Posts Tagged Fringe 2026

Airlie Scott Leads a Mischievous, Music‑Rich Mystery on the Jazz Express

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★★★★★ This show sweeps you up before you’ve even found your seat. All Aboard the Jazz Express is a high‑spirited, mischievous cabaret that transforms Theatre 1, fheSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall, into the dining car of Europe’s most glamorous train, rattling from Paris to Istanbul with a suitcase full of swing, secrets and delightful nonsense.

The Hot Jazz Vagabonds are the engine of the piece, and what an engine they are. Pete Watson’s accordion curls around the room like cigarette smoke; Alan Gibson’s double bass keeps everything steady with unflappable charm; David Ahmed and Andy Ruiz Palma trade guitar lines with the shimmering ease of musicians who know exactly how to make a room feel alive. Their sound — a blend of hot 1930s swing, smoky chanson and gypsy jazz — is rich, warm and utterly irresistible. It’s no surprise they’ve graced stages from Glastonbury to Ronnie Scott’s; they play with the confidence of a band that has seen every kind of audience and knows how to win them all.

Into this musical whirlwind steps Airlie Scott, elegant, playful and gloriously unpredictable. As Vivienne Valise, she welcomes us aboard with a conspiratorial smile and the revelation that she is, in fact, a spy en route to Istanbul. She suspects one of the musicians is a spy too — and from that moment on, the show becomes a deliciously tongue‑in‑cheek mystery, full of coded glances, sudden revelations and the kind of theatrical chaos that makes audiences beam.

At each stop along the legendary route, the tone shifts just enough to keep things lively. In Belgrade, she slips a message to a spy hidden in the audience. In Vienna, documents are exchanged with suspicious flourish. In Sofia, she bursts into “Joseph Joseph” with infectious energy. And in Milan, her rendition of Tu Vuo’ Fa’ l’Americano is a cheeky delight, capturing the post‑war swagger of Italians playing at being American. She moves with ease from English to French to Italian, each song delivered with a storyteller’s instinct and a cabaret singer’s flair.

One of the loveliest moments sees her seated at a small table, singing in French with a softness that hushes the room. Another has her clicking her fingers to the gypsy jazz beat, weaving through the space with a dancer’s lightness. She is a performer who understands atmosphere — how to build it, how to break it, and how to let the band breathe inside it.

The murder mystery element is handled with a wink rather than a weight. A sudden “shot” rings out; Airlie ducks; the audience follows suit, half‑laughing, half‑startled. Two agents appear on the platform. Papers are shuffled. Suspicions rise. And by the time the train reaches Istanbul, the final twist — involving Alan’s double‑bass‑playing fugitive — lands with just the right mix of absurdity and theatrical satisfaction.

Musically, the show is a joy. The Vagabonds play with precision and personality, never missing a beat, never losing the thread of the story woven around them. The journey from Paris to Istanbul becomes not just a route but a rhythm — each city a new flavour, each song a new clue, each moment another reason to smile.

Theatre‑wise, it’s brisk, charming and beautifully pitched. The audience is drawn in without ever being pushed; the humour is light but clever; the atmosphere is rich without being heavy. It’s the kind of Fringe show that leaves you feeling brighter than when you walked in — a little dazzled, a little amused, and very much entertained.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp

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Sittin’ on a Cornflake Finds the Heart of Lennon & McCartney Through Two Guitars, a Harmonica and Real Insight

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★★★★★ A beautifully judged, musically rich, quietly emotional and gently funny exploration of Lennon & McCartney, delivered with craft, charm, and a level of musicianship that allows two men with two guitars to stand toe‑to‑toe with some of the most orchestrated recordings in pop history.

What the show is about

Sittin’ on a Cornflake is The Brothers Broke’s latest deep‑dive into the Lennon–McCartney partnership: the friendship, the rivalry, the creative tension, and the sheer musical brilliance that defined the Beatles’ most fertile years. It’s not a tribute act, nor a nostalgia show. It’s a thoughtful, musically intelligent piece of storytelling that uses the songs themselves as the narrative engine.

