Photo: Justine Trickett
20, February 2014: From the second Annie Clark (better known by her moniker St. Vincent) ballet-shuffles onto the stage every moment of her performance is choreographed to the millimetre. Not a single strand of her bleached white hair falls out of place and even the guitar-tech’s interventions are timed to coincide with her movements. If that sounds like something lacking in heart, excitement and spontaneity, then rest assured it isn’t. If anything, this rigorously rehearsed show is the result of a meticulous (and highly successful) attempt to capture all of the heart, excitement and spontaneity of her records.
Any worries that the artifice of it all might throw up a barrier or make things somehow alienating are blown away with sheer noise. As it’s only one of many things she does well, it can be easy to forget just how insane Clark can get with a guitar. Her solo during opening number ‘Rattlesnake’ (also the first song on her brilliant new self-titled album, which is out on the 24th of this month) should be enough to make her this decade’s recipient of The Jack White Medal for Services to Unconventional Shredding.
It’s a telling sign of the direction St. Vincent is headed that despite already having a killer body of work behind her, it’s the new material that shines brightest. On ‘Birth in Reverse’ she and bandmate Toko Yasuda (who plays synths, guitars and, for a thrilling moment during ‘Northern Lights’, a theremin too) swap positions up and downstage, tip toeing back and forth, their clashing guitars sounding like something from White Denim’s ‘Corsicana Lemonade’ given a going over by Glitch Mob.
Of course, St. Vincent has many speeds and she’s just as enthralling without guitar. She delivers ‘I Prefer Your Love’ - a synth led paean to her mother which sounds like a collaboration between Annie Lennox and Lana Del Rey - from atop a white three tiered podium that could pass for an Aztec wedding cake. Later, after the close of ‘Prince Johnny’, she spends about a minute sliding down the steps on her back. When she finishes, slumped at the bottom, the strobes stop flashing and the red detail on her sculpted black dress gives the impression she’s been shot – the murder victim in a Tim Burton directed ‘who done it’. It’s a moment that would reek of pretension if it weren’t so perfectly in keeping with everything else she offers up.
Indeed, given her range, Clark needs this hyper-performative persona to tie it all together, to take us by the hand and lead us through the maze. If she didn’t, the music wouldn’t have half the impact. We simply couldn’t keep up. And who could blame us? One minute she’s 50 feet tall in her heels, delivering show tunes with Shirley Bassey grandeur (‘Cheerleader’), the next she’s being blown across stage by the force of her own feedback, a little girl lost in a storm scored by Stravinsky (‘Black Rainbow’). Oh, and let’s not forget the moments of straightforward pop bliss; the plaintive strum of ‘Year of the Tiger’ or the blaring faux-horns of the Talking Head-esque ‘Digital Witness’ (Yes, we know it looks lazy to call a track by an artist who’s recently collaborated with David Byrne ‘Talking Heads-esque’ but in fairness it just is.)
By ramping up the cerebral aspect of her material in a live setting, she actually makes it far more accessible. It would jar if she dropped the level even for a moment. That’s why it’s such a joy when, just as you think she’s about the engage in some standard issue crowd banter, she turns it into a performance poem:
"Hello, London. I feel like we’re getting to know each other. I think we have a lot in common. You were born before the 21st could concentrate the light through your magnifying glass and start a fire. Then you remembered you’re afraid of fire…"
Of course, the knack of having a persona is knowing how far it can be stretched. During the encore Clark delivers ‘The Bed’ (a haunting lullaby about children hunting imaginary monsters with a very real gun) sat alone on her podium. A bunch of flowers are thrown on stage. There’s a palpable moment of hesitation before she gets down, goes over and clutches them to her chest. It’s the one time in the whole set that she breaks from her predetermined path, and it’s the most perfectly in character moment of a spellbinding evening.
St. Vincent’s Setlist was:
Rattlesnake
Digital Witness
Cruel
Birth in Reverse
Regret
Laughing With a Mouth of Blood
I Prefer Your Love
Pieta
Every Tear Disappears
Surgeon
Cheerleader
Prince Johnny
Year of the Tiger
Black Rainbow
Marrow
Huey Newton
Bring Me Your Loves
Huey Newton
Bring Me Your Loves
Northern Lights
Krokodile
The Bed
Your Lips Are Red
Below: Exclusive photos of St.Vincent, live at Shepherds Bush Empire
