Photographs by Maya Setton.
“I’m having one of those days when I can’t decide if I’m Cat Power or Iggy Pop.” Remarked EMA’s lead singer Erika M. Anderson. Unerringly true, this juxtaposition permeated the set. Straddling the line between devil-may-care punk aesthetic and crafted, laden noise-folk, there was an unsettling fierceness that almost dared you to try looking away. A dark, dirty undercurrent that felt all too personal, songs carried an emotional resonance clawing at insecurities hidden beneath the surface.
Right from the offset, EMA didn’t burst out of the gates so much as kick them down. An abrasive rendition of Butterfly Knife complete with 10 minute feedback solo set a compelling tone. Raw shouts fell back to frail whispered breaths as Erika repeated “Only God can make it right. Twenty kisses with the butterfly knife.” Ruining her guitar in the process, the apparent setback somehow only enhanced the coarse, open atmosphere of the performance.
With a set spanning Anderson’s musical career, newer tracks 3Jane, Dead Celebrity and Solace found their place amongst older standouts Marked and the sprawling epic The Grey Ship. Vocals dripping with reverb, simple strumming created a false sense of comfort before stripping back to a low pitched synth threnody. The strumming kicked into a distorted riff, with quiet vocals lending a haunting, otherworldly quality. The pace slowly but steadily ramped up. Drums rose like a call to war, the violin working in tandem. Gears shifted and the sound rose to a tempest. Frenzied violin like a whirling dervish, sustained feedback and pounding drums caused shouted vocals to fight for footing in the maelstrom. Noise rising to a cacophony, everything seemed almost impossible to distinguish. Suddenly the storm lifted, simple minimalist strumming and reverbed vocals bookended the song, bringing calm in its wake. Easily the highlight of the performance, it was undeniably enthralling.
With a blistering set edging on 80 minutes, it was hard not to emerge unscathed. As powerful as the heavy distorted numbers were, EMA’s real heart shone through in some of the quieter, brooding numbers. Cherylee from Erika’s former band Gowns found the singer alone on stage strumming her guitar, recounting a woman’s hope in the face of crushing violation. California’s vocals evoked an earnest and chilling honesty, with a beat poetry-esque delivery backed by distorted low tuned violin and cymbal rushes. Cord tied around her neck like a noose, Anderson dropped the mic to the final beat of the song, pulling it tight. Finding strength in contrast, EMA found potency in uneasiness, with a performance as harsh as it was affecting.
Thanks to Collective Concerts for media access.
