When it comes to pop’s rising stars, few in recent memory have ascended with quite the same ferocity as Chappell Roan.
Last year, the Missouri singer and songwriter became a cult favourite off the back of her exceptionally hooky debut The Rise And Fall of a Midwest Princess, an escapist journey of a record that travels from small-town America to the bright lights of Hollywood and its glimmering Pink Pony Club, exploring sexuality, drag culture, and camp along the way.
A support slot for Olivia Rodrigo – with whom she shares a collaborator, in the shape of producer Dan Nigro – followed on many of her Guts Tour US dates, along with a number of standout performances at US festivals such Coachella and Governors Ball.
Still, few could have predicted the giddying levels of mayhem that followed. With standalone single Good Luck, Babe! she landed her first UK number one. By the time Lollapalooza rolled around, she smashed straight through its daytime crowd size record, pulling one of the biggest audiences in the festival’s history.
With this in mind, the first of three London shows at O2 Brixton Academy, pencilled in long before things reached fever pitch, now feels like an almost comically tiny booking.
Departing from her high-concept, sword-wielding performance of Good Luck, Babe! at the VMAs, or her bright wrestling get-up from that historic Lollapalooza, the singer kept things rather more simple for London, backed by a three-piece live band who teased out the rawer, heavier threads of The Rise And Fall of a Midwest Princess as Roan and her flawless, record-perfect vocals held court.
From the infectious call-and-response silliness of opener Feminominom (“get it hot like Papa John,” yelled the 5,000-strong audience, perfectly in sync) to stand-out ballad Kaleidoscope (totally sublime, despite Roan admitting that she rarely plays it live due to her perfectionism) the energy never relented.
“Thank you for being here,” Roan told the room, during a brief moment in which the cheering subsided. “You belong here. You are meant to be here. You are cherished, and I want you to feel that. Thank god gay people exist!” she exclaimed, laughing.
There was little high pop production or choreography on show here. Instead, during Picture You, she serenaded a green wig dangling from a mic stand, which flapped dramatically about at the mercy of a wind machine.
From an amped up My Kink is Karma, to Graphic Ultra Modern Girl and Red Wine Supernova’s added bite live, polish was ignored in favour of something scrappier and far more human. At times, Roan held the mic out to let the room take the reins on vocals instead; they rose to the occasion for every single word.
And really, who can blame Roan for wanting to hold onto her cultish beginnings for as long as possible? There’s something totally magical about 2024’s most sudden superstar. Drink it all in, because it feels unlikely that Roan will play rooms this cosy ever again.
