St. Vincent

Annie Clark belongs to that select group of artists capable of shaking even the most austere and conservative music buffs with minimal effort. For those who were at the Alcatraz in Milan four years ago, the talent of St. Vincent is certainly nothing new: you can bet that most of the people who packed the Circolo Magnolia on Wednesday night had no idea back then of the greatness of this fantastic musician, who has since reached global success with a recent album as accessible in form as it is superb in substance.

There's no shame in admitting that with this latest record, “MASSEDUCTION”, Clark has repeatedly winked at a truly mass audience. It's an album backed by a promotional campaign worthy of a real diva, with St. Vincent shifting from avant-garde outsider to pop diamond with a very glam, dance-leaning attitude — a transformation that had already been signaled a few years back but has now reached its perfect fulfillment. It's always worth remembering, though, that while we can risk talking about a small mainstream turn, and while personal taste might lead us to prefer her in other guises, there's no underestimating the quality level, which remains sky-high throughout. As the saying goes: anyone can fill a dancefloor, but razing it to the ground and tattooing your brain after ripping your heart out of your chest is a job for the few.

And so, planted in the middle of a crowd embracing a beautiful, impatient diversity, we carve out a tiny bit of living space and wait for the arrival of Mrs. Clark, who keeps us waiting a good half hour. I hear a guy behind me telling his friend, almost resignedly: “Ok, I'll stay for two or three songs tops and then head to the back.” Well, it only takes the opening of “Sugarboy” for him to shove past me in his flowery shirt, with an arrogance that's forgivable, all things considered. St. Vincent's show has just begun, and it's worth detailing its aesthetic right away: the musicians on four pedestals lined up one after another, light panels behind them and lights firing everywhere, an anonymous, gagged-looking drummer and keyboardist standing to the right of the stage like inanimate mannequins, trusted backing vocalist/bassist Toko Yasuda by her side, and then her, the Queen, wrapped in an orange dress that leaves very little to the imagination. A contemporary clockwork orange with the movements of a robot, icy and minimal yet damn sensual. And how she always pulls it off remains, frankly, a mystery.

Annie spends the standout tracks from her latest album almost right away: after the electronic slaps of “Sugarboy”, which soon derail into a wall of sound of rare violence, comes “Los Ageless” with its sinuous stride, and a “Masseduction” introduced by the artist as an anthem to “fight the power”, fists raised to the sky. An opening that confirms what the album's sound had already largely predicted: layered carpets of synthetic beats roughed up by electric gunfire, at times measured and often wild, with St. Vincent's fluorescent guitars creeping menacingly into the electro patterns to redraw new sonic coordinates. It must be said that the blend of these two souls doesn't always work, as in the reworkings of “Marrow” and “Digital Witnesses”, which here feel weaker than their original versions.

The show continues, jumping between top-tier numbers, like the ever-magnificent “Rattlesnake”, which throws Pet Shop Boys and Jack White into a blender gone mad, and slightly weaker moments, especially in the middle section. Worth remembering, though, are the vocal hyperboles of “Young Lover”, which prove Clark's excellence behind the mic as well, the tribute to universal love in “Fast Slow Disco”, which takes on even greater meaning during MilanoPride week, and the dedication to the Milan of Ticinese and the Plastic (did it ever really exist?) at the start of “New York”.

The finale fades into a fog of sadness and melancholy, with the heartbreaking “Happy Birthday, Johnny” making us think about how beautiful it can be to have someone in the world who clings to our memory and writes for us no matter what, and the closing “Severed Crossed Fingers”.

The lights go down, St. Vincent says thank you, says goodbye, and leaves. What can we say? Hope to see you back here soon, Annie.

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