Chappell Roan - Royal Highland Centre 27/08/2025

Chappell Roan has tapped into something that clearly matters to a lot of people.

Some nights you witness a pop concert. Other nights you witness a cultural moment. And then there are nights like this, where you witness something that feels less like a gig and more like a mass exorcism of shame, performed by a harlequin-dressed prophet of sequined liberation.

Sixty thousand people crammed into the Royal Highland Centres showgrounds, and every single one of them looked like theyd raided the costume department of a particularly fabulous fever dream. Pink cowboy hats, feather boas, glitter that probably violated several environmental protection laws, and enough sequins to blind a small aircraft (a very real concern given the venue's proximity to Edinburgh Airport). The audience looked like theyd collectively decided that subtlety was for other people. Every chapped ass cheek and glitter beard on display felt like a middle finger to anyone whod ever told these people to tone it down.

The stage design looked like it had been ripped straight from a 1950s horror B-movie, all Gothic shadows and blood-red lighting. When Chappell Roan emerged dressed as a harlequin - that medieval trickster who lived to subvert authority - the symbolism wasnt lost on anyone. Here was an artist whod built her entire persona around being the mischievous outsider, and tonight she had an army of Scottish accomplices.

Opening with "Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl" Roan immediately established that this wasnt going to be a night for shrinking violets. The songs bouncing synth attack had the entire venue moving as one writhing mass, while her declaration of being done with "hyper mega bummer boys" rang out like a battle cry for anyone whod ever settled for less than they deserved.

'Femininomenon perfectly captured what makes Roan so compelling. That heartbreaking first verse about online love, before she practically demands Um, can you play a song with a fucking beat? and the whole thing explodes into the most euphorically unhinged chorus youve ever heard. Critics might call the transition jarring, but theyre missing the point - this is theatre, baby, and Roan knows exactly when to twist the knife and when to offer the healing balm.

The crowd was absolutely feral throughout - mosh pits during pop songs, synchronized choreography during "HOT TO GO!" - thousands of people spelling out letters with their arms in perfect unison. Even during the quieter moments, you could hear people singing every single word. The devotion was almost unsettling.

The nights most wonderfully bizarre moment came during "Coffee," when Roan introduced the crowd to Shigella, her touring pet - a tiny, hairless creature that looked like Gollums cuter cousin. Only Chappell Roan could make a tour mascot that looks like it escaped from a Jim Henson movie seem completely logical.

And then there was "Pink Pony Club."

When the entire venue bellowed "GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE" in perfect unison, you could tell that people weren’t just singing along to the lyrics, they were screaming it like they meant it, like theyd been waiting their whole lives to shout those words at the top of their lungs. This song - about a small-town girl leaving Tennessee to become a stripper - should by all rights be tragic. Instead, Roans turned it into an anthem of self-ownership. You could see what this song meant to people - a sea of faces singing along to a story about choosing your own path, no matter how unconventional.

Vocally, Roan was flawless. Whether she was delivering the intimate storytelling of "Picture You" or the orgasmic satisfaction of "My Kink Is Karma" (yes, thats a real song, and yes, its exactly as unhinged as it sounds), her voice carried both technical brilliance and raw emotional honesty. This is what happens when drag aesthetics meet genuine songcraft.

The whole thing felt gloriously, defiantly safe. In an era where LGBTQ+ rights feel increasingly precarious, Roan has somehow created a space where 60,000 people can be authentically, unapologetically themselves.

By the time they closed with the inevitable "Pink Pony Club" singalong, the Royal Highland Centre had turned into something special - a massive crowd whod found their people, all singing about strippers and small-town escape routes with complete sincerity. Roan had managed to create this temporary space where everyone could be as extra as they wanted, and absolutely nobody was taking the piss. The whole thing was genuinely moving, in the most wonderfully ridiculous way possible.

Walking out into Edinburghs comparatively quiet streets afterward felt like stepping out of Technicolor and back into grayscale. Pop music gets dismissed as frivolous nonsense half the time, but nights like this prove theres still something genuinely powerful about a proper singalong. Chappell Roan has tapped into something that clearly matters to a lot of people, and the evidence was everywhere you looked - in the costumes, the devotion, the sheer joy of it all. Sometimes thats enough.

Review by Fraser Doig, photo by Ryan Lee Clemens

This article has been viewed 446 times