Words just aren’t enough for Caroline Polachek
Arriving onstage at a soldout Roadrunner to the sound of a ticking metronome that gave way to bloopy electronics Saturday night, Caroline Polachek took the microphone as the aptly titled “Welcome to My Island” began, opened her mouth, and let a sound come out that refused to be bound by language. It was a preview of what was to come over the next hour and a half, as Polachek trafficked in wordless vocals in song after song, the swirl of emotions so volatile inside the singer that they came out in inarticulate ways.
But they were only inarticulate in the literal sense. Polachek made the emotional hearts of her songs clear, even when words were insufficient. She routinely slipped from her more conversational alto into an upper register, a tendency that would have been simple vocal gymnastics from a lot of other singers. In Polachek’s hands, it was simply a way of transcending more earthbound feelings and reaching for something more ineffable.
It wasn’t as though her more straightforward lyrical expression was lacking, though. “Ocean of Tears” posited the title phrase as “the only thing that’s separating you and me tonight,” and the upbeat yearning of “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings” captured a feeling that resonated with anyone who’s pined for someone seemingly unattainable. And “Hit Me Where It Hurts” was both slithery and sad.
The result was like Imogen Heap breaking out of her electronic laboratory or Dido returning to the rhythmic trip-hop vibe of her debut after a quarter century of technological advancements. The latter artist (who was featured on the recorded version of “Fly to You”) seemed to be a particular touchstone, with Polachek’s vocals having much the same soothing sexiness whether on a glitchy, hooded dance track like “Bunny is a Rider” or on “Crude Drawing of an Angel.”
More than anything, Polachek knew how to use her voice in concert with the music for maximum effect. Against the zippy, snapping drumbeat and thumping bass of “I Believe,” her vocals remained slow and deliberate even after she accidentally knocked her microphone over mid-song. (“At least you know it’s on, right?,” she quipped.) And she made the vaguely Celtic, vaguely military, vaguely English-folk swirl of “Butterfly Net” dramatic without ever raising her voice. It was marvelous, no additional vocal weaponry necessary.
Appearing almost exclusively as negative space in front of a backlit, pixelated background, opener George Clanton was like M83 with jeans and on a tight budget. The density of his laptop-and-live-drum tracks and heavily reverbed vocals were designed to overwhelm, with every note an electronic sunrise.