Chelsea Wolfe

In Berlin… well, to borrow Garbo's words. On any occasion, and all the more so when Chelsea Wolfe is on the bill, fresh off releasing one of her best works in years, "She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She". So, once we confirmed Italy's umpteenth exclusion from her 2024 European tour itinerary*, the temptation was irresistible: head back to the beloved German capital to finally experience, for the first time, the renowned performing skills of the gothic muse from Sacramento live.

So here we are, back in an unexpectedly sweltering Berlin, heading straight for the Astra Kulturhaus, which only a few days earlier had hosted the three-day "CCCP in DDDR (Deutsche Demokratische Dismantled Republik)", a triumphant celebration of the reunion of Giovanni Lindo Ferretti and co. right where it all began.

Doors open at an almost afternoon hour, 7pm, with the mysterious opening act Kælan Mikla scheduled to perform. Trusting in Teutonic punctuality, we take the schedule at face value and, after a quick dinner and the obligatory beer, arrive at the Astra right on time, killing an hour or so in the club's pleasant garden, located at the Raw Gelände in Friedrichshain, "outpost of a railway and imperial Berlin", as CCCP once put it. In truth, the mind drifts more prosaically — and with more than a few regrets — to Rome's historic Circolo degli Artisti, similar in layout and atmosphere, but alas long since defunct. Meanwhile, a procession of eccentric figures dressed in black files past, looking as though they'd wandered in from the nearby Leipzig Wave Gotik Treffen. But they're just one of the many facets of Chelsea Wolfe's varied audience, split almost evenly between men and women.

A little past 8:10pm, the three protagonists burst onto the stage: an all-female Icelandic trio called, fittingly, Kælan Mikla (which translates to "Lady of the Cold"), already chosen as an opening act by neo-gothic institution Drab Majesty. A nice surprise, at least for this writer (OndaRock has already reviewed them twice): singer Laufey Soffía, bassist Margrét Rósa Dóru-Harrýsdóttir and keyboardist Sólveig Matthildur Kristjánsdóttir show real stage presence, delivering a darkly gothic set between dark/post-punk and coldwave, in which shadowy, esoteric soundscapes, irresistible post-punk hooks and dance pulses combine with angelic vocals and bloodcurdling screams. The three women from Reykjavík, militant feminists, express their sense of freedom by presenting themselves as witches from some undefined ancestral era, drawing on the folklore and mythology of Iceland's icy lands. Vocalist Laufey is especially theatrical, playing up goth stereotypes by curling her hands into claw-like shapes with long, sharp nails in the stage's spectral darkness, though it's keyboardist Sólveig, who also doubles on flute, whose voice proves the more powerful of the two. Among their songs, we note titles like "Kalt", "Svört augu", "Andvaka" and "Sólstöður", well underpinned by solid layers of keyboards and a bass that throbs and rumbles in Cure-circa-dark-period style — not by chance, Robert Smith himself picked the Icelandic trio for a couple of live events (the Meltdown festival in 2018 for the Cure's fortieth anniversary, and Pasadena Daydream in California alongside Pixies, Deftones and Mogwai).

It's a fine success for Kælan Mikla: the Berlin crowd gives them an unexpected ovation (especially considering the treatment opening acts usually get back home). The three young Reykjavík witches thank everyone, including "the magnificent Chelsea Wolfe", to whom they dedicate a song at the close of their warmly applauded set (viewable in streaming here).

Now, though, the anticipation turns truly feverish: the Astra Kulturhaus fills to full capacity (1,500), for a show that's been sold out for days. A mixed crowd, as mentioned: aging goths, blonde valkyries wrapped in black leather, but also plenty of younger people, not necessarily from the dark scene. We even spot a German lookalike of José Mourinho, visibly puzzled during Kælan Mikla's set, clearly more at ease with what's to come. What is distinctly German is the discipline: everyone stands in front of the stage but at a strict, courteous distance, with no pushing, dancing, invading other people's space or annoying chatter — and even phone use during the show turns out to be fairly restrained. Maybe it's a coincidence, but the difference from certain situations back home is palpable.

It's just past 9:10pm when Leonard Cohen's "You Want It Darker" fades out and Chelsea Wolfe finally steps, almost on tiptoe, into the center of the stage, launching straight into "Whispers In The Echo Chamber", the new version of her theater of horrors, reinvigorated by menacing trip-hop/industrial pulses in the vein of Portishead's "Third". Her delivery is as impeccable as it is restrained and measured: no concessions to showmanship, not even in her look — a long black dress baring only her tattooed shoulders, and high-heeled ankle boots that make her look even taller than her 5'9".

