CHVRCHES at the Metro Theatre 4/2/14 - Live Review

If you look at the word “hype” for long enough, it slowly morphs into “CHVRCHES”. This “hype” is confirmed by the man pacing the alley adjacent to the Metro Theatre, clutching a scavenged piece of cardboard proclaiming that he NEED(S) A TICKET.

Comme il faut, almost – Elizabeth Rose is aptly a requisite for the likes of her headliner; flushed from previous and recent touring with Chairlift and Snakadaktal. She appears leisurely on stage without forcing her diffusive yet demanding rush of electro-pop upon her audience, only maybe smug when they trip the light fantastic. The often delectably glitchy nuances in a multi-timbred set are smoothed, perhaps balanced out by her piquant vocals; melodies showered with the peppery sensuality of late nineties and early naughties female RnB singers. Here is a hybrid of Aaliyah and Brandy & Monica, intertwined with the sleek and subtle ebb and flow of nineties European house artists like Spiller – a myriad of influences which manifest only in the common thread of granular synth, alerting us: I am Elizabeth Rose. I am here.

Familiar, resounding, enrapturing: we firstly sank into We Sink as CHVRCHES began to envelop us in silver-tongued euphony, lilts representing a natural ardour for for true pop in harmony with the child- like, choral clarity of a demure Lauren Mayberry. A cherubic overtone in her vocals is so invigorating and so rich as it reaches all surfaces of the theatre, floating over the club frequencies of electronica – rather levitating above. Scintillating delayed synth emerges in the intro of Gun, like an incandescent microcosm of delight. A contrast between this, and vengeful (often violently metaphorical) lyricism* is a prominent niche, ardently chanted: / I will be a gun / And it’s you I’ll come for /

The trio function obviously as a mutually exclusive unit: not due to their skill necessarily, but rather as a result of their collective presence as a single organ, of sorts. Although an unparalleled passion was abundant in Martin (Doherty), Under The Tide was indeed his moment as he two- stepped around the stage in his own delirious rapture, with such enthusiasm that it was nonetheless shared by all who were entranced. To the moderate pleasure of the audience a the setlist was inclusive of one b-side and one non-album song: droopy, diluted and billowing synth gave way to a triumphant chorus in Strong Hand; Mayberry’s vocals again irradiating Now Is Not The Time, plangent as she mused: / Lovers reap what lovers sow /

How ripe CHVRCHES are: from the output of an image which (as their name suggests) might portray them as deities – a trinity in front of a neon cruciform, glowing – to the ordering of their setlist, a tribute to how well acquainted they are with their own sound. Concluding with By The Throat: modern and euphoric, the chorus aurally presenting an omniscience, or so it felt... the golden glint behind the band infatuating.

*(And so understandably vengeful – it is embarrassing and awkward to witness a largely male crowd cat-calling and hollering obscene and unnecessarily sexually charged comments without restraint, when especially it is directed at a frontwoman who speaks out against misogyny and practises her feminism in the public sphere. Unimpressive, Sydney.)

Reviewed by Jessica Syed

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