Not all in one night, you understand, and not on stage together. Two more different acts would be hard to find. I hovered over that word, acts, as if it suits one not the other, as if one is true and the other false, an act rather than the real thing, but that’s not fair, is it, on either of them. Polly Harvey, sylph, genius, a voice of the West Country with fairy dust and thorns written into her twisting hands, her arms that floated shadows on the wall is the real thing; a human who like Abramović and Scott of last week’s shows, will do or die. At the Round House, standing in the pit of crowds where trains used to make turning circles, we leaned against the rails that kept the sound engineer safe and were accosted by our neighbour obsessed with telling us how much she loved our energy. This as PJ Harvey gave it the full angelic savagery on stage. Her voice! Her voice, and the crowd devoted raised their hands in glory. Last night I stood two bodies from the rails of the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, squeezed in as a latecomer to the raised platform at the back, a sea of men, two friends and me and the lights went down as we stood up to see. Silver, glitter, purple wig of curls, pink glasses, lipstick, rude, the filth! Glorious, she talked and danced and made us laugh and gasp and sing along and pushed the bounds of every conceivable subject made wicked because she is. An act, yes, and also the real thing. A drag queen who will do or die made famous in her prime, her prime being middle-aged Australian devotion to that other Dame Edna who never faded, who died in her dress and wig and glasses, who lives on. The Royal Vauxhall Tavern like a miniature Round House where queer community make turning circles, that holy place, the heroic centre of London’s drag heart, she lifted the curtains to show us fifty years of muck on the velvet hem, and how we recoiled and roared. I bet they’d love each other, PJ Harvey and The Dame Edna Experience, both masters, both giving it their all, giving us everything they’ve got. What it is to reveal yourself like that, be so close to faces staring up, lit by lights that light your sweat and care, what it is to give and give. And we applauded. And they deserved it, every note, every twisting shadow, every sequin that fell upon the stage.
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I saw her at the Barrowlands in Glasgow and it was magical
I’m going to see her tomorrow for my first ever solo gig, I can’t wait! Lovely piece x