Between the Heartbeats is not here to behave.
It is a fierce, glitter-soaked, soul-bearing uprising of Black queer brilliance in the West End. A space where LGBTQ+ artists are not coded, softened, or sidelined but centred. Fully. Loudly. Joyfully.
This is Pride beyond the rainbow capitalism.
This is legacy. Resistance. Survival. Pleasure. Power.
This is legacy. Resistance. Survival. Pleasure. Power.
Through explosive vocals, raw storytelling, and electric live performance, this concert reclaims space in an industry that has historically profited from Black creativity while marginalising Black queer bodies.
We are done waiting politely.
We are done shrinking.
We are done asking for permission.
We are done shrinking.
We are done asking for permission.
Described as “a fearless declaration of Black artistry taking up space,” Between the Heartbeats is a celebration of queer love, Black excellence, and artistic freedom a reminder that our stories are not niche, not optional, and not temporary.
They are foundational.
They are vital.
They are here to stay.
Come for the music.
Leave changed.
They are vital.
They are here to stay.
Come for the music.
Leave changed.
We chatted to concert producer Emmanuel Akwafo to learn more.
What can you tell me about Between the Heartbeats and the inspiration behind it?
Between the Heartbeats was born out of a desire to honour the moments that don’t usually make it to the stage the quiet truths, the in-between spaces where identity, love, grief, and joy all coexist. It’s inspired by lived experience, by conversations within Black queer communities, and by songs that have held us through those moments. I wanted to create something that feels like a pulse intimate but undeniable where every story feels both deeply personal and collectively shared. There isn’t another concert like this because these stories, this honesty, and this space are rarely held together in this way.
You’ve described this show as “not here to behave.” What rules of musical theatre are you most excited to break?
After the success of our first concert, The Black Print, at the Phoenix Arts Club and NYC’s Green Room 42, we knew we wanted to create something even more intentional something that pushed further. Both myself, Emmanuel Akwafo, and my associate producer Marcus Collick are Black queer performers working within the industry, and we’ve felt firsthand that there isn’t truly a space that reflects the way we love musical theatre and music as a whole. Not just as performers, but as people with all the nuance, contradiction, and depth that comes with that. Traditional concerts often prioritise polish over truth neat arcs, clear resolutions, and a certain “acceptable” way of telling stories. This show rejects that entirely.
Between the Heartbeats was born out of a desire to honour the moments that don’t usually make it to the stage the quiet truths, the in-between spaces where identity, love, grief, and joy all coexist. It’s inspired by lived experience, by conversations within Black queer communities, and by songs that have held us through those moments. I wanted to create something that feels like a pulse intimate but undeniable where every story feels both deeply personal and collectively shared. There isn’t another concert like this because these stories, this honesty, and this space are rarely held together in this way.
You’ve described this show as “not here to behave.” What rules of musical theatre are you most excited to break?
After the success of our first concert, The Black Print, at the Phoenix Arts Club and NYC’s Green Room 42, we knew we wanted to create something even more intentional something that pushed further. Both myself, Emmanuel Akwafo, and my associate producer Marcus Collick are Black queer performers working within the industry, and we’ve felt firsthand that there isn’t truly a space that reflects the way we love musical theatre and music as a whole. Not just as performers, but as people with all the nuance, contradiction, and depth that comes with that. Traditional concerts often prioritise polish over truth neat arcs, clear resolutions, and a certain “acceptable” way of telling stories. This show rejects that entirely.
Between the Heartbeats is still a concert but not one you’ve seen before. Structurally, it’s fluid; it moves like memory, like music itself, rather than following a linear path. Emotionally, vocally, and culturally, we allow performers to take up space fully without translating themselves for comfort, without softening the edges of who they are.
This is what makes it different. There isn’t another concert quite like this because it doesn’t ask for neatness or permission. It simply asks for truth, and makes space for it to exist, fully and unapologetically.
The West End has a history of softening Black queer stories. How did you protect the raw truth of these artists?
There are only a handful of Black queer stories represented on major stages Kinky Boots, A Strange Loop and even then, they are the exception, not the norm. The reality is, we need more. We need musicals that centre the trans experience, the lesbian experience stories that exist fully and unapologetically on main stages, not at the margins.
The protection of this space comes from trust and collaboration. The artists involved are not just performers; they are storytellers co-authors of their own narratives. Together, we’ve created an environment where honesty is never negotiated or diluted. That means allowing room for discomfort, resisting the instinct to “tidy up” the work, and choosing authenticity over accessibility at every turn.
This piece answers first to the people it represents not to the expectations or limitations of the industry. People will ask why. Our response is simple: why not.
This piece answers first to the people it represents not to the expectations or limitations of the industry. People will ask why. Our response is simple: why not.
What does reclaiming space look like in practice within historically marginalising institutions?
It looks like refusing to shrink and refusing to ask. It’s about claiming space on our own terms, from casting to creative direction to the stories we choose to centre. It means actively shifting power: who gets to speak, who is credited, whose perspective leads the room. Reclaiming space isn’t symbolic it’s deliberate, structural, and unapologetic. And yes, it can be uncomfortable, but that discomfort is where real change begins. This concert marks a first for the King’s Head Theatre, and we’re proud to be part of building a new legacy here.
“Pride beyond rainbow capitalism” how do you keep the work rooted in resistance?
By staying accountable to community rather than trends, the work remains rooted in something real. Pride can easily become aesthetic something consumable, but resistance is ongoing, and often inconvenient. This work chooses to sit in that tension.
By staying accountable to community rather than trends, the work remains rooted in something real. Pride can easily become aesthetic something consumable, but resistance is ongoing, and often inconvenient. This work chooses to sit in that tension.
