This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.theguardian.com/music/2014/mar/13/lorde-concert-new-york-roseland-review

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
Lorde in New York review - 'This is pop after the xx, full of space and effect' Lorde in New York review - 'This is pop after the xx, full of space and effect'
(6 months later)
Towards the end of her precise Towards the end of her precise hour-long set, Ella Yelich-O’Connor takes five minutes out to tell the audience about the aftermath of an “astronomical” house party, in which a horde of teenagers raided the freezer in her parents’ house and left defrosted food all over the floor. It was the inspiration for Ribs, which, she says, she wrote in a day just a year ago – a reminder of how quickly Lorde’s star has risen, and, as she bids farewell to a packed three-night residency at New York’s Roseland Ballroom, how high.
hour-long set, Ella Yelich-O’Connor takes five minutes out to tell It seems in keeping with her humble teen schtick that despite walking off with two Grammys last month, the Lorde stage show is as sparse and targeted as her music. There is no arena-style showiness to be found. This is pop after the xx, full of space and effect; like her album, Pure Heroine, the performance employs a limited bag of tricks with pinpoint elegance. Her band is a drummer and a keyboard player, who are only revealed after a dramatic opener of Glory and Gore, which sees her alone on the stage, surprisingly commanding against a vast dark backdrop, a spotlight bleaching out her face.
the audience about the aftermath of an “astronomical” The drama, when it does appear, rarely feels overcooked, and most of it comes from a truly spectacular light show that unfurls as the night goes on, alternating colours, patterns and beams of light. At times she’s hopping around inside white beams, at others, she’s drenched in a blood-red aura, which seems particularly appropriate given the number of rapt goth-girl lookalikes in the crowd. In fact, it’s so mesmerising that Lorde herself often disappears into it: look away from the stage, and it takes a few seconds to find her again.
house party, in which a horde of teenagers raided the freezer in her But there she is, dancing like she’s in her bedroom, rather than standing up in front of 3,000 people. She frequently apologises for being ill, and her voice occasionally strains and cracks, but the crowd is in love with her, cheering every move she makes. She takes off her coat – scream! She kneels down – scream! She puts her coat back on again – screaaaamm!
parents’ house and left defrosted food all over the floor. It was the In fact, it is only monster hit Royals that falls a little flat, perhaps because of radio overkill, or perhaps because there are simply better songs tonight. Buzzcut Season is beautifully composed; Team, with its “send the callout” kicker, feels like a pop monster; and, most intriguingly, Easy, a Son Lux cover, becomes spectacularly odd, collapsing in on itself in a tangle of beats, modulated vocals and horns. As she puts it in Still Sane, “I’m little but I’m coming for you.” On this form, I can believe it.
inspiration for Ribs, which, she says, she wrote in a day just a year
ago – a reminder of how quickly Lorde’s star has risen, and, as she bids
farewell to a packed three-night residency at New York’s Roseland
Ballroom, how high.
It seems in keeping with her humble
teen schtick that despite walking off with two Grammys last
month, the Lorde stage show is as sparse and targeted as her music.
There is no arena-style showiness to be found. This is pop after the
xx, full of space and effect; like her album, Pure Heroine, the
performance employs a limited bag of tricks with pinpoint elegance.
Her band is a drummer and a keyboard player, who are only
revealed after a dramatic opener of Glory and Gore, which sees her
alone on the stage, surprisingly commanding against a vast dark
backdrop, a spotlight bleaching out her face.
The drama, when it does appear, rarely
feels overcooked, and most of it comes from a truly spectacular light
show that unfurls as the night goes on, alternating colours, patterns
and beams of light. At times she’s hopping around inside white beams,
at others, she’s drenched in a blood-red aura, which seems
particularly appropriate given the number of rapt goth-girl
lookalikes in the crowd. In fact, it’s so mesmerising that Lorde
herself often disappears into it: look away from the stage, and it
takes a few seconds to find her again.
But there she is, dancing like she’s in
her bedroom, rather than standing up in front of 3,000 people. She
frequently apologises for being ill, and her voice occasionally
strains and cracks, but the crowd is in love with her, cheering
every move she makes. She takes off her coat – scream! She kneels
down – scream! She puts her coat back on again – screaaaamm!
In
fact, it is only monster hit Royals that falls a little flat, perhaps
because of radio overkill, or perhaps because there are simply better
songs tonight. Buzzcut Season is beautifully composed; Team, with its
“send the callout” kicker, feels like a pop monster; and, most
intriguingly, Easy, a Son Lux cover, becomes spectacularly odd, collapsing
in on itself in a tangle of beats, modulated vocals and horns. As she
puts it in Still Sane, “I’m little but I’m coming for you.” On this form, I can believe it.