Musical impressionist Jess Robinson on the antidote to AI, optimisation and social media algorithms

There is a moment in my current show where I have to perform 20 impressions chosen by the audience.  I don’t know who’s coming. I don’t know what order they’ll appear in. I don’t know whether my brain will cooperate.

For a few minutes, a few hundred people and I are sharing the same thought: ‘This could go spectacularly wrong.’ And I think that’s partly why I, and they enjoy it!

Recently, I’ve been asked quite a lot about AI, authenticity and the future of performance. As an impressionist, I suppose I’m an obvious person to ask. After all, my job is literally becoming other people. For more than 20 years I’ve made a living from imitating pop stars, politicians, cartoon characters… and Sonia from Eastenders.

And yet, the older I get, the more interested I am in what happens underneath the performance. Something weird has happened to me over the last few years; the more technology has advanced, the more I’ve found myself thinking about humanity and authenticity. (If you don’t know me, this is because my default activity when I’m not working is watching The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills - which, I think we can agree, is the opposite of thinking about humanity and authenticity. It’s the opposite of thinking.)

And when I say authenticity, I don’t only mean in the ‘just be yourself’ sense. I don’t think it’s that simple. Since I started doing my own shows in 2013, I tried to create material that I thought people would like; performances that felt clever and commercial and that I imagined TV producers wanted to see. I tried to be edgy and cool. At one point I even forced myself to do stand-up about blowjobs which felt embarrassing enough at the time and which now makes me want to jump out of the window.

I’m not cool or edgy. I’m a wally. I’m a show off and a bit of a dick. I’m very musical. I’m childishly playful. I’m sensitive. I’m silly. I’m a bloody good singer. I laugh too loudly. If there’s an opportunity to play the recorder, tap dance or do a forwards roll in my show, I’ll take it.

Ironically, writing my book and preparing a TEDx talk about confidence and identity have taught me that my own voice matters just as much as any voice I’ve ever impersonated. I know, I know - it sounds so obvious now. But it didn’t feel obvious at the time. Not for a desperate-to-be-liked-and-succeed Olympic-level people-pleaser.

Being vulnerable and being honest about my least Insta-glossy sides turned out to be a bit of a superpower, which was unfortunate news for somebody who’d spent 20 years trying to appear polished, capable and entirely unbothered.

The funny thing is, audiences seem to respond far more when I stop trying to second-guess them. Which brings me to my current show: Elton Reimagined - which was created from a place of joy and playfulness and is probably the most ‘me’ thing I’ve ever made. Which is bonkers when you think about it; I’m singing Elton John songs in the voices of other women.

On paper, it sounds less authentic than standing on stage and singing my own songs as myself. Yet people keep telling me it’s the most Jess thing they’ve ever seen. I think that’s because authenticity isn’t literally about whether you’re being yourself every second. It’s about whether what you’re doing comes from a truthful place.

The clever musical arrangements, the humour, the musicality, the audience interaction, the show-stopping (if I do say so myself) vocals, the warmth, the recorder solo… All of that feels genuinely me. Will it get me on Have I Got News For You or Taskmaster? Probably not. Then again, neither did all the years I spent trying to be someone(s) else.

For the first time, I haven’t tried to create what I thought people wanted. I’ve created what delights me. And the fact that audiences seem to like it more is an interesting lesson… particularly at a time when so much of our lives seem geared towards optimisation. What will perform best? What will get the most clicks? What does the algorithm want? What should I be posting? What should I be saying?

The danger is that eventually you stop using your own voice altogether. Maybe that’s why all the conversations around AI have got me thinking. Not because I’m worried

about robots taking over comedy clubs… not yet, but because AI and social media both seem to be pushing us towards the same question: What happens when optimisation becomes more important than expression?

For years, I was already doing my own version of that. Trying to be what I thought producerswanted. Trying to create what I thought audiences wanted. Trying to be cooler, edgier, more  commercially viable. The irony is that audiences seem to connect far more with the work that comes from a place of joy, playfulness and enthusiasm than anything I carefully reverse-engineered for approval.

Some of the most memorable moments I’ve experienced on stage weren’t the flawless ones. They were the ones where something went wrong; the line I kept fluffing in the Dead Ringers recording last week which reduced both me and the audience to hysterics. The tiny crack in my voice which made the Amy Winehouse song all the more emotional. The impression of Hilary Clinton that accidentally came out sounding like an iconic male newsreader. (I’ve never been able to do it again, but that night 79 people heard the greatest Trevor McDonald impression ever. And came out of the mouth of a 5ft 3in woman wearing sequin platforms.)

Those moments remind everybody involved that this is happening live. It’s not content. It’s an experience. When somebody buys a theatre ticket, they’re not just paying to hear jokes or songs. If that was all they wanted, they could stay at home and scroll. They’re paying for community, surprise and connection. Taking the step to organise the childcare, leave the house, find the parking space, buy the drink and sit in a room with strangers is an active choice. They’re showing up. And that’s what feels important to me.

In a world where more and more entertainment is designed to be consumed passively, live comedy asks something different of us; it asks us to participate, pay attention, be present.

AI is incredibly useful. I use it myself. It’s brilliant at helping me organise tasks and untangle ideas. But it can’t recreate what happens when a room full of people share an experience together. The collective intake of breath followed by the unexpected laugh or the bit when everyone wills the performer to succeed and celebrates when they do… Or the knowledge that tonight will be different from tomorrow night because these people are here, in this room, at this moment. That’s the magic.

If we want live comedy, theatre and performance to survive, we have to actively choose them. They certainly don’t win by default against convenience. Every time we buy the ticket and show up, we’re choosing something increasingly rare. Not perfection, or optimisation or something generated to please an algorithm. We’re choosing to be in a room full of human beings sharing a moment that could go spectacularly wrong. And that’s precisely what makes it worth watching.

• Jess Robinson’s Elton Reimagined is on tour, including dates at London’s Underbelly Boulevard (from July 1 to 5) and Edinburgh Fringe throughout August.

Published: 29 Jun 2026