Mitski at Roadrunner, 7/26/22
Attending one of the Mitski Boston shows, up until attending their rescheduled July dates, existed as a half-baked plan in my mind. A desperately sought out, if not impossible, endeavor. I had unsuccessfully set an alarm in February to nab pre-sale tickets in October. I resigned myself to buying resale tickets before realizing the show was during spring break and I couldn’t go. When a positive COVID test in her touring party caused the Boston dates to be rescheduled, I was cautiously optimistic about my chances, but wasn’t sure yet if I would be in the Boston area. After figuring out my summer plans, I waited in anticipation for the date to finally come. I would see Mitski for the first, and what I suspect will be, the last time.
Ever since her release of 2018’s Be The Cowboy, there has been a notable shift in Mitski’s artistic output and commercial visibility. In a statement to Pitchfork, she said the album was inspired by “the image of someone alone on a stage, singing solo with a single spotlight trained on them in an otherwise dark room,” Garnering widespread acclaim from critics and audiences alike, the record was more mature than Lush and Retired From Sad, New Career in Business, more characterized and distant than Bury Me at Makeout Creek and Puberty 2. The album still maintained the same raw emotion and poetic structure as the rest of her discography. With the increased attention, however, came a numbness that caused Mitski to take an unexpected hiatus from touring and music in 2019.
Her 2022 return, Laurel Hell, directly contradicts Be the Cowboy’s image of loneliness, transforming the solitary singer into bunches of flowers, waiting uncomfortably to be crumpled by the viewing public. The proliferation of her top hits through the digital sphere (notably Tiktok), and the immense fanbase that evolved outside of the platform has taken a toll on an artist who clearly prefers existing behind the scenes. Thus, its theme of alienation reflects skyrocketing popularity rather than the breakdown of a personal relationship or the monotony of life. Through the synth-pop production and catchy lyrics I found myself, instead of personally connecting to the album, more sympathetic and worried for the subject.
It was impossible to ignore my role as part of this adoring and suffocating public. After going to receive my press pass, I learned along with the rest of the pit exactly where I could take pictures from (either to the left or the right sides, never in the middle, or past one of the outermost speakers). The rules were, personally, far less frustrating than the conversations behind the barricade. “I think she’s coming on soon, where is she, she was supposed to start at 9:30, I can barely see anything,” and more impatient fanfare. I was surrounded by a tiny sliver of the fanbase growing more rabid and intrusive by the minute. It reminded me of the indie-pop star’s misunderstood pleas (on Twitter or otherwise), of disconnect and artistic exploitation, of how I am a willing member of these masses, whether I like it or not.
The crowd quieted down as Mitski stepped on stage, wearing a striking green dress. Launching into “Love Me More,” she seemed to address the audience directly, scratching herself wildly at “Here’s my hand/There’s the itch” and widening her arms at “I need you to love me more/Love enough to fill me up.” The emotional, movement-oriented performance continued with one of Laurel Hell’s other leading singles, “Working for the Knife,” made particularly memorable by Mitski’s motion of lifting the microphone up and sliding it across her throat. The two new tracks worked in tandem, setting a distant yet powerful tone for the rest of the show.
The setlist was a nice mixture of Mitski’s most notable hits and lesser known classics. Particularly, I was thrilled to get to see “Happy,” “Drunk Walk Home,” and “Townie” live. I was not surprised to hear “Nobody,” “Goodbye, my Danish Sweetheart” and “First Love/Late Spring,” joining the crowd enthusiastically as they roared along to the familiar lyrics. Throughout each number, Mitski thrashed around the stage, pouring her heart out for everyone to witness. Whether she was performing more well-known songs (dancing both parts of an engagement through “First Love/Late Spring’s” sprawling guitar solo) or her “deeper cuts,” (singing under a blinking, synchronized light in Happy), each song had its own unique choreography and artistic vision. Ultimately, the dynamic set was a perfect encapsulation of the expressive power in Mitski’s work.
Listening to her final song, “A Pearl,” standing amongst the sea of phones, watching Mitski reach out desperately to the audience, I couldn’t tell if I was watching the peak of her career or the potential grand finale. Either way, I was grateful I got the chance to see Mitski live, performing with the confidence and resignation of an artist who intimately understands the world she inhabits.
