Let’s get one thing straight: An Evening Without Kate Bush is not a Kate Bush concert. There’s no hologram, no impersonator in a red dress belting ‘Wuthering Heights’ with eerie precision. Instead, what Sarah-Louise Young and Russell Lucas have crafted is something far more interesting. It’s a deliriously joyful, deeply reverent celebration of Kate Bush, her music and the gloriously weird fans who love her.

As someone who’s more of a casual admirer than a die-hard devotee, I’ll admit I walked in unsure if this was ‘for me’. I shouldn’t have worried. Before the end of the first section, I was already clapping along, laughing, and even singing. 

The brilliance of this show lies in its balance. Young doesn’t just perform Kate Bush; she channels the spirit of her with theatricality, wit and unapologetic strangeness, and makes it entirely her own.

The vocals? Flawless, whether she’s nailing the ethereal highs of ‘Running Up That Hill’ or the growling intensity of ‘Babooshka’.

The dancing? A masterclass in controlled chaos, all swirling shawls and interpretive gusto.

And the humour? Perfectly pitched, from sly asides about Bush’s eccentricities to playful audience interactions that never feel forced. 

This isn’t a passive experience, we’re enlisted like Army Dreamers. Singing along to ‘Cloudbusting’ with the fervour of a cult gathering – except here, the cult leader encourages giggles between lyrics. The crowd participation is so warm and inclusive that even the most reserved attendees (guilty) end up swept into the collective joy. 

Visually, the show is a feast. Young executes at least a dozen costume changes onstage, transforming from a rock goddess to a woodland sprite with nothing more than a cape, a wig and sheer theatrical magnetism. It’s a testament to her skill that these transitions feel seamless — no clunky exits, just a whirlwind of reinvention that mirrors Bush’s own chameleonic artistry. 

Does it honor Kate Bush? Absolutely. This isn’t parody or pastiche; it’s a labour of love that understands the why behind the fandom. The references are deep-cut but accessible enough to win over newcomers. By the time Young closes, even the most stoic viewers feel welcome among the Fish People. 

An Evening Without Kate Bush succeeds because it embraces the same rule Kate did: take the art seriously, but never yourself. The result is a show that’s as technically impressive as it is infectious — a rare tribute that feels alive, messy, and full of heart. Whether you know every B-side or just that one song from Stranger Things, you’ll leave a bigger fan than you came in. And really, what better tribute could there be? 

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