Review: Minogueus Sanctus (Crazy Coqs)

Review by Sam Woodward

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This week marks 38 years since Kylie Minogue’s self-titled debut album Kylie, was released. It felt only right, then, to have spent a night in the intimate cabaret room at Crazy Coqs, Brasserie Zédel, watching Minogueus Sanctus, a queer cabaret devoted to one of pop’s most beloved songbooks. Kylie’s catalogue has long existed somewhere between dance floor, memory bank and shared queer scripture, and Hersh Dagmarr’s show asks what happens when that devotion is taken seriously and turned into something close to gospel. ‘On a Night Like This’, the audience was invited to join a fandom, a cult, a faith, or simply enjoy some of Kylie’s greatest hits on the eve of London’s joyful and much-loved Pride parade.

Tucked beneath the bustle of Piccadilly, Crazy Coqs has become one of London’s most cherished cabaret rooms, a jewel-box space where the line between performer and audience can feel thrillingly thin. Part of the old-school glamour of Brasserie Zédel, alongside the restaurant and Bar Américain, it is the sort of room that knows how to turn an evening of songs into a sparkling event. Last night was no exception, as Hersh Dagmarr transformed Kylie Minogue’s music, from early hits to more recent cuts from Tension, into something part tribute, part cabaret séance, and part glittering camp religious service. 

At the centre of this sparkling sermon is Hersh Dagmarr himself, who makes a striking entrance in a white hooded outfit inspired by Kylie’s 2001 music video for ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’, immediately establishing that this is no ordinary tribute show. The look is instantly recognisable, yet Dagmarr is not attempting to impersonate Kylie, nor does he need to. Instead, he brings her songs into his own theatrical universe: part Weimar cabaret host, part pop obsessive, part high priest of the Minogue faithful. Dagmarr is an effortlessly entertaining presence, weaving in playful stories, sharp nods to pop culture, and just enough of his own backstory to make the persona feel personal rather than simply performed. His eye contact is charmingly direct, his humour knowingly mischievous and, crucially, beneath all the camp theatre, he has the voice to carry the evening.

Just as vital to the evening is Karen Newby, whose piano arrangements give Kylie’s songs new shape without losing their pop DNA. These are deceptively difficult songs to reinterpret, with so much of their identity tied to dance beats, production and cool pop polish, but Newby strips them back with real imagination. Her playing feels effortless, whether finding the smoky cabaret shadows in ‘Confide in Me’ or letting the melody of ‘I Believe in You’ shine through with unexpected tenderness. She is also a brilliant presence in her own right, joining in with Dagmarr’s comic bits, throwing herself into the German flourishes, and delivering a wonderfully playful solo moment that cleverly combines musical theatre and pop with mischievous flair. She pushes the evening from a strong idea into something fully realised.

The evening also proves that a show does not need huge production values to feel complete. Its simplicity is one of its strengths: a piano, a microphone, subtle lighting, and a few carefully placed gestures and dance moves are all Dagmarr and Newby need to create a vivid world. While the show was primarily in English, there were also playful moments of song and speech in both German and French, a subtle homage to Dagmarr’s international background. At the same time, there is nothing overworked here. The performance is carried by strong singing, smart storytelling and the trust that the audience will lean in.

The emotion is palpable too, with Dagmarr able to land the more outrageous moments of queer, camp joy as easily as the evening’s more beautiful and tender songs. During a heartfelt rendition of ‘Hand on Your Heart’, Dagmarr appeared to have tears in his eyes, making it clear the show meant a great deal to him. That passion was felt throughout the room. Not every spoken link lands with the same precision as the musical choices, and a couple of jokes chase easier laughs rather than inspired banter, but Dagmarr’s commitment is so total that resistance quickly becomes futile. In his own words, the audience was not simply inducted into the Minogue faith, but happily indoctrinated.

By the end of the 75-minute show, Minogueus Sanctus had done exactly what it promised: not simply covering Kylie, but canonising her through song, story, piano and a very healthy dose of camp irreverence. Having not heard of Hersh Dagmarr before last night, I left as a firm fan of this queer singer/songwriter and visual artist. It may not be quite divine from start to finish, but it is smart, strange, beautifully performed and frequently hilarious. Consider me well and truly Minogued.

Minogueus Sanctus played at Crazy Coqs on 3rd July. Head to wee.hershdagmarr.com to find out about upcoming shows, including Hersh’s return to Crazy Coqs on 23rd August.