Live Review: Ngaiire

Ngaiire has had a pretty silent year so far. Early '14 saw the end of a sweet succession of singles from the singer, with tracks like Around, Dirty Hercules and Uranus helping her to conjure an R&B oasis within Melbourne’s sea of, well, everything else. This show at Howler marks a return for Ngaiire. It’s as much a reminder of her previous singles as it is an unveiling of what she’s written since. She opens with material from her 2013 album Lamentations and promptly bags the audience with her voice; her big, loud and outrageously powerful voice. She weaves seamlessly from one octave to the next; hopping between high and low; joyous and teasing but then, at some points, she’s also painfully wistful. 

The soulfulness onstage is furthered by two back-up singers, whose harmonies dance with Ngaiire’s in near-angelic formation. Behind the singer are two synth players who, along with her own two sample pads, generate the trudging beats that underlie her vocal fantasia. They play glistening pop track Fireflies before Ngaiire announces that they’ll now be performing her newly written songs. These lean less towards pop than her previous songs – the beats are more rigid than before, the melodies less obvious. But they’re still funky. Her voice, much like her previous work, still stands at the forefront of her sound.

Some of the newer songs – including the quick-paced, synth-drenched Once – are co-written with Megan Washington. The band perform them as fluidly as can be, hindered only slightly by the loud fluster of a synthesised avalanche. She ends the set with Uranus before returning for an encore with ABCD. An ode for a friend who “died of a broken heart”, the song’s wistful innocence and simple arrangement means that one can hear a pin drop during its performance. Somehow, despite Ngaiire laughing when one of the synth players forgets how to play it, the song’s sense of tragedy remains stinging. 

Her dress is a marvel. Angela Anaconda’s face looks trivially toward the crowd 50 times over, running in rings around the singer’s physique. The crest of the dress almost engulfs Ngaiire’s whole head, aided by the whelming fluorescence of the same piece’s pinks and yellows. It’s as svelte as it is loud; a curious combination similarly conjured by the songs themselves. A fabric crown for the evening’s queen of Howler.