Category: CULTURE (2022)

Writer Jasmine Khan / Photographer Mx Neffy

The main pride parade down New Street has become saturated with rainbow capitalism in recent years. It’s worth a quick look to spy Birmingham’s burgeoning queer talent, with House of Allure and Mobilise leading the charge. But as soon as I see privatised water systems responsible for mass sewage fumbles donning mushy performative slogans, it’s my cue to sashay home and prepare for the main event.

I know the layout of Pride changed from last year, the Community Stage has moved, and we’re a bit more packed in. But I hope that’ll add to the sense of pride and party.

It’s no surprise Hurst Street is lit by 3 pm.

The music’s loud and varies from early 90’s pop to early 2020’s pop. The food smells great.  People look fierce. And, every now and then, a particularly glamorous gay treats the main road like a runway – strutting, voguing, and posing as the rest of us fans obsess from the pavement.

It’s time to see some acts, and I know exactly who I’m going to take in first, Ryan Lanji. Ryan isn’t necessarily Birmingham-born-and-bred, but his dad is a certified Brummie so he still counts in my books. Ryan’s DJing today, but he also heads up Hungama, a queer South Asian collective based in London.

Last year, we were treated to a full set from the entirety of Hungama, a delight for any desi queer of which there (unsurprisingly) many in Brum Town. But this time, we’ve just got Ryan, not that he’s lacking.

Introduced by the ever-well-dressed and charismatic Char Bailey, Ryan’s set starts with heavy bass and then slowly introduces a romantic, melodic Bollywood tune playing over the top. The bass is like lead pulling you down, and the track on top is like a hot air balloon pulling you up, up, and away into the spectacular Saturday sun.

In the VIP section, my hips roll. I’m twirling my hands, spinning in circles, stamping and kicking my feet in time with the bhangra crossed with DnB. It’s truly a moment of realisation – just like last time – for my little Pakistani self to dance to music that speaks to my desi culture and sends love to me at Pride.

My eyes have been closed for a while. It’s a particularly filthy mix and requires my full attention. But when I open them, I’m disappointed by what I see – a selection of white girls melting like ice creams in the sun, sitting down against the barriers at the front of the stage with their backs turned to Ryan.

To me, it’s disrespectful. No one’s making you listen and no one’s surprised that the bhangra didn’t bang for you. But you can leave, don’t stay with your back turned to the artist, sitting on the floor and killing the vibe. You don’t realise how rare a vibe it is…

Then, it dawns on me, VIP definitely doesn’t stand for very important POC. There are no people who aren’t white here. Not unless they’re a performer, me, or my photographer, Neffy. I wouldn’t mind as much if people were attempting to get into the groove, even a measly try at screwing in the light bulb while patting the dog would be appreciated.

It’s early, and I’ll admit members of my community are notoriously late to a party, but having a VIP section at Pride gives me the ick full stop. With weekend tickets costing just under £60 and single-day Pride access costing over £40, an additionally expensive and exclusive VIP section doesn’t spread the feelings of togetherness and belonging I’d hoped to encounter.

Now I’ve thought about money, I seem to see it everywhere. Walking through the main arena, a growing list of corporate sponsors assert their presence amongst the ‘Dicks on Sticks’ stand and intersectional flags, joining Pride’s notoriously queer main sponsor, HSBC. There’s a place to sign up for the Lidl Plus App. Jaguar are flogging a car…

It’s too much, tacky, and not giving me queer at all. But, it is giving charity because last year Pride raised a whopping “excess of 400k for LGBTQ+ projects, plus above £105k in additional subsidies for LGBTQ+ organisations.” So, maybe people think it’s justified?

I persevere to the dance tent to lighten up a bit, catch up with Neffy, and get lost in the beat. Lauren Goulder, DJ and footballer, is cranking some housy DnB, and it’s exactly what I need to groove the grump away.

We pop to the Conrad Guest Cabaret Stage, and I definitely don’t bitch about the weird VIP section, which acts as a three-metre deep distancing zone between the performers and their crowd 99 percent of the time. I’m only around for an act or two, and I don’t manage to catch names, but the Cabaret stage really satisfies the closeted GCSE drama/theatre gay that secretes within.

