Lilt
Friday, August 19, 2016
Astor Theatre
Melanie Martinez has been a guilty pleasure of mine since her album release Cry Baby. The bass, the slightly masochistic lyrics and synthetic sounds make it the perfect self-pitying, up-late soundtrack. It’s kinda Del Ray with its tragic themes but with her own infantile twist. Booked in for an all ages, sold out concert at the Astor, it was one gig that seriously sparked some curiosity.
Grandmas and dads were scattered around in rows probably having their eardrums blown out by the full force of Lilt. For a local support act, they sure a tidal wave of power to all the itty bitty babies. Their sound is a plane of spacey splinters layered by the raw desperation of the vocalist, all underpinned by huge driving bass lines. As the front woman spun in her reflective dream coat, all I could think was ‘all that glitters is not gold’ as she sung Powerless with serious vindication. They finished on a high with Wait No More later to be released this week.
In the painful 35 minute change-over I got to see who I was actually punting along with. A sea of ribbons and perfectly curled pony tails, a couple fringed bobs mimicking the appraised popstar and a tutu and a teddy bear, these kids really know how to fangirl. The stage was set as a child’s nursery with a hanging mobile, paintings of bunnies and happy creatures on the walls, building blocks and a giant crib in the center of it all. As the techies passed across the stage for testing a premature chorus of screams rose and died as they waited with abated breath for the reason they were all there.
A heavy heartbeat began to thunder throughout the theatre and a combination of sharp flashes of colour and the vibrations sent the crowd into a nervous frenzy as the squeals grew to a deafening volume. The mobile started turning, the instrumentalists appeared from behind the fog wearing teddy bear costumes and finally out crawled Miss Martinez from her cott with the start of Cry Baby. She pretty much didn’t even need to sing the first song at all as the crowd sung it word-for-word. As she continued on with Dollhouse I almost wished I hadn’t known that she was a product or discovery of The Voice. Was it the way she ran across the stage with a feverish intensity? or how she held the mic on a perfect angle from her face? or corralled the crowd as though she was going to be eliminated? I did have to remind myself that this keen desperation is part of her image.
She had hair to down to her bum that was half black, half white and wore what looked like a zombie brides dress. She spun and pranced across the stage quite delicately but for an artist who writes about such dark themes I expected some more rawness. When you’re singing ‘if they say to kill yourself then you will try it’ or ‘threw a toaster in the bathtub’ I expected more than just a few blinks. She always looked pretty, was she trying to remain perfectly presentable? Where was the grotesqueness and emotion in her face, the connection to the audience? As she filtered through her album from Sippycup, to Carousel with a notable drawn out half time intro, to ABC to Soap, I began to look at her again without such cynicism. She hit every note perfectly, she looked the part and kept all eyes glued to the front, so maybe it was enough. Her detachment from the topic of rape or body image or unrequited love or suicide or depression or sexism- further pushed her message of the blissful ignorance a child has. An unwavering naivety that we, as adults can’t have. She finished up with Mrs. Potato Head and was called back for an encore with Cake and not once did she say thank you PERTH, there was that lack of connection that made it feel just a bit impersonal. All in all, would see again/10.
MIA CAMPBELL-FOULKES
Pic by James Kilian
