Archive for Music

1518: The Dancing Plague — Satire, Chaos and Queer Heart at the Fringe

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★★★★★There’s something deliciously Fringe about a show that invites you to “shake your a** and dance ’til you (hopefully don’t!) die,” and 1518: The Dancing Plague leans into that promise with full satirical commitment. Based on the very real medieval mass hysteria that had Strasbourg’s citizens dancing themselves into oblivion, Hannah Ponturo’s comedy arrives at theSpaceUK fresh from Los Angeles—armed with a sold‑out reading, a Daredevil Festival pedigree, and the kind of chaotic energy that thrives in late‑night Edinburgh.

At its heart is a queer romance between Katherine and Anna, two peasants whose long‑fractured relationship reignites just as the city collapses around them. It’s a smart dramatic anchor: while clergy and civic authorities scramble to contain the outbreak, the play keeps circling back to the human impulse to connect even when the world is wobbling off its axis. The production promised “uncanny parallels” to our own recent crises, and the show doesn’t shy away from them—Covid echoes, political absurdity, and the familiar spectacle of institutions panicking while ordinary people try to make sense of the mess.

We loved the drag devil/angel narrator

Ponturo’s writing has that LA‑meets‑NYC flavour: punchy, self‑aware, and unafraid of silliness as a delivery system for something sharper. The production, created with Open Variations Theater, fits neatly into their mission of reimagining lesser‑known stories with contemporary bite. You can feel the interdisciplinary New York influence in the way the piece layers satire, history, and outright party vibes into a single 50‑minute burst.

And yes, it is a dance party. The show wants you complicit in the hysteria—laughing at it, recognising it, maybe even feeling the tug of it. The absurdity of people dancing themselves to death becomes a mirror held up to the way we cope with uncertainty now: distraction as survival, movement as denial, rhythm as rebellion.

It’s messy, cheeky, knowingly ridiculous, and unexpectedly tender. Exactly the sort of Fringe show that sneaks up on you: you arrive for the chaos, and leave thinking about the systems that shape how we behave when everything goes sideways.

If you’re looking for a satire with historical weirdness, queer heart, and a healthy disrespect for authority, 1518: The Dancing Plague earns its place on your August shortlist.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Counter Culture Podcast: Music Icons On Stage At The Edinburgh Fringe

Pip: Counter Culture has been sending dispatches from the Edinburgh Fringe, and the dispatches all point in the same direction: toward stages where pop mythology gets a second life.

Mara: Patrick Harrington covers a run of Night Owl Shows productions this week — icons under the spotlight, trailblazing women of rock, and the question of what it actually means to honour a musical legend rather than just impersonate one. Let’s start with reinvention, and the artists who made it an art form.

Pop Legends And Reinvention

Mara: The thread running through these Fringe productions is a single question: how do you tell a story that’s already been told a thousand times without flattening it into a greatest-hits playlist?

Pip: The Bowie Story review puts its cards on the table early, describing a show that “chooses interpretation over imitation, and is all the better for it.”

Mara: That distinction carries real weight. Imitation gives you the surface — the accent, the costume. Interpretation gives you a reason to be in the room.

Pip: And the review is honest about where the show stops short. There’s a wish for more on Bowie’s challenge to gender norms — communities for whom he wasn’t decoration but a lifeline. That’s a meaningful gap in sixty minutes.

Mara: The interview with Peter Marchant fills some of that in. He talks about Ziggy’s androgyny directly, and describes what those lyrics must have meant: “Hearing lyrics like ‘you got your mother in a whirl, she can’t tell if you’re a boy or a girl’ must have been very liberating and validating for queer people to hear for the first time.”

Pip: A sequin lightning bolt jacket and a lot of, quote, ass shaking are apparently also part of the methodology.

Mara: He’s clear that embodying Bowie’s queerness isn’t just costuming — it’s in how he moves, how he shapes each persona’s vocal register, how the band reflects the production shifts across albums.