We can’t be late for RuPaul’s UK Drag Race season four winner, Danny Beard. It’s back to Main Stage, and, unsurprisingly, Danny is the fabulous enby legend we all expect them to be. For their first song, Danny murders Adele in their crow-inspired floor-length gown, and not murder in the way you or I would murder it, murder it as in they absolutely killed in.

Not just a looks queen – but definitely still a looks queen – it’s worth mentioning for those who don’t know Danny – they are singing live, and their voice sails across the summer breeze. Their firm and sassy, but still kind, stage presence reminds me for some reason of Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way.

The crowd gets some ABBA and a duet with Birmingham’s very own Fatts Butcher. Danny takes time to shout out to their “Gays”, “Lesbians”, “Bis and Pans”, and ‘Trans/Non-Binary siblings” individually. The ‘Bis and Pans’ receive a solid boo from the crowd, which is definitely biphobic, but also a bit valid because we can be pretty trash.

Danny, a bit lost for words and slightly stressed, sighs, “Common now.” and “It’s Pride…” shaking their head. I’m laughing, but my friend looks a bit downtrodden at the crowd’s bi-beratement.

Neffy lets me know they’re heading over to directly pinpoint the Carlos Medina Community Stage to get a good spot. I take a nose at the facilities after I’ve finished dancing to Danny Beard’s tremendous set.

The toilets are delightful, plentiful in loo roll, and gender neutral, and the drinks aren’t too expensive either. I know I’ve probably missed House of Allure and Cake Boi, who I can solidly say are worth going to see, but I’m hoping to catch Kenya Knott and Donna Trump, so it’s time for me to hit the Community Stage.

Texting Neffy, they can’t locate it – strange.

Neffy tells me the stage in front of Nightingale Club is being taken down as we speak, which doesn’t make sense because it’s only 8pm, and the Community Stage is being moved. Neffy walks around the corner and then gets redirected to the Future Stage, assured that it’s becoming the Community Stage.

I meet them there, and we wait for a bit. Some DJs are spinning good tunes, but the tent’s pretty empty. We proceed to wander around aimlessly, looking for signs and asking around after our local legends. Maybe things are running late at the Future Stage and soon queens will appear, so we wait for a bit.

It hits 9 pm, then almost 9:30 pm. We’ve all started sitting down and leaning on things, and everyone’s miffed to have walked out of the main arena and rolled around like lemons for the past hour and a half.

We’re a bit DJ-ed out for Jodie Harsh, and the Sugar Babes are a while away now. I jokily remind Neffy that all pictures taken of the iconic British trio must be approved by management first, and we both roll our eyes.

Deciding to conserve energy, we depart and I enjoy ‘Push the Button’ as it blares through my open bedroom window back in Balsall Heath, dreaming about the very best of Birmingham, the one the only Mx. Black Peppa, who I’ll witness live and in the flesh on Main Stage tomorrow.

Saturday @ Birmingham Pride 27.05.23 / Mx Neffy

For more from Birmingham Pride go to: www.birminghampride.com

For more from House of Allure go to: www.instagram.com/_houseofallure_

For more from Mobilise go to: www.fattprojects.org
For more from Ryan Lanji go to: www.ryanlanji.com
For more Lauren Goulder go to: www.instagram.com/laurengoulder0
For more from Danny Beard go to: www.linktr.ee/TheDannyBeard
For more from Fatt Butcher go to: www.linktr.ee/fattbutcher

Writer Yasmyn Nettle / Photography Jessica Whitty

My whirlwind journey starts with a relatively pleasant community event on Friday. Free to attend – I leisurely mill around, gather with friends, hold hands, sing, and find space to dance.

Crip Ladywood co-hosts the main stage. Drag King Crip is becoming a firm staple, known for hosting a supportive space for upcoming drag talent at the Loft. Fatt Butcher also runs local community events, most notably Mobilise, at the Exchange. Both are warm and welcoming co-hosts today. We light candles, holding a vigil for our passed trans siblings.

I go away with a sense of eerie foreboding about Sunday.

My worry prickles as I look through Pride’s website. No timed line-up, light font on a light background, and key information is hidden in chunks of text.  I follow instructions to ‘check their socials.’ Their link to Instagram produces a 0 post, no-profile, no-photo account with the bio ‘Spring.’

What is going on?!

