The Waiting Room, in the basement of The Three Crowns pub in Stoke Newington, is cocoon-ish. Two stripes of seating flank the left and right walls with a leathery cushion. The ceiling is low, as is the stage and the lights, and the walls are veined by the gaps in paneling. You’re conscious of being underground, held by the windowlessness and the unheard room of people above. Farao, and her support, Mormaid, both suit this closeness to a tee.
One electro dance-pop song in, Mormaid quietly and politely interrupts her set by asking for the soft stage spotlighting to be completely turned off; all that remains to illuminate her are the few bars of light (that have seemingly been brought as part of Farao’s touring equipment) that are programmed to pulse to the beat. This flawless syncopation of LED and digital instrumentation actually provides a sense of life, of breath. Though Mormaid uses exclusively buttons, dials and switches to create her sound on stage, it is blood-filled by this reactionary element. An important distinction must be made, however; her sound is not able to be described as wholly human. Like the name might imply, her vocals are siren-like, beautiful and wailing, sometimes light as a sea breeze and sometimes capable of ripping a healthy sailor quite apart. Her sonic palette includes clicky beats, pops and sighs that would appeal to the highest brow ASMR-er, and toe the wonderful sonic line between intimate-seductive and intimate-uncomfortable. Mormaid’s performance here is hypnotic throughout, whether the song be feverishly upbeat, floaty-calm or skin pricklingly intense.
Post-set, Mormaid thanks the audience profusely before doing a metaphorical hat change and literal wardrobe change, becoming Farao’s entire backing band. Besides the chimes that have been hanging high in the corner of the stage like a cheery version of Chekov’s gun, all the instruments Farao employs are mounted on stands; the synths and pads that Mormaid helms, and a few stringed tabletop ones that I can’t identify in the dark. Blending her strumming of these – pentatonic and rippling – with her airy but soul-filled voice, clean beats and groovy bass, she brews a potion somewhere between R&B, funk and ambience. Her stage presence is effortless – present and assured.
Much of Farao’s latest album, Magical Thinking, has been added to the setlist, and it shines in this little room, mirroring its combined softness, warmth and darkness. Like the album, which journeys through grief, motherhood and ritual, the performance is meditative, inward-looking but connective, mellow but joyful. (Her turning on a vocoder effect during one song brought a lot of joy to me in particular.)
Farao, on stage on this ordinary, beautiful February day, does create a kind of magic. With her stage partner, sensitive and tuned, she invites the crowd into this organic, sensual duvet; it’s music that invites as much reflection as it is reflective, restful as it is danceable, ethereal as it is grounded in earth, skin and silk. We all emerge butterflies, transformed, and blessed by the very liberal use of those Chekov’s chimes.
