THE LAST DINNER PARTY // SPA THEATRE, BRIDLINGTON
Baroque AND ROLL: The Last Dinner Party bring drama and precision to Bridlington Spa Theatre.
⭐⭐⭐⭐(4/5)
The Last Dinner Party @ Bridlington Spa. Photocredit John Hayhurst
Bridlington Spa Theatre isn’t built for indie excess, yet The Last Dinner Party make it feel purpose-made the second they step onstage. Opening with ‘Agnus Dei’ drops the audience straight into their world — no slow curtain rise, just immediate ritual. Abigail Morris commands the centre, expressive without tipping into pantomime, a front-woman who uses movement like punctuation.
Before they arrive, Imogen and the Knife set a mood that fits them a little too well. I’ve seen them before, but tonight they’re leaner, more sharpened. ‘Mother of God’ is delivered with a cool precision, Imogen’s vocal pitched like she’s holding a heavy truth at arm’s length. It’s striking without ever straining for attention. ‘Red (Is My Colour)’ hits harder still: art-pop with bite, all clipped rhythm and icy control. They don’t announce themselves — they just play like a band who know people should be paying attention already.
When the stage turns over, the audience reveal themselves as part of the theatre. Bridlington turns up in corsets, veils, black lace and dramatic makeup, not seen since “Goth Weekend” in Whitby just up the Coast. It isn’t cosplay — it’s a shared mood. And when the band walk on, they’re not just performing to a crowd; they’re performing among them. Onstage, that ensemble is: Lizzie Mayland (guitar/vocals), Emily Roberts (lead guitar, mandolin, flute), Georgia Davies (bass), Aurora Nishevci (keys/synths) and touring drummer I believe was called ‘Dave’ (they seem to go through them faster than Spinal Tap).
Much of the night, as expected, leans on new album ‘From The Pyre’, a shift toward a heavier, less mischievous edge. Davies and Nishevci tighten the space beneath Morris, while Roberts steals the spotlight without ever demanding it. Her solos are shaped rather than shredded — long, vocal lines with a slow-burn drama clearly lifted from her early Brian May obsession. You can hear the jazz training too: phrasing that avoids clutter, and a refusal to showboat for its own sake. Forget any theatrics — she’s the ace up the frilly velvet and lace sleeve here, the stealth weapon in their baroque-and-roll armoury.
In the latter mid-set swell comes personal favourite ‘Sinner’, which lands darker live than it does on record. Morris leans into theatrical threat, and the band resist overcrowding the arrangement, leaving Roberts room to cut a solo right down its centre. It’s the point the show stops being playful and starts feeling intentional.
It is noticeable that when the show pivots into any debut album material, the response is instant. ‘Nothing Matters’ of course closes the main set, and Bridlington stops posing for photos and starts singing like it’s been waiting all night. The theatre feels louder, rougher, more immediate. Any sense of costume-drama fades — it becomes a rock band with five focal points, not a tableau.
They return with a two-song encore that reframes the evening: ‘This Is the Killer Speaking’ stretches their darker side further, then the reprise of ‘Agnus Dei’ brings the show full circle without repeating its opening mood. They thank each member of the touring crew individually.
The Last Dinner Party already know how to look striking. Tonight, they proved they don’t need to lean on it. The aesthetic might bring people through the door — the songwriting and live performance is what keeps them there.
Words and Photos - John Hayhurst
