Jordan Gray has returned to the Edinburgh Fringe stage and taken it by storm once more with a rousing second installment to her famous musical comedy set. After letting it all hang out on live TV, and subsequently winning a BAFTA, the ballsy performer treated the audience to a packed hour of music, stand up, and witty repartee. Relishing in her own personhood and brilliance, Gray unapologetically threw every criticism of her personhood back at the audience. In a creative bit of queer apologetics, Gray had the audience in stitches while also liberally supplied with tampons.
This set, quite literally, took inspiration from her experience of receiving death threats and other negative private messages for her appearances on live TV. Gray in perfect comedic fashion though requested that if anyone had intentions of “doing a murder” to do it on live TV where it really counts instead of at the Fringe. Acknowledging the criticism of her gender legitimacy, Gray expressed her love of womanhood and how little the opinions of others matter. She did acknowledge one experience which she wished she could engage with and went to extremely comical lengths to achieve it. Lamenting her inability to join in the female comradery of helping sisters in need of female hygiene products, a rousing callback ended the show with a dramatic fake murder and tampons throwing session.
An utterly human exploration of fame’s benefits and hindrances on self-expression, Gray’s energy and command of the stage cannot be described as anything but explosive. She knows who she is, what kind of artist she wants to be, and the audience loves her for it, or, at least they already paid to see her set so it doesn’t matter to Gray in the slightest.
Multidisciplinary artist Claire Parry explores the absurdity of being an artist in the current landscape with absurdity, itself. Entering on a mimed bicycle and immediately thrusting herself into the audience’s space, this unhinged hour was an uncomfortable reflection of the artist life. What followed the awkward entrance was a packed hour of discomfort and evocative comedic reflection. The primary throughline of her proclamation of her own name, slowly morphed into a mush of sounds as the pressures of being exceptional and commercially viable compounded.
Lamenting she could not afford a van to move instruments, she mimed them all to great comedic effect. The absurdity continued through a series of interspersed song breaks about being an artist, filling notebooks with all her thoughts and dreams and creative hopes that all turned out to be filled with her name.
“Who is this show for?” Parry, herself, reflected about two thirds of the way through the show. The answer? Her fellow artists and those patrons that did not understand how dire the arts underfunding has become. Witty, engaging, and cringeworthy this not stand-up routine served as a funny but chilling reminder of the limiting nature of surviving in today’s art sector. A risky show that most people just won’t connect with but powerful for those who understood, Claire Parry bared it all in an imaginative array of ways from sonorous melody to crawling about the ground with doll hands.
Diya Shah dreams of being on Pointless Celebrities – she’s already featured on Pointless (and on Only Connect). Will her comedy dreams lead to the (self-decribed) microcelebrity level for Pointless Celebrities? Or are the realities of the real world set to scupper her plans? This is the existential question being covered in her debut hour – Diya Shah? Diya Shan’t.
Set in her childhood bedroom – having recently graduated from university with a linguistics degree and moved back home, we explore the decorating options open to her – from her childhood drawings of Simpsons characters to pillows with AI generated images of Richard Osman.
We take a journey through her escapades with tarot reading (and gag with the audience), to breaking down back-handed compliments at university and friendship confessional, through to her TV appearances on Pointless, and her previous Fringe experiences, as well as some jokes written by her 5yr old self.
This is all told with an endearing sweetness to her comedy, combined with a heavy streak of self-deprecation, raising giggles from all sides of the audience. Diya is still very early in her comedy career, having picked this up at university, which shows a bit in her stage-craft (there’s quite a bit of nervous pacing) and there’s not quite enough content to fill 50 minutes, but this will come with more time and polish.
Where this show really gets some fire is in her depictions of her previous stage time and being at the Fringe – there’s a fun tale of missing out on a musical, but levelled with the apprehension of being chosen because she ticks diversity boxes in all-white crowds, rather than being there on her own merits. I’d love to hear her expand on this in the future as there is (understandably) a real passion and anger here.
Judging by Diya’s rebellious reaction to being told not to look up her name when these TV episodes air, I’d guess she’s also the type to ignore advice about avoiding reading reviews, so I’ll finish with a little appeal.
To Diya, please listen to your heart (and the inner child who wrote jokes about Tony Blair) – your voice is important and deserves to be on the comedy stage. So in whatever format or options that become available, please go out and keep trying to get the stage time you want to develop your craft, and see how far you can go. Your future Fringe audiences (and Pointless Celebrities viewers) will be grateful you did.
It was a reprieve of sorts to be able to experience the city so specifically and quietly from the perspectives of each of the poems.