The opening of the show is entirely dedicated to her latest album "She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She" (which, by the end, will be performed in full): one after another come the electronics of "Everything Turns Blue" with its disorienting string of infinitive verbs (“To smoke, to dance, to fly/ To breathe into the night… To fuck, to feel the same in the end/ To hurt, to steal”), the pulsing electro-rock-noise of "House Of Self-Undoing" and the ethereal, smoky jazz-club romanticism of "Tunnel Lights", with its Elizabeth Fraser-like vocalizations. Everything runs smoothly, helped along by the excellent chemistry between Chelsea, who alternates between electric and acoustic guitar, and her band: Bryan Tulao (guitar), Ben Chisholm (keyboards), Jess Gowrie (drums).

It's a triumphant welcome for the return of two classics from "Hiss Spun" (2017): first "16 Psyche", with its sludge-metal cadences in service of a cathartic conjuring of inner demons never fully tamed ("Let me wrap you up in these thighs/ It gets me out of my head again"), and then the no less harrowing noisy ceremony of "The Culling", with its crescendo of distortion digging into the murkiest recesses of the unconscious. And so the descent into the abyss ("Abyss", 2015) can take place, bringing the voice back to the center of the apocalyptic art-folk litany of "Survive", closed out by another harrowing noise-driven acceleration.

There's no pause, barely a word: a greeting to Berlin, and then Chelsea Joy picks up her acoustic guitar and strums the opening chords of "The Mother Road" (from "Birth Of Violence", 2019), one of her acoustic masterpieces, elevated by that aching, desperate closing invocation ("Bloom and eclipse them, wake up and transform") where the band returns to back her in full. The moving acoustic interlude continues along the dusty folk path of "Deranged For Rock & Roll" (also from the 2019 album), proving just how ill-fitting the "dark muse" label really is for the Californian singer-songwriter, given the sheer range of styles and inclinations she commands (from doom metal to folk, by way of industrial and gothic).

Wolfe's performances are spare, precisely calibrated, always perfectly on point, while lighting effects wrap around her on stage: a halo of rays, a cloud of smoke or, more often, soft red or bluish glows. Clinging to her guitar, hair tied back and eyes half-closed, the Californian singer-songwriter moves toward the final stretch of the set without a break, the crowd giving her long ovations at the end of every song.

Then comes the unmistakable keyboard riff that opens the accursed poetry of "Feral Love" (from the excellent "Pain Is Beauty", 2013), before another chapter devoted to the latest album, ranging from the trip-hop sensuality of "Salt" to the heavy tread of "Unseen World", from the jagged industrial-flavored beats of "Eyes Like Nightshade" to the almost danceable groove of "Place In The Sun", from the murky textures of "Liminal" (here in acoustic form) to the whirling keyboard patterns of the vampiric single "Dusk" — practically the only song of the night that its author actually introduces, if only with the bare minimum: "Just a couple of words… this is a song from my new album, it's called Dusk". Chelsea Joy is definitely not one for many words, though she makes up for it by heightening the witchy dimension of her performance, swinging a pendulum and turning an amulet over in her hand.

Before the grand finale, there's room for one more well-chosen deep cut, the splendid "Flatlands", one of the gems of "Unknown Rooms: A Collection Of Acoustic Songs" (2012), in which Wolfe, shedding her gothic rock high-priestess guise, let her sparest folk instincts emerge to weave a tribute to her own roots.

Chelsea and her band leave the stage for a few minutes, only to reappear for the sole encore, which is a heavyweight number: the sumptuous, claustrophobic "Carrion Flowers", delivered in a stentorian voice amid electrical surges, doom-laden pulses, searing feedback and hammering drumming, for the final liturgy of the Abyss: never has a descent into hell been so thrilling.

That's how Chelsea Joy leaves us, breathless, without another word, offering only a nod of thanks followed by the final ovation of an evening that was, in some ways, memorable (here, and alongside, the full streaming video). As we make our way out of the Astra Kulturhaus, we spot the singer of Kælan Mikla, her stage makeup still smeared across her face: she too looks happy and fulfilled.

The city of the Wall, an ancient cradle of dark sounds – from the Bowie of the trilogy to Nick Cave, by way of Nina Hagen and Einstürzende Neubauten – has once again renewed its spell. Auf wiedersehen, Berlin.

* P.S. As we were about to publish this piece, we learned that Chelsea Wolfe will finally be performing in Italy too. Mark the date, and if you can, don't miss it!

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