London five-piece the Last Dinner Party have been on a rapid ascent over the past six months, opening for heavyweight acts like Florence and the Machine, Lana Del Rey, and the Rolling Stones. Now they’re headlining their own tour as well as dotting the summer-festival circuit—ushering in a fresh era of rock that’s queer, innovative, and a bloody good time. In March, Esquire rode along for a night in New York City, shadowing the group’s concert at the East Village’s Webster Hall.
4:00 p.m.: Soundcheck
A sea of heads whips toward the stage at New York City’s famed Webster Hall concert venue. It’s a chilly Tuesday in March, and the Last Dinner Party’s Abigail Morris has just whispered the opening lines of “Beautiful Boy,” a stunning ballad from her band’s debut album, Prelude to Ecstasy (out now). Even in her quietest, most effortless tone, Morris’s voice is distinct and piercing—a trait she shares with her fellow musicians onstage.
Over the past few months, the Last Dinner Party have been, well, everywhere. Prelude to Ecstacy hit number one on the UK music charts the week of its release, just a couple months after their single “Nothing Matters” landed a spot on Billboard’s Best Songs of 2023. Perhaps you heard them when they opened for Florence and the Machine, Lana Del Rey, the Rolling Stones, or Hozier. Or maybe you saw them win the Rising Star category at the 2024 Brit Awards. These days, the Last Dinner Party are headlining shows and knocking out one historic spot after the next. The New York City venue we’re standing in right this second has hosted legends like Tina Turner, Sting, Aerosmith, U2, and Guns N’ Roses at pivotal moments in their rise. If these twenty-somethings have it their way, they’ll join the ranks of those who came before them—but first, they have important business to attend to: soundcheck.
The audience (a group of radio-show winners who scored tickets to the pre-show run-through as well as that evening’s performance) is silent as Morris rehearses—listening eagerly while she sings a note, then tries again, occasionally pausing to discuss cues with the sound manager. When Morris sings, everyone listens. And when the rest of the band joins in, well, it’s full-on rapture. “They’re, like, really good,” says a surprised older man.
After soundcheck, I head to the greenroom. Morris greets me with a confident smile and a firm handshake. The small but mighty lead guitarist, Emily Roberts, gazes down at my notebook and then back at me. Keyboardist Aurora Nishevci curves her mouth into a grin; she looks like she wants to crack a joke but holds off. Lizzie Mayland saunters by, searching for their guitar, and utters a polite hello. Then Georgia Davies, the group’s bassist, offers an affirming nod, her long, blond hair bouncing in agreement. Despite the pre-show commotion, the group is relaxed and chatty while unwinding before the concert.
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2:00 p.m., the Next Day: Lunch
When we meet for lunch at Nami Nori, a Japanese restaurant in the heart of Williamsburg, Morris reflects on the Last Dinner Party’s pre-concert showcase. “That’s the second time we’ve done that,” she says between bites of sushi. Today, the bandmates are dressed down, abandoning their glamorous yet punk costumes for a collection of jeans and lived-in T-shirts. “I’m not sure if people enjoy it,” Mayland quips, seemingly mistaking the audience’s awestruck silence for boredom. “I feel like we should do a Q&A,” Morris offers. The others agree.
The Last Dinner Party know the importance of a first impression. This year, “Nothing Matters” put them on the map, but now the trick is getting people to stick around. So far, what they’re doing is working—their North American tour sold out within a month—but Morris yearns for the rush of their even earlier days—moments like their soundcheck, when they could impress unlikely listeners. “I wouldn’t go back from where we are now,” she says. “But the only thing I miss is the anxiety of showing up to a gig and there’s five people who don’t know who you are. They don’t give a fuck, and you’ve got to prove yourself. You’ve got to fight.”
Before they were converting skeptics and dancing barefoot onstage, the Last Dinner Party consisted of a gaggle of students who stumbled into each other’s lives at university in London; Morris, Mayland, and Davies attended King’s College, while Roberts and Nishevci were enrolled in Guildhall School of Music & Drama. “I think it was fate intervening and smushing us into the same corner of sweaty student pubs,” Davies tells me. “We were mates for years before thinking we should be in a band together.”
The trio at King’s College met before the first year of school began and bonded over their love of music. Later, they were introduced to Roberts and Nishevci through mutual friends, and, in time, they all decided to work together. “It’s not that romantic of an origin story,” Davies jokes. “Just a classic uni band.” Morris and Davies both studied English Literature; before the Last Dinner Party got a record deal, Davies was pursuing a Ph.D. in the subject, having already earned her master’s. “I would love to keep studying,” she says. “I’m a big literature nerd. I will do it one day, but I’m doing this now.”
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8:15 p.m.: Lining Up at Webster Hall
The show starts at 9:00, and by 8:15 a line has wrapped around the corner in the Lower Manhattan neighborhood. Sure, the usual suspects are in attendance—twenty-somethings in baggy jeans and vintage tops—but also real adults, as in people with bills and a 401(k). Parents, too. I spot a few looking just as excited as the children they are chaperoning.
The crowd shakes with anticipation, or perhaps from the breeze. The late-March wind is nipping at us all. Finally, the doors open, revealing Webster Hall’s crimson-red walls, a giant disco ball, and the second-floor wraparound balcony. As people flow in, they grab drinks, find their spots, and make themselves at home. Oh, and one more thing—there’s only one unspoken rule at the band’s shows: Come in costume. I’m shocked by how many in the crowd are playing along.