Tom Adams (guitar/vocals) and his twin brother Hugh (bass, harmonica, vocals) guide the audience through the arc of Lennon and McCartney’s creative relationship with warmth, humour and a distinctly Irish ease. Their rapport is relaxed and natural, and the banter — dry, lightly self‑mocking, and never forced — keeps the show grounded even as the music reaches for the big emotional notes.

What makes the show distinctive is the brothers’ focus on the game‑changing songs: the ones where Lennon and McCartney pushed ahead of everyone else, reinventing what pop music could be. They explore influence, competition, and respect — not academically, but through performance, letting the songs themselves reveal the story.

Musical handling: the heart of the show

This is where the show truly shines. The Brothers Broke take songs originally recorded with full studio orchestration and render them convincingly with just two instruments. It’s not imitation — it’s interpretation.

Tomorrow Never Knows

One of the boldest choices in the set. The original is a psychedelic studio construction built on tape loops and experimental production. Here, stripped back to acoustic essentials, the song becomes something new: stark, hypnotic, and surprisingly intimate. It’s a reminder that the Beatles’ innovations weren’t just technological — they were musical.

I Am the Walrus

Delivered raw and uncut, without the studio chaos or orchestral swirl. The performance highlights the song’s structural oddity and Lennon’s surrealism, proving that even the most layered Beatles tracks can survive — and thrive — when reduced to their bones. And I learned that it was inspired by a Lewis Carroll story!

A Day in the Life

The standout example. The original famously used a full orchestra, captured in that unforgettable film where musicians in fancy dress fall into psychedelic chaos. The Brothers Broke strip all of that away. No orchestra. No overdubs. Just two guitars — and occasionally a harmonica — yet the emotional weight remains.

They don’t attempt to replicate the orchestral swell; instead, they re‑imagine the song’s shape, leaning into its lyrical intimacy. It’s a bold choice, and it works because they understand the material at a structural level. Musical intelligence isn’t about scale — it’s about sensitivity. They know what to leave out.

Yesterday

Their use of harmonica on Yesterday is inspired. On paper, harmonica and McCartney’s most delicate ballad shouldn’t work — but it absolutely does. It adds a plaintive, folk‑like colour that freshens the song without distorting it. A respectful reinterpretation rather than reverence.

Across the set

The Brothers Broke

They move confidently between Lennon‑led and McCartney‑led material, highlighting contrasts in personality and songwriting style. The choices are thoughtful, the transitions clean, and the emotional architecture of the Beatles catalogue is used to tell the story.

The brothers bring a distinctly Irish warmth to the stage. Their humour is gentle, observational, and rooted in the easy familiarity of two performers who know each other inside out. It never overshadows the music; it frames it.

Offstage, they’re exactly the same — approachable, open, and genuinely interested in conversation. That authenticity carries into the show.

Sittin’ on a Cornflake is an outstanding piece of Fringe musicianship. It’s intimate, clever, and emotionally resonant. The Brothers Broke have the rare ability to make familiar songs feel newly alive, not through gimmickry but through insight.

Two guitars. Occasional harmonica. No orchestra. No spectacle. Just two men who understand Lennon and McCartney well enough to honour them without copying them.

A superb show, and one I’d recommend without hesitation.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Night Owl’s Kate Bush Celebration Captures the Spirit of a Creative Icon

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★★★★★ Some artists resist simplification, and Kate Bush is one of them. Any production attempting to chart her life and work has to grapple with that complexity — the imagination, the eccentricity, the discipline, the sheer strangeness of her creative world. Night Owl Shows’ The Kate Bush Story does exactly that. It doesn’t flatten her. It doesn’t imitate her. It illuminates her.

Led by Hannah Richards, whose expressive presence and vocal intelligence anchor the evening, the production moves confidently through Kate Bush’s catalogue and biography. Richards never slips into impersonation; instead, she channels the emotional and theatrical charge that defines Kate’s work. It’s a performance built on clarity, commitment, and a deep respect for the material.

