★★★★

“We are fascinated by what Lucas has to say, but it’s the music that truly speaks for itself”

As we sit round an upright piano, we are given an in-depth analysis of the aftereffects of striking a piano key. How the slim slab of ivory trips a lever which brings a soft felt-lined hammer onto a metal string, which, in turn, causes the air to vibrate eventually spreading across the room and filling each of us with the same vibration that we call music. We are inextricably linked and reeled in by the unifying hook that transfixes us. Anoushka Lucas is the one telling us all this, although she doesn’t need this allegory to catch, and to hold, our attention. She is a natural-born raconteur, with a charismatic flair to match.

“Elephant” is written, composed and performed by Lucas. We suspect that there are veiled, autobiographical elements hidden within her monologue, but she is telling us Lylah’s story who, at the age of seven, watched a group of workmen rip out the windows of her family’s council flat to lower a piano into their living room. From then on it dominated her small living space, her life and her love affair with music began. This love of music drives the narrative, but it is fuelled by various pivotal moments in Lylah’s life that shape her identity as a mixed-race, working-class girl who dares to be different. Who dares to cross the class divide. Who dares to defy the white, misogynistic expectations that music executives have for her career. Who dares to challenge the innate and unearned privilege of colonialist descendants.

Lylah is continually drawn back to the piano. Sitting centre stage, slowly revolving as Lucas plays and sings. Entirely acoustic and without the aid of technological trickery her singing is intimate, rich and mellow. The piano is an extension of Lylah but when a song ends, we are back in the narrative and the piano becomes the elephant in the room. Lylah’s piano has ivory keys, and she has a hard time reconciling the beauty of her instrument with the cruelty that went into its construction. The brutal tearing out of the tusks from the elephant’s face, the use of enslaved people to transport the tusk. Lucas is able to revisit this theme with ease without hammering the point. Jess Edwards’ supple direction is sensitive to the crescendos and diminuendos of Lylah’s story; each element played as part of a rhapsody. A sharp piano note heralds a twist in the tale while Laura Howards lighting shifts through shades to illuminate the various phases of her life. We learn a lot about Lylah’s childhood – Lucas is expert at seeing the world through a child’s eyes, and then retaining that unfiltered honesty, bringing it with her into adulthood. Love comes in the form of Leo, a session drummer, who invites her to his family cottage. The ’cottage’ is, in fact, a nine-bedroom country manor, furnished with the trappings of the Empire. Including a mahogany grand piano. Lylah cannot prevent herself addressing the ‘elephant in the room’ – literal and symbolic – and the anger that pours out is heartfelt and human without being sanctimonious or political.

We then return to the music. Then back to another episode of life. But always back to the music. Sometimes the musical interludes are brief, and the show could perhaps do with more performance and less talk. The show is bookended by the observation that the black and the white keys on a piano are disproportionately balanced. It is an interesting analogy at the beginning, but we don’t need it repeated. Lucas has shown us that music is blind to this distinction. We are fascinated by what Lucas has to say, but it’s the music that truly speaks for itself.

SABRAGE

Lafayette

★★★★

“a stream of virtuosity, acrobatics, dancing, singing, burlesque, gravity-defying feats, sassiness, sexiness and humour is unleashed onto the stage”

‘Lafayette’ is a name that conjures exoticism, glamour, and a Parisienne ‘je-ne-sais-quoi’; mixed in with the ‘big-easy’ hedonism of New Orleans. But tucked away in London’s King’s Cross, Lafayette is a music venue with a difference. Established five years ago by Ben Lovett, it has always veered towards embracing a more eclectic theatricality; its traditional roots seeking out the avant-garde. Teaming up with ‘Strut and Fret’ and the Menier Chocolate Factory, it has met its match with “Sabrage”, a unique, salacious and somewhat chaotic theatre experience that bewilders and bewitches in equal measure.

We are led through an unmarked, leather-padded doorway, down a rabbit warren of corridors, and into a Speakeasy. From there – with a cocktail thrust into our hand – we are ushered into the auditorium. The air is as effervescent as the drinks. The definition of ‘Sabrage’ is the ceremonial practice of opening a champagne bottle with a sabre. And with a flourish, that action begins the show. It takes a little while, however, for the co-hosts to rise to our expectations. Spencer Novich and Remi Martin (which may or may not be his real name) are trying just a touch too hard while slipping into ‘Eurotrash’ style caricature and over-egging the audience participation. Their banter dominates. The acts are a sideshow. We want the balance redressed. Maybe there was an emergency meeting during the interval, for the second act is a different beast altogether. The pace feels as though it has been shaken up in a magnum of the finest Bollinger and a stream of virtuosity, acrobatics, dancing, singing, burlesque, gravity-defying feats, sassiness, sexiness and humour is unleashed onto the stage.

Novich’s and Martin’s talents are truly revealed, particularly Novich during an ingenious, rapid-fire and completely absurd lip-synch routine. Emma Phillips performs some quite stunning juggling acts with a set of Chinese parasols, using just her feet. But she doesn’t stop there. A solid wooden table is the next prop, to which Phillips somehow manages to give the gift of graceful flight as she spins it into the air from one foot to the other. Flynn Miller and Kimberley Bargenquast are a strikingly charismatic aerial duo whose movements through the air are precise yet hauntingly and musically erotic. Christian Nimri dances like an acrobat on his roller-skates, while Skye Ladell and Rechelle Mansour complement their own dancing artistry with fine vocal skills. All individual acts, they frequently overlap and combine into spectacular ensembles. Under Scott Maidment’s inventive direction it is sometimes hard to believe that the cast is composed of just eight performers.

The erratic nature of the show throws up many moments of downright silliness too. A trio of French maids writhe to a disco beat with dusters and aerosols. And throughout the show, plenty of flesh is shown. Even, at one point, a certain part of the (male) anatomy is transformed into a bizarre percussion instrument. Thankfully (depending on your penchant) this is more heard than seen – but our imaginations are nonetheless left underused. Oh, and if you are more than a little apprehensive about being singled out in the audience, there isn’t much escape. But by the time this show has found its feet and is in full swing, escape is far from our minds. “Sabrage” is a spectacle that draws you in. A fair bit of pruning at the outset wouldn’t go amiss. It’s an acquired taste but after the initial discomfort it goes down smoothly. A heady mix – laced with bubbles. Not quite cabaret, not quite circus, but an intoxicating blend that can’t fail to get corks popping.

ELEPHANT

Menier Chocolate Factory

★★★★

“We are fascinated by what Lucas has to say, but it’s the music that truly speaks for itself”

ELEPHANT

Menier Chocolate Factory

Reviewed on 30th May 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Manuel Harlan

Previously reviewed at this venue:

ELEPHANT

ELEPHANT

ELEPHANT

SABRAGE

Lafayette

★★★★

“a stream of virtuosity, acrobatics, dancing, singing, burlesque, gravity-defying feats, sassiness, sexiness and humour is unleashed onto the stage”

SABRAGE

Lafayette

Reviewed on 26th March 2025

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Matt Crockett

Recently reviewed by Jonathan:

SABRAGE

SABRAGE

SABRAGE

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