Last month, I packed a suitcase and boarded a train, heading back to Edinburgh Fringe for the first time since 2019.

I’ve written before about performing at Edinburgh Fringe, first as part of a collective of queer writers and performers, and later with For Books’ Sake. The pandemic disrupted that annual ritual, and I hadn’t been back since. But some visions for my own performance practice had left me hungry for a hit of energy and inspiration, and I had an instinct a return to Edinburgh might give me the infusion I’d been searching for. So I sent some messages to friends of friends of friends until I eventually found an affordable place to stay, talked my partner into tagging along and exposed myself to a few non-stop days of shows, including…

Queer Tales for Autistic Folks

A wholesome, joyful and hilarious choose-your-own-adventure storytelling show by Cerys Bradley, made and presented with real thought, heart and warmth. Co-created in collaboration with the audience and therefore different every time, we’d have gone multiple times if we’d been able. Gently affirming while still being very fun.

[whalesong]

A sonic journey about the noises and voices in the oceans, [whalesong] is a solo show by award-winning sound artist Xavier Velastín, described as “a human-computer duet told between a performer and an adaptive technological system that changes the content and soundscape each night.” Xavier’s ability to combine some mind-melting tech (for a decidedly non-techy soul like me) with seemingly simple sound techniques like singing and dropping weights into a bowl of water to create a completely entrancing set of music, sound and spoken word was somehow both spellbinding and soothing.

Joshua’s Witnesses

A solo show from Toronto-based ex-Witness Joshua Bonnici, combining physical comedy and clowning to create a judicial committee trial for ‘Brother Joshua’ in which the audience take the role of Kingdom Hall elders deciding whether he should be disfellowshipped from the congregation for his various transgressions. The imaginative format was effective: I was impressed by how much genuine humour Bonnici brought, though the moments of vulnerability were the most impactful for me. It’s a close-to-home theme that I’m continually returning to in my own work, so seeing how other performers explore it is both useful and fascinating.

The Mothman Cometh

An impulse decision: my partner and I have a shared soft spot for cryptozoology lore, and we’d lamented our dates not lining up with another Mothman-themed show we’d been recommended, so seeing the poster for this one seemed like synchronicity. A one-man show from Chicago-based Richie Schiraldi, it took place almost entirely in total darkness, lit only by the Mothman’s glowing red eyes. A show built on audience involvement is risky, but even with only a few of us in attendance, Richie created something endearingly intimate, authentic and affirming. An occasionally awkward, weird and strangely adorable delve into dreams, darkness and embracing the void. (But with a title like that, how are you not featuring The Nightman Cometh in some way?)

The Moon Pact Trial

Got led to this by a last-minute decision to stop in at my forever fave Edinburgh venue – iconic goth rabbit-warren The Banshee Labyrinth – on the way home on our last night in town. The queue for this one-man horror play by Pete Mitchelson was forming as we arrived, and the description – “a story of witchcraft, sex cults and wanky art for arty wankers” – obviously ticked my boxes enough to tempt us into joining. It’s about a struggling actor getting cast in a play about an outsider sacrificed in an occult ritual, meeting a mysterious woman on opening night and being led into a strange erotic and psychedelic journey. Ambitious (sometimes overly so), funny and acted with real commitment and charisma, the use of music and sound in this one really stuck with me, along with its meta-commentary on theatre and art-making itself.

The Quiet Earth Beneath

A beautiful, quietly devasting but ultimately uplifting sound and storytelling show from Fringe First-winning writer Casey Jay Andrews and musician Jack Brett. Using sound, light and other imaginative staging techniques to create something atmospheric and otherworldly, this lyrical exploration of ritual, love and loss descends into the darkness of a South Wales cave and questions how we grieve, move through fear and heal. One of my favourites for its intimate vibe, ethereal soundscape and understated but powerful performance. Gave me loads to think about as both a human and a performer.

Dangerous Goods

Feminist cabaret from the performance company behind Hot Brown Honey, this was an entertaining whirlwind of immense vocals, death-defying aerial, circus, fire and burlesque, all performed with the utmost energy, power and panache.