The band — Edwin Sealey, Ross Taylor, Noah Nelson, and Max Timlin — are superb throughout. Their musicianship is tight, textured, and responsive, giving the show the sonic richness it needs. Kate Bush’s music is famously intricate, and this ensemble handles that intricacy with assurance. Running Up That Hill becomes a rhythmic surge; Cloudbusting lands with warmth and uplift; Wuthering Heights retains its wild, uncanny edge.

Hannah Richards interprets Kate’s music with style

What distinguishes this production is its narrative intelligence. The storytelling sections are crafted with care, offering insights into Kate’s early development, her family’s influence, and her lifelong fascination with technology and experimentation. The show makes clear that Kate Bush wasn’t simply a gifted songwriter — she was a creative architect, shaping sound, image, and atmosphere with equal precision.

Her determination also comes through strongly. The production highlights her ability to say no, to protect her artistic integrity, and to build a career on her own terms. It’s a portrait of an artist who was imaginative, yes, but also quietly formidable.

The audience responds instinctively to this approach. There’s delight, recognition, and a palpable sense of affection in the room. Night Owl Shows have built a reputation for performance‑led productions that combine musicianship with storytelling, and this show fits squarely within that tradition. It’s polished, confident, and clearly made by people who understand why Kate Bush matters.

Two songs stand out as emotional touchstones. Army Dreamers — simple, direct, devastating — reminds us of Kate’s political claritt y and her ability to write anti‑war material with disarming softness. The Man with the Child in His Eyes remains one of the most astonishingly mature (for someone writing at just 13 years old) love songs ever written, and the performance here brings out its tenderness and wisdom.

By the end, the atmosphere is unmistakably feel‑good — warm, engaged, and full of admiration. The Kate Bush Story succeeds not by recreating Kate Bush, but by celebrating her imagination, her courage, and her unmistakable artistic fingerprint.

A vibrant, thoughtful, musically rich tribute to one of Britain’s most distinctive artists.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Fringe Audiences Unite in a Joyful Farewell to Dolly Parton

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★★★★★ In the days following Dolly Parton’s death, Night Owl Shows made a clear and strong choice: this would be a celebration, not a vigil. Led by Hannah Richards, the company and audience leaned into joy rather than grief, honouring Dolly’s life and music with determination, warmth, and a shared sense of gratitude. Just as she would have wanted.

Some productions arrive at the Fringe with a clear sense of purpose. Night Owl Shows’ The Dolly Parton Story is one of them. Returning to Edinburgh with a fully renewed 2026 staging and a live band, the company leans into what they do best: narrative‑driven musicianship, emotional intelligence, and an instinct for how to honour an artist without embalming them. The result is a show that understands Dolly Parton not as a pop‑culture mascot, but as a woman whose life, work, and impact deserve to be taken seriously.

The production traces Dolly’s rise from her early country roots to becoming one of the most recognisable and decorated figures in modern music. Hannah Richards, backed by the Night Owl Band, anchors the evening with vocal clarity and interpretive restraint. She doesn’t impersonate Dolly; she interprets her. That distinction matters, because this show isn’t chasing kitsch or rhinestone nostalgia. It’s telling a story.

The early biographical section is handled with the respect it deserves. Dolly’s childhood poverty in East Tennessee wasn’t a folksy anecdote — it was a crucible. The show makes that clear, reminding the audience that her songwriting wasn’t accidental brilliance but hard‑won craft shaped by circumstance. Songs like Joshua and Coat of Many Colours aren’t just hits; they’re autobiographical artefacts. When Richards reaches Coat of Many Colours, the staging is deliberately simple, allowing the emotional weight of the song to land without theatrical clutter. It’s the moment where the room collectively leans forward.

