Live Review

Kim Petras brings X-rated maximalist fun to Hammersmith’s Eventim Apollo

19th February 2024

Fresh from the release of her recent ‘Slut Pop Miami’ EP, the singer returned to the capital for an outrageous run-through of her discography.

Words: Sarah Jamieson
Photos: Burak Cingi
22nd February 2024

It’s not all too often that Hammersmith’s Eventim Apollo feels less venue and more late night queer club, but such is the clamouring excitement that Kim Petras’ ‘Feed The Beast’ tour has rolled into the capital, it’s genuinely hard to believe it’s just another Monday.

Less than a week on from the surprise Valentine’s Day drop of her new ‘Slut Pop Miami’ EP, the glee surrounding the German-via-LA starlet’s arrival is tangible; as she arrives on-stage - clad in a gothic mask and silvery armour pieces, which are soon removed to reveal a flowing maiden-like outfit - the crowd goes wild for the opening throbs of ‘Feed The Beast’.

Mirroring that of many pop icons before her, the show comes split into four distinct acts (plus an encore, natch); the first being ‘Iron Maiden’, in which she’s tied up, contorted and eventually, to the instantly-recognisable pulses of her Sam Smith collaboration ‘Unholy’, executed, with the high-definition backdrop doing most of the metaphorical work via dripping blood. After a short but PTSD-inducing “server crash” clip plays out she soon returns, clad in a skimpy Britney-meets-Clueless school uniform to embody her ‘Slut Pop’ era, with very little being left to the imagination; prudes are not welcome here.

Giddily bouncing through the infectious beats of ‘Treat Me Like A Slut’ and ‘Throat Goat’, she manages to simultaneously channel the slick in-your-face stimulation of Y2K and the cheeky camp spirit of 90s cult hit Eurotrash, helped along by pixelated porn clips and inflated boobs dominating the video backdrop. It’s arguably here where she excels most, with the adoring throng of fans entirely besotted with her raunchiness.

In contrast, then, the comparatively more straight-forward backdrops for her final acts - with the glamour-puss aesthetics of ‘Problématique’ and bright colours of ‘The Hits’, respectively - don’t hit quite as hard; after such a deliciously outrageous first half, the cheeky ridiculousness of ‘Coconuts’ could do with being even more OTT. But even so, tonight is an intoxicating assault on the senses, in the campest and most joyous way possible.