On Saturday, September 27, 2025, “Sincerely, Sondheim” arrived at Connecticut College’s Athey Center for onStage, a moving, witty, and unexpectedly intimate evening led by Broadway’s Nicholas Rodriguez and pianist Bálint Varga. The performance, staged in Palmer Auditorium, unfolded less like a typical concert and more like a private exchange. It was a firsthand invitation into Stephen Sondheim’s correspondence, humor, and artistry. Through letters, anecdotes, and song, Rodriguez revived the spirit of the late composer not as legend, but as a mentor, friend, and mischievous observer of human contradiction.
The stage itself was unadorned: a stool, a piano, a couple of letters over it, and Rodriguez. That minimalism turned focus inward, toward language and performance craft. Rodriguez carries a natural magnetism, the rare performer who makes the audience forget the stage, drawing each person into what feels like conversation. He’s sharp and self-effacing, funny but never flippant, and within moments of singing his first note, the entire room was suspended in his warmth. Beneath his humor lies perfect technique: a Broadway-trained voice capable of moving from aching softness to gleaming resonance without a hint of strain.
The show was beautifully arranged, and behind it was a thoughtful narrative and message. After Sondheim’s death, letters he’d written to colleagues, artists, and friends surfaced online—alternately acidic, affectionate, and full of professional candor. Rodriguez reads several throughout the evening, from one brimming with gossip “I hate writing letters! Actually, I rather like it when I have a lot of bitchy gossip to repeat…” to others offering lyrical mentorship or gentle critique. The result is an emotional portrait pieced together through the writer’s own words, grounded not in nostalgia but in insight into the value of mentors like Sondheim and how they shape other composers and creatives.
What turns “Sincerely, Sondheim” into something unforgettable is that Rodriguez doesn’t merely recite these letters; he answers them. The songs chosen partly from Sondheim’s own catalog and partly from composers he mentored or corresponded with, become replies—living evidence of the influence of the late composer. The musically startling “Dear Theodosia” from Hamilton lands like a confession between composer generations, with Rodriguez’s delivery so tender it caught the room off guard. I didn’t expect to see people around me cry at Dear Theodosia while sitting in Palmer Auditorium, but that’s the thing about Rodriguez’s talent: it makes you forget where you are. He sings with the kind of sincerity that collapses distance, the rare ability to make a Broadway-scale performance feel as intimate as a confession whispered to a friend.
That cross-generational conversation extends to the surprise performance of “Seasons of Love” from Rent, which sparked knowing smiles across the crowd. For Connecticut College, the song carried an extra layer of memory; it had been performed as a flash mob by CCSingers last spring during President Andrea Chapdelaine’s inauguration, and she was in attendance that night as well. With that, the performance sealed itself into campus lore: a rare moment when Broadway and college tradition shared the same breath.
Sondheim’s influence is everywhere in Rodriguez’s phrasing, but never imitated. His musical control, the shaping of every syllable, the precision of breath, reveals a performer deeply committed to intention. Yet what lingers most is the ease. For all the complexity of Sondheim’s compositions, Rodriguez made them feel human-sized, as if the brilliance belonged equally to the listener. His voice soared when it needed to, broke when it must, and consistently told a story richer than the notes alone.
Behind him, pianist Bálint Varga played with tactful fluidity, each accompaniment carrying narrative weight. The partnership worked like stage dialogue: Varga’s piano followed not the melody but Rodriguez’s thought process. Their synergy gave the concert a conversational rhythm. It felt improvised, though meticulously constructed.
In conversation before the show, Rodriguez spoke with the same clarity and humor he brings to his performances. When asked why “Sincerely, Sondheim” felt special to perform in Connecticut, he didn’t hesitate: “Stephen Sondheim himself lived in Connecticut, so it’s kind of special for me to do it there as well.” His tone shifted when discussing the letters’ emotional gravity. “There was such a huge mentorship with Steve—not only from people who mentored him, but the ones he later helped. He called teaching a sacred profession. That really resonates with me. I’m a teacher myself.”
He told me his introduction to Sondheim was unconventional, through the 1990 film Dick Tracy. “I loved the music before I even knew who wrote it,” he said, laughing. “I went out and bought the CD, and later in high school I realized who Sondheim really was.” That admiration clearly deepened over the years, culminating in his recent role in the Grammy-nominated revival of Company and shaping this reflective solo concert into more than tribute, it’s gratitude set to music.
To the arts students gathered in the audience, his advice felt particularly resonant. “The more you know about life and other things, the more accessible the material becomes,” he said. “Don’t just stay in your lane—go listen to a political speech, go to a football game. Perspective makes you a better artist.” His approach to Sondheim seems rooted in that philosophy: allowing intellect to meet empathy, always grounded in real life.
Rodriguez admitted he still gets nervous before a show. “It’s musically exacting, emotionally deep, and a lot of words,” he said, smiling. “But once I’m onstage, I trust I’ve done my homework. Then I just let go.” That lightness of spirit carried through the night, even more impressive considering he’d taken a day off from The Sound of Music tour and traveled nine hours on a delayed Amtrak just to make it to New London.
By the time the concert closed, the audience rose to its feet not only for a performer, but for the shared evening he had created, a kind of communion between Sondheim’s past and our present. Sincerely, Sondheim continues touring across the country, headed next to Houston and San Antonio, with a New York City stop at Chelsea Table & Stage on January 4. But its stop at Connecticut College felt singular, built on the intimacy of a live room and the sense that Sondheim, ever the perfectionist, might have quietly approved.
Rodriguez gave us not a museum piece but a living exchange, a dialogue between teacher and student, artist and audience. His concert reminded everyone in Palmer Auditorium that Sondheim’s legacy is not frozen in his scores; it’s ongoing, evolving through the artists who keep writing back to each other. For one bright September night in New London, those letters finally found their answers.