We keep asking ourselves: who is this for? What truth are we telling? And what are we risking by telling it? If the work still feels urgent if it’s still saying something that can’t be easily packaged, then we know we’re on the right track. We open the doors wide. This is not just a Black show it’s a space for everyone to show up and show out.
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| Emmanuel Akwafo. |
These stories are “foundational rather than niche.” How did that shift your approach?
It changes everything. When you stop treating these stories as marginal, you stop explaining them. You stop justifying their presence. Instead, you centre them creatively and structurally. The production wasn’t built to “introduce” audiences to these experiences, but to immerse them in them. That confidence shifts the scale, the language, and the ambition of the work.
It changes everything. When you stop treating these stories as marginal, you stop explaining them. You stop justifying their presence. Instead, you centre them creatively and structurally. The production wasn’t built to “introduce” audiences to these experiences, but to immerse them in them. That confidence shifts the scale, the language, and the ambition of the work.
How did you balance spectacle with vulnerability?
It is about intention. The spectacle is the vocals, the energy draws people in, but the vulnerability is what stays with them. We are careful not to let one overshadow the other. Every big moment will be grounded in something real, and every quiet moment will be given just as much weight. The balance comes from trusting that stillness can be just as powerful as volume.
How did you approach building the lineup of talent?
It was less about assembling names and more about building a collective. We looked for artists who bring not just technical excellence, but truth people with something to say and the courage to say it. There’s a shared language in the room, even across different styles and disciplines, and that creates a kind of chemistry you can’t manufacture.
“We are done asking for permission.” Was there a defining moment behind that?
It wasn’t one moment; it was an accumulation. Repeatedly seeing how long we’re asked to wait, how often we’re asked to adjust, to dilute, to be patient. At some point, you realise the system isn’t designed to catch up quickly enough. So instead of waiting for validation, you build something undeniable. That shift is both freeing and necessary.
What legacy do you hope the show leaves?
I hope it leaves permission, for the next generation to take up space without apology, to tell their stories without translation, and to expect more from the industry. If it creates even a small shift in what is considered possible or viable on these stages, then it’s done something meaningful.
What shift do you hope audiences leave with?
That these stories aren’t “other.” They’re not niche, not optional they’re essential. Especially when we’re talking about LGBTQIP2SAA+ lives, which have so often been pushed to the margins or reduced to footnotes. I want audiences to leave recognising the universality in specificity and understanding that when you centre voices that have been historically sidelined, you don’t narrow the story you deepen it.
What was the first piece of theatre that impacted you?
The first piece of theatre that really stayed with me was Dreamgirls. It made me feel seen in a way I didn’t expect not just in the music, but in the ambition, the struggle, and the complexity of the characters. I especially connected to Effie White her voice, her heart, her refusal to be diminished. There was something in her journey that felt deeply familiar, that need to be heard and valued without compromise. That feeling of connection, of possibility, is something I carry into my own work now.
What keeps you inspired?
People. Conversations. Music everything from country to opera. Greek tragedy, too those timeless stories of love, loss, and fate. I’m inspired by the resilience and creativity within communities that continue to create despite limitation, and by the desire people must understand one another, or at least try to. Inspiration often comes from listening really listening to the stories around me.
It is about intention. The spectacle is the vocals, the energy draws people in, but the vulnerability is what stays with them. We are careful not to let one overshadow the other. Every big moment will be grounded in something real, and every quiet moment will be given just as much weight. The balance comes from trusting that stillness can be just as powerful as volume.
How did you approach building the lineup of talent?
It was less about assembling names and more about building a collective. We looked for artists who bring not just technical excellence, but truth people with something to say and the courage to say it. There’s a shared language in the room, even across different styles and disciplines, and that creates a kind of chemistry you can’t manufacture.
“We are done asking for permission.” Was there a defining moment behind that?
It wasn’t one moment; it was an accumulation. Repeatedly seeing how long we’re asked to wait, how often we’re asked to adjust, to dilute, to be patient. At some point, you realise the system isn’t designed to catch up quickly enough. So instead of waiting for validation, you build something undeniable. That shift is both freeing and necessary.
What legacy do you hope the show leaves?
I hope it leaves permission, for the next generation to take up space without apology, to tell their stories without translation, and to expect more from the industry. If it creates even a small shift in what is considered possible or viable on these stages, then it’s done something meaningful.
What shift do you hope audiences leave with?
That these stories aren’t “other.” They’re not niche, not optional they’re essential. Especially when we’re talking about LGBTQIP2SAA+ lives, which have so often been pushed to the margins or reduced to footnotes. I want audiences to leave recognising the universality in specificity and understanding that when you centre voices that have been historically sidelined, you don’t narrow the story you deepen it.
What was the first piece of theatre that impacted you?
The first piece of theatre that really stayed with me was Dreamgirls. It made me feel seen in a way I didn’t expect not just in the music, but in the ambition, the struggle, and the complexity of the characters. I especially connected to Effie White her voice, her heart, her refusal to be diminished. There was something in her journey that felt deeply familiar, that need to be heard and valued without compromise. That feeling of connection, of possibility, is something I carry into my own work now.
What keeps you inspired?
People. Conversations. Music everything from country to opera. Greek tragedy, too those timeless stories of love, loss, and fate. I’m inspired by the resilience and creativity within communities that continue to create despite limitation, and by the desire people must understand one another, or at least try to. Inspiration often comes from listening really listening to the stories around me.
Where can people see the concert and follow your work?
You can catch Between the Heartbeats at the King’s Head Theatre on 28th June. Tickets are available at https://kingsheadtheatre.com. Follow the company @_nonamecreatives on Instagram to stay connected to the journey. If you can’t make the show but still want to support the work and help us continue creating projects like this, you can donate or help spread the word here: https://gofund.me/56c40e500. This is just the beginning, there’s more to come.
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