By Robert Avila

THE BOY WHO grows up in black Philadelphia in the 1970s, intently practicing classical violin and ballet while the rest of the world grooves to a phenomenal, era-defining soundtrack of soul and R&B music – that kid stands out as someone destined to go his own way. It takes character to be that big a nerd.

Colman Domingo confesses he was such a nerd growing up in West Philly, in youthful rebellion against the soul music cherished by his parents and his older brother and sister – that is, until he finally succumbed one night via live contact with some essential elements known as Earth, Wind, and Fire. What's character without soul, anyway?

No longer nerdish, but rather a charismatic and able actor well known to Bay Area audiences (most recently as a spot-on Willie Brown, among various other characters, in The People's Temple), today Domingo can truthfully say, "My soul music is my life." And in the course of his sharp and infectious one-man show, A Boy and His Soul, we come to know just what he means.

The premise of this music-laden memoir, directed by Thick Description's Tony Kelly in a New York-bound world premiere, is simple but supple: When the actor's parents put their old Philadelphia home up for sale, he travels out from New York to help get the place in order, discovering in the basement a discarded set of soul albums. The find mixes nostalgia with uneasy perplexity – how could his parents have given up such great music, and so great a part of the past they all shared? This occasions an engrossing, contagious trip back to 1970s Philadelphia via the turntable, since each song is a record twice over, playing back the precise memories and emotions pressed into the grooves of well-loved music. This puts Domingo in the dual position of ecstatic audience and memory machine. "I'm the tape recorder, the listener," he says, "the record player."

As Domingo – carried off by a quiet storm of soul searching – sings along with a love ballad his stepfather would serenade his mother with, waxes on about eight-tracks and 45s, or breaks hilariously into the trendy dance-floor moves of yesteryear, his narrative skillfully blends homage with a keen backward glance on coming of age. He punctuates it all with razor-sharp characterizations of a family of big personalities, highlighting his particularly close relationship with his mother. As he sees it all again "with adult eyes," Domingo's return to West Philly touches that particular aura of childhood understanding, defined as much by its limits as by its unique terrain of discovery and enchantment.

As he looks back on his teenage years – especially the affecting and humorous story of coming out to each member of his family – the intertwining themes of music and family grow even tighter. All aspects of a young Philadelphian's undaunted personality find sympathetic harmonies in the sustaining love of his family and the irrepressible grooves of the Commodores, Barry White, Aretha, Curtis Mayfield, Marvin Gaye, and Stevie Wonder. For an unabashed "mama's boy" from Philly, the courage to love and the courage to live as oneself were always connected. In testifying to love as its own justification, A Boy and His Soul lends the idea of manhood its richest significance. Wisdom summed up succinctly by another Philadelphia son, Teddy Pendergrass, when he sings, "You can't hide from yourself."

Rick Martin's scenic and lighting design employs a few choice elements to great effect here: an imitation wood-paneled back wall adorned with memorabilia lovingly lit by small wall-mounted lamps; the small stack of LPs resting on one end of an old-fashioned stereo console; flashing red and blue lights and a mirror ball that do the rest to suggest the rush of memory in the welcome intrusion of the garish '70s into the unadorned presentness of the actor standing downstage. Except for moments when the music competes distractingly with Domingo's lines, Tony Kelly's direction is a model of clarity, while Margo Hall's excellent choreography tells so much of the story itself, serving as the perfect springboard for the fleet Domingo's dazzling solo revelry around the record player.

If memories of Philadelphia have a sometimes wistful nostalgia about them, the harsher realities of life, both natural and American-made, remain largely associated with adulthood – from the personal sorrows and tragedies that attend getting older to the social anxiety that vexes artists and anyone forced to live near the edge of economic survival. The ravaged remains of West Philly post-Reagan, still home to Domingo's sister, is symbol enough of the story's mixed trajectories. There's an image Domingo conveys that gives these records of his one more spin. Riding the subway and springing through the streets of New York, wrapped in headphones and the deep confidence that one's music provides, can't quell the recognition that comes in a passing glance at a homeless man: always more than you want to know about the line separating you from a bottomless pit of loneliness. But then acknowledging the pain or dread shadowing even so fortunate a life only makes more poignant the joy at the heart of the reverie.

'A Boy and His Soul' runs through July 31. Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 5 p.m., Thick House, 1695 18th St., SF. $15-$25. (415) 401-8081, www.thickdescription.org.