographed by Jenny Sawyer. But one can just imagine Fats's reaction if he came back to see it: "Goddamit - nearly 60 years dead and they still don't take me seriously."
Until September 8. Box office: 01332 363275.
