Last Sunday night Darren, Stuart and I went to see cabaret mistress Meow Meow at the Spiegeltent on London's glitzy South Bank.
It's a cabaret act for sure, but maybe not what you might be used to. Channeling the likes of the wonderful Justin Bond Meow Meow enters and immediately throws a strop as there are no flowers being thrown at her. Feigning indignance she flounces off and returns to distribute her own blossoms for fans to throw back.
This is the first of many self-deprecating jokes from the wonderful Australian singer and comedian. Her dress is taken away, her spectacular effects turn out to be duds. Among this 'chaos' (something we are all aware is well choreographed) this glorious chanteuse emerges triumphant.
Lady Gaga meets Jacques Brel meets Laurel and Hardy meets Edith Piaf. Slapslick humour amongst brilliantly idiosyncratic covers of Amanda Palmer, Fiona Apple and Radiohead.
Complementing these contemporary tunes are torch songs where Meow Meow squeezes every ounce of tragedy. There is nothing squeezed about her performance, though. We are all airily lifted high into the atmosphere of the tent - much as various men are lifted by her up onto the stage. Me included. Holding her leg, her waist, and then her microphone she had me acting as a foot soldier and then a footstool. Later she had the crowd waving Barbie dolls, did a quick dress change routine amongst the audience and then performed a crowd-surf both forward sand backwards whilst singing. Wow. Just wow.
This star is at the top of her game. Go see. Go see.
This star is at the top of her game. Go see. Go see.
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