Photo: Chris MacDonald
"A very special warm welcome to all of the freaks and others of London town," smiles Annie Clark, beaming down from The Roundhouse stage as her silhouette cuts an ominous but assured presence. Indeed, there is something that unites us all tonight - that spark of curiosity that lies deep within what St Vincent calls our 'fucking lizard brain'.
It's a hunger that Clark was put on this Earth to chase and feed. We all have much in common after all. As Clark herself puts it, we were all born before the 21st Century, we all take pleasure in zipping up suitcases as it means we're going somewhere but haven't had to go there yet, we're all secret pyromaniacs, and we all still cling to that juvenile belief that one day we'll fly, if we never EVER, give up.
It's that fiery resolve and pursuit of wonder that has seen Clark evolve into the otherworldly being that stands before us tonight. This is not your standard singer-songwriter affair. St Vincent has taken the idiosyncrasies of her sound and thoughts and magnified them with choreographed brilliance to create an awe-inspiring rush of theatre with an explosive punk spirit. She's exaggerated herself beyond the icon-in-the-making she is, to become something more akin to an android cult leader from a dystopian future.
St Vincent brings her 'strange fever dream' to life, and it's a dizzying delight to be welcomed into it. Not only that, but it's a strong contender for the live event of the year.
But first, there’s unpolished potential in support act Coves, whose pop is drenched in shoegaze and psychedelica, and who glide through their set confidently and with great charm. Though lead vocals come from Beck Wood, she is, more often than not, joined by John Ridgard, who wails hypnotically in unison. For the most part, it works well, though we occasionally find ourselves craving the extra layer a harmony might bring. On balance though, it’s a sonically rich and well-judged warm-up, and deserves greater credit given that St Vincent is impossible to precede. When their set ends, they set down their instruments without a word, and walk offstage without so much as a cursory glance back, exuding confidence and promise.
The bubbling menace of 'Rattlesnake' kicks off proceedings for St Vincent, before soon erupting into a maniacal explosion of axe-mastery - and so sets the tone for the rest of the night: grace and insanity, hand in hand.
'Digital Witness' and 'Marrow' both swagger with a robotic funk, while 'Actor Out Of Work' and 'Birth In Reverse' both see Annie shine at her most unhinged - not least for the sight alone of her mechanical frenzied footwork to and fro with remarkable guitarist Toko Yasuda.
In an astonishing 90 minutes, she pulls off one hell of an audio-visual extravaganza. Clutching onto her soon to be iconic purple pyramid as she rolls down to the stage floor, this is less a rock show and more an immersive art show that attacks you with light and sound. The sheer bat-shit frenzy of 'Krokodil' sees out the first part of the set, before the stunned howls of the crowd welcome her back on for an intimate rendition of 'Strange Mercy', and then all hell breaks loose on 'Year Of The Tiger' and 'Your Lips Are Red' - invading the crowd, scaling the pillars, running amok. She simply couldn't have done more.
There is no character like her. One could call her 'The Thin White Duchess' at this stage, but the truth is there is no one else on this Earth who is doing the magnificent spectacle that St Vincent brought to the stage this evening.
True, she is the closest thing this generation has to Bowie, but only in the sense that she's a freak, an other, living in a world of her own - and what a wonderful world it is.
St Vincent played:
Rattlesnake
Digital Witness
Cruel
Marrow
Every Tear Disappears
I Prefer Your Love
Actor Out of Work
Surgeon
Cheerleader
Prince Johnny
Birth in Reverse
Regret
Huey Newton
Bring Me Your Loves
Krokodil
Encore:
Strange Mercy
Year of the Tiger
Your Lips Are Red
Below: 11 awesome photos of St Vincent stunning The Roundhouse
