Tying Tiffany

A packed night for the capital. There's Sick Tamburo at Black Out, the Viva! festival at Circolo degli Artisti, Polaroid Militia at Saponeria and, of course, Tying Tiffany at Rising Love. For those who don't like taking the easy option, the meeting point is soon settled: everyone in front of the little grey door with the "R" painted in red above it, around half past eleven.

A new date in Rome about a year on, the Tying Tiffany show is the classic kind of event where you'd normally trot out the usual common denominators: dreadful acoustics, a ridiculous stage, sly speculation about someone else's breasts... But not this time. Especially if, for once, you have the good taste to treat those things as secondary to the overall impact of the event itself, one that had built up a certain feverish anticipation among all the aficionados of the synth-punk scene.

So even before the show, a small but utterly convinced minority of bloggers and ennui-stricken regulars from various decadent (in the gothic sense) websites can already be spotted, having travelled to the capital all the way from Naples and Florence. Yet more proof that, among fans of the genre, a performance by the artist from Padua is an experience worth going out of your way for.

Truth be told, a certain fear of an awful show hung in the air during the wait before the concert, at least judging by the comments of those perhaps swayed by the string of poor reviews (especially in Italy, it must be said) earned by her latest record, "Dark Days, White Nights". And yet, all it would take is not falling into the trap of the shallow indifference and petty misogyny that infests the Italian record-industry clique/critique, to remain intrigued by an artist in constant evolution (just look at her album covers) while still staying true to herself. And this fidelity is anything but self-referential or "accommodating", given her choice to pursue a genre that was already dead to the masses back in 2005, and light years away from the various gothic-chic hype acts (anyone say Zola Jesus?) so fashionable nowadays.

That said, on to the concert.

Outside 1. If I could ask Tying Tiffany just one question, it would be what it feels like to take the stage with the same energy, and a lot more attitude, than Alice Glass, and never once get a cover feature from the New Musical Express. Especially considering her discography predates that of the much-lauded Crystal Castles by three years. Maybe she'd tell me she feels closer to Caroline Martial's Kap Bambino, or even to Polysics, or maybe she just couldn't care less. That's far more likely. It only takes three songs, in fact, to realise that she and Lorenzo Montanà have absolutely nothing to envy in more celebrated bands, who are simply more celebrated because they're foreign.

Inside 2. Tying Tiffany holds the stage like a 1976-vintage Siouxsie Sioux trapped in a small, jittery body that speaks in verse through electrostatic jolts. A mini version of Miss Kittin, in whom, in some illuminating moments, you can sense all the clumsy, unexpressed potential that the Frenchwoman never quite delivered live in her duo with The Hacker. She brushes against the climax of an overflowing epileptic fit when she mangles her voice as a way of dehumanising her own "imposing" (?) figure. She fills up with emotion when the melodies turn softer and more reflective. For some in the crowd: more cinematic than iconic. I'd agree with that sharp observation. Seeing her live really is added value that home listening simply doesn't do justice to.

Especially when you factor in the visual-and-sonic backing of keyboards, synths and guitars on the right, and the aggressive, percussive push of the fierce rhythm section on the left; not to mention the will to base everything more on mood than on winking gestures (or on aesthetics, more raver than fashion these days). A great counterbalance to the aesthetic expectations her image tends to stir up (almost regardless of anything else). So much so that even the crowd at the back gradually, little by little, over the course of the whole show, edges forward, gets drawn in, starts appreciating it and dancing. Right up to the roar that greets the closing "Show Me What You Got". Shame there's no time for an encore.

Tying Tiffany, understandably exhausted, says goodbye, thanks the crowd and leaves. We find her again not even ten minutes later among the onlookers, smiling as she takes on the usual ritual of fans looking for photos, hugs, autographs and the rest.

Outside 3. We head home still thinking about the hundred paying fans who saw Crystal Castles in September 2007, a band that went on to sell out everywhere within the space of one NME cover story. The world really is an unfair place.

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