I start my Sunday at the Back to Backs. I’m here for Queer Reading Festival The Brum Buzzcut, run by Back to Books. Zine making, poetry readings, queer books abound – it is an oasis of creative calm. Entry into the heritage site is included which is just lovely.

I head through to the ‘Street Party’ element of Pride, taking place in and outside venues of the Gay Village.

The schedule, for some confounding reason, is split into two slots of three hours, and two slots of two hours. Some slots have one act, and some have up to four. Any monkey can guess as well as me when acts are expected, and I’m supposed to be a clever monkey!

I hate waiting, but more than that, I hate not knowing how long I’ll have to wait.

The first main stage act is two hours late. Pride sponsors get an extra two hours of ad time I suppose. They could display a clarifying message, a revised line-up (which the stagehands have) or an apology. Instead, we are forced to see the same ads. An emaciated woman, companies wishing us a great Pride, cheap insurance. Not great.

Sweet Female Attitude brightens me, I get up and dance to a nostalgic old-school garage set. They are fun and energetic, singing over ‘Put Your Back in It’ by DJ Flex. The reprise ‘Put your back in it! Just a little more!’ could be heeded by Pride organisers.

I wander over to the Cabaret stage, which would be better as a more intimate affair (the tent, at best, is never more than a quarter full.) I have no idea who might be performing, with no clarity of timetable. The stage manager Marty Smith is great, joking and singing with the audience between sets. I sneak backstage to watch their skillful organising of the drag talent. Fabulous!

Donna Trump, it turns out, is on stage as I arrive – this Kingstanding local has an amazing singing voice. She treats us to a singalong of ‘Sex on Fire’ by Kings of Leon which the crowd belts.

The dance tent has the best vibe – when I want to boogie I slip into the crowd, trusting whichever DJ happens to be on the decks and it opens its VIP section, meaning all revellers can have bass in their faces for the rest of the day.

Back to the main stage to see Black Peppa. They are due to be on at some point between 5 pm and 7 pm, and the first listed of three acts. Five comes and goes before six ticks by. Still no Peppa.

Liberty X is on the main stage an hour early instead. A beautiful trio for the girls, guys, gays and theys. Crowd pleaser ‘Little Bit’ is the first song, and we are reminded that in the year of our lord 2023 we celebrate 22 years of Liberty X. The sun comes out for their performance and shines on their metallic capes.

I am not sure how I feel about Caity Baser, who is not who I’m here to see. The more time I spend watching acts I do not like, the less time I spend reviewing Birmingham-based talent.

I am crabby.

The people standing behind me know all of Baser’s songs. Lyrics such as “waiting all day for the night” are just one example of crummy lyrical prowess. The production, featuring big names like Digital Farm Animals, feels generic and forced.

I plan next to see Yshee Black on the Carlos Medina Community Stage. But the stage is nowhere to be found (again). Even security at the main venues has no idea where it is, sending our poor scout (the editor, Jaz) on a wild goose chase through the Gay Village.

The acts on the community stage seem to have disappeared into thin air. And what a shame.

Black Peppa finally makes an appearance, their two backup dancers look exhausted. Did the rehearsals go on too close to call time? Or was there some sort of backstage hanky panky I was not privy to?

Peppa starts off commanding the stage with a Beyonce medley lip-sync. I am disappointed by the distinctly mild energy from the crowd.

Black Peppa introduces us to James Indigo, in matching black and yellow with Peppa’s third outfit change, which I must say is very cute. Peppa and their crew leave the stage without a peep to the audience after their short 15-minute slot.

If I feel chaos and confusion as a punter, I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for the performers today. An act not even on the line-up, GUSTAH, was on for what felt like 40 minutes and our QUEEN Black Peppa humbles the stage for a mere 15 minutes.

I have to take a break – I am disoriented, disheartened, and displeased.

I make my way back through the concrete border to the main stage for Gabrielle. She serves us a very stylish striped rainbow dress and performs looking fabulous and sounding great with that unmistakable voice. The backing instrumentalists and singers are responsive, you can feel they make a good team.

Gabrielle’s voice is crystal clear and she gives a sleek and polished show. Performing Sunshine, Dreams – all of the gooduns.

By the end of the night, my autistic self has to sit with headphones in an empty meet-and-greet tent. It seems that physical disabilities are catered for at pride – but not neurodiverse disabledness, people who may need somewhere away from loud noise, bright light, and crowds.

