I’m Every Woman: The Chaka Khan Musical – Troubadour Wembley Park Theatre

Alexandra Burke and members of the cast in in I’m Every Woman: The Chaka Khan Musical at the Troubadour Wembley Park Theatre, London. Picture: Danny Kaan

I’m Every Woman: The Chaka Khan Musical continues at the Troubadour Wembley Park Theatre, London until 27 September 2026.

Star rating: two stars ★ ★ ✩ ✩ ✩

Any snobbery that exists towards musical theatre goes up a level when it comes to jukebox musicals, whether a catalogue of music is used to tell a story, as with Mamma Mia!, or to chart the biography of a particular artist, as in Beautiful: The Carole King Story and Tina the Musical. Yet the skills involved in pulling off such a project can be underestimated, and that is possibly what has happened with I’m Every Woman: The Chaka Khan Musical.

Given the show has already had brief London and regional runs earlier this year, it is surprising that the production isn’t in better shape. It is not that Chaka Khan’s story lacks the potential for this kind of treatment, or that there aren’t many talented performers in the cast; rather, the production currently lacks the structure and dramatic coherence to make it work.

In a similar way to the recently opened Sinatra the Musical, the book spends so much time covering the events of Khan’s life, rather than exploring her creative process and the qualities that made her a legend of the music industry, that it sacrifices a sense of her as a three-dimensional personality.

We want to emotionally invest in the person being portrayed, connect with their journey, marvel at their talent and innovation, and admire what they achieved in such a competitive and often uninviting world. Here, however, we are rarely given that opportunity.

The production opens and closes with a therapy session that has the air of an intervention, as Khan discusses her struggles with addiction with close family members. This is, of course, an important part of Khan’s story and has a place in a biographical musical about her life, but it becomes a thread that overwhelms much of Nia T. Hill’s book. It also dominates the ending, when surely, we should be celebrating Khan as an inspiring woman who has survived these challenges and come out the other side.

There are glimpses of a more interesting musical in the exploration of Khan’s early career, from forming a local girl group to discovering rock, jazz, R&B and African music through the Afro-Arts Theatre scene, eventually joining the group Rufus. Her introduction to activism as a teen when she met members of the Black Panther movement, also offers a fascinating insight into the experiences that helped shape her.

But as the show progresses, we want to know more about Khan as an artist: how did she create and develop the distinctive sound that made her such an influential figure? Instead, songs are often split between characters in an attempt to push the narrative along, while solos are handed to other figures in the storytelling.

Some of these choices are particularly misjudged. When Khan is whisked away to hospital after suffering an overdose, her husband Richard stands front and centre to sing ‘Sweet Thing’. Whatever the quality of the vocal performance from Miles Anthony Daley, the dramatic choice makes little sense at this point in the story, taking the focus away from Khan at precisely the moment when it should remain firmly on her.

Elsewhere, there is far too much reliance on Khan’s illustrious collaborators – Joni Mitchell, Stevie Wonder, Prince, Steve Winwood and more – who are often introduced in rather clunky fashion. It is impressive that Khan worked with such a stellar line-up of artists, but what was it about her talent that drew them to her? Why doesn’t the musical ask that question?

The tone becomes particularly confused around the presence of Prince. Initially, the portrayal of the star is played for laughs, with a lookalike caricature, yet the audience is later expected to feel the full emotional weight of his death. The moment is marked by Alexandra Burke’s Khan singing ‘Your Love is All I Know’, an odd choice despite the performer’s powerful rendition.

The book’s twist, meanwhile, is the presence of Marie, Khan’s ‘devil on her shoulder’. It is an intriguing idea, but one that is too often played for laughs, even though Chrissie Bhima gives her all to the role.

Other cast members who make an impression despite the limitations of the material include Ashley Stroud, Charlotte St. Croix, Jelani Munroe, Sophie Earl and Chris Breistein. Burke, meanwhile, does her very best to elevate the material, never losing sight of the need to bring authenticity to her portrayal of Khan. Her vocal ability, of course, is a considerable asset.

Production values are basic rather than inspiring, with Sara Perks’ sliding door set design relying heavily on video projections. These can be effective, although the team at Buckloop sometimes appears overly fond of atmospheric weather effects. Sound designer Chris Whybrow, musical supervisor Mark Crossland and musical director Aron Sood do a good job of bringing the musical elements to life, even if some of the choices are less convincing.

There are moments when Ebony Clarke’s vibrant choreography has the opportunity to shine, but elsewhere it is hampered by a lack of vision in the wider staging, leaving ensemble members hanging around with little direction. Director Racky Plews struggles to keep on top of all the different elements competing for attention, although perhaps that is unsurprising when the production itself seems uncertain about where its focus should lie.

There is one scene in which an interviewer asks Khan about the challenges of working in the music industry as a Black woman, and she responds as though reading from a script. It inadvertently highlights the central problem with the musical itself. What I’m Every Woman needs to do is show us how Khan became a pioneer in that world, rather than simply telling us that she was one.

Lisa Martland