Pop Montreal Report: The Mystery of Fever Ray

I think I saw Fever Ray last night. I definitely heard Karin Dreijer's music, saw her laser show and watched shadows of what I can only assume were the band performing song's off Fever Ray's self-titled album—a side-project from one-half of The Knife that's starting to garner more attention than the original band. But Dreijer herself remained hidden—first in a coat that gave her a silhouette that looked like one of Maurice Sendak's Wild Things and then simply in the darkness.

The band remained backlit by pulsating incandescent lamps or obscured by lasers. Throughout the show, I never saw anyone's face. At one point I noticed the guitarist pounding his instrument on the ground but he was enveloped by fog and darkness. A quick poll of the folks around me revealed that his antics had gone completely unnoticed.

Song after song sounded like the climax scene of a vampire film. A couple of the bandmembers were dressed in priestly attire, adding to the gothic atmosphere. But there's nothing wallowing about the music. It's subtly uplifting with Dreijer enigatically singing about friendship, love and desire. The lasers danced joyfully, and the band, while concealed, was ebullient. Bright repeatitve melodies tumbled impatiently into each other. Maybe the image of a Wild Thing is more appropriate for this music than the gothic visage. Fever Ray don't bite, but they'll eat you up they love you so.