be bop, be bop a lula

“Hello, I’m El Perro Del Mar.”

That was how Sarah Assbring introduced herself on stage at New York’s Bowery Ballroom last night. It was a funny bit of disconnect, a person identifying as a group — especially since there were three other people on stage with her — but Assbring didn’t seem to be joking. That stone seriousness is one of the key attributes of her music, and while I just assumed (hoped?) her sorrowful persona was 90% affected, ten minutes into the show it became clear that Assbring was not kidding around.

Which, as it turned out, was fine. Proceeding with severity through most of the songs from her Memphis Industries compilation, Assbring strummed her guitar and stared into the crowd, her voice fuller and more desperate than it is on record. The songs were big and trembling, full of huge surges of synth and icy pinpricks of guitar. It often felt like I was watching Julee Cruise play the Roadhouse in Twin Peaks — scores of sullen people staring up at a woman spilling out the contents of her heart amid moaning, ghostlike instrumentation. The sound was surprisingly large — so big at points that it started feeding back — making the sense of eeriness and foreboding overwhelming.

The only element sorely missed was the backing vocals. On record the songs are ethereal shoo-wop, the choir of ghosts as essential an instrument as the synths and guitars. Live, she was accompanied only by the occasional harmony from her male guitarist. It made the songs feel strangely stagnant at points, more singer/songwriter less voice-from-the-grave. Near the end of the show she played “God Knows,” for which she had the backing vocals on tape. I found myself wishing she’d employed this tactic throughout; the song sounded gorgeous, and the disembodied vocals perfectly ghosted her every syllable. Assbring introduced the song by saying, “OK, I think we’re ready to play ‘God Knows’ now.” By the end of the first verse, I realized how ready I’d been to hear it.