Not even an ear plug was on offer, let alone a chill-out space.

Overall, Birmingham Pride sponsored by HSBC does not feel made for me, or the everyday Queer community. This pride feels more like a convenient money-making scheme and does the bare minimum to accommodate us.

In the UK we accept that borders are inevitable – we show ID to vote, pass through train station gates, have bags checked at clubs, or have a passport stamped to enter a country. There are borders everywhere. The shutting off of the streets for Birmingham Pride, and the paid entry to the concrete Smithfield site is an erection (ha) of more artificial borders in the name of Gay Pride.

As a queer person, I do not have any pride in borders. Houseless people swept off the streets, police everywhere, and gouged prices are not my Pride.

I’m left feeling angry and overwhelmed. This was supposed to be a protest, not a place for a captive audience to be stuck in advertising hell. We deserve better.

Friday & Sunday @ Birmingham Pride 26 & 28.05.23 / Jess Whitty

For more from Birmingham Pride go to www.birminghampride.com

For more of Crip Ladywood go to www.cripladywood.com
For more of Fatt Butcher go to www.fattprojects.org

For more from the Back to Backs go to www.nationaltrust.org.uk/visit/birmingham-west-midlands/birmingham-back-to-backs

For more from Back to Books go to www.inktr.ee/Backtobooks
For more from  Miss Marty go to www.instagram.com/missmarty1973
For more from Sweet Female Attitude go to www.open.spotify.com/artist
For more from Donna Trump go to www.linktr.ee/DonnaTrumpUK
For more From Caity Baser go to www.open.spotify.com/artist
For more from Black Peppa go to: www.instagram.com/iamblackpeppa

For more from Gabrielle go to: www.gabrielle.co.uk

Writer Jimmy Dougan / Press Images courtesy of Picturehouse Entertainment

How do you recover from something so traumatic that you find yourself physically unable to remember it happening? This is the question faced by Mia (Virginie Efira) in Paris Memories, a powerful yet heavy-handed drama from director Alice Winocour.

Screened as a low-key epilogue of sorts to this year’s Flatpack Festival and hosted by Film Hub Midlands, this modest film is worth catching for Efira’s devastating central performance.

Winocour’s film delves into Mia’s traumatised psyche in the aftermath of a mass shooting in a Parisian bistro. Her recovery is hindered by her inability to recall exactly what happened in the moments following the first shots. “Erased from my memory,” she remarks in a voiceover, “What happened then”’

Winocour, sensibly, never reveals the motive of the attackers and instead foregrounds Mia’s recovery and her experiences with a group of fellow survivors. But the story has its basis in very real, very tragic circumstances – Winocour’s brother is a Bataclan survivor and communicated with his sister via text as he hid from three gunmen aligned with the Islamic State, and Winocour also later took inspiration from message boards and forums used by survivors in the aftermath of the attacks.

Winocour is clever still to keep Mia as a bit of a blank slate. She lives in a trendy apartment and is in a steady if dull relationship with a doctor, Vincent (Grégoire Colin). She is a journalist and translates Russian for an artsy radio station. The point Winocour makes is that Mia could be any one of us. The world is a fundamentally unknowable place, and terrorist acts are by their nature unexpected.

Winocour cleverly forces us to consider how we would respond to finding ourselves in such extreme scenarios, and it helps that the rendering of the attack she gives us is genuinely frightening. It’s harrowing and upsetting. Julien Lacheray’s editing is brutal. Stéphane Fontaine’s cinematography switches to handheld the moment the shooting begins. It’s an astonishing sequence and recalls Polytechnique or even Elem Klimov’s Come and See in its relentless, hyper-realist Denis Villeneuve’s intensity.

Paris Memories returns obsessively to the attack and Winocour tantalisingly gives us alternate perspectives: in one hypothetical scenario, Mia locks herself in a bathroom while other victims beg to be let in. Another is from the perspective of two young people who, reasoning they may well be dead soon, hide in the air vents and kiss.

Following the attack, Mia often finds herself stuck on public transport with the deceased or passing by them in the street or hospital corridors. Winocour’s point is simple but profound: survivors very rarely revisit the memories of their trauma voluntarily. Mia is unable to find closure because her memories have fundamentally altered the way she experiences the world.

