Elizabeth Judd and Christopher Wood in "Spring Awakening" (Photo by Andy Snow, courtesy of Broadway/L.A.)

The line is the musical’s iconic number, and happens to do a pretty good job of summarizing both the plot and ethos of the show. These are teenagers struggling in their pubescence to define new emotions and sexuality. So much changes so fast for blossoming men and women — and damned if they get any help from the man.

It’s been over four years since "Spring Awakening" rocked Broadway, minting a few stars from its leads, and picking up handful of Tony awards, including Best Musical. Sadly, it closed in early 2009, but was successful enough to spawn a couple of national tours, the latest stopping at the Pantages from February 8-13.

For anyone uninitiated to the work, or who has somehow avoided their theatre geek friends explaining it in painful detail, the show functions as an innovative hybrid. On one level is the text, which is an adaptation of an 1891 German play by Frank Wedekind.

It follows the lives of several upper-middle class school children: Melchior is a fierce intellectual who can recite Faust by heart and is an unwitting slave to impulse. His friend, Moritz, is at that rarified place in adolescence where even the thought of women makes life beyond impossible. Wendla, the girl next door, is starting to feel sexual urges, but knows precious little about desires and consequences. And living off from rest is Ilse, who has escaped to an artists’ colony where she is confronted by the joys and perils of free love.

Though the language and environments are antiquated — at least to audience members who didn’t recite Virgil in preparatory school — the proceedings are mostly played straight, save the hairstyles, which are Fall Out Boy by way of “Beakman’s World.”

When the tension in these kids’ lives reaches a boiling point, they reach for a microphone, hidden in their jackets or passed out by a cast member, and start singing. The music is by 90s mood rocker Duncan Sheik and the lyrics are by Steven Sader. With songs titled “The Bitch of Living” or “My Junk,” the musical moments rocket the show into a modern landscape.

As in Sondheim, the singing is all internal monologue, and inside these young minds is some serious, serious shit. The drama of desires and guilt is given the treatment of high dudgeon. Actors stamp their feet, throw themselves on the ground and bolt around the scenery while in song. When matched against the situations — rebellion, pregnancy, suicide — it’s some grade-A angst on display.

But it always feels authentic. Teen soap elements that wouldn’t be out of place on say, "Skins," are, through the show’s lens, important in a cathartic way. Sheik’s emo rock is the perfect partner to the Sturm und Drang of German romanticism. Mortiz, at his angriest, commands the stage and microphone with all the trimmings of a punker. The choreography includes a fascinating modern dance motif that follows the players throughout, encompassing their violence, disgust and blooming sexuality.

It isn’t without flaws. Outside of their anger and lust, most characters don’t really show much depth. Once the types are established, it becomes easy to predict how actions will play out. After Melchior lashes Wendla with a switch (long story), it is essentially a countdown until the two take that, non-proverbial here, roll in the hay.

Several months into this national tour, the young cast is finely tuned, if somewhat rehearsed. As Wendla, Elizabeth Judd is sweetly innocent playing a role originated by Lea Michele (the Broadway cast was something of a farm team for “Glee”). Christopher Wood’s Melchior commands the stage with a strong presence that veers closely to Johnathan Groff’s version (see) but stands on its own merits as well. 

Quietly brilliant is Courtney Markowitz. Wearing long red hair and an emerald dress, all eyes are on her Ilse, looking so sad and beautiful as she laments the death of her childhood crush. In a comic side story, Hanschen (Devon Stone) seduces a male classmate while explaining his way of beating the system. Stone, light blond with a devious smile, plays him as sort of a gay Draco Malfoy, which must provide a measure of wish fulfillment for a sect of Harry Potter fans.

The singing is strong throughout, though on opening night they were still adjusting to the new space at the Pantages. Most of problems with audio and timing are sure to be ironed out during the run. And when it was right, "Spring Awakening’s" sound is really something. The loud moments, of which there are many, fill the theater with a raucous angst that was a revelation to Broadway a few years back.

Things have changed a bit now. In an age of "Twilight," where static yearning qualifies as drama, it really is nice to see these teenagers actually doing things. After the unbearable buildup of tension, you almost want to burst into applause when Melchior and Wendla get it on (actually, as the show is set up, the audience unintentionally does). 

But as all fucking must go, literal and otherwise, there are consequences. Beyond the sadness of the second act, the show tries for a moment of hope with “Purple Summer.” It’s a nice sentiment no doubt, but it underscores a basic truth that goes across all generations: growing up totally sucks.

Reach Associate News Editor Tom Dotan here.