Concert Review: Haute & Freddy – Finding Pure, Unfiltered Joy in Getting Your FREAK ON at The Big Disgrace Tour
Date: June 13 2026
Venue: Club Soundwell
CITY: Salt Lake City, UT
It’s Pride month in Salt Lake City, and the words from Marillion’s celebratory anthem echoed louder than ever inside the venue: “All the Best Freaks Are Here!”
That line isn’t just a lyric — it’s a manifesto. Written in joyful defiance, it honors the outsiders, the misfits, the ones who never quite belonged in the mainstream world. It promises that among the freaks, you don’t just fit in — you are embraced, celebrated, and filled with genuine, soul-lifting joy. On this particular night LA pop duo Haute & Freddy didn’t simply perform a concert. They created a living, breathing embodiment of that promise — a raucous, glittering vaudeville circus where every beautiful weirdo was not only welcome but essential. Haute & Freddy are allies, being supported by queer fans, and queer members of the troupe.
I first encountered Haute & Freddy through their single “Dance The Pain Away.” The video hit me like a technicolor fever dream. I sat there, staring at my screen, muttering out loud, “What the hell am I watching?” It was chaotic, theatrical, campy, and impossibly catchy — the kind of art that makes you feel seen and a little bit braver. So when I learned they were coming to Salt Lake City right in the heart of Pride season as part of their Big Disgrace Tour, there was no question. My niece and I cleared our schedules, and we walked into what became one of the most emotionally uplifting nights I’ve experienced in decades of concert-going.
The atmosphere inside the venue was electric from the moment the doors opened. This wasn’t your standard polite crowd in jeans and band tees. People had shown up ready to play. My niece arrived in a full Victorian ballgown paired with chunky stormtrooper boots — a perfect mash-up of historical drama and sci-fi rebellion. Around us swirled a living Pride parade: corsets and leather, face paint in every color of the rainbow, jester hats with bells, Elizabethan gowns, gender-bending finery, and outfits that would have made any float captain proud. Nothing was too extreme. A tall figure in full circus regalia chatted with someone sporting an elaborate beard and gown. It felt like we had all stepped through a portal into a traveling sideshow from a more magical era — the kind of place where P.T. Barnum would have frantically tried to sign every last one of us.
I stood there in my plain t-shirt and cargo shorts feeling suddenly underdressed, but that didn’t matter. The energy was so warm and inclusive that even the most casually dressed person felt swept up in the celebration. This was a space where you could be exactly who you were — or whoever you wanted to be for the night — and the collective vibe said, “Yes, darling, more of that.”
The Rubin Brothers: Vaudeville Chaos and Heart
Opening the show were the phenomenal Rubin Brothers, a duo that perfectly set the tone for the evening. These Boston boys, Berklee Conservatory graduates with backgrounds in children’s entertainment and (I suspect child development psychology), are on a mission to revive classic American vaudeville. They’ve appeared on *America’s Got Talent*, but their true gift is making old-school circus-side-show energy feel fresh, funny, and deeply human.
They made their entrance like a whirlwind: one riding a unicycle while blasting a piccolo trumpet, the other balancing a trombone and thumping away on an upright double bass, topped with a towering hat. The physical comedy was nonstop. They juggled, bantered, and improvised entire songs based on audience suggestions. One number channeled the gravelly, storytelling spirit of Tom Waits’ *Rain Dogs* so convincingly that I had to do a double-take. Another song, “My Brother Has a Thing for Redheads,” had the brothers playfully roasting each other while the crowd howled. I couldn’t help but shout “I DO TOO!” at the top of my lungs, earning laughs and high-fives from those around me.
Beyond the slapstick, there was real artistry and respect for tradition. They spoke movingly about reclaiming vaudeville — an art form that once thrived on spectacle, skill, and joyful connection before fading from popular culture. Watching them, you understood: this wasn’t just an opener. It was the perfect bridge into Haute & Freddy’s world of beautiful misfits and unapologetic expression.
Haute & Freddy: A Riot of Color, Sound, and Healing Joy
When the main set began, the stage curtains parted to reveal a whimsical animated short: “Once upon a time there was a circus…” It told the story of two performers who left the big top to forge their own musical path. Then Freddy took his seat behind the drum kit and unleashed a beat that immediately jolted the entire room into motion. Moments later, Haute glided onstage like a living doll from J.F. Sebastian’s collection in *Blade Runner* — a long peacock feather trailing from her hair, costume dripping with circus-meets-cabaret glamour.
They launched into “Anti-Superstar,” and the transformation was instantaneous. From the very first line — “I can’t be for everyone” — the crowd let go. Inhibitions dissolved. We danced side to side, arms waving wildly, voices joining in on the chorus: “I’ll be your Anti-Superstar / Your guilty pleasure in the back of the bar.” It wasn’t just a song; it was permission. Permission to take up space, to be too much, to be exactly the kind of person society often tries to dim. The love in the room was palpable — a warm, enveloping acceptance that wrapped around every single person there.
