The Last Dinner Party live in London: do believe the hype

26 April, 2023

the last dinner party

A glut of fancy dress costumes wouldn’t typically raise an eyebrow in any one of Camden’s characterful venues, but the attire on parade at the Assembly this evening (April 25) is quite extraordinary. Glittering eye masks refract against a giant mirrorball, which twirls around above a sea of giant pearls, bowler hats, corsets, and steampunk goggles. Hell, even the roaming photographer is decked out in black tie.

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But at The Last Dinner Party’s biggest headline show to date, costume isn’t so much encouraged, but practically obligatory. The five-piece have crafted an aesthetic that drips with a level of dark excess, donning Renaissance-period gowns for all of their press shots and using gothic font for their visuals. Their arrival on stage is already foreshadowed by expectation; on paper, the band have had just one track out, but this 220-capacity room is sold-out, likewise every UK date they have announced for this spring.

Last week, after a year of building word-of-mouth buzz from touring the London circuit – and opening up for, er, The Rolling Stones at London’s Hyde Park – the band put out their hotly-anticipated debut single, ‘Nothing Matters’. A lightning-in-a-bottle hit, the track has dominated timelines and caused a press furore; tonight, it is greeted with eye-wateringly loud screams, to the point lead vocalist Abigail Morris resorts to singing through laughter, momentarily pausing to cover her mouth in disbelief.

A level of intensity was to be expected. The Last Dinner Party’s earliest gigs were recorded professionally and uploaded to YouTube last year, offering fans an early taste of their Sparks-indebted pop melodrama, which is accentuated in a live setting by surprise flute solos and meticulously rehearsed arrangements. Resplendent in a black leotard, Morris plays up to the poorly-hidden film cameras tonight, acting out the lyrics to the brooding ‘Burn Alive’ with her hands, and blowing kisses to the crowd while the band indulge in some monastic chanting on ‘Beautiful Boy’. She’s a wickedly confident leader, unflinching as she embodies the group’s commitment to fun.

Even better is ‘Portrait Of A Dead Girl’, a storm of forthright sexuality and humour. Morris’ voice rings out, lustful and carnivorous, while the rest of the band seem to have devised a way of creating a faintly preposterous – and yet undeniably lively – racket that could have been ripped straight from Fantasia. They can sound composed and majestic, or conjure up wild masses of noise, often within the space of the same chorus.

The Last Dinner Party’s ability to go straight from something as potent and wrenching as slow-burning ballad ‘Mirror’ to hamming up the theatrics of ‘Lady Of Mercy’ is a hugely impressive skill: even this early on in their career, on stage, they prove to be masters of contrast. It’s impossibly beautiful, ecstatic and ridiculous all at once.