LIVE REVIEW: DOJA CAT TAKES SYDNEY BACK TO THE 80'S

Images: Vasili Papathanasopoulos ©

Last night, American artist Doja Cat detonated a neon, high-glam, shape-shifting spectacle in Sydney, that transported the audience to an ‘80s pop fantasy engineered for 2025. From the instant she emerged in a zebra leotard with her flaming red hair blazing like a signal flare, the tone was set: bold, theatrical, and absolutely unafraid of excess.

Her styling throughout the night felt like a deliberate conversation with the greats - the angular flamboyance of David Bowie, the glamour-soaked polish of Diana Ross - but always unmistakably filtered through her own surreal, mischievous lens. Doja shimmered with retro nostalgia yet carried a futuristic edge, as if conjured from a parallel timeline where the ‘80s never ended and fashion only got weirder, sharper and louder.

Doja herself is a kinetic, confrontational, wildly magnetic force. She darted between singing and rapping with the agility of someone sprinting across genres; one moment silky, the next feral. At times she screamed the words with the crowd, letting her voice crack open alongside thousands of others, turning the arena into a single shared exhale. Those were the moments when the show became less polished pop theatre and more cathartic release. It was the kind of performance that proves her versatility isn’t studio magic but genuine, world-class skill.

The stage itself was pure retro-futurist delirium. Chrome structures, saturated neons, and soft-glow strobes evoked that vintage MTV-era boldness, but the execution was hyper-modern. Fireworks and flames flooded the stage and live cameras roamed with uncanny intuition - cutting and gliding in perfect rhythm with Doja’s every pivot. It wasn’t just concert camerawork; it was cinematography. Every angle deepened the drama.

Supporting her was a band so tight it felt almost unreal, each musician operating with the kind of precision that only comes from total trust and deep technical mastery. The rhythm section moved like a single organism: punchy, elastic, and always locked into Doja’s shifting tempos. The backing vocalists delivered flawless harmonies that wrapped around her voice like velvet, never missing a cue even as the show veered from rap flows to silky pop melodies. And then there was the brass section: a charismatic group of men in candy-pink suits, swaying, strutting, and blasting out lines that added a jubilant, almost cheeky richness to the arrangements. Their presence didn’t just fill the air with sound; it expanded the world of the show, injecting bursts of theatrical colour that made the entire production feel even more alive and irresistibly bold.

The setlist is a shape-shifter in its own right, sweeping confidently across eras of her catalogue. Newer material pulsed with layered instrumentation and gleaming synths, while fan favourites ignited the crowd into euphoric chaos. The pacing was muscular and intentional: no drag, no filler. Doja bent the energy curve at will, manipulating tension like a seasoned dramatist.

What defined the Sydney show wasn’t just the vocals, the visuals, or the styling (though all were dialled to perfection). It was the coherence. Every design choice, musical shift, and camera move felt like a brick in the same glowing, glitter-soaked world she built for those two hours. It was an editorial fever dream brought to life: bold, stylish, volatile, and exquisitely self-aware.

Tour Ma Vie showcases a star at the height of her creative powers, framing herself not as a digital-age product but as a fully realised performance artist; one who understands the value of spectacle, irony, retro glamour, and unfiltered emotional release.

Vie is out now.