Night Owl’s signature format — live performance interwoven with narrative — works particularly well here. The production highlights aspects of Dolly’s life that casual fans often miss. Her philanthropic work, especially the Imagination Library, is given proper space. The revelation that her father never learned to read, and that this shaped her charitable literacy mission, adds a layer of poignancy that deepens rather than sentimentalises her legacy. Likewise, the segment on Dollywood avoids trivia and instead emphasises its cultural and economic impact on Tennessee.

Musically, the show delivers exactly what audiences want: Jolene, 9 to 5, Islands in the Stream, Here You Come Again, Coat of Many Colours, Joshua — performed with enough freshness to avoid the jukebox trap. Richards’ vocals are strong throughout, and the band (Ross Taylor, Sam McDonald, Harry Whitty, Max Timlin) provide the kind of tight, unfussy musicianship that keeps the focus where it belongs: on the songs.

Audience response is warm, vocal, and deeply engaged. Night Owl Shows have built a reputation for sell‑out runs and award‑winning productions across Edinburgh, Brighton, Adelaide, and beyond, and this show fits neatly into that lineage. It’s polished, confident, and built with care.

What elevates The Dolly Parton Story is its balance. It honours Dolly’s catalogue without becoming a greatest‑hits conveyor belt. It celebrates her life without slipping into hagiography. It acknowledges the emotional weight of her story without drowning in sentiment. It’s a production that understands Dolly Parton as a cultural force — musical, philanthropic, economic — whose influence ripples far beyond the stage.

A thoughtful tribute. A strong piece of musical storytelling. And, for many in the room, a necessary celebration.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Body Parts: A Simple, Human Story of Repairing What’s Broken

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★★★★★  Body Parts is a small, honest, and quietly powerful Fringe show about a family trying to rebuild itself after a loss. A mother travels to rural Scotland, alongside one daughter, to visit another daughter who has bought a rundown house with her inheritance. The house is falling apart, and so are the relationships inside it. That’s the heart of the piece: people trying to fix things when they’re not sure how.

The story centres on four characters who are all dealing with their own turning points. Carmel is determined to make a fresh start, even if the house she’s chosen is barely standing. Margot tries to support her, though she sees the cracks clearly. Russell, Carmel’s on‑off boyfriend, is stuck between wanting to help and not knowing where he fits. And May, the mother, watches all of this with a mixture of worry, affection, and a growing sense of her own needs.

One of the strongest parts of the show is how it handles self‑acceptance. There’s a moment where May asks to be photographed so she can draw herself honestly. It’s simple, but it says a lot about how she’s trying to see herself again after years of putting everyone else first. Her relationship with her daughters also has real depth, especially with Margot, who has converted to Islam. It’s treated with respect and adds an additional, natural cultural layer to the family dynamic.

The show also uses physical theatre in a way that feels grounded rather than gimmicky. A scene where the women crawl across the floor stands out — it’s a clear picture of how stuck they all are, and how hard they’re trying to move forward.

The writing feels real. You can tell it’s been shaped by personal experience. The conversations sound like things families actually say when they’re tired, frustrated, or trying their best. The show asks a good question: what do you need when you’ve run out of wanting? It doesn’t force an answer, but it gives you plenty to think about.

There’s also some clever use of technology — facial‑mapping, sound, and projection — but it never takes over. It supports the story rather than showing off. That’s rare at the Fringe, and it’s done well here.

The cast work strongly as an ensemble. They play the tensions and the small moments of connection with a natural ease. Nothing feels exaggerated or over‑acted.

Body Parts is a thoughtful, well‑performed piece about ageing, faith, self‑worth, and the messy ways families try to support each other. It’s simple, human, and quietly moving. And it leaves you wanting to see what this writer does next.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Nude Confronts the Male Gaze with Wit, Rawness, and Feminist Bite

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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ In this cleverly crafted piece, Nude dives headfirst into the complexities of the male gaze, nodding to Mulvey’s old‑school film theory but making it feel fresh, lived‑in, and painfully personal. Clara’s plan — to walk into a life‑drawing class and strip naked in front of her favourite lecturer — is introduced with a wickedly funny line: “No, but how funny would it be though? Like, he turns up, and it’s just me – with my tits out. His model student.”. It’s a moment that perfectly captures the show’s tone: bold, cheeky, and already teetering on the edge of something darker.

