Shout Out Louds

I think when this show was originally booked, Lykke Li was supposed to open for Shout Out Louds. But a lot can change in six weeks, as the music media has viscerally lubricated Lykke Li’s debut album while only providing hugs and kisses on the cheek to the Shout Out Louds’ latest. So, now they are co-headlining.

All opens rather swimmingly with a bog standard but increasingly cuddly version of ‘The Comeback’, but from the outset these Shout Out Louds are not shouting loud enough. The songs, performed exactly as the albums intended, are benign, almost ambivalent to noticing, catching and exploiting the excitement in the room. Cargo is busy and right now we are attentive, ready to sing along with what we know and bop about to the rest. But things turn troubling. Songs come and go, none the least bit sticky or memorable. Finally, 30 minutes on, they launch into Our Ill Wills opener, ‘Tonight I Have To Leave It’. It shines, the best song of the set by leaps and bounds, but it is too tardy. They know that, and end it here. It is an off night; a clog in what is usually a consistently capturing machine. Everyone has already moved onto Lykke Li.

Forty minutes later to a crowd twice the size, Lykke Li emerges. Right away, something special is afoot. Some shows, regardless how uncomfortable, seem to transcend the worst atmosphere to enter new terrain, where nothing but the music matters. Right away, the minute the Swede takes the stage, this is one of those shows. Shout Out Louds’ ephemeral mediocrity is forgotten and forgiven, nothing to worry about, as Lykke explodes into much of her debut album alongside a keyboardist, drummer and bassist. At first it’s ‘Dance Dance Dance’, then ‘Let It Fall’, ‘Complaint Department’ and, finally, ‘Little Bit’.

Her stage presence mimics her lyrics in suggestiveness and salacity, and all of us - man, woman, whatever - is in a trance. This woman is commanding on stage. She is powerful, sensual, confusing and just a little bit mysterious, producing the best combination of complex music and sexual innuendo in pop right now. Nothing is overt, suggestion is imperative, room is left for exploration. The melodies are sparse, her lyrics hushed, almost whimsical. She whispers her way through ‘I’m Good, I’m Gone’, only exploding into crass bursts during the chorus, careful not to give away too much of herself at any specific moment. It is utterly beguiling stuff.

But Lykke Li has not developed a big enough canon to last more than 40 minutes on stage. It all comes and goes too soon, yet does leave everyone thoroughly satisfied. Really, really, satisfied. I now understand why the media has yet to run out of lubricant.