Burn Jukebox Musical, Burn

Although the "Golden Age" of the jukebox musical ended in 2015, when a disgruntled gang of rock fans attacked the stage during the climax of Rape Me: The Kurt Cobain Story, it has never entirely bee displaced by the satirical musical theatre that now rules Broadway and London's West End. Alongside the record-breaking runs of Tony Blair: You've Got To Be Joking and Like A Salmond Up The Stream, the occasional nostalgia outing will play a limited run to half-filled auditoriums.

Welcome To The Terrordome is still an anomaly. Made up of tracks spanning hip-hop's evolution from a minority enthusiasm to a world-conquering genre, it takes a story that would not be out of place on a 1990s' concept album - Snoop Dog and Tupac fiddled about with the album as fictional autobiography, before Kanye West did it best - and threads in numbers that act as a partial history of the form. From the high-school hi-jinx of Bust A Move to the finale of Public Enemy numbers, Terrordome reinvents the jukebox musical as a consciousness-raising session.

The core narrative - young man is bullied at school, enters into a gangster's lifestyle only to become politicised after seeing a break-dance crew - is suggested by the musical choices and does not necessarily follow the untidy development of hip-hop: Public Enemy's style was largely eclipsed by gangster bragging. But the basic framework is enough to allow the musical to get down to business: the desecration of hip-hop classics, chewed up by an eighteen piece orchestra (none of that untidy turntablism here) and sung by an uncomfortable chorus of triple-threat performers.

There are moments of genuine humour: The Pharcyde's Oh Shit! is a skit on sexual misadventure, culminating in a wild satyr dance, false genitals and all; Bust A Move captures the anxiety of the school disco while the medley of NWA tunes balances on the fine line between stupidity and intensity. Fuck Tha Police is not best illustrated by a trio of scantily clad women brandishing handcuffs at the protagonist. It is the more serious themes that are most undermined, as the fierce rage of Chuck D is subliminated into a more palatable, socially acceptable political engagement.

Equally, the plundering of hip-hop culture is partial and unconvincing. The only scene where genuine hip-hop moves are used is in the disco, where a mild crumping contest fizzles out: the dramatic conversion is supposedly a breakin' contest, but is actually performed by a circus acrobat. It's unsurprising that the jukebox musical died: it shows a lack of respect for its sources, under-estimates the audience's intelligence (Burn Hollywood Burn does not need a firework display to clarify its message) and is so eager to please that it replaces any heart with supposedly spectacular set-pieces.