My gateway to Nina Simone fandom came when I was a kid, watching some crummy 90's action movie that was somehow soundtracked by Ms. Simone’s music. Her take on George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun” was both recognizable to young me as a Beatles tune, but it was also strange, alien, powerful, wistful, something completely different than anything I’d heard before. Not the song. But the singer. It was a gateway, for sure.

From there, I ended up with a CD reissue of her late-60s Sings the Blues album, an even better introduction for a clueless young white boy to this complicated genius — one with toe-tappers, showtunes, pop tunes, and yes, the blues. Perhaps the most powerful tune on there, perhaps one even too powerful for me at the time, was Langston Hughes’ “Backlash Blues,” which laments that “the world is big and bright and round and it’s full of folks like me who are black, yellow, beige, and brown.”

In the years since, I’ve grown, as my love and understanding of Nina Simone — the musician, the public figure, the strong woman, and the complex human being — has grown. And now maybe I’m old enough or wise enough or just ready to appreciate the picture of this woman and “folks like” her that Christina Ham’s Nina Simone: Four Women paints for us, as currently performed at Skokie’s Northlight Theatre, directed by Kenneth L. Roberson.

The play itself is named for one of Ms. Simone’s most powerful compositions, one about women “who are black, yellow, beige, and brown.” But it is also framed around what is perhaps an imagined 1960's fever dream of Ms. Simone’s, in the wake of the horrific 1963 bombing of Birmingham’s historic 16th Street Baptist Church in which four beautiful little African-American girls were murdered.

In the play, Ms. Simone is joined in the church’s wreckage by three other African-American women, each of them representing someone Nina sang about in “Four Women.” Above, I wondered if the play’s setting and the four women’s existence are perhaps imagined, based not only on Ms. Simone’s actual history, but her history of mental illness, as well.

The truth is, perhaps, somewhere in between, and that makes the play work. There are hints at Ms. Simone’s mental health throughout the play — voices and sounds she hears — but they don’t completely define her. And there are, for me at least, distracting bits of expository history — biographical details that might be fleshed out if this were a more standard “jukebox musical” — but I didn’t let them get in the way of the four women onstage. And those four women are what make the play work.

First, Sydney Charles is Nina Simone. And is she ever. I heard the rare complaint after the show that her character didn’t feel quite human. But that affect — that coldness, that stateliness, that hurt — seemed to me so in character. Ms. Charles voice, while very good, doesn’t quite match the richness and depth of Ms. Simone’s, but I’m not sure anyone’s does. But as the play went on, Charles’ voice grows stronger, as does her performance, until she is raging, proud, and loud at the world.

The strongest performance comes from the woman who shares the stage the longest with Ms. Charles — Deanna Reed-Foster’s Sarah. What could have veered into the territory of stereotype is fleshed out and deep thanks to the work of Ms. Reed-Foster, a Chicago actress whose work I realized I’ve seen on the TV show, Chicago Fire. If Nina Simone was perhaps superhuman in some ways and unable to convey the tenderness of humanity in others, “Auntie Sarah” gives the show its human and humane center, moving from fear to anger, from joy to sorrow, filling the theater with her beautiful voice and grounding the stage and the story on it.

The other two actresses in the show, Ariel Richardson and Melanie Brezill, also shine. Ms. Richardson brings us the 1960's modern woman, polished and self-assured, while Brezill (who was a highlight last year on the stage of the Chicago Children’s Theatre) shimmies, struts, and slurs as a more worldly woman, doing so in the performance I saw on a broken stiletto heel! The piano accompaniment and musical direction is provided by Daniel Riley, himself a part of the show for much of the evening.

So, while this play is not a standard jukebox musical about, nor a factual portrait of, one of our most gifted and enigmatic musical geniuses, I think it works because it is neither. Nina Simone couldn’t and cannot be separated from her music or her times or who she was or who people think she is. And, soundtracked by wonderful live performances of many of Ms. Simone’s most powerful songs, Nina Simone: Four Women doesn’t try to do any of those things. It lets Nina’s words and Nina’s music tell a story, even if her own story cannot be told.