Live Review: Laurie Anderson

Considering Laurie Anderson is the OG of multimedia performance as well as a maven of performance art, comedian, violin virtuoso and thespian, it was hard to know what to expect from her first Dark Mofo performance. Indeed she could have taken it in any number of directions and, in the end, she chose them all. 

Opening by musing, "I don't recognise my country anymore," she spoke through her unmistakable harp of asexual, half-robot-half-human voice with minimal synths humming and her trusty electric violin hooked up to a bunch of trigger pads and effects. Elaborating on thoughts about Trump's leadership, she aptly invited the entire audience to scream at the top of our lungs for no less than ten seconds. "If you feel weird about screaming right now, just think about Trump or all the shootings that have happened in the U.S. or just think about your frustration with anything that's really screwed up in your life right now!" Screaming in a seated theatre of hundreds was entirely intimate and absurd; rousing an adrenaline-fuelled, slightly embarrassed applause from the audience at the end. But the effect was that we all got something out of our systems; an ingenious way to coax a fresh level of undivided attention from an initially stiff and highly expectant theatre audience.

After the surprise scream-fest, it became apparent that tonight's performance was focused on the cycles of loss and renewal in both Anderson's life and throughout human history. The two-hour show effortlessly morphed between self-referential anecdotes, history lessons and performances of new songs as well as musings on the loss of her partner, Lou Reed. Violin and synth acted more as an accompaniment and vessel through which to really drive pertinent spoken-word points home; the result of which was powerfully affecting. Adding to the impact of this was Odeon Theatre's diabolical sound and visual mix, a testament to the high performance standard that has always set Anderson apart.

One of the most startling things about Anderson's performance was her rare ability to amuse and entertain while simultaneously expressing a sense of grief that was entirely devoid of anger. As a conduit for all the characters she took on in this performance, it was also refreshing to witness a performer who was unafraid of being truly absurdist. Hers was a punk message of hope; a triumphant acknowledgement that love will eventually reign over destruction and stupidity. With this in mind, she left with an endlessly repeating robot-voiced phrase that served as both question and command to her audience: "How do we begin again?"