In terms of directorial choices, Winocour splits the film down the middle: one half is a tense investigative thriller depicting Mia as she tries to excavate her grief and find some semblance of a definite version of events. The other half depicts the support group for survivors where Mia begins to find some semblance of solace.

One member, Félicia (Nastya Golubeva Carax), wasn’t even present at the attack, but takes comfort in sitting at the table where her parents were murdered. Finance guru Thomas (Benoît Magimel) was celebrating his birthday but is now bleary-eyed and using crutches.

If these sequences seem heavy-handed, it’s because they are. Winocour is clearly writing and directing from a place of genuine earnestness, but they regrettably sap the momentum from the rest of the film’s investigative elements. Efira and Magimel make for a loveable duo, yet their profound insights into recovery feel overly weighted and pointed.

More affecting is Mia’s desperate wish to locate the stranger who clasped her hand and helped her stay calm during the attack, which also allows Winocour to delve into the experience of undocumented black migrants in contemporary Paris’ service industry. It’s truly powerful stuff, the image of a bloodied hand reaching out from the darkness to intertwine itself with Mia’s eliciting gasps from the audience.

And it’s anchored by a quietly colossal performance from Virginie Efira, who gives a softly devastating depiction of Mia’s psychological turmoil. In her native France, Efira’s name has become synonymous with the kind of grand, tour-de-force performances which sweep awards ceremonies. She’s working in a more contemplative register here, beautifully aligned with Mia’s inability to articulate exactly what she’s endured. The way her eyes constantly move around the room scanning for exits is heart-breaking.

The world Winocour depicts is a frightening and unknowable one, an idea enforced by Efira’s moving performance and tense, nerve-jangling flashback sequences. Even if the film feels structurally uneven and emotionally heavy-handed, Winocour’s complex depiction of womanhood post-trauma is sure to stick in your memory.

Paris Memories releases in UK cinemas on 2 June, with Birmingham showings announced soon.

Words Victoria Lane / Photography Connor Pope

It is 8pm on a Friday night. Melati Suryodarmo stands in a white room situated on the first floor of the IKON Gallery. The floor is blanketed by jagged pieces of charcoal. Systemic and serene, she grinds lumps of the charcoal with a heavy stone rolling pin, seemingly unaware or unbothered by the crowd gathered to watch. The walls, her dress, and her face are covered with charcoal residue, it swirls through the air and later in the night I will find a smudge of it on my forehead.

Her calm composure and stamina shock me as by my arrival she had been repeating this action for 10 hours.

Passionate Pilgrim is the first ever UK exhibition of Melati Suryodarmo’s work. Considered one of Indonesia’s most important living artists, she is famed for her time-based performances which are considerable feats of physical and mental strength as well as performance pieces.

Mentored by famed performance artist Marina Abramović and Butoh dancer Anzu Furukawa, Suryodarmo’s work blends strands of contemporary performance with traditional influences from Indonesian cultural tradition, most notably for the works on display here the concept of rasa; the ‘essence’ of ‘feeling’ of a work of art.

The exhibition focuses on documenting the artist’s celebrated career in performance. Video screens line the walls playing excerpts from performances from 2000 to 2022. Her work is varied, but is linked by themes revolving around the strength, resilience, and the perception of the female body.

In ‘Exergie-Butter Dance’ (2000), we see the artist dance to Javanese music whilst slipping repeatedly on blocks of butter, and in ‘Sweet Dreams Sweet’ (2013) groups of young women stain each other’s clothing with dyed water.

The actions of the performers in these pieces take on a measured, meditative quality which speaks of endurance and strength.

The centrepiece of the exhibition is by far the most powerful. The piece I’m witness to, ‘I’m a Ghost in My Own House’, is noted in the exhibition guide as Suryodarmo’s “longest and most arduous work”. Suryodarmo breaks pieces of charcoal for a total of 12 hours, her exhaustion symbolic of the expenditure of life’s energy. Despite her unaffected expression, her shoulders droop, she sighs when bending to pick up pieces of charcoal and she is covered with a sheen of sweat and dust.

Performance art is a mutable medium. A piece’s meaning can change and shift based on the viewer’s perspective and the physical context in which the piece is performed. The artwork’s present stage is  the West Midlands, a region famous for industrial coal mining and sizable working class.

