One was completely out of breath. But not in the cool way -- more like when someone shouts jokes, makes arm gestures and plays dancepop at the same time, and you sit and think: Is this a concert? Is that satire? Or is this just a man who really, really wants to entertain?
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Disclaimer: Apropos Magazine received access or a review copy. As always, we share our own impressions — unfiltered.
Six stars
It wasn’t a concert. It was a production — with choreography, fire, and the world situation thrown in for good measure.
Hugorm’s show at Tinderbox wasn’t just a gig. It was an event. There was staging. There were guests. There was fire. There was pathos. And then there was that kind of theatrical overcompensation that makes you want to yell: Relax — it’s a concert, not a New Year’s address! The whole thing felt like a midweight pop catalogue dressed up as a Las Vegas residency.
Simon Kvamm is, of course, an entertainer. He’s been filling arenas, festivals and fictional radio shows for two decades. He knows his audience. But Hugorm’s live format wants to be punk, poetic and pop all at once — and that’s more weight than the songs can carry. The result is a TikTok-era mashup of satire and sincerity, with Kvamm slow-dancing with his mate, covering “Freed From Desire” and shouting “Hugorm is on fire!” while Prisma (from Odense, naturally) hover in the background like extras in a DR3 social experiment.
The energy is high — eye contact, hugs, hands in the air — but the music rarely matches the movement. It’s pop-musical with pottery-class poetry and four-on-the-floor beats. There’s concept all over it, but little that hits the gut.
The most charming moment comes when Prisma join on stage — a sweet local gesture — but even that drowns in the constant push to keep the tempo up. There’s no room for shadows. Not even silence. Just contact. And kick drum. Always the kick drum.
Musically, Hugorm lives in a beat-driven world where the big drum takes the lead. But the more it goes on, the more it feels like Simon Kvamm: The Musical, where every character is a version of himself. It’s theatrical in a slightly awkward way — you’re never sure if it’s art or acting.
And that might be the problem. You want to feel something — but you end up clapping politely, smiling, and thinking: That was… a lot.
Let’s just say this:
Hugorm tries. Hard. Maybe too hard. And you can’t fault them for wanting to throw a party. But when the party sounds like Les Misérables meeting Rasmus Nøhr, even the best beats start to feel light.