Mythos: Ragnorok

Saw this at the Jorvik Viking Festival earlier this year and became instantly obsessed. Norse myth and pro-wrestling: the spectacular, death-defying combo you never knew you needed. The Edinburgh audience was far less raucous than the York one, but the moves, music and storytelling were all on point. I’ll go again any chance I get.

No Apologies

Absolute stand-out highlight of our entire Edinburgh trip. “Emma Frankland is the punk rock angel of your dreams and nightmares,” says The Stage, which: a) what a fucking accolade and b) she deserves every word. In No Apologies, performer, musician and theatre-maker Emma Frankland reimagines the iconic chandelier-lit 1993 MTV Unplugged set by Nirvana to invite us into the possibility that Kurt Cobain was trans. Surrounded by lilies, candles and musical gear, Emma weaves a breathtakingly original and unapologetically punk spell that’s part tribute, part vigil, part confessional remembering of grunge’s legacy and Emma’s own gender journey, and part ferocious protest advocating for trans lives now. It’s full of grief, tenderness, fury, hope and healing, and although my partner and I were both in tears almost the entire way through (and we were far from the only ones), it was a transcendental experience that left us beaming. Brilliantly directed by Harry Clayton-Wright and performed by Emma with total commitment, skill, heart and guts, it reclaims the past and envisions a better, bolder future. Made me nostalgic for my Kurt-lookalike teen sweetheart and gave my inner mosher so much joy.

Betty Grumble’s Enemies of Grooviness Eat Sh!t

The other true stand-out. Batshit crazy, chaotic, wild, spiritual, sexy and deeply sincere. Paint-slinging, pussy-printing, shit-eating, dildo-wielding, ancestor-honouring and grief-affirming, this was a near-indescribable mash-up of different forms and ideas that somehow coalesced with perfect charm and power into something radical, raw, playful and profound.

Stray reflections

🎧 Reading over these notes makes it clear to me how much music and sound influenced my experience of these performances. How much those things contributed to the atmosphere, the emotion, the embodied sharing of something sensory and elemental. Which leaves me dreaming about ways to bring more of that into my own performance work. It’s something I’ve already been experimenting with (like you’ve seen here and here), but getting glimpses into other possibilities has left me wanting to expand and amplify that all the more.

🍹 Maybe sacrilegious to say as someone sober, but: I fully associate being at Edinburgh Fringe with cold cans of grapefruit beer, and man, this time I missed them. Not the alcohol, but the tart zingy chill of them. And maybe a bit of the disinhibition and fun I once felt, drinking those cans and chirpsing strangers and riding the collective waves of manic Fringe energy without the constant static-fuzz interference of hypervigilance. I am solid in and grateful for my sobriety, but the nostalgia and pleasure of a bright cold drink was missed, especially amongst the chronic over-stimulation of the Fringe.

✨ While away, I kept up with my daily practices of yoga and morning pages, and both were a tonic to my body and brain. Stomping between venues, sitting in an assortment of uncomfortable seats and sleeping in a strange bed all contributed to my being creakier than usual, and it was good to give myself a chance to stretch. Daily journaling gave me a way to document and process some of the things I’d seen and done, and to consider which elements of each day’s performances were still echoing in my head the next morning.

🤘 Box office sales, flyering strategies, venue and tech drama: all shit I did not have to think about at all. Thank fuck. Being at a Fringe as just a punter and not a performer or producer was such a treat, allowing me to more fully take in the shows I saw without my brain being background-fizzed by those distractions.

💮 The Botanic Gardens are fit as fuck: a peaceful sanctuary far from comedians shoving flyers in your face as you scramble from one venue to the next. A lush and much-needed slow mooch and laze in the sunshine really helped refuel me after a frantic first day in town.

💖 I’m still integrating everything I saw and learnt from watching these performers in action, but I’ve definitely felt creatively re-energised since my return, which I’m taking as a much needed reminder about the necessity of making time and space for engaging with other people’s work as a thing that feeds my own.