If I Sing:
Alix Korey on Art, Activism, and Singing Her Truth
With decades in cabaret and a résumé that reads like a Broadway hall of fame, Alix Korey is not content to rest on laurels. Known for her biting wit, emotional depth, and a voice that can punch through walls or melt them entirely, Korey is returning to the cabaret stage with something personal, powerful—and entirely fresh.
In her latest solo show, she sidesteps the familiar standards in favor of storytelling. Drawing from rarely heard material and career-spanning favorites, Korey crafts a musical journey that touches on memory, loss, hope, and the rediscovery of passion. From a heartfelt tribute to her activist father to a poignant reflection on the emotional toll of our current times, the evening is less a performance and more an invitation into her world—where lyrics matter more than notes, and each song is a scene, a confession, a connection.
In this candid interview with Stage and Cinema, she talks about the spark that reignited her love for singing, the collaborators who helped shape the work, and the advice she’d give her younger self about survival, self-advocacy, and the true meaning of being heard.
What inspired this new show, and what can we expect from the evening?
I hadn’t done any solo work in a while, and I was very bored with the material I’d been doing for such a long time. I needed to get excited about new material. I started listening to a couple of performers and began to feel inspired. Suddenly, I had a list of five or six songs and thought, I want to tell these stories. I began to feel that I could fall in love with singing again—and that is exactly what happened.
It started with the germ of a few songs and developed from there, including some from my history—songs I hadn’t performed in years and years that I love. Some even came out of the BMI showcases I did back in the 80s.
Is there a particular song or story in the show that feels especially personal or timely for you right now?
Well, one of the songs I discovered from listening to SiriusXM’s Broadway channel, which is on in my car all the time— is from Maltby and Shire’s Closer Than Ever called “If I Sing.” It made me think about how much I wanted to talk about my dad. He was a huge and wonderful force in my life. He was a human rights activist. I keep hearing his voice in my head with everything going on today. So that song really struck me.
There’s also a song in the show about the kind of existential depression so many are experiencing now, but it’s hopeful. I always try to leave the stage with hope burgeoning.
All of my songs are what I would call story songs. I tend not to do standards. My students will come in and I’ll ask, “Tell me where that is going. Why do you have to sing that song? What’s at stake?” I turn every song into a journey—with a beginning, middle, and end. A song is always going from where I am now to where I want to be—or where I’m afraid I’ll be, or where I long to be.
What kind of emotional journey do you hope to take the audience on in this performance?
I don’t know that I could define it, exactly. I want them to be involved. I want the stories to resonate with them—to have them say, “Oh my God, I’ve thought that, or felt that,” or “I had no idea about that—what a great new idea.”
It’s not a hum-along show—most of the material is not well known. But it’s never about the music; it’s always about the lyric, and how the music supports the lyric. I just want them to listen. And if they really listen, they’ll hear.
Ideally, they will be different leaving the theater than when they came in.
You’ve had an extraordinary career on Broadway and beyond. How has your relationship with performing evolved over the years?
I started strictly in the theater, and then I realized I was going to be unemployed for long periods of time. The cabaret world was kind of new and getting started back in the ’70s in New York. People who were unknowns—while we didn’t have karaoke—were beginning the open mic scene.
I went down to a famous club in the village called Reno Sweeney’s and heard Ellen Greene, Karen Akers, and thought, Wow, I want to be a part of this. So I started working on acts. My first was in 1976 at a club in New York called The Bushes. Ultimately in the ’80s and ’90s, I played almost all of them—the Algonquin, Rainbow & Stars, The Ballroom. One of the only places I didn’t play was Don’t Tell Mama.
What was wonderful is that I was still doing theater throughout. And after going back and forth between cabaret and theater I was far more grateful to have a fourth wall.
Do you collaborate closely with a director or music director when shaping a show like this? Tell us about that dynamic.
This is the first time I’ve worked with Wayne Abravanel. We spent a lot of time figuring out who we were musically together. Randy Brenner came in to help direct. He’s been giving me thoughts, notes—making things work that weren’t working. Wayne has given me some great arrangements that provided the opportunity to reimagine some songs. I love collaboration—it’s one of the reasons I don’t write. I find writing so lonely. I need other people.
There’s tremendous generosity in this community. Considering what all of us went through in the ’80s, it’s always the theater people that are trying to make the world a better place.
What’s one piece of advice you find yourself passing along to your students and younger performers?
That’s interesting because so many well-known people will say “Be yourself, find out who you are, and don’t try to change for other people”—which I agree with.
But the reality is you are ultimately on your own in this business, which means you have to be incredibly proactive. We are all very self-involved. Ask for help. Don’t be so proud. Don’t think of it as hubris to ask for what you like and what you need.
The only way people are going to help you is if you ask them for it.
If you could go back and tell your younger self one thing before stepping into your first professional rehearsal room, what would it be?
In terms of stepping into a rehearsal room, I would say: Just listen.
And what I said before. You have to be proactive. I waited around for people to call and make me a part of something, and only occasionally would someone say, “Hey, come join this.”
I think if I’d been more proactive, I wouldn’t have felt the rejections the way I did.
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Alix Korey’s latest work is more than a return to solo work—it’s a return to self. With a career built on integrity, humor, and emotional truth, she continues to remind us that storytelling is a sacred act—and that every song, when sung with purpose, can have an impact. In an age of noise, Korey offers something rarer: clarity, courage, and connection.
Whether you’re a longtime fan or discovering her for the first time, this show will be a masterclass in what it means to sing not just beautifully, but honestly.
Alix Korey
2025 Summer Cabaret Series
Coachella Valley Rep, 68510 E Palm Canyon Dr in Cathedral City
June 24, 2025, at 7
for tickets ($60), call 760.296.2966 x 201 or visit CV Rep
