Lily Allen at London Palladium review: A bold, vulnerable one-woman show with shades of Judy Garland

If there was a silver lining to the bad opening-night reviews from Glasgow, which framed Lily Allen’s West End Girl tour as a misstep after such a masterful album, it’s that I arrived at the London Palladium fully aware of, and intensely curious about, the show’s unusually risky structure: a cello trio to open, performing instrumental versions of Allen’s hits of old, before an interval, and the star performing West End Girl in full. 

For the record, this five-star review will focus on the main event rather than its support act, as live reviews tend to do. The first part of the evening, while undeniably fun to be part of, fell short as a sonic experience, with audiences encouraged to sing — or shout over — the lovely arrangements via lyrics flashed singalong-style on a big screen, in bafflingly small font.

When Lily did take to the stage, the stakes felt high. I’d previously caught her CBS interview in which she, ever the open book, admitted to extreme nerves about the tour, questioning whether she’d be enough to sustain this show, full of languorous, lower tempo songs, worlds apart from ‘LDN’ or ‘The Fear’, on her own. 

Thank goodness, then, the initial reception didn’t knock her too much, as the short answer to that previously posed question is, yes, she is more than enough. On home turf – the symbolism of a West End girl performing West End Girl in the actual West End can’t have been lost on her – she sails through the evening, on the quality of her exquisitely sweet voice and intelligent production choices alone.

The performance of the album is quietly classic, landing more like a one-woman West End play than a traditional pop concert. Throughout, Lily brings to life with actorly aplomb the album’s infamous storyline, about the gradual disintegration of a romantic relationship, forlornly rattling around a chic high-rise apartment like an absurdly glamourous Polly Pocket. Her vocal is all the while effortless and stunningly close to its recorded form. Indeed, she serves professionalism and survivor’s spirt in spades, and looks fabulous while doing so. Whisper it, but there were echoes of Judy Garland about the whole thing.

If there’s one detail I would change about the show, it would be turning down the pummelling backing track to better elevate her voice, or even replacing it with a live orchestra — an idea that lingered after that opener. That said, this may have taken us off-piste from the purity of the concept, which I suspect was something along the lines of ‘bring the album to multi-dimensional life as faithfully to the original as possible.’

There are no backing dancers or pyrotechnics, no awkward addressing of the audience between songs, no trainers with prom dresses – little to distract (save for a giant ‘revenge dress’ made from receipts of deceit) the music: 14 songs that should be absorbed in one fell swoop.

So too should this show be experienced in full. You know you can’t miss the cultural talking points that are ‘Madeline’ or ‘Pussy Palace’, or the opportunity for get-up-and-dance release on ‘Nonmonogamummy’ or the Lumidee-recalling ‘Beg for Me – all lifted by the LED-outlined box frame she performs in, colours and patterns flickering and reconfiguring in sync with the music – but I denied myself a loo break even during the tracks I’m less keen on. I didn’t want to disrupt the wholeness of the experience. 

Those who complain of lack of value for money given the sparseness of proceedings are missing the point. On ‘Relapse’, as she shifts into an even quieter gear – from stalking the stage at a glacial pace in improbable heels to sitting, barely moving – she’s doing something few pop stars would: demonstrating, through restrained performance, what risk of relapse might look and feel like for her. It’s incredibly vulnerable, brave and generous artistry that could help those held back by the stigma surrounding addiction and recovery.