Imogen Heap, Tim Exile, BackTed N-Ted @ The Hi-Fi,Brisbane (26/03/2010)

Sun 28th Mar, 2010 in Gig Reviews

The line for tonight’s sold out show is twice the size of that for Sia in December last year, and it takes me a good half-hour to get inside the now-familiar, ridiculously planned venue, by which time first support Back Ted N-Ted has nearly finished. I do, however, manage to catch the last song – a melodic indie/electropop ditty with the gingertop New Yorker strumming his Telecaster and singing some rather sweet vocals.

Minutes later, the Berlin-residing UK glitch maestro Tim Exile unleashes his glorious beats and bleeps halo upon The Hi-Fi. Playing tracks from last year’s wildly innovative Listening Tree album as well as some brand-new and old stuff, the red blazer-sporting artist is a joy to watch as he endlessly hammers out beats, samples and mashes pretty much everything within reach and generally has a great time. Tim’s unabashedly fun, devil-may-care show reaches an apex as he drags a fellow named Sam – or, as the Warp Records signee mock-preposterously refers to him, “The Sam!” – onstage, gets him to strum two chords on the acoustic guitar, immediately samples them and builds an entirely new track from scratch, much to the collective cheers.

The crowd’s patience has long ceased to exist when tonight’s host, the luminous Imogen Heap, surfaces ten minutes past scheduled time. Momentarily calming the ear-shattering noise, the black outfit-clad, towering hairstyle-rocking siren rubs two water-filled glasses to create the lucid, sustained opening notes of Ellipse’s first single First Train Home, and we’re transported to sonic and visual heaven. The otherworldly stage setup – the Perspex grand piano, an artificial tree – adds to the sheer, crystalline beauty of songs like the piano-accompanied Wait It Out (“the first one from the Maui sessions”, she admits), Between Sheets and Bad Body Double, but it soon becomes apparent that the house PA isn’t working at full strength. The UK songwriter/performer extraordinaire’s supersonic banter is barely audible at best and “Where’s your megaphone?” and “We can’t hear you!” shouts begin emanating from the balcony, where, as it turns out, the speakers are dead. Along with the immensely irritating, giggling young girls at the back detracting from the show’s majesty, we try our hardest to concentrate on the music, which keeps getting better and better.

The irresistibly catchy Headlock gets the floor going as Heap is joined by both supports, while Speeding Cars features a laugh-out-loud cameo by crackin’ ‘80s wig-wearing BTNT. The nursery-rhyme like Little Bird and Frou Frou’s Let Go (expanded by a looped choral coda), an improbably beautiful song that first brought Heap wide recognition via its inclusion in the Garden State soundtrack, are moving beyond belief. The quirky Aha! has Heap conjure haunting sounds by bowing a circular metal cage – try that, saw enthusiasts. Preceded by a crackling bonfire sample, the wintry Canvas marks the appearance of a just-auditioned guest cellist – all toothy smiles and blonde hair – who effortlessly scythes out the song’s coda. The Walk, Swoon and 2-1 follow in a breathless, gorgeous sequence before Heap takes a trip down memory lane with Come Here Boy from 1998’s overlooked debut iMegaphone. She ends the main set with Ellipse highlight Tidal (also admittedly her favourite song), where she pops on her sunnies and lets fly on the keytar during the coda, grinning wide. Yes, she can rock.

The deafening whoops threatening to explode whatever glassware in the packed venue, Imogen returns for an exquisite encore, still wielding her keytar. Silence falls thick as she recites the opening line of signature song Hide And Seek – “Where are we, what the hell is going on?”; a true 21st century prayer, the Vocoderised aria is one of those immensely powerful, ‘hug thy neighbour’ moments. Soon after, seemingly everyone claps along to the angelic a capella rendition of Just For Now and as the last bit of icing on tonight’s sensory cake, Heap sits at the piano for the confessional The Moment I Said It. A sheer audiovisual marvel, Imogen Heap is not only our generation’s Bjork, but an absolute goddess.