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Upcoming Shows
Birds on a Wire
FRIDAY & SATURDAY, March 26 & 27
PULLMAN
$35 Adv./$45 Door
$25 Group Rate of 10
Shearwater
w/the Hospital Ships & Wye Oak
FRIDAY, Apr. 30 8PM
@ The BellTower
PULLMAN
$12 Adv./$15 Door
Roadside Graves
w/TBD
THURSDAY, Aug. 5
@ TBA -
Stereopathic on Hypem
Oct
5
Seven Victorian amber-glowing lampshades scattered across the stage? Check. Five giant smoke machines pumping out fog like it’s midnight in Londontown? Got it. Three laser transmitters with corresponding reflective mirrors? No problem. Two barrels of smoldering incense swirling into the sky and into the nostrils of a crowd at the second-night-in-a-row sold out show at Webster Hall? You bet. The one and only Fever Ray? Yes, indeed…And I thought either Crystal Castles or Of Montreal’s show from their last tour would have reigned supreme in my “Craziest Concerts I Have Ever Been To” category. After last night, I’m not so sure.
Fever Ray is the solo project of Karin Dreijer Andersson, the lead singer in the duo, The Knife. Similar to The Knife’s sound, the only way I can think to describe Fever Ray’s music is ‘Scandinavian calypso-gothtronica.’ When the Fever Ray live band walked out onstage to their instruments, I could barely even see them because the smoke in the room was so thick. When the green lasers darted out from the stage over the audience, though, I caught a vision of the performers—painted faces, misshapen head-wear, and curious garmentry. Ambient minor chords hovered in the stillness, floating with the fog. In the middle of the stage sat what looked like a large bundle of fur with antlers. As the lights grew stronger, I doubted my own guesses, but then, at the first note of her deep, dark, shrill voice, all of my suspicions were confirmed: The bundle of fur was Karin. It looked like she was huddled inside of a dome-shaped frame and there was a reindeer pelt draped over it, serving as her cloak—a radioactive reindeer pelt, emitting multi-colored laser streams. Then, sharply but not jarringly, the drums kicked in, and at the beat of every hit, a different set of lamps flashed their light. This enchanted audio/visual exhibit gave me the extraordinarily strange sensation that I was witnessing a Siberian Druid ritual at the brink of an incandescent full moon. It was a radiant spectacle, to be sure.
Fever Ray’s liturgy moved forward as Karin dismissed her furry cape and drew closer to the front of the stage. Still, there was no audience interaction, not even thank-you’s after applause, and yet, somehow, I felt completely connected to the concert through the use of light, smoke, and shadows. The laser and lamp effects morphed throughout the setlist, accompanying each song in particular, peculiar, perfectly-planned-out movements.
Karin lifted her hands when she sang and stared through the ceiling as though under a spell. The guitarist’s riffs were tight and pristine even amidst double-duty on the laptop, tacking on different effects and textures to Karin’s voice. The drummer banged on bongos and congas and chimes (oh my!) and even helped out with some of the singing. The keyboardist constantly provided atmospheric ambiance to fill the space, setting the ethereal moods. At the climax of the show, on a song with a droning rhythm followed by an epic build-up, the lasers formed a pyramid, matching the black outline of a triangle drawn on Karin’s ghostly pale forehead. Following the example of the guitarist, the audience proceeded to put their hands up in the air and brought them together to form triangles. When the build-up broke loose, the beats came in bold and, in response, the audience danced and davened, sang along, and beat their hands together in a primitive trance.
Karin put the pelt back on for one more song and then they all drifted offstage. There was no encore. And there was no encore needed. There was nothing that should have been taken away or added to this performance. It was a service of sorts, really, and I think Fever Ray was quite aware of that. When a service is over, it’s just over. If they had come back to the stage, it would have ruined the mystical aura they were so successful in creating in the first place. You do not depart like a nomad back into the woods somewhere and then reappear for two more songs. You recess slowly into the darkness and you travel to who knows where before you are ever seen from or heard from again—and rumor has it that Fever Ray will not be seen again, that this tour was a one-time-only event, which, in retrospect, makes the whole night feel that much more enchanted.
MP3: Fever Ray, “When I Grow Up”
Nathan Asher lives in New York, where he works for an educational research firm and scours the City for good espresso. He has an appreciation for old and curious things, and he likes his music loud: www.myfloatinghome.wordpress.com
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