The Knife

Outside the Scala is teeming. The touts are having a field day with the assembled scenesters queuing around the block, or shouting and doing deals in the scrum for tickets. I can see Independent critic Simon Price's trademark vertical cybergoth hair spiking up amidst the throng, and I bump into a pair of Plan B journalists in the lobby - the music press are here in force. In fact, every other person seem to be a tall model type, a critic, or a Euro-chic fashionista - it's one of those events that turns into a crucible of assorted London glitterati. Getting the opportunity to go to one-off events like this instead of half-full Midlands gigs is one the reason I moved to London in the first place.

In the hall, pre-show bass rumbles up through the ground, and the anticipation is palpable. A transparent sheet of material is stretched across the front of the stage, and lights flash from behind it. After what seems like forever, twin silhouettes slip out onto the stage, and the room roars as beats start to snare-click and handclap from the speakers. Light plays across the balaclava masked faces of The Knife - a green glow from their keyboards illuminates their moving mouths as they start to sing, and a pink aura hangs from above, casting deep pits of shadow into their eye sockets, accentuated by skull-like overlays that extend the cheekbones and brow. The bass is heavy and slow, and the vocal sounds at once distant and like it is being whispered into my ear, layered but live, treated with effects, but real and immediate. The songs are claustrophobic, but expansive, becoming more vibrant and convincing through live performance. There are backing tracks, but also live marimba and live triggered synth drums, and while it's for the most part not particularly danceable, it's hypnotic nonetheless. When Heartbeats arrives, it's a different version - bass heavy, distorted, bent out of shape, but not at all disappointing. The Knife hold the audience's attention not with traditional quiet/loud verse/chorus song structures, but with a tense tightrope act of serious pop and dark electronica.

Throughout the performance, patterns flicker across the screen between The Knife and the audience. Shapes form and dissipate, sometimes like a matrix of lines gradually appearing, sometimes like light tears running down in front of the band like rain on a window; at one point stage curtains are projected onto the screen, and it's like we are glimpsing some kind of gothic Victorian/futurist ensemble; later we see still portraits with shining eyes, staring upwards. Dotted around the stage are sculptural projected faces that sing along to the songs, reminding me of the work of artist Tony Oursler - the faces later melt away into skulls, and the stage is swathed in midnight blue. This is an entire audio-visual spectacle rather than a straight music recital. It feels like a gig that couldn't have happened in any other period; it feels like a gig made out of right now.

There's always an issue in how to present electronica in the live arena, especially the kind that exists outside the club scene where people will dance under the flashing lights whatever happens. The Knife tonight set the bar higher than it has ever been before in terms of imagination, imagery and technical innovation - their dark music has found a hugely effective visual counterpart that moves The Knife onto another level altogether.