It was, perhaps inevitably, a party-hearty Scotsman who gave SK Shlomo the idea for Breathe, the new one-person Play-That-Becomes-A-Rave. It was 2019, and the world-record-breaking beatboxer, music producer, and theatre performer was at the Fringe with their last play, Surrender (Shlomo identifies as non-binary). An uplifting mental-health survival story, it received five-star reviews and was nominated for that year’s Mental Health Fringe Award. There was music, but there was definitely not supposed to be any raving. Until the first night of that show’s Underbelly run. 

‘This giant Scottish person in the front row just stood up and went ‘GRR-YEAHHHHHH’, kicked his chair away and started dancing, and then everyone else just followed suit,’ the 39-year-old Londoner remembers with a grin. ‘And I was like, “oh, that’s what I need to do: I need to do a play and I need to do a party, and I need to do it in one show”.’

The result is Breathe: The Play That Becomes A Rave, a glorious, genre-defying mash-up of two of discerning British culture’s favourite things: theatre and clubbing. It’s a deeply personal, staged retelling of Shlomo’s mental-health struggles. But it’s also a celebration of life, and a sincere offering to ‘the holy altar of rave.’

At times, it’s a riot of colour and sound, made all the more spectacular when you realise this is all coming from one human being, a loop machine affectionately known as The Beast, and a magical electronic glove (no, really). With these, Shlomo conjures into being everything from the north London Middle Eastern community they grew up in (full of belly-dancing aunties, big-belly meals and full-belly laughter) to the mammoth raves and festivals they’ve played across the world.

^{Picture: Nathan Gallagher}

At one point Shlomo single-handedly summons the atmospheric power of Glastonbury’s iconic Pyramid Stage. At other times, the room becomes very small, and we’re reminded that this is just one human being. One human being battling depression. The expectations of parenthood. The challenges of gender-based society. And finally, the oppressiveness of small-town suburbia, where everyone seems grey and dead inside and like they couldn’t possibly understand you. At least, so you think. 

Then, somehow, we wind up in Shlomo’s living room, where together performer and audience recreate the home-spun rave they believe not only saved their life but transformed a sleepy village community. Like the real thing, there are glow sticks and a lot of unselfconscious dancing. It’s all pretty joyous. 

Shlomo beams at the real-life memory. He had been struggling to assimilate into the village he and his family had made a new home of. So he put on a party. ‘It was amazing. My friends showed up with a soundsystem and an 18-inch subwoofer, and I thought, “fuck, this is legit. This is how I’m going to get better: I’m going to celebrate”.’

Breathe also serves as a manifesto of non-judgement, perhaps one of rave culture’s strongest principles. Shlomo assumed the people in his new village wouldn’t want to know them, yet here they were, raving alongside each other. ‘We jumped up and down for seven hours, and I started to realise that it was me judging them; they weren’t judging me at all.’ As it happens, John from Number 23 (who worked in IT) was secretly really into drum and bass. Janet from the school run had been to the actual Haçienda. ‘They were all ravers. Everyone used to be young.’

^{Picture: Tom Arthur}

\Unsurprisingly, Breathe provokes incredibly special and affirming post-show reactions, particularly from the Johns and Janets of the world, some of whom attended a run of pre-Fringe warm-ups earlier this summer in a side-room at London’s Royal Albert Hall. ‘I had this beautiful conversation with this person who’s a bit older. She said, “I used to go out all the time, and my husband’s been saying you’ve gotta go dancing, you’ve gotta go”. He managed to get her to come to this, and then she was just crying these big tears of grief for what she had restricted herself from. While holding a glow stick in the Royal Albert Hall!’

Another ‘sweet human’ had perhaps an even more profound life-changing moment. After raving til the very end at one of those London shows, a young man came and found Shlomo to confess he had recently been so debilitated by poor mental health that he’d come to the heart-breaking conclusion that he shouldn’t be a father. 

‘But after seeing my show, and the way I was talking about fatherhood . . . ’ Shlomo takes a breath. ‘I’m gonna cry if I finish this sentence . . . I stopped him and said, “look: would you tell me that I shouldn’t be a dad?” He said, “no. And I’m gonna be one, too”.’

As promised, their voice cracks. ‘You know when you’re doing these things (and it’s been really hard making this show), the advice people always give you is, “if it helps one person, it’s worthwhile” and all that. And yeah, that’s encouraging. But when you actually hear that it’s helped one person, that is a pay-off. It’s emotional.’

^{Picture: Kathryn Chapman}

Breathe has the power to help more people than even just those lucky enough to experience it first-hand at the Fringe. It’s supported by, and in aid of, suicide charity CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably). Shlomo was keen to have them on board for a number of reasons. ‘CALM are really aligned with the values of the show’s story, but they’re also really aligned with the culture.’ Not only have CALM recently shifted focus away from gender-specific mental health (something especially appreciated by Shlomo themselves) but they are ‘into having conversations with the kind of role models that young people will actually listen to’.

Shlomo is keen to contribute to these conversations at every level. So much so that they have a second show at this year’s Fringe, a children’s production that, in its own way, is also about the importance of celebrating life. Shlomo’s Beatbox Adventures For Kids, returning from an acclaimed 2019 Fringe run and sell-out UK tour, is ‘pretty much the same vibe [as Breathe] without the swearing and references to suicide’. And a lot more kids making music with their mouths.

As with Breathe, for Shlomo arguably the best part of Beatbox Adventures is what happens post-gig: the opportunities for connection. ‘I get these huge queues of kids lining up after the show, and I’m bounding up to them going, “I’ve got ADHD too!’’ I’m always crying because I see such a difference in how kids now are being supported. They’re being held.’

Holding a rave and holding us all: at the Fringe, Shlomo’s promising both.

Breathe: The Play That Becomes A Rave, Pleasance Dome, until 28 August, 7pm; Shlomo’s Beatbox Adventures For Kids, Pleasance Courtyard, until 28 August, 12.05pm.