One of the things that will be sorely missed about the White Stripes, along with their capability to make such a thunderous, exciting noise with only two members, was their innocent and often child-like mentality. When they weren’t singing about schools (‘Sister, Do you know my name?’) or building a home (‘Let’s Build a Home’), they took a joy out of pretending they were siblings or gleefully dressed up in only three colours. Around about the time ‘Icky Thump’ was released, this innocence had been nabbed by Brendan Benson and then later, Alison Mossheart. This would eventually lead to their painful, but sensible demise.
However, tonight we saw the spirit live on in Janelle Monáe. For the majority of the evening, she danced round the stage with the blissful, wide eyed expression of a Disney character, best witnessed when she lay down and sweetly sighed that everyone should have a nap, during the explosive encore of ‘Come Alive (War of the Roses)’.
However, cute infant isn’t her only persona. When she belted out that she’s ‘shaking like a schizo’ during the swift opener ‘Faster’, she meant it. Often, her tone is that of the authoritative freedom-fighter that we vied for on her album, whose threat ‘Dance or Die’ shouldn’t be taken lightly. Sometimes, we caught her in an individual, dreamy mode, as seen during her cover of Charlie Chaplain’s ‘Smile’, in which her delicate voice floated round the venue like cigarette smoke. However, it was her youthful, attention seeking card that shone brightest.
Her performance wasn’t the perfect theatrical, other-worldly show she would have no doubt wanted, as Birmingham felt obliged to add a touch of glamour. Monae’s introduction on the back screen was tarnished by the fact two of the squares where her mouth should have been weren’t working, leaving Monae’s pretty face looking like she had been gagged. There were also several, slightly too long, awkward pauses between songs, when Monáe left the stage. This often gave it the feel of a primary school nativity, except you couldn’t hear voices in the wings telling the innkeeper to be quiet or his parents would be informed.
However, when she was present on stage, she strutted like she was possessed by the ghost of James Brown. It felt a trifle unfair to the fantastic band, but you couldn’t afford to take your spellbound eyes off Monáe’s tiny-tuxedoed frame. One moment she was shimmying to the watery guitar of ‘Locked inside’, the next she was machine gunning her dancers down. I made the mistake of averting my attention towards the muppet-esque guitarist for a few seconds during ‘Mushroom & Roses’ and when I turned back, there was Monáe, with several plastic cups of paint, painting a board held up by her loyal dancers. I’d be a liar if I were to argue that the finished product was a breath-takingly beautiful masterpiece, but as a man behind me quipped, you wouldn’t see Rhianna doing that.
All of the art and dancing could have easily been an elaborate ploy to hide the fact that she had no credible material to boast of, but she proved she had the songs to live up to her extravagance. The old-school funk of ‘Tightrope’ not only effortlessly made even the most stubborn punter dance, but, more importantly, it also provoked an infectious amount of beaming wide grins, as its irresistible bass-line bounced round. Other highlights were the nursery-rhyme like ‘Wondaland’ and ‘Cold War’, where her whimsical guitarist almost stole the limelight away from Monae, with a mesmerizing guitar solo.
The cocktail of her genre-defying album and exhilarating live shows will hopefully culminate in Monae deservedly going far, but if it means dropping her loveable, exuberant persona in order to fit in with the majority of the drab female solo artists dominating the mainstream, then she should just stay in Wondaland.