The singer’s L.A. show was an ecstatic celebration of what it feels like to reemerge at one’s freest and freakiest.
You couldn’t help but sympathize with the event DJs at the Manchester Academy last Tuesday night.
This review isn’t about the business side of things. It’s about the music.
Robyn has reached the point in her career where she’s no longer obligated to dust off her ’90s hits.
The Electric Factory is perhaps the perfect venue for an artist like Jónsi.
Coachella is a truly beautiful realm where long-absent bands and air-conditioned dance floors exist within walking distance.
The program turned out to be more or less a Loudon Wainwright show with the distinction of exemplary recent material.
Grace Jones and David Bowie are obvious influences, but it’s impossible—impossible!—to discuss Lady Gaga and not talk about Madonna.
That no one left during the deluge spoke volumes about Lambert’s command of the audience.
In her best work, even when she’s being precious, there’s an underlying force and anger that threatens to shatter everything into little pieces.
The truth is not that Callahan is spending years cowering on one side of the shadow line in between crossovers.
After greeting the crowd with an amiable hello, the band played through nearly all of their most memorable songs.
She wailed with an astonishing clarity throughout songs like “Glass” and “Pearl’s Dream.”
It’s no surprise that Madonna’s new show comes off not unlike an act of self-defense.
Sadly, the singer doesn’t have much of a live presence, at least in the sense that you frequently forget she’s even on stage.
Pointing out that her sister is one of her backup dancers, Badu was often prone to sitting back—legs crossed, head bopping—and allowing others to hog her spotlight.
Her second act is comprised of bucketfuls of well-earned praise from the indie sect and lots of love from metropolitan gays in the know.
Dan Bejar has encrypted his creations to the point that their significance is entirely his to bear.
Up-and-coming district dive the Rock n’ Roll Hotel hosted the show, surely the biggest of the venue’s 18-month existence.
It became apparent pretty quickly that Lennox is a bit mad—in the best possible way, of course.
The last time I saw Harvey perform live she had just released an album half-dedicated to a city whose tallest buildings still stood in the financial district.