Review by Katherine McIntyre

The Den at Gilded Balloon Teviot

Exploding into the compact confines of The Den at Gilded Balloon Teviot in a flurry of feathers and ferocious profanity, powerhouse Sarah Hester Ross immediately establishes that restraint has absolutely no place in her repertoire. Bringing a potent blend of vintage 1950s rock-star glamour and unapologetic showgirl charisma to the Fringe, this viral sensation effortlessly outgrows the physical limitations of her intimate neo-gothic venue.

Armed with a staggering vocal range capable of shattering the very back row of a venue ten times the size, Ross commands the space with immaculate comic timing and an arsenal of deliciously filthy material. The cabaret is explicitly curated for a queer and female-centric demographic, playfully underscored by the introduction of her man-hating witch-daemon alter-ego, Miss Andry. Yet, while her crowd work is fiercely provocative, it remains anchored by a generous, inclusive warmth; even the men in the audience, provided they behave themselves, find their way into the communal hilarity without ever feeling genuinely targeted or alienated.

Musically, the production is a riotous triumph, featuring uproarious original tracks—many popularised by her millions of online followers – that tackle misogyny, internet trolls, the choice to remain childfree, and the liberating joy of simply being old enough to no longer care. Her otherwise immaculate pacing when the raucous comedy abruptly halts for a stark shift into earnest political commentary, a rendition of Chumbawamba’s ‘The Day the Nazi Died‘, and a gorgeous performance of Ross’ own ‘My Savage Daughter’ may halt some spectactor’s momentum, but to those audiences – life isn’t fluid and streamed. Horrifying acts don’t annoucne themselves; and neither should these numbers which shift the tone, with Ross masterfully guiding us through.

Ross’s sheer vocal force, sincerity, and infectious sass. By the time the packed room unites for a cathartic, thunderous singalong of her podcast-skewering anthem ‘Stop Giving Men Microphones’ bring a peak as the energy reaches stratospheric heights. Reclaiming her titular expletive as a triumphant badge of female autonomy, resilience, and unapologetic boundary-setting, Sarah Hester Ross delivers a blisteringly funny, empowering hour. You’ll be begging her for more.

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