How Aldous Harding makes silence the most important part of her show
When you go to see live music being performed, especially when it’s by one of your favourite artists, you’re often going to be looking out for what you can hear. As far as the general gig experience goes, this is pretty much a given, right?
But what if you found yourself in such a situation and were suddenly fixating on the idea of the things you can’t hear? Hushed moments and silences are just as much of an auditory experience as the noises that are present, even though it’s an absence of sound that is catching your attention, and in some cases, while it would be easier to pay attention to things that are typically loud, quietness can somehow scream enough to catch your attention more than something designed to grab you.
In the case of Aldous Harding, who is currently embarking on a worldwide tour in support of her extraordinary fifth album, Train on the Island, the most stark moments of the New Zealander’s performances come not in the form of what you can hear, but in the moments you can’t. Of course, everyone within the auditorium is there to hear her marvellous compositions and often cryptic lyricism, but quite often, the moments of clarity and focus arrive when little or nothing is happening at all.
However, it’s not quite as straightforward as simply stripping things back or waiting too long in absolute silence, even though these are two things Harding delivers plenty of throughout her hour-and-a-half-long set. The songwriter utilises plenty of techniques in order to demonstrate why she deserves attention for more than just her creations, and that the empty spaces she scatters throughout are just as important.
One significant feature of her work has always been her decision to avoid using excessive arrangement, allowing the simplicity of her songs with their occasional surprise turns to stand out more. While her live band fluctuates between five and six members throughout the course of a show, there are moments where members of the band will dip out and provide room for the other instruments to deliver their deft touches, but often you’re left wondering how the absence of an instrument that was previously at the forefront manages to elevate the overall sound.
Many of her songs stutter and use brief pauses to further emphasise the ebb and flow of the performance, but even though these don’t last long, it feels as though they’re forcing you to hold on with bated breath for the next reintroduction of sound. The silences in these moments build a tension that few others are capable of creating, and while they make the audience long for a sound to latch onto, those sounds wouldn’t be quite so wondrous if they were brought back with a rushed urgency.
Harding also isn’t a big talker between songs, save for a few bizarre nuggets of awkwardness that summon a chuckle from the audience, but at the same time, her audience isn’t using the lengthy adjustments between numbers as a chance to collectively dissect what they’ve heard. The in-between moments are there for solitary reflection as the auditorium is shrouded in pindrop quiet.
Given there is plenty to ponder in Harding’s lyrics, with deeply personal stories of internalised trauma shrouded in surrealism that you have to figure out for yourself, there’s no time for discussion to be had, and instead, you’re appropriately obliged to muse over the contents in private.
Everything about Harding as an artist and performer feels deliberate, no matter how much it might feel like there is some sort of puzzle to be figured out when presented with it. The silences she uses are just another layer to the puzzle, but they’re also one of the many ways in which she ensnares the audience and forces them to play by her rules. If she’s going to sit in silence, then so will you, and if she shoots a distant stare into the crowd, you’ll know that she’s got complete control over you.
Harding’s concerts afford you a space to marinade in your thoughts and enjoy the sense of reverence that has been created by her majestic and singular approach to performance. It isn’t guaranteed that everything will immediately make sense to you, and for the uninitiated, it might seem as though there’s something off or that there’s some sort of disconnect between the artist and audience.
However, even if you come away thinking that there was something missing, you’ll eventually realise that what you got was everything you needed from the experience.