Mara: The Madonna review, Material Girl: Madonna The Icon, picks up the same thread from a different angle. There’s a moment where a quote appears on screen — Madonna rejecting the word “reinvention,” insisting she reveals layers rather than constructs new selves.

Pip: Which quietly reframes the Bowie conversation too. Maybe every persona was an excavation, not a costume change.

Mara: And then Dancing Queen: An ABBA Tribute lands as the third piece of this argument. The review notes ABBA’s real genius was “their ability to smuggle heartbreak into songs that sounded like celebrations” — outsiders who rewired pop from the inside.

Pip: Three productions, one through-line: the artists who lasted weren’t shapeshifters. They were just unusually honest about having more than one shape.

Mara: That honesty is what these shows are trying to transmit — and it’s also what separates them from a standard tribute night. Speaking of artists with more than one shape, the Fringe also had a stage full of women who built rock from the ground up.

Soulful Voices And Trailblazers

Pip: Women of Rock opens with Sister Rosetta Tharpe, which is exactly the right place to start if you want to make a point about who actually invented what.

Mara: Tharpe said it herself: “Oh, these kids and rock and roll, it’s just sped up rhythm and blues. I’ve been doing that forever.” Chuck Berry and Elvis learned from her. The show knows that, and leads with it.

Pip: Crediting the source material — genuinely radical for a genre that spent decades pretending it had no mothers.

Mara: Back to Black: The Story of Amy Winehouse runs alongside Women of Rock as a companion piece, with Reine Beau performing both. The review makes the case that what she gets right is phrasing — “that slightly behind-the-beat looseness that Amy borrowed from Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington.” It’s the detail that separates understanding from copying.

Pip: Two shows a night, emotionally heavy material, and the review says her energy never dips. That’s the real tribute.

Mara: Both productions sit inside the same argument: these voices deserve more than nostalgia. They deserve the full story.


Pip: Interpretation over imitation, layers over reinvention, heartbreak inside the celebration — the Fringe keeps asking what it means to honour someone, and these shows keep finding different answers.

Mara: Next time, we’ll see what other territory Counter Culture has been mapping. There’s always more ground.

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Celtic Folk with Heart: Skyrie’s Songs and Stories Captivate

★★★★★ Some Fringe venues feel like they’re trying to be something they’re not. The Ukrainian Community Centre isn’t one of them. Its main room — cosy, lived‑in, almost like stepping into someone’s front room — turns out to be the perfect setting for Celtic folk. The atmosphere wraps around you before the music even begins, and when Skyrie take the stage, the space feels made for them.

Formed in 2015 by Lesley Thompson Smith and Christopher Martin Smith, with James “Jimmy” Anderson joining in 2020, Skyrie have built a reputation for blending Scottish and Irish traditional tunes with their own original compositions. Their albums Ceilidh – Celi (2023) and Hunger Road (2024) show a band rooted in tradition but unafraid to push into new territory.

What stands out immediately is how accomplished they are as instrumentalists. Lesley, a multi‑instrumentalist and composer, moves between fiddle, whistle, pipes and mandolin with ease. She’s competed three times in the Glenfiddich fiddle competitions — a detail that tells you everything about her calibre — yet she speaks to the audience with warmth and humour, introducing her fiddle “Smillie” as though it were an old friend. Hearing her play her own “Smillie” composition is a highlight: tender, expressive, and full of character.

Her stories add a lovely intimacy to the evening. She talks about fiddle retreats in Inverness, all‑day sessions, late‑night concerts, and how those experiences inspired her composition “Beauty Sleep.” Another touching moment comes when she introduces “Come Back Home,” written when her children left home. These personal threads give the performance emotional depth without ever feeling sentimental.