In the context of a festival where you can watch pretty much anything, with titles ranging from Skank Sinatra to My Life As An “Inspirational Porn” Star to Lord of the Zings: A Kiwi Comedy Showcase (maybe next year!), I think it’s safe to say that a poetry walking tour might tend to get lost in the rich mix of this month’s storytelling menu.
And amidst all of the shows that come from all parts of the world to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, it’s also easy to overlook some of the fine work on offer from the locals themselves. So when I came across Edinburgh poet Ken Cockburn’s poetry walking tour, I wanted to make time for it. As someone who does not consider herself a poetry nut, I had no clue what to expect.
Luckily, Ken Cockburn – an Edinburgh resident of over thirty years – has been leading his signature poetry walks since 2007 for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, the Scottish Storytelling Festival, the Scottish Poetry Library, the Edinburgh City of Literature Trust, and private groups. A seasoned pro at making even the shakiest poetry fans feel comfortable and engaged, he is the perfect poet-historian to guide you along an intimate amble through the city’s historied Royal Mile.
Perhaps the best part of the walk besides the poetry – deftly and lovingly performed by Cockburn himself (and some of it in its original language of Scots) – was the way the poems literally slowed down our intimate group to their humble metre. Cockran’s sharing was less performance and more meditation. And in the flurried throes of a final festival weekend, it was a reprieve of sorts to be able to experience the city so specifically and quietly from the perspectives of each of the poems.
Beginning at the Scottish Poetry Library, we leisurely made our way over to the field outside Holyrood Palace, taking in views (and poems) about Arthur’s Seat, the Abbey ruins, and the storied green surrounds. Our final stop was the Scottish Parliament building – an architectural spectacle in and of itself, but contextualized beautifully by Scotland’s first National Poet Laureate Edwin Morgan‘s poem “For the Opening of the Scottish Parliament,” which was performed at the building’s opening in 2004.
The poem starts, “Open the doors! Light of the day, shine in; light of the mind, shine out!” In a way that only a poet could, Morgan’s words have nestled themselves at the core of Cockburn’s tour and my first Edinburgh Fringe experience. As I prepare to leave the city after watching upwards of thirty shows, I am grateful to the many ways this city has let the light of the day shine in and the lights of all of its creative guests and locals shine out. I’ll be back for more poetry next year.
Embro: Edinburgh Poetry Tours was a part of the 2025 Edinburgh International Festival but still runs throughout the year. Find more info about Ken’s tours here: https://kencockburn.co.uk/walks/home
“polished comedic debut of queer experience and beyond“
Pedro Leandro’s debut hour starts with a moment of joint Fringe-weary prayer that results in us unexpectedly professing our love for him. A bold move, but one that becomes clear as we delve into his show. It’s also an equally bold move for Pedro’s first anecdote about being perceived to be a top shagger in your teens, before embracing his sexuality.
Pedro’s show circles around the central tenets of the search for validation and queerness. We cover topics from The Velvet Rage by Alan Downs, to relationships with exes, his father, the effects of negging, aromatherapy massage, the excusing of Alan Turing, mullets, and peer-pressure to watch The Wire, among many more. A particular favourite of mine was the explanation of ‘sit-down gays’ and their superior knowledge of the finer things in life (a new life aspiration: unlocked). The story-telling is well considered and at a measured pace – this is not a zippy one-liner set, but something much more considered.
There’s a gorgeous bit of theatrical acting (surely destined for Donmar, no?) around the life of a salt-of-the-earth audience member, who doesn’t care that the Guardian called him magnetic, which twists and turns into a tale of unexpected drama. There’s also smatterings of poetry and self-reflections of therapy, which all together might seem like one too many ingredients, and might be seen as a touch self-aggrandising for some, but the effect is undeniably charming.
There’s a piquant archness to some of Pedro’s proclamations, which are incredibly enjoyable and combined with a conspiratorial note means I suddenly want to know his thoughts on so many topics. The audience tonight was smaller than on other nights (it has been sold out before), and so naturally some of the reactions were less animated than they would be with a full room, but the giggles were still flowing. The takedown of particular creatives are among my favourite sections – and the final scene brings this together in a particularly knowing and funny way.
As the show ends, I want to spend more time in Pedro’s (magnetic) company. Let’s all take a trip together to that little patisserie on the corner (no, not Lannan, this one is far more chic) and gossip wildly. Alternatively, I know a darling little performance space at Pleasance, they call it Bunker 2. You should go.
What makes you want to buy a ticket to a show? What keeps you in your seat through to the end, even if you’re properly enraged? What is the contract you obligate yourself to when you scan your ticket, find your seat, and settle in?
