Tash York is Drop Red Gorgeous at The Hat Trick in The Pleasure Garden
Thursday, February 5, 2026
Tash York, Queensland’s second most famous redhead, ten-year cabaret veteran, and favoured Fringe World perennial, returned to Perth with a brand-new show, Drop Red Gorgeous, a love letter—somewhat—to all the gingers of the entertainment world.
York came to the stage tonight as a scarlet woman underneath a tolling bell, accused of all the sins she had ever committed—a rather long list—dressed head to toe in red and instructed to atone, before setting the venue metaphorically alight with Geri Halliwell’s Look at Me. This would turn out to be the only song of the evening performed with original lyrics, as all other tunes were deconstructed, inventively added to, given a generous serving of cab sav or pinot noir, and made almost wholly York’s own.
Along with Peppy Smears, the show’s musical director assigned to play keyboard (and second fiddle), this was at times very much a two-hander of a performance—the pair’s long association had given true chemistry and authenticity to their banter and interplay. It was truly delightful to watch Smears and York bounce shade off each other whilst attempting to guess which lovingly spiked barbs between the two were scripted or ad-libbed.
The evening proceeded down a relaxed autobiographical route, where York loosely equated her crimson-tinted listening habits to growing up, yet at the same time by being easily distracted by every side topic known to humanity. Medium brown hair beginnings in the southern suburbs of Brisbane led, via a messy breakup, to the discovery of box dye, sonically illustrated with a bespoke arrangement of Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings. The Most Girls medley that followed was noted by Smears as actually by Pink, to which York retorted it was the first music single she had ever bought, from HMV; it was allowable whimsy, and nostalgia always sells, whatever the colour.
A wig change, two glasses of shiraz, and Smears doing their best Blackboard from Mister Squiggle ‘hurry up’ led hilariously to a very intense lip-synch of Julia Gillard’s misogyny speech, before the redhead national anthem was played—Tomorrow, from Annie, as sung by Britney Spears, apparently, though at points it almost dropped all the way through to Macy Gray.
York switched up the lyrics to three Ed Sheeran songs—the bane of a former career as a wedding singer—to delightfully cover her discovery of drag, bisexuality, and gay bars. Then, to comedically outline how age may have caught up with her, a version of Rihanna’s S&M detailed the fantastic relationship York currently has with ibuprofen.
Adele—originally a ranga, she counts—was given the Tash York treatment next, turning something on-brand maudlin into an anthem for self-acceptance, self-love, not being a fake friend, the pecking order of chocolate gift boxes, and why Favourites will always be the worst.
York excelled when leading the audience through silly and deliberately cheap comedy, meticulously put together to only seem thus, so when her powerhouse singing voice gloriously broke through it was almost a surprise, even to those fans who already knew it was coming. One doesn’t stick in cabaret for ten years without having the lungs to back it up. Accordingly, chills down the spine and the first crowd sing-along of the show occurred during the three-song tribute to Eurythmics and Annie Lennox.
York spoke of her most internet-viral moment, when she kicked an e-scooter in Adelaide, and how that simple act had seemingly enraged millions worldwide. Nothing related to the real issues of the day, Gaza, DV stats, or the global erosion of trans and reproductive rights, but a scooter fail.
York advised the audience that she had lost people the last few years. Don’t fret, ‘they’re not dead’, she continued, but former friends and colleagues who had taken York as too angry, too political, or just too much. Her retort here was that existence in a world falling apart was an act of resistance in and of itself, with 2026 closer than it should have any right to be to The Handmaid’s Tale—yet another iconic, dystopian red marker.
Rather than be overly upset with how this had turned out, York had leant into these aspects and had attracted those who were also angry, political, or too much. Her true people had found her, and she had easily accepted them in turn.
Just as this gripping real-life character arc neared its climax, the hitherto unvoiced deus ex machina of a script gave a five-minute warning to cram as many other scarlet-maned icons in before the show ended. Whizzing by at warp speed in the subsequent compilation mash-up were Florence Welch, David Bowie, Tori Amos, Cyndi Lauper and a plethora of others, before the evening finally landed on Chappell Roan, as only it could after their spectacular last twelve months.
A journey of self-discovery from Logan to the world, Drop Red Gorgeous was as much about York’s long-awaited love for herself as for any of the celebrities she name-checked tonight. Passionate, supremely talented, and with a personality easily three times larger than the venue allotted, one of the few things missing from this evening was the must-buy CD of the show at the merch desk.
PAUL MEEK
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