Review: An Evening Without Kate Bush (Underbelly Boulevard)

Review by Lily Melhuish

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Before we get started, let me get something off my chest: I love Kate Bush. Devoutly, unconditionally, and entirely without irony. Every year, before the Glastonbury line-up drops, I pray to a higher power I don’t believe in that Mrs Bush will emerge from hiding and bless the Pyramid Stage with her holy pipes. So far, my prayers have gone unanswered. Unwilling to be beaten, as Kate presumably laughs at me from her underground bunker, I turn to the next best thing: An Evening Without Kate Bush. Here’s hoping reverse psychology will lure the illusive enigma from its enchanted sanctuary in time for June 2027. 

The show opens in eerie darkness. A flashing red light pulses as Sarah-Louise Young appears, shrouded in black voile, delivering a haunting rendition of And Dream of Sheep. Her vocals are so uncannily Bush-like that, for a fleeting moment, I questioned whether she was actually singing live. It’s a pessimistic thought swiftly punished, oh me of little faith. The voice is real, the control extraordinary, and the spirit of Kate Bush very much in the room. “Tonight is not about her,” Young says. “It’s about us. You, me: the fans.”

This is far more than your average tribute act. Young slips seamlessly into impressions, character work, and heightened theatricality, all while maintaining a deep, genuine connection with the audience. Heavy audience interaction is par for the fringe cabaret course, but here it feels personal rather than performative. We howl like Hounds of Love, cry out to Heathcliff across the moors, and provide some surprisingly competent percussion along the way. It’s ludicrously camp, and it’s hard not to imagine this is what Moira Rose was doing Off-Off-Broadway before moving to Schitt’s Creek. Young even dons a black feathered wig that caws The Crows Have Eyes.

Part performance art, part cabaret confessional, and part communal love letter, An Evening Without Kate Bush revels in its own whimsical absurdity. It’s deliberately a bit hodgepodge - low on glitz, high on imagination - but performed with such total conviction that even its silliest moments remain sentimental. A charming suitcase of props sits on stage, which Young occasionally dives into, but largely favours the endless possibilities of a shiny black skirt. Who knew a petticoat could contain multitudes? The show warmly embraces the simplicity of arts-and-crafts, proving that inspiration can be found anywhere if you’re bold enough to look in the cleaning cupboard.

Comedic capabilities aside, Young’s singing voice is a force of nature. Imitating Kate Bush is a notoriously risky endeavour, yet she does so with remarkable precision while allowing her own personality to shine through. Her range is impressive, a rich belt paired with a soft, lilting soprano, and her stamina unwavering as she flings her red lycra encased body into every number. The choreography, including the “shifty cat” and the “champagne whipcrack” (taught by a fellow Bush impersonator, naturally), only adds to the joyful chaos.

A standout moment comes with Don’t Give Up, Bush’s collaboration with Peter Gabriel. Young invites two audience members - a married couple of almost 30 years, on this particular night - on stage to recreate the music video, simply holding one another and slow dancing throughout the song. It’s disarmingly tender, a reminder that fandom, when shared generously, can foster real human connection. 

Created by Young alongside Russell Lucas, the show’s format is deceptively clever. Framed through the memories of people connected to Bush’s orbit - from mime legend Lindsay Kemp to a woman who once cleaned the stage during Kate’s Hammersmith residency - the narrative gently blurs the line between artist and audience. The songs may belong to Bush, but the memories and experiences are ours, and this inquisitive structure allows Young to find fresh meaning in these much-loved tracks, using little more than a bedsheet, a microphone, and a dream.

By the end, you’ve heard Babooshka performed in actual Russian, King of the Mountain from a snowflake, and a hilariously unhinged Hammer Horror retelling from the perspective of a stalker. It’s wonderfully ridiculous, but beneath the comically large cone hat, there’s real heart. Young’s lifelong connection to Bush’s artistry is palpable, and her passion translates into pure, unfiltered joy in its celebration of one of Britain’s most singular voices.

Even if you’re not a fan of the Bush, you’ll leave as one. And if I never see Kate Bush at Glastonbury, I’ll be okay, because I’ve seen Sarah-Louise Young at Underbelly Boulevard.

An Evening Without Kate Bush plays at Underbelly Boulevard Soho until 26th April. Tickets from https://underbellyboulevard.com/tickets/an-evening-without-kate-bush/

Photos by Shay Rowan