There is no way to talk about Cliff Cardinal’s As You Like It: A Radical Retelling without utterly spoiling its very unique, very bold plot. That is something that can only be revealed to you should you decide to go (and can still get a ticket). Instead, it is perhaps far more productive to prepare those who do intend to go – if not in Edinburgh, where it is currently running as a part of the International Festival, then wherever Crow Theater decides to take it next – with questions to consider.
For one: Of all the shows on offer in Edinburgh this summer, why did you decide to buy a ticket to a Shakespeare play?
There is nothing wrong with doing so – although, by the end, the audience definitely had some mixed feelings. I think I went because it promised to be a “radical retelling” of a well-known Shakesepare comedy from an Indigenous perspective. Not that we need yet another modernized Shakespeare play slapped into a contemporary context for no good reason other than to lazily make it “more accessible” or prove that it is still relevant. (It is still relevant, but not because we’re suddenly seeing modern garb instead of tights, guns, and corsets.) But an Indigenous reimagining of this Bardly staple sounded like something I’d never seen before. From this day forward, I will never walk into a Shakespeare production the same way again.
Ironically, the land acknowledgment – a practice more common in North America than here in the U.K. – outshone all the Shakespeare by leagues and bounds. Lakota actor and playwright Cliff Cardinal opened the show with a reflection on our relationship to the land and to each other, sharing how his Indigenous perspective shaped his approach to adapting a beloved classic of the Western canon. And while it was one of the longer land acknowledgements I’ve been witness to, it was worth every penny of the ticket price.
If you haven’t supported the work of an Indigenous artist recently, consider going to this mind-blowing take on Shakespeare’s arboreal, romantic jaunt. In a world in which the wealthy have every incentive to make the dark histories of all our daily spaces feel far away, unappealingly dusty, and unimportant, it is vital that work like this is supported, programmed, and shouted from the rooftops. It may not please everyone, but it is sure to excite.
Stunning visual intensity in a dark contemporary style.
VENUS 2.0 follows the story of Mary Richardson, a suffragette who later became a fascist and leader of the women’s section of the British Union of Fascists. The name of the show comes from the actions of Mary as a suffragette, when she vandalised Velázquez’s painting, The Rokeby Venus, at London’s National Gallery (the same painting that was targeted by environmental activists in 2023).
Mary Richardson is thrust into a time-travelling cabaret as we hear from those involved in futurism and the fascist movement. This is an exploration of a radical ideology through contemporary dance that is captivating in its intensity. Voice overs are played as the actions unfold using physical theatre; this creates an eerie atmosphere where danger feels as though it is lurking behind the curtain. We are also treated to lighter comedic moments throughout, taking the audience on a rollercoaster of emotions.
Beautiful shapes and creative blending of movement with shadow and light, paired with a mixture of classical, operatic, and modern music, makes this a stunning visual piece. The simple staging was transformed by the use of physical bodies as tools for storytelling.
VENUS 2.0 was a dark and mesmerising performance that would appeal to those who enjoy the exploration of hard-hitting themes through dance.
Luisi and his Danish forces offered a remarkable evening: a seamless dialogue between the new, the recent, and the timeless.
The BBC Proms have long been a showcase for both the monumental pillars of classical repertoire and the adventurous voices of contemporary composition. Thursday night’s concert at the Royal Albert Hall, led by Fabio Luisi with the Danish National Symphony Orchestra and Concert Choir, encapsulated this dual spirit. The programme journeyed from the hushed landscapes of Bent Sørensen to the grandeur of Beethoven, with Anna Clyne’s recent work providing a poignant middle ground.
The evening opened with Sørensen’s Evening Land, and from the very first bars, the piece unfolds almost imperceptibly – drawing you in rather than grabbing you by force – growing from near silence into something vast and strange. The strings unfurled with beauty, their motifs building up to a climax that is never conceived – daring and brave. What impressed most was Sørensen’s ability to draw the audience into his sound world – quiet, patient, and original, nothing predictable about it. As an opener, it worked brilliantly, commanding attention through restraint rather than bombast. For me, this was the most moving work of the evening, a reminder of the sheer power of subtlety in orchestral writing.
Anna Clyne’s The Years followed – a symphonic meditation on the passing of time, written with chorus and inspired by the isolation of the COVID-19 lockdown. With text by Stephanie Fleischmann, the piece combined epic scale with intimate reflection, with which The Danish Concert Choir rose magnificently to the challenge. Shimmering textures and colours combined with large scale structural clarity cement Clyne’s reputation as a modern master of the orchestral idiom.
