The Knife

The Warehouse Project & o2 Academy Brixton

It is with a heavy heart that we find ourselves putting this lamentation together. When The Knife announced their split in the heat of summer, the optimists among us hoped that it would just be another red herring in a lifespan that has been full of surprises and second guesses. The post which broke the news came with a short poem which closed with the line, “Without you my life would be boring”.

As well as being one of the outfit’s biggest crossover hits, the statement rings true as a fitting epitaph to one of contemporary music’s most immersive and enduringly absorbing acts. When we spoke to Olof Dreijer and Karin Dreijer Andersson last year, they spoke at length about gender relations and the deep-set obstacles that still exist for feminism in the music industry. This unswerving focus on specification is what has led them to create a live show that is as celebrated for catharsis as it is sheer spectacle.

Our bidding farewell to the Scandinavian “ism”-smashers began at Manchester Academy where The Warehouse Project turned a cold evening into a prism of technicolor motion. When the stomping beat of Wrap Your Arms Around Me sprung in to life the theatrics were fully underway and there was no inkling of any kind of respite. It was all one massive highlight, but a standout moment came in the form of one troupe member reciting Jess Arnets’ stunning poem Collective Body Possum. It was a soliloquy that included choice phrases like, “I want a body with two dicks, five pouches, and fifteen holes” and the all-encompassing closing line, “I want a body that no matter how dead we seem always wakes up, clawing”. From here the ultimate demise of The Knife seemed inconsequential, just like they always have done, they brought every last punter into their world. They channel their gender politics through escapism rather than harsh truths. Charged lyricism delivered through suitably “shaken up” instrumentation and pitch-oscillating melodies. This is just one of the many reasons why we’re mourning The Knife so intently. Rarely do you see an act take their political views and discrepancies and directly channel them in to something so exciting. The tender pathos of Pass This On saw the company split in to pairs for a slow dance and it was only halfway through that we realised there were men dancing with men and women dancing with women. Behind the luminosity and the lycra, this was about the universality of affection and – even with a house-oriented rework – it was a lasting sentiment.

 

2-2.5

 

Next night we’re in Brixton for the last ever UK show. Moving vivaciously around the stage are the troupe that formed the crux of the much maligned Shaking the Habitual tour that split their fan base so cleanly in half. Yes there is instrumentation here, but how much is being directly drilled through the speakers is debatable and we are left with the the dichotomy between live and interpretative theatrical dramatics. For those who have accepted this subversion of performance, it’s quite simply a total joy to hear these majestic pieces of electronic abstraction seen and heard in full colour for the last time. The sound system in Brixton carries the full weight required to bring the stage show to life and it is quite the theatrical set-up.

The clap heavy version of We Share Our Mother’s Health is totally mesmeric with the full chorus in sync and the vocal delivery in-particular hugely on-point as is the co-ordination of the stage show. What reveals itself over the rest of the set is this gig is more of a celebration of what The Knife have become. Visually it’s an utter bombardment with the coalescence of colour and camaraderie (what is totally clear is that each of the performers have given themselves in full to themes that underpin this project). The two harsher techno numbers from the latest record, Stay Out Here and Full of Fire, are aurally the most engaging and complex things they’ve ever done and resonate deeply on the big sound system.

The Knife’s legacy lies not so much in the fullness of the back catalogue, but the willingness to explore the expression of said music in a complex and engaging manner. Karin Dreijer Andersson’s voice and its unique overtones, so fully and obviously Scandinavian, is among the greatest of our time. It was a glorification of their enduring influence on the avant-garde but also the mainstream, and an ecstatic eulogy to their subverting gaze.