Pop stars are like sharks. They look slimy,
they’re attracted
to the
smell of blood, and if they stop moving, they’ll die. It’s
all about re-invention. The Beatles went from ‘clean-cut youngsters’ to
bearded, acid-scorched hippies; Bowie became an alien, Madonna went from
hairy-pop starlet, to S&M-endorsing nymphomaniac, and then cockney.
Even Blur’s Damon Albarn became a 2-dimentional representation
of himself, and then became a cartoon…
Alison Goldfrapp, originally a shadowy purveyor of soprano-seeped ambience as with debut album Felt Mountain, soon decided that hiding behind a poignant voice wasn’t nearly as appealing as becoming a full blown sleaze-pop glam diva. A risky move, but trading a critically acclaimed album in for a pair of stilettos seems to have paid off; Goldfrapp slapped on the make-up and hasn’t looked back since.
As a part of XFM’s Access All April, - which includes Embrace, The Charlatans, Elbow, The Go! Team and Feeder – Goldfrapp hit The Ritz. As do the support acts. Vib Gyor, like many 3rd billed acts, seem slightly misplaced. Despite the lead singer’s unfortunate beanie they produce chiming guitar crescendos which softly and frequently rise above the venue’s balconies and confusingly labelled lavatories.
Shortwave Set on the other hand, have taken Goldfrapp’s shape-shifting on board, they have kazoos, banjos, perverted-harmonicas and are somewhat like sitting on a suitcase full of Spaniels, just when you think you’ve got them sorted, their sound jumps out and runs around, barking, only through a megaphone. But Shortwave Set aren’t that interesting, their sound is confused and schizophrenic, and each song is like a new adventure into tedium.
Goldfrapp appear in single file. First, there’s the archetypal
gay man, sporting a brilliant white beret, a golf outfit with a tight
sweater (he plays bass), a Siouxsie Sioux lookalike with strapped-on
keyboard, a drummer, and then there’s the caveman, in a flowing
grey robe, playing violin. Alison, dressed in simple navy jeans and
black top, appears strangely understated until she opens her mouth and
unleashes the ‘OooohoooohAAAAAAGHS’ of Utopia. Her voice,
beneath the canopy of blonde locks and pouting lips, is Goldfrapp’s
biggest weapon. Ominous green lights and smoke leak onto the stage, and
she twists and turns her arms and fingers as if her haunting voice is
breaking them; if this was the dark ages, she’d be burnt as a witch.
There are two wind machines located under Alison’s microphone to
which she seems smitten, constantly crouching down to blow her hair in
all directions. One of the highlights of the evening is the addition
of Goldfrapp’s legendary dancers; their first incarnation is of
wolf-beasts, the second; Visage-inspired dolls, the third; sparkly horse-heads
and the final instalment looks something like that Blue-Man group, or
more geekishly, like X-Men’s Mystique. The biggest crowd rousers
of the evening come with their later singles; ‘Ooh La La’ as
well as most songs from Black Cherry and Supernature, Alison’s
voice ranging from operatic to a sexually-charged pant.
If this was rock music, and not sleazy electro-disco, it would all be a cliché. But in Goldfrapp’s world, they’re successfully bringing back spectacle to performance, and doing so with enough dexterity to avoid ridicule themselves in the process.