| KAT ROBICHAUD prowls around the stage- a hellcat unleashed, furious to have been confined in southern 90s suburbia stasis. With various wigs and rock warrior whimsy, she shrieks catharsis that at once stops and rushes the blood of anyone within earshot of her siren song. Part Janis, part Bette, part Mama Cass- Robichaud writes murder ballads, broadway pop songs about anxiety, and neo-wave rock and roll on anything from alien sex to gaslighting puppeteers. |
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| Existing in many forms- sometimes host of her hit musical variety show Misfit Cabaret, sometimes drag artist twirling her pearls in the spotlight of gay sex clubs, Robichaud feels most at home among her fellow queerdos, rattling off current hyperfixations and sipping whiskey with the stunning underground Bay Area artists who survived the gorging promises of corporations in late-stage capitolism. She’s a hell of a show woman and has had 20 years of stage time to prove it. |
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| It doesn’t matter if she’s singing in a southern chain chicken joint, a 1,500 seat theater in Times Square, a painted plywood speakeasy, or in front of 15 million people watching her on The Voice- she will get your attention and hold it like she’ll die if she chooses to let go. |
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| And you hope she never will. |
