Meow Meow: “I Will Just Provide as Much Grotesquerie and Beauty as I Can”

POST-postmodern superstar Meow Meow has hypnotised, inspired, and terrified audiences around the world with her singular performances—from sell-out seasons at New York’s Lincoln Center and Berlin’s Bar Jeder Vernunft to London’s West End and the Sydney Opera House.

It’s 5:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon at London’s Soho Theatre on Dean Street, and we’re here to talk about her new show, It’s Come to This, running from 6–25 May.

So, how is the Australian diva feeling ahead of the premiere?

“Frazzled,’ she shouts, clutching two cigarettes. “My state of mind at this point? Demented,” she laughs. “But it’s kind of juicing in an exciting way. It’s worse when it’s dry-demented. This is juicy demented.”

I ask her to unpack the show’s title: It’s Come To This. (I state that we live in hell).

“I’m hoping for mass chemical secretion. I’ve often called myself a highly critical optimist,” she says. “I have very high standards—but I still believe we can be good. There’s a child element about me that wants us all to be over excited. The colleagues I work with are people who are very good gigglers. As well as super duper musicians,” she says.

Meow Meow made her London debut here in 2009. “Soho Theatre was the first place I played in London, so it’s also like me. It means a lot. It’s always a place where you can play—which I love.”

She’s chatty, irreverent, and clearly fond of a laugh. Over the years, Meow Meow has performed sell-out seasons from New York’s Lincoln Centre and Berlin’s Bar Jeder Vernunft to London’s West End and the Sydney Opera House. What spaces, I ask, make the best playgrounds?

“That’s tricky,” she muses. “Some are great playgrounds. But it really depends.”

After two months touring America, she confides that music is what’s getting her through. “I feel like people want escapism. It’s good to feel a bit useful again, which sometimes I question—am I just being an idiot, or is this actually doing something? It’s the artistic crisis: is this making any difference?”

That inner conflict seems to fuel her performances. “Even the shadowy figures come with us,” she says. “I always feel like I’m performing with these little ghosts underfoot—all the people who’ve ever performed in that theatre, all the ones who sang those songs. It’s this living legacy of musical tradition. It’s transient, and all we have left are the echoes,” she says. “I may put that in the closing monologue—it’s quite beautiful, actually.” 

Still, she thrills at scale: “There’s nothing like performing with eighty-odd musicians, with a big orchestra. I love it when I can have my wicked way with them,” she grins. “The grandeur surprises people. With 2,000 in the audience, they don’t expect intimacy—but that makes the play hit harder. I feel like I’m surfing on a wave of unbelievable music.”

What’s her favourite tax-deductible expense? “Cat food,” she deadpans. “I once got a medical report that suggested I shouldn’t be stage diving and crowd-surfing. I mean, how many medical reports say that? It was hilarious.”

Frequently, Meow Meow mentions Barry Humphries throughout our conversation. The late actor and comedian, a close friend and collaborator, shared her love of Weimar Republic era music. She also performed at his State Memorial Service at the Sydney Opera House.

What’s one lesson he taught her she’ll never forget? “So many things…” she says, looking skyward. “He’s just part of the fabric—his humour, his curiosity. He’d say, ‘Go down that street.’ And I always have.”

She smiles at the memories. “I’ve bought many terribly expensive artworks because he’d say, ‘We are just custodians.’ It became symbolic of our friendship.”

She pauses again, grief flickering across her face. “I said goodbye to him through the art. His perception was so complex and deep—even when we disagreed, there was such rigor. And the naughtiness. The naughtiness. His giggle—I’ll miss that the most,” she recalls.

Is she planning to break any rules with this new show? “I’ll probably eat chips before the show,” she smirks.

“This one’s funny—there are some ‘best-ofs’ in there, but also I have to negotiate what’s happening in the world right now,” she says.

She continues: “What even are rules? In America, it’s extraordinary what passes for a rule. Berlin audiences are used to naked bodies on stage. In New York? One exposed bosom and they’re horrified.”

“What I loved about Germans was, ‘Yes, her bosom is out—but what is she saying?’ They show me how I feel. Where others see rule-breaking, I see beauty.”

She shrugs. “I’ll just provide as much grotesquerie and beauty as I can. And we’ll go from there.”

Meow Meow defies genre and categories. If you think she’s a burlesque artist: you don’t know her. Rush to see her. 

Our time is up. Break all the nails, I say.

“You’re a delight, sweetheart,” she smiles.

Meow Meow: It’s Come to This, Soho Theatre, 6 – 24 May, sohotheatre.com