Sophia Ramos

No Parental Guidance

Pangea, NYC, July 28, 2025

Reviewed by Alix Cohen

I’ve never seen Pangea so packed. Extra tables and chairs had to be brought in as the audience kept arriving. Clearly these were patrons who knew and supported the performer on her night off from appearing in Broadway’s Buena Vista Social Club. The venue buzzed.

Sean Harkness opened with a drummed vamp. Tonight his guitar stood in for percussion, offering such a variation of muscular sound that a band wasn’t missed. To call this collaboration a symbiosis doesn’t come close to the melding of authoritative expression in this show.

“Nutbush City Limits” (Ike & Tina Turner) had a groove derived from Betty Davis’ “They Say I’m Different” and erupted as talking blues. Additional lyrics and patter by Ramos described a burning South Bronx; she’s a helluva writer as well as an exceptional vocalist. We heard detailed storytelling about her rough childhood and being born “the wrong gender” to a womanizing father. Her mom sang to her. “Que Sera, Sera” (Jay Livingston/Ray Evans) arrived in an iconoclastic, Sly Stone arrangement in which sweetness was replaced by resignation. Dad abandoned them for a pregnant mistress. “Depression came cloaked in rage.”

“Hell Is for Children” (Pat Benatar) sounded like gospel. “They cry in the dark so you can’t see their tears/because Hell is for children.” Harkness’ guitar fist-thumped, twanged, and stroked. Ramos’ sisters didn’t want her around; she turned to cousins, discovered incest, and became, as a child, the protector of a child. “This song is for Gina.” Ramos sang as she rocked on the stool.

As a teenager, Ramos secretly attended hip-hop concerts. When her Pentecostal mom found out, she was beaten with a broom. Ramos left home for the Lower East Side at 16 and gravitated to a proverbial life of “sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.” She dreamed of being a rock star. There was glee in her telling. “Night Life” (Willie Nelson) became a chesty, heady, Howlin’ Wolf-style tale. “Thump, wompa, thump, thump, wompa,” went the guitar as Harkness’ head spun and jerked. Ramos has a full-bodied laugh like Ursula, the sea witch in The Little Mermaid.

“Get It, Get It” (Ike & Tina Turner) was performed as a Valerie Simpson-ish funk. Ramos lived in a squat on East 9th Street and then in Tompkins Square Park. She was deep into “flower power and activism.” Her own “Let Me Tell You Something” embraced rebellion with a vengeance. A vivid scene was manifested. Her busker boyfriend was violent. She escaped to what naively appeared to be safe, only to be raped. The narrative resembled a combination of poet Leroi Jones and dramatist Eve Ensler. Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression” emerged with a haunting Yoruban chant. Harkness’ left hand slid so sharply against the neck of his guitar that one might imagine that he drew blood. Ramos wailed.

The show was emotionally unremitting and increasingly loud. Even “Somewhere” (Leonard Bernstein/Stephen Sondheim), an opportunity for softness, blistered. Ramos had a dear high school friend who loved musicals. “If I had to listen to Show Boat, he had to listen to King Crimson.” There was no anecdotal respite there; he was closeted and died young. The classic “Cucurrucucú Paloma” (Tomás Méndez), sung in Spanish, was gorgeous.

Aptly titled, No Parental Guidance ran two hours. It was theater, not cabaret, and exhausting. Ramos publicly expressed the need for a director/ editor. Almost 45 minutes of the show could be jettisoned and oh, for some less horrific personal history!

Sophia Ramos is a galvanic, multi-talented writer/performer and survivor. She drew us in, but the show needs shaping. Harkness was remarkable.