The performance echoes the gruelling and monotonous work undertaken by the women in the mines, unsung and forgotten by many male-centric history books.

The piece also speaks of the strenuous unpaid labour undertaken by women and migrants; child care, cleaning, cooking and emotional labour, which all take mental and physical toll. Here, the repetitive motion and exhaustion of the performer brings a very physical quality to this notion. As the performance draws to a close, the artist’s white dress is stained almost completely black, symbolic of the physical traces left by the strains of modern life and the hardships faced by migrants.

As the charcoal swirls around the room and covers almost everything within the pristine white cube space, I cannot help but think of the performance as a metaphor for climate change, the expenditure of fossil fuels and its devastating effect on the environment.

Performance art is a very tricky artform to document in an impactful manner. Whilst a video may record the action, it does not convey the essence of the performance.

After the performance ends, Suryodarmo’s soiled dress and shoes are hung within the space amongst the charcoal rubble, representing a tangible link to the action of the performance. Her blackened handprints line the walls and opposite the performance area, nine charcoal drawings evoking the gestures of the performance are also hung, appearing as ghosts of the action.

Melati Suryodarmo’s exhibition runs from 17 May to 3 September 2023 with a delegated performance and a talk by the artist taking place on separate dates in May.

Passionate Pilgrim Extended takes place on Sunday 28 May from 2-4pm and viewers will get to see Suryodarmo and women from the migrant domestic worker activist group ‘Voices of Domestic Workers’ perform the piece, which promises to meditate on questions of identity, reflection, and the ‘audience gaze’.

Melati Suryodarmo’s exhibition ‘Passionate Pilgrim’ is free to visit at IKON Gallery from 17 May to 3 September 2023

For more on Melati Suryodarmo go to: www.melatisuryodarmo.com

For more on IKON Gallery go to: www.ikon-gallery.org

Writer Yasmyn Nettle / Photographer Connor Pope

I recently came back to the UK after spending time abroad. My journey involved grumpy airport staff, turbulence, and long queues. So when I find out the theme for House of Allure’s Worlds Away show is a space flight, and that I am to be seated in something called “premium economy”, least to say, I’m nervous.

The drag cabaret nights run by House of Allure have taken place at various venues in Birmingham, including The Flapper and Missing. Tonight, they have sold out one of the largest venues in the Gay Village – The Nightingale. 

Upon arrival, I’m shown to my seat by the beautifully donned and friendly HoA, all with matching outfits that rival Virgin Galactic. At my table, I find a glossy, in-flight safety mag, a snazzy printed ticket, and a glass of prosecco. 

The audience is dressed to the nines, and I realise I may be underdressed for what promises to be an intergalactic gender-bend extravaganza. 

The attendants are our opening act, setting the scene with a fun and super camp dance number. Then, a giant, glittering, pink, Vegas-style unicorn (our host Locques La Roux) towers over us. He strips and lip syncs to Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’. It is an energising performance to open our individual acts. 

We are primed, strapped in, and ready to blast off. 

Up next, Mama Mamba serves sushi realness, sizzling on stage. Mamba delivers a super sultry burlesque routine complete with the devilish performances she is best known for, this time stapling Ariel’s Prince Eric to her heart.

Gasp. Gag. 

Royal Head of House of Allure, Dominus Von Vexo, presents their drag twist on Wacky Races with blink-of-an-eye outfit changes. A flash mob of twenty or so of Vexo’s dance students, including two on my table, jump unexpectedly onto the stage with belly dancing fans to complete the number. 

Each performance includes bespoke background animations, videos, and sound mixing. There is no doubt this is a serious production. Most of their held props are made of cardboard – we also love a thrifty moment. There is the HoA’s spaceship robot Echo, who has no job by the end of the show because we are already so entertained out of our minds. 

Lioness serves a believable Rick Sanchez cosplay, giving us cyberpunk rave fantasy, slime, and an accomplished dance routine utilising the entire stage.

The man, the myth, the legend, Manly Manlington has the best costume of the night, and Coheed and Cambria play as a soundtrack for this moody set. A bearded, caped, drag king, delivering a smooth lip sync performance, holding us hypnotised under that gaze. As he squares up to an epic fight with – you’d never guess – ‘Generic White Sci-fi Writer’. 

