From the moment Geraldine Quinn sprints from behind the theatre curtain, your attention is entirely forfeit to her surreal, sequin-studded domain of cabaret. Her wide-eyed energy fills every spare crevice of the room, bounding between stage and audience with a bombastic euphoria.
Across the course of the one-hour show, Quinn wittily whisks us through the entire evolution of her songwriting career, poking fun at both her own predilections and an industry that can’t quite contain her gloriously-elastic nature.
It should go without saying that Quinn is bloody talented, ducking from one genre to the next in antithetic zig-zags that nonetheless retain her overarching signature of theatrical joy. The power of her voice is something to behold, effortlessly teleporting between delicate tones and bold brass.
Highlights include (but are not limited to) a Bowie-esque electronic arrangement and an absolutely bang-on impression of a pretentious nu-folk act – complete with floral arrangements and breathy, barely-audible lyrics. Some of the most crowd-pleasing slivers of the night, however, come from Quinn’s interactions with her band – the integrally-talented Mark Jones, Sonja Horbelt and Tristan Courtney. When coupled with the enthusiastic anecdotes Quinn delivers, the casual quips they share bleed a mirthful honesty that you just can’t help but relate to.
Quinn could easily be seen as that one friend everyone has – the instantaneously-likeable, unapologetically-real life of the party – and it’s in those moments that you appreciate the earnest enthusiasm for her craft even more.
At no point can you say that Quinn does not put her whole heart and soul into performance – if anything, she almost gives too much of herself, visibly exerting every ounce of effort for her fans. An ecstatic force so genuine that your cheeks will literally hurt from beaming for so long, Quinn understands exactly what you want from a cabaret show – great laughs, solid tunes and incredible energy.
By Jacob Colliver
