Ezra Furman offers catharsis for chaotic minds

Tonight's set is heavily lifted from Furman’s latest album Transangelic Exodus and it's interesting to see how the songs work outside of the album’s narrative: the story of a man and his lover, an angel, on the run from a hostile government. Furman explicitly connects the album’s narrative with its real-world parallels; the introduction to 'No Place' - a song about “refugees being forced to leave their homes in the middle of the night” - is haunting. 'Maraschino Red Dress $8.99 at Goodwill' appears to be about the actual red dress that Furman is wearing on stage, lending a kind of meta happy ending to the song’s existential crisis of confidence surrounding buying the titular garment. Outside of the album’s context, some songs become their own self-contained worlds: 'Driving Down to LA' is a neon noir fantasy, highlighted with electric cello and pink spotlights. 'Love You So Bad' is a gorgeous, melancholy story of a failed relationship that packs years of high emotion into its three and a half minutes.

The themes of escape and resilience are bolstered by songs from Furman’s rich back catalogue: the gentle, rock-bottom reassurance of 'Ordinary Life' (Just cause you're sick of your ordinary life/Doesn't mean you should bottle up and die) evolves into 'Anything Can Happen', a song that shines with endless possibility from the brink of destruction. Furman has always punctuated his sets with well-chosen covers: tonight, we are treated to a barn-storming version of Kate Bush’s 'Hounds of Love', and a 'queer version' of Lucinda William’s 'People Talkin'. Both are a miraculous fit for Furman’s aesthetic.

Throughout the set, Furman and his band stand against a rotating backdrop of photographs taken from car windows and open roads. During one song, a still from Xavier Dolan’s 2014 film Mommy is projected; the protagonist’s arms wide, stretching to infinity, as much a contemporary image of freedom as the songs being played. Towards the end of the set Furman announces that, “the rock ‘n’ roll sight of the car going into the distance, like Springsteen — that’s ours now. We’re going to take it even if it doesn’t rightfully belong to us”. The soaring, anthemic determinism of 'Suck The Blood From My Wound' follows. Furman dedicates ‘I Lost My Innocence’ to “the queers present”, but he doesn’t need to vocalise it — he takes a step back as the spotlight shines on the mirror ball above; light refracting over our heads. We already know it’s all for us, and that he’s one of us, too.