Initiating Slut Mode, All Space Cadets on Deck.

"I've got some news for you:
Fembots have feelings too."

If those words mean anything to you, then you are already one in the small but fervent legion of fans who know and love Robyn. (I say "know and love" because I have yet to find anyone who knows her and has not been instantly smitten.)

Last week I had the pleasure of seeing Robyn live on her "All Hearts" tour, co-headlining with Kelis (she of "Milkshake" notoriety, responsible for a wave of young lads popping up uninvited in lawns across America). New York City's Webster Hall was filled with fervent Robyn fans - sorry, we don't have a nickname like "Twihard" or anything, we're not that mainstream - who patiently waited through three opening acts before the Swedish songstress appeared.

Judging by those in attendance, the typical Robyn fan is in their twenties or early thirties (or at least pretending to be) and gay, gay, gay. I bet my friend Connor, who accompanied me to the show, that there wasn't a bona fide straight man in the entire audience. There were a few close calls, but then the music started, they started moving and squealing and clutching their male companions in excitement, and that was that. So seriously, there were none. There were a decent number of females in the audience too - their sexual preferences dubious - but it was comforting to know that if a terrible geographical incident hit planet Earth during the set and somehow, through the magic of Robyn, only Webster Hall emerged unscathed, we could still repopulate the planet. Provided some of the gays were willing to take one for the team, that is.



I unfortunately missed opening act Far East Movement, who I do enjoy. I did catch Dan Black, who I was unfamiliar with. Wikipedia informs me he is a "British wonky pop artist," which is either a new classification of music or someone taking advantage of the user-enabled editing on Wikipedia. You could certainly describe Dan Black as "wonky" - he's big on awkward facial expressions and hand gestures that are almost ironic, but actually just come across as goofy. At one point I said to Connor, "He's like Mika's slightly retarded cousin," which in its own way is a compliment. On the whole I enjoyed his set; however, I couldn't get over his use of the same drum sample from "Umbrella" in his song "Symphonies." This just made it sound like he was totally butchering Rihanna's smash hit, which is not something you want to do in front of a predominantly gay crowd.

Kelis was up next, performing tracks off her new electro album Flesh Tone, a terrific departure from her previous hip hop hits. She wore a multicolored one-piece leotard and a silver wig, looking like she'd just come from kicking Rainbow Bright's ass. Despite having to stop mid-set and admit she'd caught a cold from her baby, she won over the audience with her flashy style and a medley of prior hits, including "Milkshake" performed to the beat of Madonna's "Holiday." I'm pretty sure more than one gay fan exploded at this point, but I was too into the number to know for sure.


The crowd seemed to be eating Kelis right up - that is, until Robyn came out, which made it abundantly clear most of this audience was there to see her. Suffice to say, they went bananas. I'd never seen Robyn live, and given her oft-melancholy lyrics, I expected her to be somewhat reserved. Not so. Robyn emerged bouncing like a manic pixie - and she never stopped. There must be a substance that is legal only in Sweden to give her such a Tinkerbell-esque burst of energy. The effect was contagious. The whole floor throbbed during her set with the energy of the crowd responding to Robyn's surprising effervescence. She quickly entered my pantheon of best live performers I've seen.



So let the purpose of this post be crystal clear: I am here to educate the shameful masses of you who do not know and love Robyn (yet). Earlier this week I told J I was going to see Robyn. He replied, "Who?" and I slapped him across the face. While we both took a moment to recover, I tried to think of how to describe the delightful Swedish lady who was brought so much joy to my life. "She's like the thinking man's Lady Gaga," I said at last. "You know...for people who got tired of hearing the name 'Alejandro' repeated over and over the first time they heard that song."

It's true. I have nothing against The Gags, but it's quite evident that she's trying really hard to be strange and outrageous. Robyn, on the other hand, is nutty by nature. (She can also enunciate, but I digress.) I often hear Gag-ophiles screaming about how L.G. is the "only" female pop musician writing and her performing her own songs (that are actually any good). This is true only if your knowledge of female pop musicians starts and ends with Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and the Real Housewives of Wherever the Hell. There are plenty of terrific women in pop, particularly across the seas, who are just as good as the Fame Monstress herself - and have been at it longer. In a way it's too bad that when I mention Robyn to the rest of the population, they ask, "Who?" (but they know all the lyrics to "Party in the USA"). Then again, it's kind of nice to have a musician all to yourself, since we all know fame ruins people. Just ask Lindsay Lohan - everyone knows who she is.

If you're not yet on the Robyn bandwagon, it's high time to climb aboard. Part Two of her album Body Talk will be released this fall. Until then, tracks such as "Dancing on My Own," "With Every Heartbeat," "Cry When You Get Older," "Hang with Me," and "Fembot" will catch you up with the rest of us.

Konichiwa, bitches!



(Concert photos by Stephen Winterhalter. Not me. I'm not that talented.)