Lily Allen live in London: West End girl’s Palladium debut is smart and emotional

When Lily Allen arrives on stage at the London Palladium, she’s dressed in pristine pink, hair immaculately coiffed, teetering on heels and relentlessly smiling as she sweetly sets the scene: “And now we’re all here…”.

Of course, we know what comes next; last year’s West End Girl, Allen’s caustic album dissecting the now-infamous demise of her marriage with actor David Harbour, was hard to miss. That shiny, perfect life which people had so hungrily observed a couple years prior was now fodder in a new way – on reflection, it seemed an unsettling veneer for a relationship wracked with uneven power dynamics and infidelity. 

Now, Allen is in the midst of touring a one-woman show, performing the album that laid it all bare to theatres across the UK – tonight is her second evening performing in London’s eponymous West End. So far, there have been mixed reviews questioning the tour’s price tag, her lack of audience engagement and the limited setlist. The first half sees Allen leaves it to supporting string group, the Dallas Minor Trio, to play covers of her old hits, encouraging the audience to sing-along in knees-up karaoke-style, while guzzling the theatre bar’s ‘Madeline’ cocktail (champagne and chambord). In some ways this sets the tone twofold: it adds to the slightly frothy, polished, Bridgerton vibe of the opening, as well as playing with the boundaries of audience participation.

As Allen sits down to pick up a red telephone, beginning the ill-fated conversation about opening up her marriage, the crowd boos and heckles. It’s an interesting dynamic, making what was a harrowing, naked moment on the album feel almost pantomime-esque here. As the first few songs progress, she literally strips off her clothes, singing in a sheer negligée. This all feels intentional – the whole album, and the way Allen has staged the show, welcoming us into an aspirational apartment full of chic chairs, an Emin-esque bed, sparkling chandeliers, even a pink Smeg fridge – seems to be a reminder of our craving for spectacle and our inclinations to curtain-twitch. 

During ‘Pussy Palace’ people stand and dance while Allen roots around in a bag of sex toys, raising their hands in elation as they sing about her husband’s alleged sex addiction; they whoop as Allen wraps herself in a draped cloth printed with the receipts of things her ex bought for other women during ‘4Chan Stan’; they light up their phones and sway while she worries that her husband has got someone else pregnant on ‘Just Enough’. There are times where “enjoying” the show can feel like a jarring contradiction, but maybe that’s the point.

Allen’s voice gets lost in the mix occasionally (notably when she’s doing the voice of ‘Madeline’), but she is largely note-perfect, serene and sugary throughout. In general, her performance accolades don’t go amiss – the faux-cheeriness of ‘Nonmonogamummy’ where she gives a cheeky pop of leg and pokes her tongue out as she sings, “I’m just trying to be open”. You can feel her insecure devastation on ‘Tennis’, see her cowering under it on the brilliant Lumidee-flip, ‘Beg for Me’, sinking down to the floor in her dommy black dress. 

An arena tour will follow later this spring, but choosing theatre over traditional concert venues for this first run is a genuinely smart, engaging means of bringing the album to life visually. The way Allen knowingly plays up to our desires to be voyeurs to celebrities is an uncomfortable, fascinating decision; as an artist who has been plagued by paparazzi since her teen years, this tour seems to be another exercise in defiantly taking control of people’s parasocial interest in her life.

At the end of the set, as she sings the breezy closing bars of ‘Fruityloops’, Allen appears to be a little misty-eyed. It’s hard to know if this is simply part of the show, or the sincere rawness of performing the relatively-recent dissolution of her marriage over and over again to crowds of strangers. Cathartic or not, you have to hope she is getting pastoral support through all of this. Whatever the case, as she’s presented her bouquet and curtsies to the West End, it’s been a truly special kind of show. Allen waves us goodbye, and all that’s left on the stage is a chandelier, now lying on the floor, a perfect reflection of the happy facade which Allen, both through her album and this live show, has so perfectly torn apart.