The male gaze — and why it matters here

Laura Mulvey’s theory of the male gaze argues that mainstream visual culture positions men as active lookers and women as passive objects of looking. Women become “to‑be‑looked‑at,” their bodies framed for male pleasure, validation, and control. What makes Nude compelling is that it doesn’t just critique this structure — it shows a woman actively stepping into it.

Clara doesn’t simply endure the male gaze; she seeks it, fantasises about it, and tries to choreograph it. She wants to be seen by her tutor in a way that makes her feel chosen, special, exceptional. That desire — to be looked at on one’s own terms — is the emotional engine of the show. It’s exactly what the press release calls “the seductive idea that being seen is the same as being empowered” . Clara confuses visibility with agency, attention with autonomy, and the play exposes how fragile that fantasy is.

This is where Nude becomes a genuinely contemporary feminist work. Mulvey’s theory was about cinema, but Clara’s story shows how the gaze operates in real life: women internalise it, negotiate with it, and sometimes chase it. The show asks a sharper question than most: why do we sometimes seek the very gaze that limits us?

Performance, writing, and Bacchanalia’s mission

Hattie Chapman

Hattie Chapman’s performance is the engine of the piece — restless, funny, and emotionally raw. Audience feedback from the Norwich Theatre R&D sharing described the work as “bold, lyrical, profound writing and superb performance” and “so real and raw” , which is exactly what Chapman delivers. She gives Clara a searching, self‑mythologising energy that makes the humour land and the emotional turns sting.

Phoebe Segal’s writing is confident and unafraid to push Clara into uncomfortable territory. Developed through Menagerie Theatre Company’s Young Writers’ Workshop and supported by Norwich Theatre and Frozen Light, the play has the feel of a young writer testing the edges of a big idea — and succeeding. Bacchanalia, the new East Anglian company founded by Segal and Merlyn Haycraft, frames its mission around interrogating inherited myths, “from ancient archetypes to cultural norms” , and Nude fits that remit perfectly. It takes the archetype of the woman on display and cracks it open from the inside.

A Fringe debut with bite

Nude begins with a joke and ends with a jolt, tracing Clara’s journey from playful self‑display to the moment her fantasy stops protecting  or trapping her. Chapman’s performance makes that turn land with real force, and Segal’s writing never shies away from the contradictions at its core. It’s a debut that not only showcases a formidable new talent but also embodies Bacchanalia’s mission to crack open the myths we inherit. A bold, unsettling, and memorable Fringe offering.

By Pat Harrington

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Madonna’s Many Layers Shine in a Layered, High‑Energy Fringe Triumph

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★★★★★ A decade on from their first Fringe triumph, Night Owl Shows unveil Material Girl: Madonna The Icon — a world‑premiere production tracing Madonna’s evolution from breakout star to boundary‑pushing legend, led by “Voice of the Fringe 2025” winner Maia Elsey and the award‑winning Night Owl band.

The show opens with a burst of high‑energy dance music — the Madonna most people think of first — but it quickly becomes clear that the creative team are interested in more than sequins and nostalgia. One of the most striking moments comes early on, when a quote appears on the screen behind the performers: Madonna rejecting the idea that she “reinvents” herself, insisting instead that she simply reveals different layers of who she already is. It’s a line that lands harder than you expect. It reframes not only her career, but the whole idea of artistic evolution. We often say Bowie reinvented himself, but perhaps he too was peeling back layers rather than constructing personas. That thought stayed with me throughout the show.

A performance rooted in interpretation, not imitation.

What impressed me most was the attention given to Madonna’s early life — her childhood, her dance training, the discipline that shaped her long before the fame arrived. I knew some of it, but not all, and the show makes a point of grounding her later flamboyance in those formative years. It’s a smart choice: it gives the spectacle a spine.

