Perfume Genius at The Mod Club

Photos by Katrina Lat
Packed in the Mod Club Thursday night was a general assembly of Toronto’s queer community, alongside a sprinkle of heterosexuals, united to awe at the new work of Perfume Genius, otherwise known as Mike Hadreas. Having released two largely critically acclaimed albums Put Your Back N 2 It (2012) and Too Bright (2014), each embraced by the community and those outside it, Hadreas’ continues his rise to the mainstream with new album, No Shape, including a performance on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.

After an intense yet connective set by show opener Serpentwithfeet, aka Josiah Wise, who stunned with poetic verses provoking as much impact as his vocal range, Hadreas appears like a gender bending dream. The rushing violins of “Choir!” introduce him, but they quickly halt in favour of the solemn piano notes of “Otherside”. Hadreas glows in the intimate light, softly singing this album opener ‘rocking you to sleep / from the otherside’. The hymn exploding into dazzling instrumentals at the close of each chorus. It is a demonstration of Perfume Genius flexing their more refined theatrical muscles since the peak of melancholy that was Put Your Back N 2 It.

Flanked by his lover on keyboards to his right, a drummer in back, and guitarist to his left, Hadreas moves into the thumping funk of “Go Ahead”, then a dramatic shift to the pulsating synths of “Longpig”, followed by tender cut “Vally”, eliciting cheers from the crowd as if they had just heard a climactic banger. It became clear then, Hadreas’ strength was his versatility. Where his early work leaned heavily on shaky vocals and piano drenched ennui-teasing emotions, he has since added a breadth of material that cultivates sweet celebrations and empowered protests of the LGBTQ experience, without losing nods to inner demons and their accompanying feelings.

“Thank you all for coming. This is our third time playing all these new songs” Hadreas says delicately to the crowd, “A lot of my songs are so short that I can play for an hour and you could hear 50 songs”. As tempered and present as he appears, his dance moves are as wild as the inflections on rebellious songs like “Wreath” and “Queen”, lashing limbs about as if possessed. He oscillates effortlessly between the pain of “Hood”, the protest of “Grid”, and the party that is “Slip Away”; at one moment a Hollywood dame broken with loss, the next, a woke-queen, reviling in triumph. Triumph over what? Perhaps prejudice? Social pressures of conformity? Or simply the right to live/love?

No matter the motivation, Perfume Genius aims to be no one shape, but embody whatever is necessary to survive. And the audience, even through the lows, take it as nothing short of a love-in.