Jimmy Anderson brings a steady, confident presence on guitar, and the fact he has toured with Shirley Manson adds a quiet prestige to the trio. Christopher Martin Smith, meanwhile, anchors the rhythm on bodhran and percussion. His background as a session drummer with Big Country shows in his precision, but it’s his storytelling that wins the room. The audience love hearing that his bodhran is made of goat skin, and his tale of writing “Take Me Home With You” — a song about two middle‑aged people meeting as the bar closes — is delivered with a charming self‑deprecating grin.

One of the most memorable moments of the night comes when the band talk about performing in Colorado in 2024. Their story of a four‑wheeler ending up in a ditch at Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park is told with such good humour that the audience is already laughing before the song begins. “Jimmy’s Ditch,” performed with Lesley on fiddle, Jimmy on guitar and Christopher on bodhran, is beautiful — lively, melodic, and clearly a favourite with the crowd.

Skyrie are one of those rare Fringe acts that feel both polished and deeply personal. Their musicianship is exceptional, their rapport with the audience effortless, and their storytelling adds richness to every tune. This is Celtic folk at its most heartfelt: rooted in tradition, shaped by lived experience, and delivered with genuine joy.

It’s one of the most uplifting music events of the Fringe, and absolutely not to be missed. Listen to their music, buy their albums, and if you’re in North Carolina later this year, catch them at the Raleigh Wide Open Festival on 3rd October or at the Scottish Society of Wilmington on 4th October.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp

 

 

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A Soul Tribute with Heartfelt Enthusiasm and Room to Grow

★★★★ Divas of Soul arrives at the Fringe with a strong pedigree. Last year, this young band earned four‑star reviews for Divas of Jazz, praised for “mesmerising vocals” and a late‑night atmosphere that clearly resonated with audiences. Their new show is more ambitious: a journey through six decades of soul, tracing the genre’s evolution through its greatest voices — Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Roberta Flack, Randy Crawford, Stevie Wonder, Amy Winehouse, Olivia Dean and more.

From the first groove, Theatre 1 fills with warm, confident musicianship. The band are tight, stylish, and clearly in love with this music. Pianist Angus Alphonse and drummer Vic Palmer lock into rhythms with ease, while Joey Read’s bass gives the set its pocket and pulse. They’re a well‑matched ensemble, and when they settle into a rhythm, the room lifts.

A real strength of the show lies in its storytelling. Vocalist Hannah Hay guides the audience through the history of soul — its origins, its cultural weight, the artists who shaped it — and these spoken passages are engaging and well delivered. The show promises that each song arrives with the story behind it, and that intention comes through clearly. Her enthusiasm for the genre is unmistakable, and the educational thread gives the evening a welcome sense of shape and purpose.

Vocally, the performance sits in a different space. Hay’s jazz‑trained voice, the same one that earned praise last year, leans toward a cleaner, more polished tone rather than the raw, gritty texture soul typically demands. When covering Amy Winehouse and other artists she cites as inspirations, the hallmarks of soul — note bending, micro‑tonal shifts, that lived‑in rasp — don’t fully appear. Her voice is pleasant and capable, but stylistically it doesn’t always land where the material needs it to.

This creates a slight mismatch: the band deliver authentic soul grooves, while the vocals steer toward a more polished, event‑band sound. It doesn’t make the performance bad — far from it — but it does mean the show feels more like a lively, well‑played late‑night Fringe wind‑down than a fully realised soul tribute.

Still, there is plenty to enjoy: excellent musicians, a singer who genuinely loves the genre, and a thoughtful narrative thread that enriches the experience. The ambition behind Divas of Soul is clear, and with deeper stylistic commitment on the vocal side, it could evolve into something far more powerful.

Reviewd by Jacqueline Sharp

 

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Three Kingdoms, Three Languages, One Captivating Musical Homage

★★★★ The Sanctuary at the New Town Church is one of those rooms that seems to breathe with you the moment you step inside. Circular, warm, and architecturally striking, it’s the kind of space that flatters a mezzo-soprano before she’s even sung a note. As the audience settled, the room’s natural resonance promised an evening shaped by history, language, and the long shadow of Mary Stuart.