The musical selections are mostly the high‑octane numbers you’d expect, delivered with real verve by Maia Elsey — a strong singer, a confident dancer, and an all‑rounder who knows how to work a room. But the show’s emotional peaks come from the quieter moments. Frozen from the Ray of Light album is handled with care, and the shift in tone is welcome. And then there’s Don’t Cry for Me Argentina. As someone who’s long been fascinated by Evita — both the musical and the political history behind Eva Perón — I found this section genuinely affecting. I remember wondering, back when the film came out, whether Madonna could carry the role. She did, and the show acknowledges that turning point with the weight it deserves.

One omission surprised me: Desperately Seeking Susan (1985). For many people, myself included, that film was the moment Madonna first registered as a cultural force outside of music. Desperately Seeking Susan wasn’t just a quirky mid‑80s caper; it was the moment Madonna’s off‑stage persona crystallised into something mythic. The film caught her at the exact point where fashion, attitude, and pop culture collided, and leaving it out slightly blunts the story of how she became a generational touchstone. That absence aside, the production’s musical backbone deserves its own moment in the spotlight.The musicians deserve their own praise. One of the guitarists delivers variations on Madonna themes that are genuinely inventive — miniature interpretations in their own right. The audience responded to him with the same enthusiasm they gave the main performer, Maia Elsey, which tells you everything.

Elsey drives the show with crisp energy and control.

And speaking of the audience: this was one of those Fringe shows where people don’t wait for permission. They were up dancing, clapping, singing along. The atmosphere was warm, communal, and frankly joyous. It’s a feel‑good show in the best sense — not shallow, not saccharine, but celebratory.

Material Girl – The Madonna Story succeeds because it recognises that Madonna’s career isn’t just a string of hits; it’s a story of layers. The show captures those layers — the dancer, the provocateur, the actress, the spiritual seeker, the pop architect — and does so with energy, affection, and a surprising amount of insight for a one‑hour production.
A vibrant, generous interpretation of Madonna’s life and music. And a reminder of just how many lives Madonna has lived without ever ceasing to be herself.
Reviewed by Pat Harrington
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A Fringe Hit You Can’t Refuse: This Little Thing of Ours Brings Big Energy to theSpace

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★★★★★ This Little Thing of Ours throws us straight into a mafia family on the brink of change. Frankie Coglione comes from a long line of mobsters cursed with terrible luck, but he’s determined to be the one who finally turns things around. Backed by his iron‑willed Nonna, he seems ready to take the top spot — until an unexpected death creates a power vacuum. Suddenly Frankie is forced into a musical turf war with Tony, a silk‑suited street boss with killer instincts. In this world, you don’t just whack someone — you give them a closing number. It’s mafia melodrama with musical theatre swagger.

I had a great time with This Little Thing of Ours. It’s exactly the sort of late‑night Fringe musical that thrives on energy, ensemble chemistry, and a willingness to lean fully into its own ridiculousness. The show promises gangster glamour, fast-paced comedy, and a live soundtrack, and that’s very much what the company delivers: loud, playful, and driven by performers who clearly enjoy being in this heightened criminal world.

It’s an ensemble‑driven piece  — Dorian Todd (Frankie), Kevin Parr (Tony), Meredith Rey (Nonna), James O’Neill (Don Lorenzo), Fraser Wood (Uncle Chicky), Arland O’Hara (Irish Mickey), Megan Wright (Butch), and Joan Smith (Giuda) all contribute to the entertainment, adding value. And you genuinely feel all of them working together. It’s one of those shows where the group dynamic is the engine; nobody is trying to outshine anyone else, and that makes the comedy, music and drama land better.

Having said that, I have my favourites! I particularly enjoyed Joan Smith’s performance as Giuda, the crew’s hitman. She has a sharp, expressive physicality that makes her both funny and genuinely intimidating. She’s one of those performers who can shift the tone of a scene just by how she stands or moves, and it gives the show a nice edge. Her dancing fits the character perfectly — controlled chaos, a bit dangerous, a bit silly, and always entertaining.

