If there is anything to take away from Robyn's music or story, it's "be yourself." Feel free to roll your eyes and recall some lame bumper sticker, but a lifestyle based on this mantra is the only true path to emotional and creative freedom. The Robyn that people know and love today is here because she wouldn't let her label push her into a persona that wasn't her. She denied it and set out on her own, following a trail of electronic beats and mega-melodies to the palace of pop glory. And because we all know how risky it is to actually follow your heart, her story appears triumphant and inspiring. It also reminds us that if she didn't have the courage to be herself, we wouldn't have things like the Body Talk trilogy, and anybody that has listened to those records will tell you that that would be a horrible thing to be deprived of.
On Saturday, Portland had its first chance to hang with Robyn since her career broke wide open. The crowd was excited and the lines to the bathrooms (or should I say stalls) were long. One wonders if dancing made their chests hurt with every heartbeat. Warming up this group of hyper-nauts was Maluca, a powder keg of a woman that burst onto the stage covered in foam block letters. A head tilt revealed they spelled out her stage name. A quick listen made me file her under post-M.I.A. Like M.I.A., Maluca has a melting pot style, a mix of whatever sounds she likes. Latin, Caribbean, electro, jungle, South Bronx BDP beats, and Miami club thumps all make an appearance and provide the background for her over-the-top, somewhat manic vocals. When she combines all of this with Tae Bo arm pumps, hair swishes and snow angel claps, it becomes hard not to watch her; sadly, the music can't match her energy. A lot of times it comes across like a half-shaped gob of Play Doh. And because most of the songs lack a compelling structure, at times it feels like you're rifling through a junk drawer. Sure, there is a lot of cool stuff that lives in there, but there's no rhyme or reason to its contents. Maluca's compositions feel sloppy and in need of a producer who can make sense of the pieces. Maybe Diplo can finish the job he started by discovering her and add order to what is already there. Until then, I think she is destined to remain an opener.
Robyn, on the other hand, had the precision of a laser. Like a dance tank, she fired hooky song after hooky song at her gleeful disciples, who in turn reveled in the show's non-stop, "dance till you drop" pacing. In a set dominated by Body Talk anthems, the line "once you've gone tech, you ain't never goin' back," from opener, "Fembot" seemed the most fitting. No other phrase is more in tune with the path she has been on since her self-titled record was released. The show reflected this, and she made sure to go hard at the audience with bunches of electro goodies. "Cry When You Get Older" strutted around a swelling synth as if to say "you know I'm one of the best songs of the year," while "Konichiwa Bitches" obliterated our seratonin reserves with its stop-and-kick-back-in outro. It was like she was playing through a greatest hits record, and every time you thought it was about to cool down, she'd drop another one on your head. No reprieve, none requested.
If she wasn't belting it out, she was dancing around the stage. The boldly colored beams engulfed or masked her, depending on her position, creating the illusion of a disappearing dancer. When she was visible, her face was as vibrant as the beams, her smile a testament to the thrill she finds in her songs. Be yourself, find you way: it was all there, right in front of us. Robyn has gone through the tunnel and come out the other side, different, but better for it. And when you listen to her music, you can hear all the tools she used to help get her there: the found strength in "With Every Heartbeat," the defiance in "U Should Know Better," her self-inventory in "Don't Fucking Tell Me What To Do." These elements can sometimes get lost in the pop-o-flauge of her music, and although you don't need to clue into these themes to enjoy her stuff, I think it's nice to know that an artist has depth beyond what's already immediate.
Lyrics are one thing, but what really pushed her sound over the top was her band. If she had to, I'm sure she could still rock it with a DJ or backtrack, but there's something 100x better about hearing electronic music performed by a full band. Just ask anybody that has seen LCD Soundsystem on tour this year. Robyn's band - while not as fucking amazing as LCD (who is?) - succeeded because they made the music feel like it was a living, breathing thing - something that had a pulse instead of something that could only mimic the sound of one. Songs like "We Dance To The Beat" showcased these talents, as each member (two synth-heads, two drummers) was given room to jam out in their own sound pockets while Robyn danced and punched at the air. After these moments, the crowd cheered like it was an encore break - what other choice did they have? It wasn't like the music really stopped.
After a seven-song double encore, every club kid, indie kid, and bedazzled adult had gotten what they came for, and Robyn had made up for canceling her last Portland show for a last minute spot on The View. Glad we finally got to show her some love.
Setlist:
Fembot
Cry When You Get Older
Cobrastyle
Dancing On My Own
We Dance To The Beat >
Don't Fucking Tell Me What to Do >
We Dance To The Beat >
Love Kills
The Girl And The Robot
Indestructible
Dream On
With Every Heartbeat
Encores:
U Should Know Better
Konichiwa Bitches
In My Eyes
Be Mine!
Hang With Me
Dancehall Queen
Show Me Love
