Dressed in neon lights and with jagged, contemporary choreography transporting its characters across the stage, Spring Awakening's shock value is wrapped in hipness and shrouded with casual cool. In 1891 when author Frank Wedekind's novel first appeared though, the story was banned by adults who feared it would taint their children's innocent young minds. The irony was evident even then, but more than a century later, Spring Awakening is even more of a poignant — and important — reminder that those whom we wish to protect with ignorance are usually the ones who are most in need of education.

    Writer Steven Sater and composer Duncan Sheik set up this glaringly inverse relationship with strong language and heavy guitar chords, riffing on age-old themes of sexuality, morality and censorship with a score that is half power-ballad and half-rock 'n' roll. The music itself — one minute a haunting love song, the next, a teenager's angsty rant against parents and authority — is as vivacious and unexpected in its progression as the characters themselves, portrayed with a fresh-faced exuberance by this national touring company.
    Melchoir (Kyle Riabko) heads a group of young people searching for answers to adult problems, questioning the accepted truths of his traditional boys' boarding school as he seeks to follow the rules his own research leads him to believe. He is punished, named a heretic and eventually expelled for his studies, but the other boys admire him as he moves beyond accepted rules of education and religion to explore philosophies of sexuality and desire. His friend Mortiz cautiously follows his lead, but hindered by his own insecurities, is swept out of control by the feverish pace with which Melchoir pursues his studies.
    On a path that is as fevered as any scientific philosopher, Melchoir sweeps the other students  up in his idealistic quest for truth, as microphones are whipped out of school-issued navy blazers and the boys break into loud, profanity-filled rock songs, riffing on topics of puberty and burgeoning adulthood, raging against parents, schoolmasters, and their own hormones as they follow Melchoir's lead. Naturally, the girls with whom they grew up in this repressive German society are also  intertwined, and so the girls become part of the story, and sometimes, the subject of the boys' dreams.  Wendla Bergman (Christy Altomare) is drawn inextricably into Melchoir's philosophies as they begin a relationship with the innocence of children, but as Melchoir's theories develop, so too does his sexual desire.
    Out of context, the stories here — the philosopher, the troubled young man, the awakening woman, the rebel, the lost young girl — are as old as Adam and Eve, and nearly as predicable, which is where Sheik's fresh music and Sater's carefully nuanced writing play a vital role. Ostensibly set in the 1890s, yet utilizing 21st-century sets and language, Sheik and Sater bring an essential energy to the original tale which culminates in a climactic scene that sent several theater-goers scurrying for the exits at intermission, shocked by the scene that transpired live on stage — twice.
    While explicit, when young women in 19th-century frocks sing power-ballads about rape and abuse and boys in knickers discuss themes of suicide, the effect is powerful, aided by Kevin Adams' lighting and Bill T. Jones' aggressive choreography, and while the main theme is ostensibly about love, little time is spared for heavy-handed romantics. Rather, when the idealistic romance is weighted down by real-life effects, the production turns to something that is a mix between a plea and an accusation.   
    “Why didn't you tell me?” Wendla cries out at her mother, half questioning, half with anger, faced with the consequences of her body's awakening senses.
    No, the theme isn't new. Yet bolstered by an aggressive technique of edgy, jagged lyrics and music, the themes turn darker, more comprehensible, and certainly, more applicable with Sheik's music. Centuries later, we still find ourselves fighting similar issues — except this time around, wrapped in the “hipness” of exposing the issues, Spring Awakening received an enthusiastic result and eight Tony Awards, instead of censorship.

Lindsay Warner can be reached at culture@lindsaywarner.net.