This concert, led by Norwegian mezzo-soprano Marianne Beate Kielland with Ben‑San Lau at the piano, set out to honour not one anniversary but two: the 440th year since Mary Queen of Scots became Queen of Three Kingdoms, and the 400th anniversary of composer John Dowland. It’s an ambitious pairing—royal tragedy and Renaissance melancholy—and the programme moved between France, Scotland and England, with Marianne singing in all three languages.

Kielland is no stranger to major stages. Her career spans Europe, America and Japan, and she has appeared in operas from Moscow to Paris to Versailles. That experience shows. Her voice carries a calm authority, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself. She moves through French repertoire with ease, letting the phrasing unfurl gently, and when she shifts into Scots or English, the tone darkens slightly, as though she’s adjusting the emotional temperature of the room.

The evening unfolded like a platter of songs—carefully chosen, beautifully delivered—but at times a little opaque. Most pieces were sung in French, and while the leaflet provided a set list, it offered no guidance beyond titles. Without spoken introductions, it became difficult to track where we were in the journey. A few words from Marianne—about her connection to the material, her love of mezzo repertoire, or even a brief nod to Mary Stuart’s turbulent life—would have added welcome texture. Her singing was expressive, but the silence between songs created a distance that didn’t need to be there.

Still, when the music was allowed to speak, it did so with clarity. Lau’s piano playing was sensitive and unobtrusive, shaping the atmosphere without ever overshadowing the voice. Together they created moments of real stillness, the kind that make an audience lean forward rather than sit back.

This concert was, in many ways, a tribute to lineage—musical, historical, and linguistic. It honoured Mary Queen of Scots not through storytelling but through sound, through the languages she lived in and the cultures she moved between. A little more communication from the stage would have deepened the experience, but the artistry itself was undeniable.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp

 

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Blues, Banter and Bold Whisky Choices Drive a Standout Fringe Experience

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★★★★★  Some Fringe shows promise a lot and deliver very little. Two Guys, 3 Drams does the opposite: it promises whisky and blues, and somehow delivers whisky, blues, comedy, education, and a roomful of people having a noticeably better time than they expected. After three consecutive sell‑out years, the show returns with the same swagger the performers boast about — “whisky‑soaked swagger, raucous blues, and boisterous charm”  — and the marketing isn’t exaggerating.

Felipe Schrieberg (vocals, lap steel) and Paul Archibald (drums, percussion, and that wonderfully unfashionable washboard) run the hour with the confidence of performers who know exactly what they’re doing. The performers call it “a sensory spectacle blending a world‑class whisky tasting with foot‑stomping live music”, and that’s precisely how it feels in the room: part gig, part tasting, part double‑act.

TheSpace @ Triplex was packed and buzzing throughout.

 

Music

The musical choices are strong throughout. Their take on I Put a Spell on You was the standout for me — gritty, tight, and delivered with enough bite to make the dram in your hand feel even more appropriate. Other numbers were less familiar, but the quality of the playing meant it didn’t matter. Felipe’s lap‑steel tone is rich and expressive; Paul’s rhythmic precision (especially on the washboard) is a rare treat.

Whisky

The whisky side is handled with a jokey, informal touch that makes the information stick. Felipe and Paul emphasise that the show is “as much about education as it is about entertainment” , and that’s true — but crucially, it never feels like a lecture. Audience questions, quick-fire facts, and a steady stream of banter keep things lively.

The drams on our night:

  • InchDairnie Rylaw Scottish Rye – easily the highlight. Smooth, distinctive, and surprisingly accessible. InchDairnie are a main sponsor this year, and their Head of Innovation calls the partnership “a brilliant way to bring whisky and music together”. Fair enough — the whisky is excellent.
  • A Singaporean whisky (whose name I missed) – light, balanced, and a pleasant surprise.
  • Laphroaig 15-year-old – the marmite dram. I’m firmly in the “no thanks” camp: too peaty, too medicinal, too smoky. Interesting, though, given it was my mother’s favourite whisky; she drank no other. Taste is a funny thing.

