"I think we have a couple
of things in common," Annie Clark (better known as the seismic force
behind St. Vincent) chirped to a crowd at Lawrence's Liberty Hall last night.
Having ravaged her voice during the prior song "Cruel"
to capture the abandonment of "so they took you and they left you,"
the light banter was a welcome break. But the opening up took a sharp 45 degree
turn, as each shared experience Clark listed became more and more specific. By
the time her final commonality came up, it was clear Clark was talking about
herself. Even in opening up, Clark couldn't help but obfuscate.
Though that lesson should've
been clear from the first wobbly beat of opener "Rattlesnake".
Rather than step straight to the microphone Clark mechanically danced in place,
relishing every sharp herk and jerk. When her voice does eventually sound its
sullen and confused; wondering aloud "am I the only one in the only
world?" Instead of tackling the question head on, Clark opted to run away
on the back of a frenetic, gut busting guitar solo. Clark's decision to let her
guitar do the talking became a common occurrence on the night. When she found
herself being carried off by "Surgeon"'s electronically
treated strings to an indignant silence from a former lover, she abolished that
silence with a solo where hammered-on notes recalled a short-circuit. "Birth in
Reverse" staved off the aforementioned "Cruel"'s malevolent
tone with a guitar strut. Before anyone could overstay their welcome in Clark's
"cosmic eternal party line" she was shooing them away with electronic
histrionics.
And if Clark's fretwork failed
to keep the wolves at bay, her physical acrobats were more than up to the task.
While Clark's guitar prowess deserves to be
celebrated, her commanding stage-presence is equally laudable. In the King
Crimson meets Timbaland groove of "Digital
Witness" she adroitly conveyed the zombie-ism of the Social Media age
with her own disaffected "yahs." Each time a dead-eyed utterance
spilled out, you could hear a mouse clicking to another profile. St.
Vincentstandout "I Prefer
Your Love"'s warm synth swoons gave Clark a bed to lie down upon.
Sprawling out across the on-stage staircase, Clark became a 40s lounge singer,
albeit one well-versed in futurism and sorcery.
Such sorcery was in full-effect
for "Every Tear
Disappears", which had Clark contorting to right angles to deliver the
sagely advice "a smile is more than showing teeth." When she openly
interrogated "what about the pain?" you felt it yourself.
"Prince Johnny"'s need to love yourself before you can love another
seemed untenable as Clark collapsed to the floor and began to writhe around
like Samara from The Ring. Clark previously commented on the song
saying, ""Prince Johnny" is about a mixture of compassion and
hopelessness that you feel for a friend who’s being very self-destructive, but
you also know that you can’t save them, but you can’t cast any judgment because
you’re equally self-destructive," and that desperation was clear with
every wriggle. Finally, the schizoid vocals of "Bring Me
Your Loves" were an ideal companion to Clark's frantic mind that was
hung up on a former bf's belittlement. To exercise those relationship demons,
she thrashed about the stage once more though it all felt in vein by the time
the stage went dark. Physical aggression can't cure mental anguish.
However, anguish is best captured with little to no frill. Strange
Mercy's agonizing title-track delivered a
masterclass in stunning minimalism. Perched atop her digital ziggurat, Clark
had only her guitar and a solitary spotlight to accompany her. There was no
need for flailing guitar chords or twisting movements to highlight the
desperation of telling someone "when you see me, wait." The crowd was
silent as Clark snuck out to be with the lost boys she was chasing. For all of
her obfuscation, Clark arrived at a desire we can all relate to: the desire to
transcend your surroundings, to escape.
As my tweets and snapchats will
attest, I went to a house/techno show Friday night I was not made for. Nervously
pacing past girls with fox tails, guys rocking yarmulkes, a few dreadlocked
"tweakers" doing the splits I felt out of my element. I was lightly
sweating, my ears were ringing, and my heart hurt from the colossal bass. All I
had to do was yell "get off of my lawn!" and the transformation into a
crotchety old butterfly would've been complete. That is not to say I couldn't
comprehend or make sense out of what was going on. I love electronic music;
it's a key staple of my daily music diet. However my consumption is generally
done in seclusion. Rather than dance, I nod along and gradually drift off into
whatever world the song conjures. Flailing wildly tends to stymie that process.
On Annie Clark's 4th studio LP
as St. Vincent she sounds like a fish out of water, gasping for air in an
alien desert. Clark says her previous St. Vincent LP Strange
Mercy was all about "internal
struggle" though St. Vincent does more than its fair-share of
sparing. Similar to Arcade Fire's Reflektor,
much of it concerns moving out of the digital-era, like the Kraftwerkian
burbler "Rattlesnake"
which Clark wrote after a commune
with nature went awry. Second single "Digital
Witness" taunts "this is no time for confessing," to remind
us our online "voices" aren't as powerful as we pretend they are.
However,
not everything revolves around 1's and 0'. There in the melodious slow roll of
"Prince Johnny" is Annie Clark praying to "all to make me a real
girl." Describing the effort, Clark commented:""Prince
Johnny" is about a mixture of compassion and hopelessness that you feel
for a friend who’s being very self-destructive, but you also know that you
can’t save them, but you can’t cast any judgment because you’re equally
self-destructive." Hidden amongst the choral vocals and steady
drum-machine ticks, there's the age-old crisis of figuring out how to love
yourself before you can love anyone else. "I Prefer Your
Love" with its wine-drunk drumbeat is a string-heavy paean to Clark's
mother who was temporarily ill last year. When we're younger, we often idolize
our parents. We'd like to believe they're perfect. If anyone is immune to
death's sting it's them. As our eyes grow more adult, we see that isn't the
case. Closing ballad "Severed
Crossed Fingers" is Clark's most honest endeavor. She worries about
being "humiliated by age, terrified of youth" as she alights on a
bar-stool. The greatest fear of growing old isn't necessarily wrinkling, it's the
concern you haven't left your mark. Instead of doing, you cross your fingers;
hoping everything works out.
Of course when you possess the
unmistakable talent Clark does, you don’t have to wish much. If a museum for
"rock" guitar-players opened up, she'd be the first of her 2007 class
to be inducted. Having spent years opening for the likes of: Television, Arcade Fire, Andrew Bird,
and Xiu Xiu;
St. Vincent's style is an overlap of that diverse crowd. She claims
Television's jazz-inspired play, Bird and AF's baroque dramatics, and Xiu Xiu's
loose-cannon crunch. "Birth in Reverse" churns constantly without
ever growing staid. In the chorus break, St. Vincent sends riffs flying off at
geometrically impossible angles. "Regret" is
impeccable for entirely antithetical reasons. Here she finds a crackling part,
riding it until it collapses. Her playing can also be ferocious while keeping
focused. "Huey
Newton" comfortably rests on a bed of twinkling electronics before
being awoken by a marauding guitar. Early in the browsing Wikipedia at 3AM entry,
she breathlessly coos "toothless, but got a big bark," a threat you
don't take into proper consideration until that spine-shaking moment.
In fact, St. Vincent is
an ever-flowing stream of being "shook." "Psychopath"
captures a scene many lovers play through when they realize how much they
depend on one another. "Keep me in your soft sights, when all of the rest
have moved on," St. Vincent begs from under a blanket of soaring strings
and acoustic shuffling. No matter how in love they are, few can avoid freaking
out upon the revelation. St. Vincent has a screwdriver for a guitar to keep her
company, but others aren't so lucky. Some like the dead-eyed zombies of
"Digital Witness" only have humming TVs to help out. Others see their
tears drowned out by Galaga
walls of noise. And there are those "trapped" at an event
they'd love to leave. Physical or digital, the struggle is the same.
