Perfume Genius – Cecil Sharp House, London 19/10/10

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Photographs courtesy of Sonny Malhotra

Set back from the hustle and bustle of Camden High Street on this blisteringly cold evening is the unassuming Cecil Sharp House. With its grandiose music halls and high ceilings this historic folk society house is the perfect setting for the bruised and delicate sound of Perfume Genius’s Michael Hadreas.

Released in June of this year, the young Seattle born pianist’s debut album, Learning, is an intimate, almost uncomfortably introspective collection of melodies. Having written and recorded the album whilst he lived with his mother and sold furniture for living, Hadreas once believed the only way he would ever overcome his phobia of performing live would be to sing down the phone. I am assuming then that tonight’s show will be as fragmented, fragile and disarming as the lo-fi pop harmonies that inhabit his ethereal output.

Before Perfume Genius can take the plunge comes Misty Miller, whose eloquent crisp vocals and gently strummed ukulele echo through the hall. Veering dangerously close to twee at times but endearing herself immediately to the rapt audience, this London born 16 year old’s songs are beautifully crafted and confidently executed. Also on the bill for tonight is Lonely Galaxy, aka Harry Granger-Howell. Akin to Perfume Genius, Howell’s music deals in sparsely arranged lullabies, shatteringly honest observations and crackly raw delivery. ‘Have a Heart’ is a real gut-wrenchingly honest song, as he bypasses pretension and goes for simple lyrics set amidst ever layering guitar and violin strings. His strained, unconventional vocals flutter in and out of some pretty flat notes, rasping as if on the verge of tears and struggling to cope with the love, pain and anger of a lost relationship.

As the lights dim for the third time, Perfume Genius steps on stage. It’s clear to see that having only recently become accustomed to performing in a live setting and having overcome such personal struggles to be here, tonight is going to prove difficult for Hadreas. Opening timidly with the haunting ‘Lookout, Lookout’, his vocals are as stunning in their broken whispers as they are on record. Playing to a completely still and silent room, you can hear the sound of words forming in Hadreas’ mouth before a single note emerges. He sits, exposed and slightly hunched over the keyboard, grimacing through every word as if in genuine anguish whilst the dulled synths swell with overwhelming warmth. The atmosphere of his performances have often been likened to an awkward school piano recital, and after tonight I would say that is a fair assessment as everyone holds their breath, praying for the small nervous figure to deliver impeccably.

Expectedly short, Hadreas’ set sees him joined on stage by Alan Wyffels, whose keys adorn the less sparse arrangements. The beauty of songs like ‘Mr. Peterson’ and ‘Write To Your Brother’ are heart achingly brimming with sorrow and regret. The most touching moments of this evening were inspired not only by the intricately arranged instrumentals and quivering vocals but by Wyffels as he sits next to Hadreas and plays the same keyboard, as if to re-assure him that everything is alright. Such a simple gesture draws a smile from the young singer songwriter whilst he tackles the emotionally fraught subjects of suicide, molestation and substance abuse, whispering to the very end “It’s Okay/It’s Okay”.