St. Vincent vibes at Warhol

St. Vincent…St. Vincent with Foreign Born Andy Warhol Museum Feb. 25

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One hundred pairs of eyes ogled Annie Clark through horn-rimmed glasses as the singer-songwriter adjusted her mic on Monday night at the Andy Warhol Museum. Clark (aka St. Vincent) is so strikingly beautiful that it’s impossible not to stare at her, no matter if you’re male or female. With its intimate auditorium, the Warhol is the perfect venue for appreciating the artistry of a singer-songwriter.

First of all, there are actually seats at the Warhol, which seems to cultivate a certain amount of decorum and respect. Secondly, the audience actually stays in the seats (with the exception of about two dozen or so standers who probably snuck in last minute), which keeps the spotlight on the artist rather than on a bunch of beer-drinking fans who are more concerned with crowd surfing than with hearing the music.

Foreign Born kicked off the show and brought an enormous energy to the stage, warming up the audience for St. Vincent.

Before they began the show, Clark and her backing band planted on stage a forest of hand-painted trees that looked more like pieces of colorful swaying seaweed.

“We’re giants in a psychedelic forest,” Clark explained to the audience.

Clark’s voluminous dark curls curtained her face for most of the show, but every once in a while, she looked up from strumming her bright red guitar to stare into the audience with her gorgeous, green eyes.

She opened with “Now Now,” the first track on her debut LP, Marry Me. But the show was much more than a mere run-through of the album. Clark and her band developed a new aesthetic for nearly every song they played.

St. Vincent eased the urgency of “Paris is Burning” into a softer, more provocative live version. Using two different microphones for the song, Clark was able to transition her smooth, soaring voice into darker, more manufactured vocals.

Clark also put a slower spin on “Marry Me,” and after she sang, “Marry me John / Marry me John / I’ll be so good to you,” a few of the boys in the audience started trying to figure out how to legally change their names.

Clark is not as shy as her coy album cover suggests. Between songs she told a funny story about confronting taxidermy while at a rest stop on the road to Minnesota. Clark was astounded to find a row of deer, moose and horse heads mounted on the wall. The animals were all, inexplicably, wearing cowboy hats. She used the story to segue into a sultry cover of The Beatles’ “Dig A Pony.”

“Your Lips are Red,” the final song of the night, swelled into an explosion of vigorously strummed guitars and searing violin.

The only issue with the set list was that it was about three songs too short. Shuffling out of the auditorium, the audience was left wanting more of the gorgeous and gifted Clark, who, incidentally, knows how to shred some serious guitar.