I Become a Devout Follower of St. Vincent

I'd like to be one of those people who is well-versed in every band, artist, musical genre, etc.  However, I will never be.  My tendency is to get really, really, REALLY into one artist, listen to them obsessively and almost exclusively for weeks, and then heavily from thereon out.   But up until recently, I was in a rut.  There were definitely some bands that I discovered that I really liked, that were on heavy rotation on my iPod, that I recommended to friends, but none that stopped me in my tracks.  It wasn't until last Saturday that I felt myself getting very excited about a single artist.

That would be Annie Clark, otherwise known as St. Vincent.  

I wasn't even sure that I liked St. Vincent when I initially heard of her when Strange Mercy came out.  Her music is so unique I probably couldn't fully process it right away.  But somewhere along the line I recognized its excellence.  It's mostly my friend Devinne's fault.  Annie Clark is her spirit animal.  She invited me and our friend Marianne to see St. Vincent and David Byrne of Talking Heads (Devinne's favorite band ever) at Ravinia last summer during their Love This Giant tour.  We were on the lawn, very far from the stage, but danced like we were in the front row.  I liked what I heard from the master of art-pop.  I was familiar with a couple St. Vincent songs but the Ravinia show peaked my interest.

Weeks ago, Devinne mentioned she was looking for someone to accompany her to see St. Vincent at the Riveria Theater.  I didn't bite right away but as I heard more of her new self-titled album, I decided I wanted to go.  Luckily the ticket was still available, so we made plans for a most superb Saturday.  In the mean time I began to study up on St. Vincent's discography, not becoming an expert but at least familiarizing myself with her work and noting some stand-outs like "Marrow" and the dreamy "Huey Newton."  All of St. Vincent's music is an exciting blend of poetic and graceful vocals, crunchy beats, Disney-esque instrumentals, distorted and intricate guitar, and electronic -- I don't even know.  It's bricks taken from different genres and eras and used to build something completely new and interesting and twisted and gorgeous.  She's also gifted with an ethereal voice and a marvelous range.

On the day of the show, Devinne and I headed to the Urban Outfitters on Diversey.  Not for shopping, but for something much, much better: meeting the incomparable Annie Clark.  From somewhere I'd received a notice that there would be a meet and greet at the store.  Upon arrival an hour early, we were surprised to find that there was no line.  In fact, I think we were the only people in the store for a while.  Eventually more fans trickled in and we queued up to wait and whisper excitedly.  Suddenly, she appeared looking impossibly chic in a geometric cape and black platform boots with a black scarf thrown over her wild white-gray hair.  She smiled and greeted us.  "Hi guys!"  Although Annie Clark is known for being very private and even secretive, she seemed very warm and friendly to us fans.  Maybe it's because it's part of her job, to be nice to fans, but I don't think that's it.  As she signed albums and posters, she chatted with each one of us.  After she asked how to spell my name for the autograph, I told her I loved her Portlandia cameos.  She said it was fun to do, and really hard not to laugh on set.  I explained that it was all Devinne's fault that I was a fan and going to the show that night.  Annie Clark looked at Devinne through her round red retro sunglasses: "I blame you."  When Devinne asked her to sign her Kindle cover, she asked what she was reading and seemed genuinely interested.   The music goddess was genuine, sweet, and seemingly mortal.

If I wasn't properly excited for the show before, I was now.

It is strange to think that the woman calmly signing autographs and chit-chatting is the same person that I saw on stage that night.  A killer android, a human sonic machine holding court in the Riviera Theater.  "She is the queen," Devinne stated, "and we are her subjects."  St. Vincent gave us a show of astonishing audiovisual art that set her apart from any music artist I have seen live.

Annie Clark is easily one of the best guitarists out there.  Her talent doesn't lie just in playing intricate riffs and melodies.  She pushes the guitar past its limits, having conquered it as a tool not for just music but for dramatic sound effects, looking all the while like she's not even trying.   In fact, everything she did looked effortless.  Of course, the opposite is true; St. Vincent (Annie Clark? When do I use which name?) is incredibly hardworking.  Every aspect was meticulously calculated choreography, down to every note played on her guitar.  She and her band and everyone behind the scenes must have put in a serious effort to turn a concert into a sci-fi avant-garde performance.

My photos cannot accurately capture the performance.
We had an awesome view though -- just too far for clear pictures.

The lighting designer in particular deserves an award.  Rapid color changes complemented the frenzy of songs like "Rattlesnake" and "Birth In Reverse" The shadows cast on the back wall created a spooky shadowplay looming over the stage.  Annie Clark's hair seemed to switch from pink to green to orange to blue with every new beam of light (maybe a factor in the decision to bleach it?). The strobe lights created scenes of stop-motion, turning the musicians into automatons.

Clark herself oscillated between machine and animal, one moment shifting back and forth like a mannequin on a conveyor belt, the next draped upon the steps, slowly sliding down one by one as if she were made of liquid.  When she stood atop her pink pyramid-throne proclaiming "I don't want to be a cheerleader no more," she seemed like a giant.  I can't imagine who could possibly be above her to cheer for, given that the crowd may as well have been genuflecting.

Every so often she would speak to the crowd about how she felt we had a lot in common.  How she believed we had all told a little lie once, how we felt ill the next day and wondered if it was punishment, how that, in order to right that wrong with the universe we built a symmetrical shrine out of tin foil and PBR cans and two neon Coors Light signs.  How she felt we had all had had an imaginary friend, an imaginary friend who we thought began to get too much attention, and how we had unceremoniously killed that imaginary friend.

Not only was the performance visually and sonically stunning, it was fun.  Really fun.  When I wasn't gaping at Annie Clark's brilliance, I was dancing and singing along.  I was pleased to discover that I recognized more songs than I'd expected.  Annie Clark also led the theater in a true-to-the-original cover of "Lithium" in remembrance of Kurt Cobain's death 20 years ago to the day.  That was the only cover, I think, but I could tell that working with David Byrne of Talking Heads had influenced her, or at least that they were on the same wavelength, performance-wise.  You could see hints of it in the robotic choreography, and "Digital Witness" definitely has a Talking Heads vibe to it.

I found myself wondering how Annie Clark, St. Vincent, could possibly be human.  How the person sitting at the autograph table chatting about books and television could, hours later, transport 2500 people to another fantastic reality.  But the most amazing thing is that she is human.  A human being, made of flesh and blood like everyone else, can create something so spectacular and otherworldly that it captivates us and transports us from reality.  St. Vincent, it seems to me, embodies art in its most thrilling, extraordinary form.