This show’s sparkling talent does not stop for one minute. It is an onslaught of diverse and unapologetic queerness. 

One thing did throw me off. When addressing the crowd between performances, the genders of the audience were assumed, called “gentleman” if bearded or masc and addressed as she/her if more feminine. This surprised me in a bad way because I can tell HoA performers are encouraged to be their authentic selves on stage. 

While the show does attract non-LGBTQIA+ folk, House of Allure – please do not forget your trans and non-binary siblings in the crowd who fear being misgendered. 

My discomfort does not last long as cute pink alien Lilly Snatchdragon bops out onto the stage offering her masseuse services. I could go for one too, but a blow-up sex doll is taken as a victim instead. Cuteness quickly descends into absolute madness – which the audience love – the pants rip off the doll to reveal a member, which Lilly, reminding me of a female praying mantis, makes light work of. 

By the end of the performance, her customer is nothing but a deflated husk. 

Lilly’s performance has the audience literally rolling out of their seats and is vulgarly fun.

Mama Mamba takes the spotlight for a second time. She has gone from underwater princess to a stunning glitter cowgirl – dancing and strip teasing to a compilation of songs including ‘Juicy’ and ‘Boss Bitch’ by Doja Cat. 

Mama Mamaba shows the audience what nipple tassels are made for. 

We move to a more serious portion of the night with two beautifully choreographed dances. The first is from Locques and Dominus, fusing elements of tango and contemporary. I would have chosen a different song, considering Todrick has his fair share of controversies. But the piece is delivered well, and the costumes are a divine fever dream I can only describe as ‘Gay fluorescent Roman warrior’. 

Lioness is up on stage for a second time, with a contemporary and seemingly partly improvised dance piece based on the lonely comet Hayley. This will not be everyone’s cup of tea, but as seen earlier in the night, she is an accomplished dancer and shows versatility in style. My eye is constantly drawn to Lioness in group numbers as she commits so well to expressive storytelling.

The heat rises once more aboard our space flight as Coco Kink graces the stage. Her PVC-clad catwoman performance is eye-bogglingly hot. She pleases the crowd with an alluring strip tease, complete with cat-like licks and a good whipping. 

Not quite sure what it had to do with our space journey, but I do not care one bit as she lip syncs to a sensual Sade number. 

Last, but not least, we are introduced to the surreal green alien Ginny Lemon, a Midland’s dear and Ru-Paul drag race star. They are, of course, in character the entire time. At one point, as Dominus receives flowers from the crowd, Lemon leans forward to grab them – and jokingly bitches to their fellow performers about their lack of bouquet.

They sing live in their characteristic voice to a spacey version of Madonna’s ‘Music.’ It’s magic, the energetic leaps from one side of the stage to the other. 

I also can’t go without mentioning the fabulous final dance number by House of Allure, in its entirety. The pink cyber-bot outfits look fantastic, adding to the closing performance of the night. They highlight reproductive autonomy, sexual health, cybersex, and queer sexuality. Each of the crew has a distinct personality.

A big thank you to Mimi, Amarise, and Lolita Lash for looking out for us throughout our travels. House of Allure is a balance of serious and silly, weird and wonderful performance, burlesque and cabaret tonight, all nodding to the sci-fi theme. 

By the end, I was so exhausted from clapping, whooping, and respectfully goggling the beauty and talent of the performers I needed to take an emergency escape pod home. 

House of Allure’s ‘Worlds Away’ @ The Nightingale / Connor Pope

For more from House of Allure go to www.instagram.com/_houseofallure_

For more from Ginny Lemon go to www.instagram.com/ginnylemon69
For more from Dominus Von Vexo go to www.linktr.ee/dominusvonvexo
For more from Mama Mamba go to www.instagram.com/mama.mamba
For more from Locques La Roux go to www.linktr.ee/locqueslaroux
For more from Afiyamia go to www.afiyamia.com
For more from Mannly Mannington go to house-of-mannington.teemill.com
For more from Lioness Lounge go to: www.instagram.com/lioness_lounge
For from Cocoa Kink go to wwwlinktr.ee/Cocoa_kink
For more from Amarise Andre go to www.instagram.com/itsamarise
For more from Lotlita Lash go to www.redbubble.com/people/Eyelasheye
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For more from The Nightingale go to www.nightingaleclub.co.uk