Christine and the Queens
3Olympia
★★★★★
Teetering somewhere between religious experience and theatrical experiment, Redcar, formerly Christine and the Queens, has a bravery so potent it makes audiences feel like they can do anything.
When Christine and the Queens first broke into the non-French-speaking world in 2015, the stage name was an alias for Héloïse Letissier: an unfussy French artist whose immaculately cool, obliquely catchy tracks seemed to emanate right from their fingertips. By 2018, it was Chris; the eponymous, androgynous pop auteur whose artistry mused on queer identity throughout a funk-filled second album.
Today, or at least since last year, the artist formerly known as Héloïse Letissier (a name he still occasionally uses) announced he was now using male pronouns, as well as another moniker: Redcar (named after the red car he continually saw after his mother died), also the title character of his third album, Redcar les Adorables Étoiles.
Forêt restaurant review: A masterclass in French classic cooking in Dublin 4
Charlene McKenna: ‘Within three weeks, I turned 40, had my first baby and lost my father’
Restaurateur Gráinne O’Keefe: I cut out sugar from my diet and here’s how it went
Ireland’s new dating scene: Finding love the old-fashioned way
Few gigs feel religious in their intensity.But on Sunday night as Redcar sauntered his way on to the 3Olympia stage – in black cigarette trousers, a waistcoat and oil-slicked eyes – the crowd engaged in this intentional piece of theatre in ways that could make one believe in an afterlife.
Opening with Tears Can Be So Soft, the performer arguably known best for the dreamy, synth smash ‘Tilted,’ in 2015, is all sinew and bone structure, godlike in appearance and energy. Too, Redcar seems to have leant into the role of dancer on this tour, tonight blending the moves of Michael Jackson (as well as his famous slicked back shoulder-length locks and singular glove) and Barishnikov in a way that feels potent and supreme.
The show, heavily inspired by Pulitzer Prize-winning queer play, Angels in America, too felt intentional in its poetry and ritualism, not to mention gender-bending experimentation. Chris, in their toplessness for nearly the entire show (an act that feels revolutionary but shouldn’t) comes across as a Baz Luhrmann Romeo, not dissimilar to the Leonardo DiCaprio made famous by the 1996 film.
The entire show, in its ambitious conceptualism, marble Grecian busts and statues punctuate the staging, speaks to the artist’s struggles with pinpointing identity, while also committing an ode to his long-standing dealing with grief (Chris’ mother died suddenly of a heart infection in 2019). Tonight, this struggle is evident––our protagonist twisting and bending his performance into one that feels pained and moving – almost as if he is the frightened matador and tortured bull all at once.
The performance continued with ‘I Met An Angel,’ with narration by Madonna: “Do you suffer from loneliness? / This is the voice of the big simulation. / Just let go of any pressure in your body, / The terrestrial food is of no importance now. / Let me touch you, angel.”
Chris, at this point almost in tears, has the charisma of a thousand beaming lights coming from a singular, tiny vessel, resulting in a arresting performance to witness. The show feels cathartic and liberating––anyone that night, fan or foe, could see that this is the portrait of an artist who is haunted by ghosts and one who seems dogged in his determination to shed skin.
This was particularly noticeable during ‘Lick The Light Out,’ when our lead was a singular (almost Shakespearean) figure onstage, wearing heavy, black feathered wings, before shedding them to reveal his nude torso once again.
The final song ‘Big Eye,’ showed an artist reaching new heights, ones in which birth, death and rebirth collide in a way that seems hopeful and pure. Long may this show and tour continue.
