Review: Piece of Work – Traverse Theatre

A Performer You Can’t Help But Like

James Rowland’s Piece of Work, the second leg of his Songs of Life trilogy, isn’t a show that wraps life up in a neat bow—and that’s part of its charm and a source of frustration. Fresh from runs at the Edinburgh Fringe, Theatr Clwyd, and beyond, this solo performance plants itself squarely in the messy middle of existence, armed with a few maps, a dash of Shakespeare, and Rowland’s knack for turning personal grit into stage gold. For an hour, he’s your guide through family feuds, mental health tightropes, and the odd chicken burger gag, proving he’s as much a raconteur as a survivor—and one who knows how to move.

Rowland is an extremely amiable and winning presence on stage. He evinces a confidence born of many hours telling his own life in his words—and here, with Hamlet tossed into the mix for good measure. It’s a set-up that works like a charm: childhood memories pinned to maps of Didsbury and York whisk you to a front door he hasn’t seen in decades, a lifetime ago. He’s got a gift for making the heavy feel light, whether he’s riffing on a long-lost family friend—Dick, who he characterises as “I can’t believe it’s not Brian Blessed”—or peeling back layers of his own story. That ease with an audience, paired with a well-timed punchline or ad-lib, keeps you hooked, even when the topics turn grim.

A Body in Motion, A Story in Space

He’s also a highly capable physical presence on a stage devoid of set or any other prop than a smart speaker. This isn’t physical theatre in the acrobatic sense—no somersaults or mime here—but his movement around the space, and emotive body language, make the show an exercise in showing, just as much as telling. With a stride or a slump, he conjures Dick’s booming bravado or Chris’s quiet despair, filling the emptiness with a storyteller’s instinct. It’s not flashy, but it’s deliberate: a lean forward to draw you in, a pause to let a memory settle. On a bare stage, Rowland’s words are continually constructing and dismantling each scene, including people and place.

“On a bare stage, Rowland’s words are continually constructing and dismantling each scene, including people and place.“

Navigating Midlife with Maps and Memory

This isn’t a nostalgic look back or a peek forward—it’s life in progress, as it is, not as it was or will be. Sparked by Dick’s dying wish for a show about Rowland’s late father, a much-loved musician and former director of the Royal Northern College of Music, the piece circles a man Rowland has no wish to think about. Admired by all, his father’s legacy looms large—except with James, who appears to despise him, the causes for which will never be given. Instead, the spotlight swerves to his foster brother Chris, a troubled soul whose itinerant builder’s life teeters perpetually on the edge of crisis. Life brings balance, though: Chris’s own father, Dick, with whom James enjoys a mostly positive bond with, is a washout in his brother’s eyes.

The blend of the Bard and these tangled ties is highly effective, pulling you effortlessly into Rowland’s world. He plunders Hamlet for passages to expound, sprinkled with a little stardust, seeing it as a cypher for existence itself. It’s less about plot and more about pausing to take stock—moments that define us yet defy full understanding. Rowland invites you into that state of wonder with surprising success and a no-frills candour that’s hard to resist. Would a little more plot hurt proceedings all the same? Probably not.

Where It Lands—and Where It Doesn’t

For all its pull, Piece of Work doesn’t quite find a harbour to dock in. Maybe that’s the point—midlife isn’t known for tidy resolutions—but there’s a sense it’s reaching for a deeper mystery that never fully snaps into focus. Rowland’s efforts to wrestle with a father he’d rather forget coalesce around avoidance more than revelation, while Chris’s story, fraught with the risk of catastrophic mental health crises, carries real weight yet drifts without a firm narrative anchor. The play shares its maker’s easy rapport with an audience—such as a recorded speech from his dad at the college, or Chris’s son babbling nonsense words at the close—but it blends abstracted thought and memoir so that neither fully pays off. Not completely, anyway.

“Rowland’s raw, relatable spin on storytelling feels like a breath of fresh air—or at least a decent pint in a cost pub with good company…”

A Human Hour Worth Spending

Still, it’s a pleasure to spend an hour with a performer who’s mastered the raconteur’s art and decided to make himself, and no one else, the butt of his comedy. Rowland isn’t afraid of heavy topics or deep dives into trauma, but he’s got the gift of levity to lift it. The result is an hour of heightened but rounded human self-exposition—one that leaves you curious about the trilogy’s bookends, Learning to Fly and James Rowland Dies at the End of the Show. It’s not perfect; the threads don’t always tie up, and the big questions linger more than they resolve. But, again, maybe that’s life in the middle—less a conclusion, more a map with a few creases yet to unfold.

This is theatre that meets you where you are, with a wink and a nod. It’s not out to change the world, but it might just nudge you to ponder your own midlife markers. Rowland’s open, relatable spin on storytelling feels like a breath of fresh air—or at least a decent pint in a cosy pub with good company.

Featured Image: Piece of Work – James Rowland – Credit: Rosie Collins