Kevin Parr’s Tony is another standout. Tony is a silk‑suited street boss with killer instincts,  and Parr leans into that contrast with real confidence. He’s powerful, charismatic, and very well acted — the sort of performer who knows exactly how to play the heightened theatricality of a mafia musical without tipping into cartoonishness. His dancing has that same swagger: confident, funny, and very much part of Tony’s persona.

The dancing across the whole ensemble is worth mentioning. It’s goofy in places, deliberately so, but choreographed with enough precision that it becomes part of the humour rather than a distraction. It’s blend of silliness and commitment makes the audience warm to the performers. Here, it works beautifully. The live band adds to that atmosphere, giving the whole thing a lively, immediate feel.

James Bruce’s writing is quick and playful, and Alice Humphries’ direction keeps everything moving at a brisk pace. The musical numbers slide in and out of the action cleanly, and Michael Mackay’s original score gives the show a distinctive identity. It’s not trying to be profound; it’s trying to be fun. And it succeeds.

I always judge how much I liked a musical by whether I’m humming one of the tunes on the way out the door – and with this I was (Family business).

The audience were fully on board — laughing, reacting, enjoying the ride. It’s the kind of show where the rawness is part of the charm. You don’t want it polished; you want it alive.

This Little Thing of Ours is a lively, confident, ensemble‑driven mafia musical with standout turns from Joan Smith and Kevin Parr, strong music, and dancing that’s both funny and surprisingly characterful. For a 22:30 slot, it hits exactly the right tone: expressive, entertaining, and full of personality and energy.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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Read our interview with Composer Michael Mackay and writer James Bruce.

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A Relaxed, Charming Hour of French Chanson and Jazz at the Fringe

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Stevie Nicks — The Gypsy That I Was: An Intimate Interpretation at Fringe 2026

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★★★★★ There’s a particular hush that falls over a room when someone steps into a role and refuses to let it be a costume. Stevie Nicks – The Gypsy That I Was does that. Maddi Fraser — the solo performer who carries the hour — doesn’t mimic Stevie Nicks so much as she invites Stevie’s spirit to sit beside her It’s intimate, it’s affectionate, and it’s quietly theatrical.

Maddi performs in role for the whole show. No band to hide behind, no chorus to share the road. Just voice, presence, and a handful of well‑chosen songs that trace the arc of a life lived on stages and in the press. That decision gives the evening a stripped‑back honesty. When she sings, you’re listening to someone who has chosen to live inside a character rather than impersonate a star.

The humour was a highlight. Jokes about exes land with a knowing smile — not vicious, not salacious, just human. They break the glamour in the best way, remind you that the woman behind the myth had messy, funny, ordinary moments. Maddi plays those lines like a friend telling you a story over wine; the audience laughs, relaxes, and leans in.

Vocally, she finds the right balance. There are smoky, breathy moments that nod to Stevie’s trademark tone, and brighter, clearer phrases that let the songs breathe. It’s not a note‑for‑note recreation, and that’s a strength. The performance honours the songs without turning them into museum pieces. They live again, in a smaller room, with a different kind of urgency.

The show’s pacing is gentle. It’s not a greatest‑hits sprint; it’s a series of vignettes stitched together with anecdotes and mood. That suits the material. Stevie’s catalogue is as much about atmosphere as it is about melody, and Maddi leans into that. The result is a relaxed, late‑night vibe — the sort of set you’d hear in a tucked‑away club rather than an arena.

There are moments of real tenderness. When the storytelling softens and the voice follows, you feel the weight of the life being sung about — the loves, the losses, the small triumphs. Those are the parts that linger. They’re the reason tribute shows matter when they’re done well: they remind you why the songs mattered in the first place.

The vibe in the room is the show’s secret weapon. People came in ready to be entertained and left feeling they’d been confided in. That’s rarer than you’d think at the Fringe, where spectacle often drowns intimacy. Here, intimacy wins.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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