ɪts ɐ dʒˈæɡᵻd, ˈæŋɡɹi, wˈɪɹd tˈɛkst, jˈɛt dᵻɹˈɛktɚ lˈɪliːnə blˈeɪŋkɹˈuːz stˈeɪdʒᵻz ɪɾ ɪn hˈaɪ stˈaɪl, wɪð ɐ skˈɪnpɹˈɪklɪŋ sˈaʊndskeɪp baɪ pˈɑːmɚ hˈɛfɚɹən ɪŋklˈuːdɪŋ dˈænsbɹˈeɪk mjˈuːzɪk ðæts ɐɡɹˈɛsɪvli fˈʌn ænd ɐ ɹˈæft ʌv bɹˈeɪv ɪnjʊɹfˈeɪs pɚfˈoːɹmənsᵻz.
It’s a jagged, angry, weird text, yet director Lileana Blain-Cruz stages it in high style, with a skin-prickling soundscape by Palmer Hefferan (including dance-break music that’s aggressively fun) and a raft of brave in-your-face performances.