Bat For Lashes; Roundhouse, 05/10/09
Contrasting in their approaches to musical fictions to this evening’s headliners – themselves evocative weavers of rich visual tapestries – Yeasayer, referential and derivative, unbalanced and intrigued the gathering in the Roundhouse. “But they’re from Brooklyn, so maybe they deserve a second chance?” They are most certainly from Brooklyn, this much is most abundantly apparent. The centrepiece, faux-awkwardly hunched over his keys, is dressed in David Byrne, Ian Curtis skin. “I don’t believe you.” Then the disbelief, the impress-me stare and the cynical thoughts are punctured by the shocking falsetto of the little dynamo to the west of the writhing frontman. “Surely this man got lost on the way to the centre of the stage?” The show has truly been stolen and something stayed and rehashed is rapidly turned around and rescued.
“I expected more young girls in sequinned hotpants.” Instead, one-third in, caught between sweaty suits and fondling middle-aged couples, we wait for a generic gig venue to be transformed by the fairy-tale landscapes of Bat For Lashes. A projector scorches this name in fifties horror movie font onto the rear wall of the stage. Enter the sequinned young girls: “That looks like a horror movie title” - as if it were unintentional. Horse & I. We stomp our harpsichord hooves, braying and fighting for space and new perspectives of Natasha, in her all-in-one and golden cape, cavorting about the stage. She flashes into and out of view as the energy builds and there is something new in the room.
To see what it is more clearly we retreat to the back. For the first time she emerges, complete, resplendent, from between all the heads, scarves and shoulders, a beauty draped and fluid conjuring each of her songs – one at a time. Each intimately unified in the words and worlds this music creates, yet distinct, individual chapters in the two narratives – Fur & Gold ,Two Suns – both intricately woven around one another. From the riot of Trophy to the distilled heartache of Sad Eyes, Bat For Lashes sonically restructure the visual texture of the Roundhouse. Unlike their predecessors on this stage it is not a matter of pulling out highlights, as astounding as those highlights might have been, energy builds, and a plot unfolds. The obnoxious suits and couples fade away and you can be alone with whomever you’ve chosen to experience this with.
A thought generated in response to the sequinned young girl; the horror movie font was intentional, but so much of the visual was expected and unintentional, backlit, Roundhouse rig lit. The dimensions of the room have been transformed but they have been transformed sonically. The rich imagery of the music lends itself to a visual imagination; a visual imagination would have enriched this experience beyond the boundaries of a typical gig. There are moments that come close. In the closing chapter, The Big Sleep is achieved, replacing Scott Walker with a television screen. The lighting is subtler and darker, altogether more theatrical. That’s the key. Bat For Lashes are not a “rockband” - skinny boys, transposing one generic guitar sound from track to track; the songs have substance and resonance, they have individual character. The records are stories, theatrical, ethereal soundscapes that demand Gordon Willis not the inhouse light rig guy at the Roundhouse. Everything’s in place, the story, unquestionably the star – tonight is left wanting more thoughtful staging, a director, and this would have truly have been a phenomenal performance.
Charged we leave the amphitheatre for a final confrontation in the cloakroom. Our effects and apparel have been misplaced. Imbued with the mysticism and unreality of Bat For Lashes we showdown, retrieve our belonging and ride off into the Camden night.