SEQUINS, ATTITUDE AND RAZOR-SHARP CHOREOGRAPHY: SELF ESTEEM SHINES IN BRIGHTON

LIVE REVIEW|SELF ESTEEM w/ Nadine Shah, Moonchild Sanelly | BRIGHTON CENTRE | 17th October 2025 by Kevin O’Sullivan

This was, without question, one of the highlight gigs of an outstanding year for me. From the moment I pressed play on A Complicated Woman during the drive to Brighton, I knew I was in for something special—and the show itself didn’t disappoint. Brighton Centre doesn’t usually get this kind of treatment, but last night Rebecca Lucy Taylor—aka Self Esteem—turned the place into a pop battleground and theatrical playground all at once. This was less gig, more full-throttle statement wrapped in sequins, attitude, and razor-sharp choreography. It was everything you want from a penultimate tour date: polished but unpredictable, fun but loaded with bite.

Taylor’s performance was a masterclass in blending raw honesty with theatrical flair. Whether it’s the powerhouse vocals, the razor-sharp humour, or the cinematic staging, Self Esteem is operating on a whole other level right now.

A huge backdrop nailed the mood: “There is nothing that terrifies a man more than a woman who appears completely deranged.” It might sound like a punchline, but it was Taylor’s manifesto in neon lights. Her Mercury Prize-nominated A Complicated Woman wasn’t just played; it was embodied—equal parts Handmaid’s Tale dystopia and neon-lit dancefloor rebellion.

If there was a track that dropped the mic on the whole night, it was “Logic, Bitch!” Taylor delivered it like a boss, and the crowd went dead silent. No screams, no cheers—just pure stunned awe. That stillness said it all: this album is a contender for Album of the Year, and this song is a knockout punch.

Despite the precision of the choreography and production, Taylor kept things human with a quick, hilarious on-stage moment involving the live camera feed. Early on, she made a fleeting mention of her ADHD—a subtle nod to the restless energy driving the night. Later, she got caught out by the camera’s red light (which means recording, FYI—not green). “Dave, you’re in trouble for not telling me,” she said, shooting a mock glare at the videographer. The crowd loved it—a perfect reminder that beneath all the polish, she’s got a sharp, cheeky sense of humour.

Taylor even disappeared backstage mid-set to repair one of her “Palestinian” fingernails, leaving a band member to introduce the eight musicians, singers, and dancers onstage. It was a small move but spoke volumes: this isn’t a solo ego trip, it’s a full-on team effort, and the fans lapped up the love for the whole crew.

The support acts were no afterthought. Moonchild Sanelly opened with wild energy and unapologetic weirdness, blue hair flying, turning Brighton into a sweaty riot. She left jaws on the floor, no question.

Nadine Shah followed, delivering razor-sharp lyrics and smoky vocals that cut through the night like a knife. “The Greatest Dancer,” a song she wrote while binge-watching Strictly, was a standout—turning ballroom clichés into something emotionally rich with captivating dance moves.

By the time Taylor hit the final tracks, the atmosphere was electric. This wasn’t just a show; it was a party with purpose, a theatrical blast packed with moments that felt both intimate and massive. Fans who’d followed the tour showed up again last night, and it was clear why: Self Esteem’s combination of theatrical flair, brutal honesty, and killer tunes is impossible to resist.

Brighton witnessed the full Self Esteem experience: sharp, funny, fierce, and utterly captivating. Red light or green, camera on or off—Taylor owned that stage like no one else. By the time I headed home for the hour-and-a-half drive, the album was on repeat once again, every track ringing louder and prouder after witnessing it live. It’s clear that Self Esteem is on the cusp of something huge—headlining main festivals, commanding arenas—and deservedly so. If last night was anything to go by, Rebecca Lucy Taylor is a force that’s only going to grow bigger, bolder, and impossible to ignore.