Clark's set began last night with what initially felt like the crowd stomping on the wood floors of Liberty Hall, but the sound deepened into the opening of "Rattlesnake," the first song off her new self-titled album. She wastes no second of her show looking unpolished or unprepared; Clark seems so keenly aware of her body and face that every slight movement she makes looks crisp and posed. Midway through the song, she cracked half a smile, bent robotically in half, threw her cotton-candy poof of hair over her head, and launched into a note-heavy guitar solo. And she looked perfect doing it.
Her movements and facial expressions, like nearly every aspect of her show, are tightly controlled. This performance, down to the lighting design and stage banter, was clearly rehearsed in excruciating measures. The result, however, rather than being dull and mechanized, is a great display of performance art as well as musicianship. After every five or so songs, she would stop the performance, and would be hit with a white spotlight. It would become theater.
"I think we have a few things in common," she said at the first break. "You were born in the 21st century. You laugh when you are angry. You make a hot-air balloon out of a bedsheet that you hoped would fly. And you were so bummed when it didn't. It doesn't mean you ever gave up hope."
I can make a tenuous connection between these interludes and the overall theme of the new album, which is something like "modern digital shamanism" (as Clark loosely described it on her Colbert performance
). Based on our conversation last month
, I would imagine that this is one of the parts of the show that she was trying to hit at the audience's subconscious. These moments were somewhat successful at slightly shifting the audience out of concert mode, but occasionally they were distracting, as some audience members thought she was asking them for a response when she would be asking a rhetorical question. (Thank you, alcohol.)
The band as well as Clark managed to incorporate this sense of theatricality into the performance, thanks to the choreography and, of course, the musicianship. Guitarist and synthesizer master Toko Yasuda is particularly notable - she acts as Clark's right-hand woman, supplying moodiness, supporting guitar and backing vocals, in addition to the complementary and abbreviated but strangely captivating dance moves that Clark has had orchestrated for this tour.
Clark's own musical virtuosity was apparent throughout the performance, but sometimes was easily overlooked as her hands move so fluidly on her instrument. The performance of "Prince Johnny" in particular served as a strong reminder that Clark is worthy of guitar god(ess) status.
Annie Clark - the artist better known as St. Vincent - just makes it all look so easy. She can sing ethereally or intensely, depending on the moment. She can shriek, wail and groan. She can shred on guitar. She can flail, fall, smile, pose, tell stories. She did it all last night at Liberty Hall, and except for maybe the repeated (staged) falls, it all appears maddeningly effortless.