I’m wearing an electric pink PVC skirt, fishnets, and Ann Summers lingerie as outerwear. Around my neck is strung a vintage My Little Pony – in fact, it’s one of the My Little Ponies I used to play with as a child which I pilfered from my mum’s house. My face is covered in glitter, there’s rhinestone teardrops on my cheekbones and my eyebrows are purple.

There is only one reason for dressing this extra. Tonight, we’re going to see SOPHIE, PC Music darling, live in London.

Getting to dress so over-the-top is one of my favourite things about these kinds of events. Wearing something quite so outrageous probably wouldn’t be a wise choice for work and walking down Reading high street dressed like an extra from Blade Runner often gets me a lot of weird looks. But at a SOPHIE gig in one of the bigger gay clubs in London I actually blend in. In fact, I have the same struggle that I always have at these sorts of things – I’m not weird enough.

Heaven is a unique venue, tucked away in the arches beneath Charing Cross station. The high, arching brick walls are impressive but leave a lot to be desired acoustically. It is very loud – loud in that reverberating, “oh God my ears are going to fall off” way.

I’ve been to what feels like a lot of gigs in the past twelve months and artists all have their own ways of arriving on stage. Slow Magic simply wandered on with no fanfare, Poppy was introduced by her creepy mannequin frenemy Charlotte, Jamie Lenman stepped in front of the mic accompanied by an ominous drumbeat. SOPHIE explodes onto the stage. The bright white strobe lights flash with a deep, soul-smashing beat and then suddenly, she’s there, in all her PVC glory.

SOPHIE oozes stage presence. She’s a glamazon goddess dressed in form-fitting PVC with those incredible prosthetic cheekbones which give her an otherworldly, almost alien look. She’s come to conquer and we are more than willing.

There’s four people on stage – SOPHIE, another singer who I later learn is called Cecile Believe and two dancers dressed in skin-tight leather. The performance is immediately sexual from the offset – it’s like being at a burlesque show. The show is a statement: A statement of intent, of sexuality, of owning one’s body and doing with it whatever the hell you want with it. It’s telling, I think, that there are no men on stage – it’s a celebration of queerness too.

As the intro transitions into Whole New World there seems to be a narrative playing out on stage – SOPHIE and Cecile gaze into each other’s eyes, singing almost through each other, each with a hand wrapped around the other’s neck. One of the dancers then grabs Cecile and drags her away (literally, the heels of her boots scrape across the floor of the stage) as the two women reach out towards each other. While all this is going on, a huge, white inflatable appears and slowly begins to fill with air. This is the point where I realise, quite certainly, that this is about art, about performance. The thing (Bag? Soul? Enormous condom?) inflates and, from within, we can see the arms of the dancers, reaching out and grabbing through the thin plastic. It’s creepy, delightfully creepy, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Soon the whole stage is engulfed, taken over by the encroaching shape, and SOPHIE is pulled inside.

I let out a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. The rest of the crowd does likewise. We deflate like the inflatable bag that crumples into itself on the stage.

There’s a moment of peace, of quiet ease, as Cecile begins a solo – a song which almost falls out of her mouth, words stumbling into the microphone. In her bro.ken.sen.tence.voi.ce she tells us that she’s a robot who’s forgotten how to love, and asks us if we’ll help her. Of course, we all call back yes, and in my head I begin to categorise her as “SOPHIE’s Robot Girlfriend”.

The lights fall as she finishes and once again we fall into electric anticipation. There’s a lot of this, a strong sense of things building, the understanding that something is about to happen, something big.

A discordant klaxon blares out a single note and the lights flash purple. Then two notes – duh-duh. Then again. Then again. Then:

PONY.BOY.