Though this is their first headlining tour, the Last Dinner Party have made it a tradition to wear grandiose garb onstage. And, in turn, the audience dresses up as well. “I think I saw someone in a wedding getup,” says Mayland. “It’s this return to playfulness and childlike imagination,” Davies explains. “Not everything has to be so austere. Having a more playful approach to art and music is really important to us.”
8:30–8:35 p.m.: The Costume Fitting
While the crowd settles in, I head backstage. Before showtime, the Last Dinner Party huddle together for a final fitting. Roberts emerges from the dressing room wearing a fluffy white dress and ornate wings, but she’s not convinced it’s appropriate. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get my guitar on and off,” she says. Davies rounds the corner in an olive-green strapless dress, followed by Nishevci clad in a sheer black skirt and frilly white top. Later, Morris arrives in a pinstriped suit and Mayland saunters in, donning a similar ensemble.
Their outfits are styled by Tanner Fletcher, a New York–based designer whose work has a romantic, seventeenth-century flair. As Morris and Davies try on their outfits, they show off matching martini tattoos. The ink is still fresh from the night before. After getting Fletcher’s seal of approval, the band goes back into the dressing room—a few final moments of privacy, just the five of them, before they give themselves over to their fans.
9:00 p.m.: Showtime
The Last Dinner Party’s show is, in effect, like the best mass of your life. Witnessing the band weave through its brief but mighty catalog is a high-energy, cathartic, and damn near holy experience. About half an hour in, Morris takes a beat to announce the “weeping hour” before they play the dizzying rock anthem “On Your Side.”
“Get it out now,” she says. “Because later it’s just dancing and sex. If you’re caught crying during those bits, you’ll be thrown out.” She’s joking, of course, but it’s that juxtaposition that makes Prelude to Ecstasy so irresistible.
The record begins with an orchestral prelude conducted by Nishevci. The track was nearly scrapped from the album per the record label’s recommendation—but the band fought to keep it on. From there, the set heads into the pulsating banger “Burn Me Alive,” then the fantasy-driven “Caesar on a TV Screen” and the battle cry “The Feminine Urge.” On its surface, the album plays like an experimental, baroque-inspired adventure, but beneath its bravado, you’ll find poetic references to religion, sexuality, and womanhood. Cheeky lyrics like “I wish I knew you when touch was innocent / I wish I knew you before it felt like a sin” and the now-viral line “You can hold me like he held her, and I will fuck you like nothing matters” are easy to miss when you’re caught up in the grandiosity of the music.
Like the album, the concert climaxes with “My Lady of Mercy,” which depicts a Sunday-school romance. At lunch, Morris reveals that the track was inspired by her time at a Catholic boarding school. “The sex ed consisted of a man and a woman getting married and having babies, and I remembered one day someone asked, ‘What about lesbians?’ ”
Speaking about her schooling in London, she says, “When I was growing up there and discovering my sexuality while being surrounded by biblical imagery, I realized that stuff is so conflated. I was really drawn to those martyr figures like Joan of Arc and Teresa of Avila. That’s what ‘My Lady of Mercy’ is about. It uses Catholic imagery to embrace her position [as a woman] and sexuality rather than rejecting it.”
None of the band members are religious, but their concerts are worship sessions—where fans can bask in the glory of self-expression. “The way they look at us with such adoration in their eyes, you can tell they feel connected to us by seeing five genderqueer people onstage doing their thing,” says Morris.
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2:30 p.m., the Next Day: Lunch
I ask if nights out and spontaneous tattoos are part of their typical touring diet. “It really depends,” says Morris. “It’s a massive energy exchange with the audience, and it’s draining in a wonderful way.” Sometimes they enjoy going out, but most nights they prefer to rest. “We’re not very rock and roll. We did sign some tits last night for the first time, though,” Morris adds. “They were so sweet, but I hope they don’t get those tattooed,” adds Davies.
So what’s next for a band whose fans are already asking for signatures on body parts? How do you continue as if everything’s normal when your debut album tops the UK album charts, outselling records from Taylor Swift, the Weeknd, and Noah Kahan in your home country? They’ve found the best approach is to keep trudging ahead. The Last Dinner Party are focusing on their live show, which will make stops across America and Europe before ending on October 19 in London. Then they’ll rest, and when the moment is right, they’ll return to the studio.
Recently, Roberts watched a YouTube review that suggested the band had room to improve. “A lot of times, they don’t say that in reviews, but it was quite nice to hear,” she says. “I always like the idea of having somewhere to go and improve. That’s always been a driving force.” They haven’t written much since going on tour, but they’ve already begun thinking through their next record.
Many journalists have asked about the dreaded sophomore slump (myself included), but the Last Dinner Party say they aren’t concerned with streaming numbers or the approval of industry bigwigs. Their focus is elsewhere. “The world has opened up,” says Nishevci. “So many doors and opportunities have opened to us that just weren’t possible before. I’m more excited by the possibilities than worried about following something up.”
“We’re so much more empowered now than we were when we were signed and got a management company,” Mayland adds. “We’re in such a better position where we understand how the industry works; we understand how touring works,” they continue. “It’s an exciting prospect as well to feel like we’re more in control of our business.”
It’s not easy work, the whole rock-star thing, but for the Last Dinner Party, each long night and learning curve is worth the struggle. “It is taxing, certainly,” says Morris. “But it’s also the most incredible honor and a privilege that we get to do this for a living. And it’s so fun. It’s so much fucking fun.”