Haute’s stage banter was as magnetic as her voice. She thanked the crowd for showing up during Pride, looked out at the sea of costumes, and declared that it looked like the parade had simply moved indoors. Then came “Sweet Surrender,” where her vocals evoked the punchy, quirky energy of Dale Bozzio from Missing Persons. She demonstrated remarkable range, shifting moods and textures from song to song with ease. Short tracks under two minutes still managed to build waves of euphoria.
“Sophie” drifted into dreamy, almost shoegaze-adjacent territory before exploding into the sparkling electronic disco of “Fields of Versailles” — a sharp, witty jab at aristocracy, power games, and the roles we’re expected to play. By this point, I noticed a couple dancing near me: one in an elaborate Elizabethan wedding dress, the other in rustic fair garb with a full beard. In any other context, it might have raised an eyebrow. Here? It was perfect. Gender, presentation, identity — none of it mattered. We were all just bodies in motion, celebrating life together.
The emotional and spiritual high deepened with “Femme Hysteria.” Haute reframed the old patriarchal diagnosis of “female hysteria” into a triumphant invitation for everyone — men, women, trans, nonbinary — to embrace the divine feminine within. To feel everything fully. To let emotions run free and beautiful. We danced as if possessed by joyful spirits, lost in the music and the shared release.
Then came the anthemic “I Like My People Weird.” As Freddy moved to the synthesizer, the tempo slowed just enough for the message to sink in: *I like my people weird. I like my friends freaky.* The unity in that moment was profound. This wasn’t surface-level party music. It was connection. It was belonging.
“Freaks” turned the venue into a glorious dance party of misfits. The lyrics — “After midnight / When the sun goes down / There’s a villain begging to come out… You’re a freak” — became a collective roar. Costume changes added new layers of visual spectacle throughout, each one ramping up the surreal, loving chaos.
Audience Participation and Peak Euphoria
The “Audience Participation Time” segment was pure theatrical brilliance. Haute invited volunteers onstage, escorted by a wandering jester who had been working the crowd all night. We got a king, a queen, two young knight sisters (ages roughly 7 and 9), a Pope, and a woman in a red beret. Each received hilarious pantomime instructions for the song “Scantily Clad.”
As she explained the bits, Haute paused with perfect deadpan delivery: “But the knights won’t really go to war… because WAR IS STUPID.” The room erupted in cheers, laughter, and applause. In the middle of Pride, surrounded by love and color, that simple statement landed like truth serum. The contrast between the absurdity of real-world conflict and the pure, uninhibited joy we were all experiencing was stark and healing. Endorphins flooded the space. People hugged strangers. The euphoria felt almost measurable — a tangible wave of happiness connecting every soul in the room.
They kept the momentum with an improvised collaboration alongside the Rubin Brothers, the high-energy “Showgirl at Heart,” and finally the song many of us had been waiting for: “Dance The Pain Away.” Haute’s voice soared into Kate Bush territory — crystalline high notes that sent chills down my spine. They generously extended the track, giving us extra measures to truly dance the pain away together.
Then came the moment that felt like destiny. A familiar beat built, drums and synths rising. Haute paid homage to David Bowie before launching into “Let’s Dance.” The invitation was irresistible. The entire venue moved as one — no spectators, only participants.
In a quieter moment near the end, Haute spoke from the heart. She praised the Utah Pride community, thanked us for showing up as our full selves, and urged us to carry the love we’d generated that night back into the outside world. For those few hours, the “real world” with all its divisions had felt wonderfully distant. Her words brought tears to many eyes, including mine.
They closed a marathon 14-song set with “Shy Girl,” leaving everyone exhilarated and emotionally full. When the house lights rose, the hugs began. Groups formed, laughter echoed, and a long line snaked toward the merch table. My niece’s smile was radiant enough to power the city grid. People bought CDs, totes, and shirts like they were treasures — and in that moment, they were.
A Night That Lingers
In nearly a thousand concerts — front-row Lady Gaga, powerful Adele shows, legendary acts that left audiences emotionally wrecked — I have rarely experienced this level of pure, uninhibited, life-affirming joy. Haute & Freddy don’t just play music. They build temporary utopias where freaks are the norm, where difference is currency, and where dancing the pain away is both literal and deeply spiritual.
If you have the chance to catch them on The Big Disgrace Tour, do whatever it takes to get a ticket. These two are carrying forward a torch of theatrical, queer-adjacent, celebratory pop with heart, humor, and stunning talent. Madonna may have once ruled the world, but the future feels like it belongs to artists like Haute & Freddy — colorful, courageous, and committed to making sure every freak finds their place.
As I walked out into the night, surrounded by people still in costume, I yelled the Marillion line again: “ALL THE BEST FREAKS ARE HERE!” The crowd cheered and applauded in agreement. We weren’t just attendees. We were family.
And for one unforgettable night, that was more than enough.
*Haute & Freddy are associated with Fou York (@fouyork) of Fou Fou Ha! (@foufouha). Fou York is the New York City-based troupe and branch of the performance collective Fou Fou Ha!
Instagram @hauteandfreddy
Instagram @ubinbrothers