Live at The Wintergarden, The Civic
8 June 2025
Live Review by Music Journalist: Paul Marshall
Camp, Cabaret & Chaos: The Wintergarden Wasn’t Ready.
Auckland’s Wintergarden, tucked like a velvet secret beneath The Civic, transformed into a glitter-drenched fever dream on Sunday night as Monster Songs and Reuben Kaye: The Party’s Over double-billed a one-two punch of theatrical cabaret that felt like falling down a rabbit hole in six-inch heels.
Part One: Monster Songs — Camp Classics and Flamingo Feathers
From the moment the doors opened, we knew subtlety had left the building. Two luminous hosts—Hugo Grrrl and Gosha—welcomed guests with enough pink flamingo Vegas realness to make Liberace rise from the grave and tip them in rhinestones. Their costumes? Imagine if a casino floor had a baby with a drag brunch and sent it to finishing school. The effect was glorious.
Inside, The Wintergarden shimmered like Gatsby’s parlour: round tables, low-lit lamps, and a stage dressed for a fever dream. The setup evoked old Hollywood with a touch of queer burlesque, and it couldn’t have been more perfect.
The Monster Songs cast—Caitlin, Jackson, Henry, Jade, Natasha, Kree, and Jthan—delivered a parade of musical numbers anchored by Hayden Taylor on keys (a standout talent, frankly worthy of his own headlining slot), and a guitarist providing tasteful support alongside backing tracks. Vocals were all live, no lip-sync in sight—this wasn’t your mum’s drag show, darling.
Highlights included a Rocky Horror staple (“Over at the Frankenstein Place”) that oozed Tim Curry energy, and a particularly left-field but captivating take on Radiohead’s “Creep”—twisted through a lens of mascara and melodrama. While some moments veered into theatrical over-exaggeration, emotional nuance occasionally sacrificed for vibrato and jazz hands, the crowd didn’t mind one bit. This wasn’t a recital. It was spectacle.
The standout moment? A barbershop quartet rendition of P!nk’s “Dear Mr. President,” harmonised with jaw-dropping precision. It was like being handed a politically charged smoothie—smooth, surprising, and with a zing of sass.
The emotional peak arrived with a slightly pitchy but heartfelt “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” proving that even imperfections can shine when the commitment is real.
They closed with a raucous, mash-up medley finale—“Backstage Romance” from Moulin Rouge! got tossed in a musical blender with Lady Gaga, Britney, and Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love.” It was chaotic. It was fabulous. It was pure cabaret alchemy. By the end, the crowd shot to its feet, delivering a standing ovation like they’d been guzzling bottomless champagne and high on pure spectacle.
Part Two: Reuben Kaye — The Party’s Not Over Until He Says It Is
At 9:30 sharp, the lights dimmed again, and Reuben Kaye strutted into his own sonic temple of late-night revelations with The Party’s Over. Dressed like a cabaret Bond villain raised in a Versace showroom, Kaye arrived with wit that sliced through the haze of drag glitter left lingering from the earlier show.
Opening with a vocal performance that began warm and grew into a full-throated showstopper, Kaye held his notes like confessions. His voice, like his presence, was magnetic—equal parts Broadway, Berlin basement bar, and queer punk sermon.
Fresh off a victory lap through Australia with his ICON Award-winning juggernaut Apocalipstik, and still smouldering from a scene-stealing run as King Herod in Jesus Christ Superstar, Kaye landed in Aotearoa like a glitter bomb lobbed directly into the mainstream. His new show, The Party’s Over, is part eulogy, part party, part drag sermon on the mount—and all Reuben.
Between songs, he monologued with venomous charm, dishing on being “raised by Jews, reared by Catholics,” unspooling tales that were as poignant as they were profane. He’s not just a singer; he’s a provocateur, philosopher, and performance art demolitionist wrapped in a tuxedo and eyeliner and a tongue sharp enough to slice through colonialism, capitalism, and the patriarchy—before dessert.
Kaye didn’t just break the fourth wall—he shimmied through it in heels, tore it down, and set fire to the rubble with a wink. On stage, Kaye isn’t just funny—he’s volcanic. His comedy detonates with the precision of a sniper and the chaos of a drag queen on a warpath. Every line drips with acid wit and camp brilliance, ricocheting between razor-sharp political takedowns and filthy punchlines that leave the audience howling and gasping in equal measure. He has the rare ability to weaponise laughter—one moment you're doubled over at a joke about Grindr etiquette, the next you're sideswiped by a perfectly timed zinger about the monarchy, gender norms, or late-stage capitalism. It’s not just that he’s hilarious; it’s that his comedy feels dangerous, alive, and absolutely necessary.
Backed by a tight ensemble of musical miscreants and enough lighting cues to make Studio 54 blush, Kaye strutted through the audience and around the Wintergarden stage like Liza Minnelli possessed by the ghost of Freddie Mercury. But eyes wide open is how Kaye wants you—no blinkers, no bullshit. His work is political by design, sexual by nature, and delivered with the velocity of a drag queen on a rocket-powered Vespa.
Every song hit different. Some were torch ballads scorched by truth, others tongue-in-cheek anthems that had the audience howling. But through it all, Kaye reminded us that cabaret isn’t about nostalgia—it’s about revolution, identity, and a hell of a lot of sequins.
Final Verdict:
If cabaret is a religion, then Monster Songs was the gospel choir and Reuben Kaye the high priest of unapologetic fabulousness. The Wintergarden proved itself the cathedral it needed to be, and for one wild Auckland Sunday, we were all converted.
Reviewer: Paul Marshall
Photography by Paul Marshall
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