The chemistry between Felipe and Paul is the engine of the show. Years of playing together have given them an easy rapport, and the humour feels natural rather than rehearsed. The room was fully involved — responding to prompts, shouting back answers, and generally behaving like a Fringe audience who’ve decided they’re part of the act.

The performers promise you’ll “leave knowing how to sound clever about whisky for the rest of your life”. That’s not far off. You walk out with three good drams inside you, a handful of genuinely useful whisky facts, and the pleasant buzz of having spent an hour with performers who clearly enjoy what they do.

Warm, funny, informative, and musically accomplished. If you want a Fringe show that teaches you something without ever feeling like a lecture — and gives you three quality whiskies in the process — Two Guys, 3 Drams is an easy recommendation.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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From Eurovision to Global Icons: ABBA’s Story Reborn on Stage

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★★★★★  Night Owl Shows’ world‑premiere production traces ABBA’s rise from Eurovision outsiders to global pop architects, blending sharp live musicianship with narrative insight to reveal the emotional depth, innovation and lasting cultural impact behind the band’s greatest songs. Dancing Queen: An ABBA Tribute doesn’t just replay the hits; it reconstructs the story behind them — the improbable rise of four Swedes who turned melody, melancholy and sheer pop craftsmanship into global cultural currency.

Night Owl Shows have spent the past decade refining a particular Fringe formula: live musicianship, narrative clarity, and a respect for the material that goes beyond nostalgia. Their reputation — sell‑out runs, critical acclaim, and awards from Brighton to Adelaide — is well earned. But this new production feels like a step forward. It’s not just a celebration; it’s a piece of musical storytelling with genuine shape.

The show starts with ABBA’s Eurovision triumph with Waterloo, and it does so with a confidence that comes from knowing the terrain. The press release promises “the remarkable story of the greatest pop band ever formed,” and that isn’t hyperbole. What the production gets right is the sense of ABBA as outsiders — provincial, unfashionable, and dismissed by critics — who nonetheless reshaped the architecture of pop through melody, harmony and emotional precision.

The musical performances are sharp throughout. The expected giants are here — Dancing Queen, The Winner Takes It All, Mamma Mia — but the show’s strength lies in how it frames them. ABBA’s catalogue is often remembered for its glitter, but the band’s real genius was their ability to smuggle heartbreak into songs that sounded like celebrations. Night Owl’s performers lean into that tension. When they shift into the more melancholy material, the room changes. The brightness dims. The emotional temperature drops. And suddenly you’re reminded that ABBA were never just confectioners; they were storytellers.

One of the most striking choices is the inclusion of the 12‑inch dance version of Lay All Your Love on Me. It’s easy to forget how radical that track was in 1981 — a full‑blown electro‑disco remix at a time when most mainstream acts wouldn’t touch club culture. Hearing it live, with its pulsing, extended architecture, underlines how forward‑thinking ABBA were. They weren’t following trends; they were anticipating them.

The show also acknowledges ABBA’s long afterlife. Their influence runs through pop in ways that still surprise people. Madonna’s Hung Up famously samples Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! — permission she had to personally request from Benny and Björn, who almost never allow sampling. The Fugees pulled from The Name of the Game for Rumble in the Jungle. Erasure built an entire EP around ABBA’s melodic DNA. These aren’t footnotes; they’re proof of how deeply ABBA’s songwriting has permeated global music.

What is interesting — and slightly unexpected — is that the production doesn’t reference ABBA Voyage, the virtual concert that has become one of the most successful live shows of the decade. Voyage demonstrates that ABBA’s music can fill a venue night after night without the band physically present. But Night Owl Shows remind us why live musicians still matter. A band brings risk, personality, and human texture — qualities no avatar can replicate. This show proves that both experiences can coexist: one celebrates ABBA’s precision, the other their emotional resonance.

