Ginger Johnson is a polymath. The drag artist won Ru Paul’s Drag Race UK, was the champion of (while fully tucked, as well), and she can do the sharpest cut crease you’ve ever seen. But the wonderful thing about her, even though she is a triple threat who also knows her way around the kitchen, she doesn’t take herself too seriously.
Performing her new stand-up, musical extravaganza , Ginger Johnson sashays onto the stage dressed in a traffic-stopping purple and gold glittery dress, her signature ginger bouffant towering atop her head a la Marge Simpson. In this 70-minute show, Johnson is fatigued by the doom-scrolling, data-mining and machine automation of the present day, so embarks on a spiritual journey of Icelandic gong baths, chakra realignment and acid-fuelled gabber raves to reconnect with her childhood imaginary friend: a gorgeous auburn-haired show pony.
It’s as surreal, and gleefully silly, as it sounds. The first act features some astute observational comedy as Johnson makes fun of the culture wars (‘Who else is going to go out there trans-ing the kids?’), and makes shrewd references to the horrors of modern life, such as the ‘Is It Cake?’ TikTok trend and the return of bootcut jeans (particularly galling to watch when you are in the audience, wearing bootcut jeans). The whole thing ends with the brilliant song ‘The Next Big Thing’, and this is when things start to get a bit bonkers. Johnson’s whip-smart lyrics deploy masterful wordplay, going off in unexpected tangents. Her mother is made of cake! She’s uploading herself to Google Drive (because online storage is cheaper than paying £1.5k rent)! Tom Cruise is hanging in her wardrobe!
As for the songs, Johnson proves herself to be quite the chameleon with an excellent set of pipes. Her original tracks sashay between a disco number about a ‘chakrapractor’, a power ballad about a lost pony which segues into a barmy impression of a hallucinogenic toad – one of the funniest moments – and a heartfelt lament to her former self. With Johnson’s uber-glam costume, bright disco lighting and some well-timed use of dry ice, feels like a hilarious, one-woman rock opera. Only a couple of jokes, including one about a pink leather sofa, and a pair of googly eyes that don’t stay on quite long enough, don’t quite hit the mark. The sincere final song is a nice departure from Johnson’s brash campiness and marks the perfect ending to this wonderfully weird show.