I feel a bit like a piece of old farm equipment when I admit that I discovered St. Vincent through an NPR special. You know, rather than one of my cool friends or my hip elder sibling. The sad fact is, my friends are not that cool (which is why they never go to shows with me) and my siblings, although lovable in their own right, are neither hip nor elder. So I count myself lucky that I am enough of a pretentious ass to listen to NPR, if only for the fact that I found out about Benji Hughes and St. Vincent through it, among others.
I had planned on going to the show for a long while, since shows here in Pittsburgh are a bit like the mirage of an oasis in the desert, always just over the next erg. Or month. Or, for the most part, never.
I had my doubts about Diesel, because I had been there before, ostensibly to dance, but that effort ended up as a bitch session about the South Side in general, and bad DJs at large. I was pleasantly surprised; the management has figured out how to turn a profit with what must have been a dead night by bringing national acts in for early evening, all-ages shows. Thankfully, the upstairs was blocked off to the scabby teens. Rather than jostle for position at the railing overlooking the first floor, the lady and I relaxed on the mostly empty couches and enjoyed the music.
The opener, Wildbirds and Peacedrums, was a borderline jam band of two; a very proficient drummer and a lady with a magnificent set of pipes. A little too much warbling and drum-noodling at times, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the actual album was better.
After the usual interminable wait and another gin and tonic, St. Vincent came on, opening a solid set with “Laughing with a Mouthful of Blood”. I had watched some live performances a few days earlier on the interwebs, and I was not disappointed. Despite the general lack of vocal effects and looping (there was a bit), Annie Clark’s vocals didn’t fail to rise to the occasion, proving all the production tricks in the book can’t really improve upon an angelic voice like hers. Where the studio tracks sometimes sound restrained and artificial, even contrived at times, the live band gave Ms. Clark’s computer-wrought symphonies the Lazarus treatment.
The noisy fury of “Marrow”‘s breakdown was especially intense, and the alchemy of improvisation turned some of the dull moments on the studio tracks into gold. Most of the set was from Actor, but they did manage to hit a couple tracks from Marry Me, including the Ophelia-tinged hopelessness of “Paris is Burning”.
The highlight of the show was a slow snowfall treatment of Nico’s “These Days”, done as a solo by Clark. It totally made up for her lead-in to the song, which somehow tied Ice Cube’s “Today Was a Good Day” to the song. You know, if it were sung thirty years prior, by a “morbidly depressed” woman. Artists have funny ways of stringing things together. With the icy hell we’ve come to expect outside for the last few weeks, taking the bounce out of a classic felt like just the right dose of just the right medicine.
I didn’t time it, but the set was around 45 minutes, maybe closer to an hour, which is a little lame. To boot, there was no encore, which is total bullshit. If Pittsburgh gives you love, throw a bone. Judging by the fans’ reaction on last.fm to Diesel, a lot of people, myself included, swallowed our tongues just to be there. The venue didn’t even stay open past 10:30, cutting the bar off and hustling people out around 10:15.
On the whole, for 16 bucks it was a little under par. But if an all-ages show is the only way we can get any attention from national acts, I guess I’ll be at Diesel the next time someone decent comes around. I guess.
Grade: B
