Audrey Hobert, night one of two shows at Auckland’s Powerstation, and the excitement raging through the air was intoxicating. The mezzanine upstairs was the all ages access, which, if you got there as soon as the doors opened and snagged a spot right at the barricade, was arguably a better view than being down on the floor. For seventy dollars a head, it was the best spot I’d ever stood in at a concert. She required no opener, no other artist to warm up the crowd before Audrey rocked up on top of a stepladder with a ten foot long coat, a big fake nose made of plastic, and a banjo. Audrey took the small stage she’d been given and rocked every square foot of it, performing to us like her life depended on it. Among her stage props was a giant disco ball, a mini trampoline, a fake saxophone, and a pure white wig shaped into a comic bob. None that made any sense, but to us in the crowd, the moments weren’t right without them. She played every song from her debut album and transitioned with little skits into each one, took her moments to talk to those watching on, and threw every coloured light that existed into the crowd. At the end of her show, Audrey didn’t quite ask us, but demanded that everyone put their phones away and live the last song all together. In an age where nine out of ten people in a crowd is holding up a screen to capture the experience, I’d never seen a sea of fans with empty hands thrown up in the air, singing and dancing along until the floor shook. An unapologetic presence, theatrical performer, an artist made for the fans of her music. Audrey Hobert continues to take the staircase to stardom.
