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When you're out in New York City, you can't leave anything lying around. Emily Haines knows this. She emerged from behind the curtain at Joe's Pub and took her seat at the piano with her purse clutched tightly in hand.
In New York City -- where Haines lived for several years in the late '90s -- you keep your emotions and your valuables close to the vest and shoot suspecting glances at any would-be snatchers. Haines has this look down pat. She has lived and recorded in Toronto, London, Montreal, and LA, but we can still rightfully claim her as one of our own. We're all about cash-and-carry, and she can relate.
"When I was a waitress in New York City," she explained early in the set, "I always used to walk by this place and say... 'Ah... someday!'" Peculiar that someone who opened for the Rolling Stones at Madison Square Garden earlier this year would feel so honored to play this far more intimate venue, but as a former New Yorker, Haines knows that, for these songs, Joe's Pub is the pitch-perfect place.
Her new record, Knives Don't Have Your Back, is a stripped-down collection of personal moments stolen during all-too-rare downtime. Over the last few years, Haines has been on a rollercoaster ride, playing as a member of two Canadian indie powerhouses: Metric and Broken Social Scene. The ride has not been without its painful turns, marked by several relocations and the loss of her father, famed poet Paul Haines. Her solo songs reveal a feeling of confinement, a desire to break free, and the chilly realization that these feelings and desires remain, even after one achieves a modest level of fame.
The opaque sadness of the new record sits in stark contrast to her other work: Broken Social Scene has a major-chord positivity against which Haines lashes out with a a razor-sharp focus, a feeling further intensified in her role as Metric's frontwoman. On Knives, and in tonight's performance, she doesn't so much sheath the razor as reveal that, when left all alone without lights or companions, she's still something of a "cutter."
The beautiful album opener, "Our Hell", kicked off tonight's proceedings, introducing us to Haines' delicate, whisper-scratch voice atop a round of sorrowful piano chords. The chords were muted by the foot pedals next to her purse, through which she immediately began rummaging when the song ended. "Sorry. I forgot to turn off my cell phone," she explained to giggles, then paused. "I think every woman alive can relate to my rummaging."
Well, maybe not every woman, but probably all those Haines would encounter at the proverbial hipster after-party (if those really exist, can someone please direct me to this mythical Williamsburg loft space?). Of course, some might also cast rueful, jealous glances her way -- why does this former waitress get rock-goddess status? Well, it's because she's got the look, the chops, and the connections.
The predominant element displayed at Joe's Tavern was the chops, as Haines crooned over lilting melodies, rolling out the dull ache like a solitary sleeping bag in the middle of a dark forest. "Dr. Blind" lamented the dangers of pharmaceutical dependence (come on, who hasn't huffed glue in the woods?), introducing the themes of alienation that would pervade the entire set. With this number, Haines prescribed a pill: the gorgeous vocal outtro felt positively like drifting off into a dream.
By the third track, "Crowd Surf off a Cliff", it had become clear that there will be no "singles" on this album, and that Haines would play the entire record in succession. It was as if she needed to play the songs consecutively either as part of some 12-step recovery program (though there are only 11 tracks in all), or as a hint that this latest collection should be examined as one art piece -- maybe a glass sculpture, itself on display behind museum glass. While her enigmatic lyrics kept the listener at arms-length, Haines allowed one to draw near the glass for closer inspection.
After Haines finished a stirring rendering of "Detective Daughter", one fan yelled, "Sounds great, Emily!"
"Never stop!" yelled another.
"Thanks! Could you maybe be my aerobics instructor?" Haines joked. Was she implying that the sexy waif look actually takes work? Some of us would prefer to remain in Oz-like ignorance to that fact, but thanks anyway.
It's unclear whether Haines spurns or invites the sex symbology that comes with being a rock chanteuse -- maybe she does a little of both -- but the confrontation of sexual objectification is a recurring theme throughout these songs.
Haines introduced the aptly-titled "The Lottery" by exclaiming (half-jokingly), "Sexual suicide all around! Auto-sexual asphyxiation! Woo-hoo!" These remarks served to lighten the mood slightly, as did an audience member's shout-out to Michael Hutchence, now the second dead-too-soon rock star brought to mind this evening (listening to Haines one couldn't help but think of the departed Elliott Smith, an obvious inspiration for Knives, as well). The storm clouds of this song finally broke as Haines' voice caressed the repeated coda "like girls in stilettos... like girls in stilettos... trying to run" -- one of the evening's truly sublime moments.
Throughout the set, Haines was accompanied by a bassist, a drummer, and a silent black-and-white film montage, projected on the wall in front of her. The clips were culled from the work of Canadian indie director Guy Maddin, whose signature themes of mental instability, sexual taboos, and broken hearts provided an appropriate backdrop. In "Mostly Waving" the projections worked best, as they shone light on Haines' music as opaque, mood-inducing, and filmic -- these songs are ready-made for soundtracks.
The songs, the bleak Maddin projections, and the sound-proofing foam of the Joe's Pub stage walls combined to create the effect of an asylum cell, with Haines cast as the girl interrupted, pounding dirges in the dark to someone and no one together. Like Nora in the Ibsen play A Doll's House, Haines sat as if a caged bird working through layers of repression to find clues to whom she really is. "Don't even visit that place; they'll sharpen their teeth on your smile," she warns on "Winning."
This existential alienation was felt most towards the end of the set on "Nothing and Nowhere", where Haines confessed that she and her life might be insane, even if they aren't "insane on paper." Indeed, with the Un Chien Andalou-like film projections hovering above her, Haines created a dream-like state ripe for Freudian interpretation. These songs were definitely sung from the couch.
Unlike her work with other bands, Haines may not attract commercial success with this latest collection of songs, and some might dismiss Knives as self-indulgent. I disagree. Haines has stored these songs for a long time, and while they could arguably use some mood lightening, she has earned the right to see what happens when she sets them free out into the world. And, though they didn't make for the most exhilarating concert experience, her songs were certainly thought-provoking. For Haines, this is expressive art therapy -- whether you choose to watch is up to you.
For now, Haines has decided to hang up the rock star duds and change into something a bit more intimate. Keep rummaging through that purse, Emily. You never know what else you might find way down there at the bottom.
— 4 October 2006