Everyone loses it. This is understandable: Ponyboy is a great song and probably one of the most anticipated tracks of the whole gig. SOPHIE returns, along with the two dancers. They play out the Ponyboy music video, walking across the stage on all fours, bouncing on their knees. Dressed in leather and PVC, the performance again is deeply sexual. If you’ve seen the Ponyboy video you’ll know exactly what I mean – it’s bodily, physical and bound up in BDSM imagery. There’s a moment in the video where SOPHIE and one of her dancers take a rope and lead the second dancer around the stage with it hooked around her neck, bouncing to the beat, and they mimic it on stage. Its visceral, almost. It feels like I’m watching the most intense burlesque show of my life. Cecile, dressed entirely in iridescent white, looks strangely angelic on the edge of the stage.

After Ponyboy, we’re treated to more of the same dancing, almost simulated sex on the stage in front of us. Watching feels almost voyeuristic but, hey: we’re all consenting adults. We knew what a SOPHIE concert would entail. In a way, this is a 1004 person scene. The dancers, by the way, are fantastic. They’re powerful, their movements are sure and strong. They pick each other (and SOPHIE) up more than once, occasionally performing a complicated move where one lifts the other and spins her around – it’s like sexy ice dancing.

The track changes, again – more tones which the crowd recognises. The screen fills with a huge image of SOPHIE’s face, which suddenly distorts, like melting rubber. Faceshopping dropped last month and the reaction was electric. Like Ponyboy, the track is full of harsh, discordant notes, repetitive lyrics and slightly off-beat pounding. Halfway through the song, it suddenly all drops away into dreamlike, floating lyrics. The sudden tonal shift is mirrored on stage as the four women huddle together, the bodily, sexual vibe dropping away to reveal something far more intimate.

There’s a few moments of simplicity where SOPHIE and Cecile own the stage, SOPHIE producing from a wheeled trolley which, without a shadow of a doubt, is the same one I used to use in my old job during meal times. And then, next, comes a new song which I’ve heard in snippets floating around Reddit but wasn’t prepared for in any way.

“IMMATERIAL” illuminates in huge letters across the back of the stage. The dancers have returned once again and the four women bounce around the stage. The song goes off in a way that Ponyboy and Faceshopping don’t – it’s poppy and bouncy and reminds me a lot of a couple of the tracks from Product. Immaterial is, above all, fun. It’s a celebration (of what I’m not necessarily sure), it’s about enjoying the moment. The dancing is still sexual, still bodily, but now it feels less serious. At one point, the four women lineup in a kind of standing-dancing-fourway. It’s obvious that everyone on the stage is having a great time, and I feel weirdly proud, kind of delighted, to see an artist I love so much clearly having a good time doing what she does best. As we’ve been building to the release of the album, SOPHIE has transitioned from an off-screen presence to being a superstar, someone who dominates the stage and is adored by, well, an entire room full of screaming fans. I’m happy for her.

After a spectacular laser show, there’s one song left. One finale, the one we’ve all been waiting for. She appears, for the final time, dressed in an incredible red lace and chiffon dress with a net fascinator and her red hair in tight curls around her face. It’s Okay To Cry isn’t a hard song, it isn’t atonal and pounding. There’s no discord, no klaxons. It’s not quite a ballad, but it’s close. The crowd shouts along with the lyrics as the screen behind SOPHIE fills with fast moving white clouds. The song is so different from anything else SOPHIE has released. It’s an emotional celebration of love, of being true to yourself, of owning your own feelings. There’s a general consensus that It’s Okay to Cry is a coming out song, and it truly feels that way – it packs an emotional punch and is, as far as I’m aware, the first song where SOPHIE provided the vocals herself and, more than that, it was the first time she took centre stage. The song says here I am, this is me. I know I’m not the only one who’s listened to It’s Okay to Cry on the bus (or more embarrassingly, at work) and had a bit of a moment and been forced to quickly compose themselves before anyone’s noticed.

The song is over far too quickly, and the set finishes, and there’s a distinctive clunk as SOPHIE drops the mic as she sashays off-stage. I desperately regret not getting tickets to the after party.