Christine and the Queens at Royal Festival Hall — ‘confusing’ is the kindest description

This was to be a night of “psychomagic”, we were told at the outset by Héloïse Letissier, aka Christine and the Queens, also known as Chris. The French singer has a new incarnation, Redcar. His arrival — for Redcar is a man, and Chris now uses masculine pronouns — is recounted in the French star’s new album, Redcar les adorables étoiles. It also formed the basis for a show, or “ritual” in Chris’s billing, that could charitably be described as confusing.

The scene for the attempted act of necromancy was the Royal Festival Hall. It was the last of three stagings following two concerts in Paris. London occupies a special place in Christine and the Queens’ history. This is the city where the singer was inspired to launch the project in 2010 after befriending a troupe of Soho drag queens. The first Christine and the Queens’ album, 2014’s Chaleur Humaine, was later released as an English version. Success at home was followed by the same on the other side of the Channel. Next year Chris will become the first French curator of the Southbank Centre’s music festival Meltdown.

Perhaps his new alias Redcar will return to the Festival Hall with a better presentation than this evening’s incoherent mix of cabaret, experimental theatre, gig and shamanistic rite. The stage was cluttered with objects from Redcar’s personal iconography; a flea-market assembly of religious statuary, decorative stars and a knight’s armour arranged on the ground amid plastic shrubbery. For the first song, “Ma bien aimée bye bye”, Redcar wore a long taffeta skirt that he proceeded to remove and throw angrily to the ground. The symbolically feminine outfit was replaced by a sharply cut black suit, symbol of masculine power.

That made sense — but not much else did. Chris was a drama student in Lyon before forming Christine and the Queens. The show brought out the worst from that background. During interludes between songs there was much grimacing and shouting, a sure-fire way of telling when a piece of theatre has lost control of itself. The staging was a clashing blend of Weimar expressionism and Catholic kitsch. Redcar semi-disrobed and wore a black peaked uniform hat, a demimonde look. Meanwhile, the plot involved his quest to get to heaven, access to which cryptically hinged on an archangel telling him to play a flute. Proud Redcar refused to do so as he flourished the despised instrument. It was actually a recorder.

These spoken parts were in English, while much of the singing was in French. All 13 songs from Redcar les adorables étoiles were played; there were no older numbers. The music was produced by a pair of masked musicians sitting at computers on opposite flanks of the stage. “Rien dire” was light-footed synth-pop in the vein of earlier Christine and the Queens albums. “La chanson du chevalier” took a rewarding turn to a more gothic groove. “Mémoire des ailes” was a thuddy ballad.

Redcar sang impressively when not indulging in fortissimo vocal melodrama. He used a headset microphone, leaving hands free for interpretative armography. A good dancer, he moved gracefully but in a rather limited fashion, having suffered a leg injury during rehearsals in September. The audience was seated. Any opportunity for psychomagical transference of energies was restricted to clapping, some whooping and the odd burst of laughter. Heads were craned when Redcar went on a tour of the auditorium while performing “Combien de temps”. It was like rubbernecking at the scene of an artistic crash. On this occasion, fortune did not favour the bold.

★★☆☆☆

christineandthequeens.com