James Blake: Pushing the Boundaries of Live Electronica

One of the main issues plaguing popular music today is perhaps that of live performance: As popular music is (in part) becoming synonymous with EDM, more and more musicians are tempted, as described by the producer deadmau5 in a vulgar and (unintentionally) amusing blog post, to simply press “play”. The indie electro-soul artist James Blake isn’t popular in a conventional sense—the sheer number of labels needed to describe him is indicative of that—but a remarkable feature of his live shows is that they truly are live. Such was his one-and-a-half hour long performance promoting his new polished—but still uncompromisingly experimental—new album, “The Colour in Anything,” at the House of Blues in Boston. As one could hardly describe Blake as a natural performer, and as his particular brand of sentimental electronica seems unconducive to replication under concert conditions, the substantial success of his live set is remarkable.

Impressively, Blake sang and played the piano while simultaneously producing his songs on stage. He was occasionally aided in the latter by his long-time collaborators, Rob McAndrews on guitar and Ben Assiter on drums. Blake’s beguiling voice, which ranged tonally between mellow and metallic, has increasingly become an invaluable asset in his shows. Also striking was its complete authenticity compared to its sound on his record, especially on the demanding “Choose Me.” Furthermore, there was a thoughtful chronological progression of the songs as the siren-like sounds of “Radio Silence” cohered organically with the dubstep and grime-influenced remix of Untold’s “Stop What You’re Doing.” Such blocks of bass-heavy tracks were usually interspersed with minimalist piano based reflections such as “Love Me In Whatever Way” and “Retrograde” (one of Blake’s most successful singles to date)—the latter of which was the one song where the usually restrained and respectful audience seemed to have felt compelled to sing along.

The stage was set up to match the character of his new record, which is less minimalist only in comparison to his earlier work. It consisted of three square podiums, each with a light-emitting cube hanging above the podium. Blake positioned himself on the right one in a visual representation of his musical dedication to asymmetry. There were instances in which Blake relied on the normally clichéd single-light-on-singer-songwriter model. Here, however, it served as a welcome break from the seizure-inducing green and red lights that enhanced the urgent loneliness of “Timeless (Remix)” and “Voyeur.” Appropriately, the background screen was mostly kept simple—it alternated between slowly transforming geometric visuals that supplemented some of his newer works, such as the Rick Rubin co-produced “Modern Soul,” and a pure black.

His treatment of songs on which he had collaborated with other artists was largely exceptional. He expanded on his vocal appearance on Beyoncé’s “Lemonade” (on a barely minute long, interlude-like “Forward”). Although the original polyphony was gone, he played a full version of the song where the ballad-like quality, combined with sonical sparseness, effectively resonated with the listeners even in its longer form. “Life Round Here,” a collaboration with Chance the Rapper, easily adapted to live performance—the lone change was that the bass was radically amped up, which was sufficient to make it a crowd-pleaser by Blake’s standards.

The few disappointing parts of the set consisted largely of some slightly rushed performances. This was the case with his version of “I Need a Forest Fire,” originally a duet with Bon Iver, which lost some of its original pristine beauty by increasing the volume of the bass during the performance. A similar hastiness was present on his cover of Feist’s “Limit To Your Love,” whose album version featured an almost impossibly long pause. However, the choice to significantly shorten it in concert seemed rather reasonable: Attempting a successful 5-second silence is a risk not many are willing to take on, even though such an artistic choice would not be surprising given Blake’s general willingness to experiment. Still, this hesitation was somewhat regrettable, as perhaps it partially underestimated the audience’s discipline.

Although Blake’s concert was consistently strong, the most impactful part of the performance came last: The final song before the obligatory encore was a deeply affecting performance of “The Wilhelm Scream,” a cover of a song written by his father. Blake’s voice, accompanied by technically difficult guitar arpeggios and hollow beats, created an atmosphere of intense melancholy, making it a perfect culmination of the show. That moment induced emotional reactions, but the largest takeaway from Blake’s show is perhaps intellectual: his devotion to live performance, enabled by his supreme talent and largely imaginative adaptations, deserves high praise.