The cast — Peter Marchant, Will Sharp, Maia Elsey and Kiah Spurle, supported by Ross Taylor, Noah Nelson and Lewis Porter — deliver performances that are musically assured and theatrically disciplined. They don’t impersonate; they interpret. And that’s the difference between tribute and theatre.

Taken together, ABBA: The Journey is more than a jukebox. It’s a reminder of why ABBA’s music endures: the band honoured the hits, dug into the shadows, embraced the experimental corners, and connected the dots between ABBA’s past and their ongoing cultural afterlife. Night Owl Shows respect the material enough to play with it — and that’s the highest compliment an act can earn.

A smart, warm, musically literate production. Very much one for the Fringe crowd.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Capturing the Light: A Family Story Rooted in Scotland’s Landscape

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★★★★★  Elsa McTaggart: Capturing the Light is a  piece that doesn’t simply recount a family story, but reanimates a lineage of Scottish creativity, history,  faith, and stubborn, rural resilience. Elsa McTaggart revisits the life of her great‑grandfather, landscape master William McTaggart, weaving faith, identity and rural Scottish heritage into a modern Fringe performance rooted in light and lineage.

What makes this production compelling is its refusal to treat William McTaggart as a museum figure. Elsa McTaggart approaches her great‑grandfather not as an icon, but as a man shaped by poverty, crofting, Gaelic culture, and the kind of hard graft that leaves its mark on every decision a person makes. The press material describes him as “the third‑born to Gaelic speaking Kintyre crofters” and someone who, through sheer determination, became “one of Scotland’s most popular and recognisable landscape artists.” That grounding matters. It frames the show not as nostalgia, but as an inquiry into how creativity emerges from constraint.

The production traces his journey from rural deprivation to the Trustees Academy School of Art in Edinburgh — a move he made at just sixteen. It’s here that he began exploring the gradations of light, a fascination that would define his work. But what the show captures beautifully is the tension between ambition and loyalty. Despite success, he stayed rooted in Scotland, loyal to the landscapes that shaped him. Many artists of his generation headed south, chasing London prestige. He didn’t. And Elsa treats that decision not as romantic mythmaking but as an act of conviction.

The spiritual dimension is where the piece becomes quietly profound. McTaggart’s upbringing in strict Presbyterianism — the kind of world where ministers scrutinise not just behaviour but intention — shaped him deeply. The show doesn’t shy away from the friction between institutional faith and personal spirituality. When the minister disapproved of his work, even visiting his Father, he didn’t abandon belief; he simply refused to let doctrine dictate his art. That moment, handled with restraint, reveals an independently minded man who saw painting not as rebellion but as devotion.

Elsa McTaggart

And this is where Elsa’s framing becomes genuinely moving. She suggests, implicitly that McTaggart’s art was a form of prayer. Not prayer as supplication, but prayer as attention — the act of looking closely at nature until it reveals something sacred. His seascapes, often devoid of figures or narrative, embody this. No ships. No drama. Just the sea as it is. The sea as he saw it. The sea as a kind of worship. He had a lifelong fascination with light; Elsa shows us why that mattered. Light, for McTaggart, wasn’t just technique. It was theology.

The show itself blends storytelling, music, and projection. Although at the show I was at technical glitches knocked out the projection forcing me to concerntrate on just the narration and music.  Elsa and her long‑time collaborator Gary Lister have been performing other sold‑out Fringe shows for fifteen years, and that experience shows. The musical sections — each inspired by the titles of McTaggart’s paintings — are warm, confident, and rooted in Hebridean sensibility. The production design by Robbie Thomson gives the piece a visual clarity that mirrors McTaggart’s own obsession with light. And the involvement of Isle of Lewis arts venue An Lanntair, along with sruth‑mara’s track record of thoughtful, community‑rooted work, gives the show a sense of place that feels earned rather than decorative.

