Laurel Halo live review
Those who came to Laurel Halo last year via her furiously original, often abrasive but oddly moving debut LP might be forgiven for not recognising the woman who takes the stage tonight in a Phil Collins t-shirt and a wash of white noise, already spine-jacking to a beat in her head: at no point during her hour-long set does she play a recognisable track, and even her album’s trademarks are entirely absent: there are none of the strident, interlocking vocals, washes of blissed-out synths or burbling bass; the serpentine melodies that have defined her recorded work are entirely absent, as are indeed any attempts at interactivity or even audience nod. Instead we are offered a performance of creative, mesmerising and occasionally utterly confusing primordial electronica, and the ensuing claustrophobia and thrilling disorientation, not to mention downright eye-popping surprise, is as close to one of Halo’s calling cards as tonight will get.
About a month ago, while she was rehearsing for this small series of European dates, Halo wrote on Twitter, "I feel like making some fuck you in the ass techno now #getthelube #hot." Tonight’s end product is no way as straightforward as that mission statement would imply, but as brands of fuck-you-in-the-ass techno go, Halo’s primal, beguiling and furiously intense interpretation certainly commands attention; the only sensible option is to bend over and take it.