After the interval, the full weight of tradition descended with Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 in D minor, ‘Choral’. This iconic work remains a formidable test for any orchestra, and under Luisi’s direction – who conducted it by memory, without a score – the Danish National Symphony Orchestra struck a balance between precision and passion, in an interpretation that was clear, focused, and full of momentum. The opening movements are remarkably forward-thinking masterpieces clearly written by a composer still at the peak of his powers, but of course, all roads lead to the choral finale. Soloists Clara Cecilie Thomsen (soprano), Jasmin White (contralto), Issachah Savage (tenor), and Adam Pałka (bass) delivered commanding performances during the final ‘Ode to Joy’, blending seamlessly with the choir in a climactic vision of joy and optimism.
And yet, for all Beethoven’s monumental brilliance, it was Sørensen’s Evening Land that lingered in my mind as the night’s true highlight. Its originality, its quiet daring, and its delicate beauty set it apart.
One unfortunate blemish on the evening was the behaviour of some audience members. Coughs punctuated moments of quietude, and a handful of intrusive phone sounds broke the spell of the music. At a Proms concert, particularly one being filmed and broadcast on BBC Radio 3, one would expect greater etiquette. It was a reminder that even the best performances can be disrupted by lapses in attentiveness.
Still, Luisi and his Danish forces offered a remarkable evening: a seamless dialogue between the new, the recent, and the timeless. If Sørensen’s work was about listening closely, Beethoven’s finale was about sitting back and becoming absorbed in the orchestral grandeur. A fitting testament to the Proms’ enduring power.
The Proms 2025 runs until the 13th of September, when it draws to a close with the traditional Last Night of the Proms.
‘The Same Only Different’ is a show you won’t forget in a hurry. Performed by Kenny Sinclair, who has a flair for comedy and manages to get every member of the audience laughing within minutes, ‘The Same Only Different’ explores differences in generations of Scots, and universal themes that pertain to everyone.
There is something for every audience member: cheeky jokes, nostalgic reminiscence, tongue-in-cheek charm. Sinclair delights and entertains in equal parts, a true comedian who never falls short in enthusiasm. Things haven’t changed so much, he reckons — and yet at the same time, everything is entirely different. This oxymoron provides ample opportunity for jokes and poking fun at every generation, from boomers to zoomers, and their idiosyncratic ways of living.
At the heart of Sinclair’s show is an earnest reminder that while at times we may feel out of our depth, humanity doesn’t change much. We will always remember each other and have ridiculous stories to share — and we will always find a way to laugh at ourselves. Kenny Sinclair captures the spirit of every generation in his fifty-five minute comedy show with just the right amount of audience interaction and clever scripting. From Naked Attraction to tales you’ll remember being told by your granny (or, depending on your age, you’ll remember first-hand!), the show is a quintessential Fringe comedy that you don’t want to miss.
Theo Mason Wood has been going through a break-up and he wants to talk about it. Emma has left him after he prioritised a gig at Las Iguana’s Taco Tuesday over her, and he was left bereft.
In a show covering poetry, freewheeling and surreal stories, a smattering of risque jokes, some work of the imagination, physical comedy and even a harmonica at one point, this is an unusual blend which has potential to be something really unique – as Theo himself notes, the venn diagram of his work and traditional comedy doesn’t exist, the twain are yet to meet. I think this is a slightly unfair assessment – but it’s true, this isn’t a typical stand-up hour.
He has a talent for surrealist story-telling, which is apparent from the start – a memorable date encounter in the park, and the telling of “the Yoghurt Story” which is the one that will probably be the most recalled section of the show (this is also available on YouTube, but missing a hypnotic physical movement present in the live show), but my particular favourite was “My Life Is Perfect” as a life disintegrates around him.
The parts between his stories and poems do feel a bit lacking in comparison, and tended to elicit some groans more than laughter.
Tonight’s crowd was a particularly whispery/chatty one (Theo clearly regretting some flyering decisions made prior to the show) and in an over-hot room, which probably muted some reactions more than deserved. The introduction of his new girlfriend Natalie was somewhat ponderous, and at this point the audience attention span was flagging, but somewhat came together at the end with a rather convoluted throwback.
Theo’s clearly talented, and his combination of wide-eyed physicality and story-telling in this hour feels fresh, and unique, with potential to develop further. If you’re looking for something that doesn’t conform to the traditional stand-up format, this is a show worth checking out. Theo Mason Wood: Legalise Kissing runs until 24 August, at 22:00 at Underbelly Bristo Square.
