Nygel D. Robinson and Brian Quijada Photo by Curtis Brown

Scenic designer Riw Rakkulchon has fashioned a playing space that fuses a Southwestern rustic barn–complete with corrugated metal walls–with a high-tech urban recording studio. (Mextly Couzin's lighting effectively marries the two worlds.) Scattered about the stage are enough instruments to accommodate a full rock band, including keyboards, acoustic and electric guitars, drum sets, bass, amps of every size, and even an accordion. Throughout the evening, Quijada and Robinson play all of them, often creating richly textured compositions through a process called live looping.

Upfront, Robinson declares, "Everything you will hear tonight is created live. We will be building everything from scratch right before your very eyes." To accomplish this, the performers live-loop each song's orchestration. They vocalize a beat or play a musical phrase on one of the instruments and then add other layers on top. The recorded playback of the repeated arrangement becomes their own accompaniment. (Mikhail Fiksel is instrumental, as it were, in furnishing the looping system's architecture and the notable sound design.)

The impressively eclectic and surprisingly variegated songs merge elements of rap, pop, Black spirituals, and Mexican folksongs, providing a unique synthesis of American culture, race, and politics. Under the direction of David Mendizábal (who also designed the hip costumes), the show admirably pivots from rock concert to autobiographical performance to history lesson. (Tony Thomas's choreography adds to the evening's dynamism.) Most importantly, Quijada and Robinson, who have previously done the show in Baltimore and Berkeley, are beautifully matched both vocally and musically.

Structurally, the libretto (also written by Quijada and Robinson) contains its own narrative loops that reflect the ways in which racial violence, discrimination, and personal sacrifice are repeated throughout American annals and experiences. We get, for instance, personal stories about Robinson's loving family in LaGrange, North Carolina, and Quijada's conditioned racism while stopping at a gas station in Chicago's South Side.

These anecdotes serve as leitmotifs for the primary storyline centered around Henry (Robinson), an escaped slave in the Antebellum South, and Carlos (Quijada), a Mexican farmer in a Texas border town. The relationship of these two men discloses a little-known aspect of American history by showing that the Underground Railroad did not only travel north to Canada but also south to Mexico. (Johnny Moreno's projections helpfully and adeptly help visualize the shifts in time and place.)

Carlos harbors and rehabilitates the badly beaten Henry, and although they have vastly different experiences living in the American South of the 1820s, they are kindred spirits. Initial distrust gradually transforms into genuine affection as the two men grapple with the limits of the nation's definitions of equality and freedom. More than 200 years later, Mexodus exhibits that the effects of slavery still reverberate. "Liberation in this nation is still being confronted," they sing, "When Black and Brown bodies continue being hunted."

While historically intriguing, the chronicle of Henry and Carlos is one of the least compelling aspects of the show. The characters are not intricately drawn, and they are less interesting than the personas of the performers who step outside of the story to engage directly with the audience and enfold us into their ideal of a welcoming and inclusive America, an aspiration that seems to be slipping away by the day.

Near the end of the show, Quijada and Robinson lead the audience through a call and response. Our collective voice becomes the material for a musical loop, and we are integrated into the final song. Both as an appeal and as a warning, they sing, "Todos estamos juntos en esto." For a few minutes, Mexodus offers a palpable reminder that, indeed, we are all in this together.