So what would you do if a 5ft, 15st blues empress burst into the room and declared that she wants to show you her black bottom? The bulldozing authenticity of Melanie La Barrie's portrayal of the mother of the blues ensures that the only correct response is to say yes ma'am, and brace yourself.
The Black Bottom is the name of a 1920s dance craze, although the merest deployment of La Barrie's sumptuous booty is enough to cause a major disturbance. Not only does she capture Rainey's enormous personality, she also has a voice to match. The only slight pity about August Wilson's play is that she has relatively little chance to use it.
Wilson is one of the great dramatists of the modern African-American condition; you wouldn't expect him to squander his talent on a mere tribute show. But there's something about Gemma Bodinetz's evocative, handsomely acted revival that feels remarkably restrained. The excellent actor-musicans stand ready, fingers poised, lips pursed; you long to see them really blow.
Rainey is surprisingly far from the centre of her own play. In fact, much of the first half is spent waiting for her to turn up. In the meantime, her long-suffering band members engage in the time-honoured musician's ritual of hanging about, smoking reefer and chewing the fat. Foremost amongst these is Levee, smoulderingly played by Cornelius Macarthy, an agitated young trumpet player determined to be an artist rather than a pawn in the white recording industry.
The play only becomes truly compelling in the second half, when Rainey lets rip behind the microphone and Levee finally breaks. "The white folk only hear the blues come out," declares Rainey. "They don't know how it got there." Wilson's play takes a while to work up to this point, but it all becomes worth it when the fat lady sings.
· Until June 19. Box office: 0151-709 4776.
