'Bloody Andrew Jackson' puts the pop in populism

"I think I can take it from here," he explains.

Though Walker has the look and strut of a star and a fine voice to boot, this is clearly not a heroic portrait. Old Hickory does get credit for leading a rebellion against the establishment but the show mostly displays Jackson's flaws — the slaves, the genocidal side, his poor performance as a husband, the ego-mania and his weird enjoyment of ritual bloodletting.

The Washington insiders come off worse, including such luminaries as a Twinkie-eating Martin Van Buren (Lucas Near-Verbrugghe), a weasel-wielding Henry Clay (Bryce Pinkham) and a foppish John Quincy Adams (Jeff Hiller). Has James Monroe ever been called a "douchebag" from a Broadway stage before? He has now.

The emo-inflected rock songs — standouts include "Populism Yea Yea," "I'm Not That Guy" and a haunting reworking of the nursery rhyme "Ten Little Indians" — propel the action forward without leaving too much of an impression. Cher and the Spice Girls songs make cameos to hysteric effect.

Most of the 20 castmembers — the vast majority who are making their Broadway debuts — play multiple parts while a fantastic three-piece band keeps up a fierce beat. Timber, the book writer, is also the director, and keeps the action bubbling at a breakneck pace. The stage seems almost too small. The energy is high.

Scenic designer Donyale Werle has thrillingly turned the inside of the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre into a reflection of the play itself: A bizarre mishmash of mounted animal heads, askew oil paintings of stern-looking old white men, multiple chandeliers, and miles of gathered burgundy cloth. It looks like an Old West bordello threw up.

Costumes by Emily Rebholz share that crazed theme: Cowboy boots, hoodies and jeans are mixed with ascots, dandy-like vests and Elizabethan ruffs. Modern sexy baby doll dresses are paired with petticoats and Indians get leather fringe jackets with a feather headdress.

The whole thing is just plain odd: This show walks a fine line between parody and sincerity, between mocking musicals and yet embracing them, between promoting stereotypes and yet laughing at them, between respect for history and having none at all, and between making fun of rock stars and yet producing one. It sometimes falters, yet never loses its swagger — unlike that hogtied horse dangling from the balcony.