I watched St. Vincent, other wise known as the saintly Annie Clark, slink up onto Diesel’s stage this past Sunday night in a dress that would be suited for a goth Jan Jetson. She weaved her way through the maze of guitars, microphones, her 7 or so pedals, a key board, a flute, a clairnet and a violin.
It’s easy to forget when you listen to 2009′s Actor or 2007′s Marry Me how each song, even the ballads, have countless moving parts. Watching Clark negotiate this overflowing stage, I suddenly felt as if this was the physical manifestation her little musical dream world, a place she fits into like a perfectly crafted diamond cog. Continue reading
