“Is there anybody here who’s a little heartbroken?”
This wasn’t the first time Lykke Li had half-apologized for the melancholic album she was set to perform Monday night at downtown's Theatre at the Ace. Shimmering in an oversized, metallic croc-print smoking jacket, the 28 year-old crooner crowdsourced that kind of femme-to-femme post-break-up camaraderie men have only shuddered about in their guilt-ridden night terrors.
Don’t worry – we got you, girl. Icouldtalkironyallday and I looked at each other and decided we could be heartbroken if we thought long and hard enough on the topic. Lord knows a Lykke Li performance is ripe soil for distrait introspection. I Never Learn? Me either!! Sleeping Alone? Me too!! Never Gonna Love Again? Ok, let’s not get too carried away here. (She doesn't. It’s perfect.) Somehow, even as Li leads the way down Ex-Lover’s Lane, her dulcet melodies lull you into a Xanax haze of love and appreciation. That, and the fact that she seems so dope, you feel like you’re hanging out with your soon-to-be new best friend. (Did I mention the metallic croc-print smoking jacket?!)
Before all 1600 patrons of her sold-out show slipped into total solipsism, the Swedish songstress picked up the tempo with dance-friendly faves from previous albums. Jerome, Little Bit, and Rich Kids Blues saw some serious seat-sway, and I'm pretty sure I saw a few Woodstock tears at the end of her encore. Apparently, sadness really is a blessing. Oh, and everyone dug the Lykke-fied dose of Beyonce's Drunk in Love droppered onto a tune in there somewhere. I’d be a little clearer upon where, exactly, if it hadn’t been for the extra large shot of vodka the overly gracious bartender had slid our way top of show. Said bartender attempted to compare the quality of her un-well concoction to that of Tito’s. BLASPHEMY. The Russian characters gracing that plastic handle spent the next 24 hours pouring salt in the very neural wounds they inflicted. Tito’s would NEVER. I digress.
This was my first time in the Theater at the Ace, and I can attest that everything everyone is saying is true. It’s beautiful. Like, really, really, opulently beautiful. Curbed gave a pretty spectacular run-down of its history slash revival here, if you happen to be interested.
The sound was awesome; the lighting entrancing. Lykke Li’s five-member band was quartered (quintupled?) off behind her by dramatically fluid silk sheets. For some reason, this was giving me a RENT-ish vibe, in the best possible way. Spirit fingers. In the most Gothic way possible.
As we exited the grand lobby, a photographer from LA Weekly asked if he could get a picture. I grabbed icouldtalkironyallday and we posed...as he aimed his camera at my feet. “I love your shoes!”
I Never Learn.