Phoenix Theatre has a curious ability: sexy shows like their current offering of King, Masterson, and Hall’s raunchy The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, as it was with last season’s Cabaret and others, become so scrubbed and innocuous, they are nearly devoid of sexiness. Ironically, when Phoenix Theatre indulges in the slightest hint of sexuality, they receive the type of hate mail and protests that this musical rails against. Instead, PT is playing for an audience full of Melvin P. Thorpes, and that’s not right. It has several strong performances, a set (Gregory Jaye) that serves all of its purposes, an orchestra directed by Alan Plado that whoops ass, and a chorus of nimble cuties and studs, but even when they’re suggestively dancing to Michael Barnard and Holly Moran's choreography, they manage to bury the type of tits and ass that Broadway was celebrating all the way back in 1975. Rather than go for the naughty parts, PT seems intent on playing everything for laughs: Funny 70s costumes designed by Connie Furr-Solomon, over-the-top acting such as the performance of Robert Kolby Harper in the role of the abovementioned Thorpe, and big smiles on all of the not-so-scantily clad chorus girls and boys that are far from come-hither looks. When they sing, “there’s nothing dirty going on,” they really mean it.

This production also has another nearly fatal flaw, and that’s its Mona. Pamela Blair (that's her in the middle), a Broadway veteran who has some impressive credits including the role of Amber in the original Broadway version of this show and the first of many Vals in A Chorus Line, has an inexplicably uncontrolled voice. As she sings songs like “A Lil’ Ole Bitty Pissant Country Place” and “The Bus from Amarillo,” she has pitch problems and a propensity to toss in a few clinkers at all the wrong times. When you can’t sing a song, better to act it, but she can’t sell them, either. Her acting is better, though she doesn’t have the spark that this role calls for. Making it worse for her, Furr-Solomon’s costume choice for her initial entrance makes her look like a half-plucked Big Bird. Each time she stepped center stage to sing, the show threatened to tank.

Other than it’s lack of sexiness and a single, centrally located bad performance, it aims to please. Where Blair can’t sell her songs, Gene Ganssle has no problem. Not a strong singer, it’s still a pleasure to hear him croon “Good Old Girl.” He’s also a hoot as Sheriff Ed Earl. His is a more realistic choice than most make in this role, but Ganssle’s strong acting skills make his performance enjoyable. Harper goes so over-the-top with Thorpe, some may hate him, but I couldn’t help but shriek with laughter no matter how many times his choices were the most obvious. Orgena Rose instills the only hint of sexiness into the show with her star turn singing “Twenty-four Hours of Lovin’.” Lisa Fogel shines and blows the audience away with her sterling pipes singing of longing as Doatsey Mae. Wes Martin’s sidestepping Governor is a strong cameo, through I can’t imagine any self-respecting Texan wearing the colors chosen for his costume, even in the tasteless 70s. Finally, D. Scott Withers’ is a stretch as Senator Wingwoah, lacking believable bravado.

Though they’re not allowed sexy, the ensemble is professional in song and dance. They are all excellent performers, from Sarah Wolter and Katie Rex’s featured ladies of the Chicken Ranch through Joseph Kremer and Paul Kukes as the town’s politicos caught between tradition and mass media.