St. Vincent - Alone and Exposed

"I'm so glad I came, but I can't wait to leave" (St. Vincent, 'Slow Disco')

Let's begin by mangling Tolstoy's most famous line: "Happy gigs are all alike; every unhappy gig is unhappy in its own way."  It would certainly make more sense to write about the happy and amazing gigs I've attended rather than the ones that don't measure up.  LCD Soundsystem at Alexander Palace last month, for example: euphoric, explosive, and life-affirming despite its angsty theme of trying to remain relevant in the face of deadening middle-age.  But writing about those gigs that fall short, or as the case might be, an unhappy gig?  Perhaps we should pursue Tolstoy's maxim and investigate.

"I've told whole lies with a half smile."

St. Vincent at Brixton Academy on Tuesday evening is the perfect test-ground.  My initial thoughts pegged the performance as lacklustre and puzzling.  A lone Annie Clark (aka St. Vincent), singing her songs to the accompaniment of a backing tape - 'amped up karaoke' declared one less than enamoured review - occasionally laying down a bit of shredded guitar or standing statuesque behind her mic, all made for a night that lacked soul and, seemingly, depth.   

Yet, as the hours passed my memories of the evening began to distil.  Part of that is down to the nature of St. Vincent's new album Masseduction.  Although I have only listened to it three or four times it is an instant classic, a heady rush of masterful and magnificent pop.  But it is also - despite a lot of reviews which coyly downplay this element - a viscerally confessional break-up album.  Listen to the muted mumbles, filled with self loathing and longing, that close out the fantastic 'Los Ageless': "I guess that's just me, honey, I guess that's how I'm built. I try to tell you I love you and it comes out all sick."  Or the title track's allusion to the greatest break-up album of all, Nick Cave's The Boatman's Call (sorry, Bob).  Indeed, St. Vincent recently split with supermodel Cara Delevingne and the fallout from that relationship saturates the whole album.  The threats towards the close of 'Smoking Section' are direct, unambiguous and worrying: "And sometimes I go to the edge of my roof, and I think I'll jump just to punish you, and if I should float on the taxis below, no one would notice, no one will know." Dark stuff. 

St. Vincent's new album, Masseduction

It was my friend's remark that caused me to reevaluate further though. He enjoyed the performance but had been left feeling uncomfortable by how exposed she had seemed on stage.  I'd already attempted a little bit of devil's advocacy in defence of St. Vincent: how those new songs were best served without the bonhomie that a tightly functioning band would have provided, but had also felt that I might have been indulging a seam of pretentious sophistry with that argument.  But maybe not. 'Vulnerable' is definitely the one word that sprang to mind when thinking about it.  A cold distance - the occasional and unconvincing cry of "I love you London" only exacerbating that gap - pervaded the performance.  And then lying down, almost in the foetal position to sing 'Hold On Me' the album's opener, seemed more than a touch of dramatic embellishment.

Cara Delevingne and Annie Clark

The chronology of the night also frustrated at the time, but in retrospect seemed apt.  Racing through key numbers from the first four albums, as if she'd lazily read through her discography and copied the the most popular titles straight onto a set list, and then after a brief interval, playing every song from the new album in strict order.  Finally, as the closing lines of 'Smoking Section' faded - "It's not the end, it's not the end" - she chose to forgo an encore.  At the time this came across as contempt for the audience, but in the cold 'morning after' light of the day it took on an air of ironic poignancy.

"I can't turn off what turns me on"

The films playing behind the performance intrigued and complemented the performance, too: surreal photo-shoots with close ups of Annie Clark's bland yet curiously beautiful features, or an accelerating and decelerating wormhole in the style of the credits to Doctor Who. As did Annie's costumes, the most noteworthy of these being an ensemble of garish pink PVC thigh length boots and a matching basque - the kind of outfit that even Madonna might have thought twice about. 

And if that was the point, to come on stage and serve up the perfect complement to the new album, and through that, convey her state of mind, then I'll cease feeling let down.  I've almost stopped regarding it as a gig in fact - in the echelons of live music, and judged solely on those rules, it was not good enough - but as a performance that sets out to convey heartbreak and despair, it lingers.  Or as my friend went on to remark: "I can't stop thinking about it ... it's almost as if it's haunting me."