What emerges is not a biographical lecture, nor a family tribute, but a meditation on legacy — how creativity travels through generations, how rural identity shapes artistic instinct, and how faith can be both anchor and burden. Elsa isn’t simply telling us who her great‑grandfather was; she’s showing us how his way of seeing the world shaped her own.

By the end, you understand that McTaggart didn’t paint to escape his circumstances. He painted to honour them. And Elsa, in turn, honours him not by mythologising his life, but by illuminating the quiet, spiritual labour at its core.

A thoughtful, lyrical, and deeply Scottish piece of theatre — one that treats art not as spectacle, but as inheritance.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Spraywatch: A Beautiful Rescue Delivers Energy, Craft, and Big Laughs

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  Spraywatch: A Beautiful Rescue is a comedy musical that clearly struck a chord with its audience, even if its particular brand of humour didn’t fully align with my own more sardonic tastes. What was undeniable, though, was the atmosphere in the room: a packed house, fully engaged, laughing readily, and responding exactly the way the show intends. It’s always worth noting when a production lands so successfully with its crowd, even if your own comedic sensibilities sit slightly elsewhere.

Fred (Ant McGinley) stood out for me

The show itself is energetic, colourful, and confidently performed. The cast work hard, and it shows. One performer in particular stood out: Fred, played by Ant McGinley. His physical theatre work was consistently funny, especially during the dance sequences where he used his slightly larger frame to great comedic effect. His timing was sharp, his movement precise, and his dialogue delivered with a dry, almost throwaway wit that worked beautifully. His solo number about his hatred of crabs was a highlight — absurd, committed, and genuinely amusing.

The ensemble as a whole were strong. Denise, played by Natalie Hayes, who seemed to occupy multiple roles within the community rather than switching characters outright, brought a nice running gag to the show. Her presence added texture and variety, and she handled the tonal shifts well.

Another clever moment came from Victor, played by Jamie Knapper, who switched characters rapidly by a wig changing mid‑dance — with another cast member snapping the wig on and off in perfect sync. It was a simple device, but executed with such precision and speed that it became one of the funniest pieces of choreography in the show.

Elsewhere, Izabella Webb as The Lifeguard and Abbie Ashall as Rose anchored the show’s emotional beats. Webb’s performance captured the heightened, slightly surreal tone of the piece, while Ashall — also the show’s executive producer — delivered a grounded presence that balanced the more exaggerated comedic moments.

The production deserves credit for its inventiveness. Kirsty Podlaski’s choreography is well‑structured, often playful, and occasionally quite intricate. The wider creative team — Richard Ross’s set design, Christopher Osbourne’s lighting, and Paul Webster’s sound design — all contribute to a cohesive aesthetic that supports the show’s bold, pop‑rock‑infused world.

As a musical comedy, Spraywatch sits firmly within a genre I’m less familiar with, but the Fringe has broadened my appreciation for it. Having now seen two comedy musicals this year — including Our Little Thing, the mafia‑themed show I enjoyed — I can say that my taste for this form has expanded considerably. Spraywatch contributed to that expansion, offering moments of genuine amusement and showcasing performers who clearly understand how to deliver physical humour, musical parody, and ensemble comedy with commitment.

While the show’s humour wasn’t entirely my own, it was undeniably effective for the audience it aimed at. They loved it! And within it, I found several elements — Fred’s performance, the wig‑switch choreography, Denise’s multi‑role presence — that were genuinely funny, well‑executed, and memorable. More importantly, the cast’s commitment, energy, and sheer enjoyment of performing were unmistakable, and that enthusiasm carried the audience with them from start to finish.

Spraywatch: A Beautiful Rescue is a lively, confident piece of Fringe musical comedy, delivered by a cast who know exactly what they’re doing and clearly love doing it.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Back to Black: A Moving, Musically Assured Celebration of Amy Winehouse

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