New York City is not supposed to be this hot in May. Inside Bowery Ballroom Wednesday night, as a packed crowd awaits the New York debut of UK bluesy art pop singer Anna Calvi, the air conditioning is off and people are visibly sweltering. As the water and beer flow in equal measures, Calvi, bathed in dim light and swaths of smoke, begins a slow, eerie guitar riff. It’s a bluesy, swampier version of Angelo Badalamenti — imagine “Twin Peaks” as filmed in Mississippi — and suddenly, the oppressive heat seems like an appropriate, if not essential, part of the show.
As Calvi and her band shift from the mysterious opening song “No More Words” to “Blackout,” the driving, operatic track from her self-titled debut album, the wide-ranging tone is set for the night. Calvi quickly establishes herself as the sultry chanteuse, the reformed opera singer, the mournful blues lover and the badass rocker. You can imagine her memorizing Puccini scores by day, lamenting for a lost love in the afternoon and drinking you under the table at night.
With drummer Daniel Maiden-Wood and harmonium/percussion player Mally Harpaz in tow, Calvi offers little banter short of the occasional “Thank you” and bandmember introductions. She doesn’t have to. Few in the audience dare speak above a whisper during the quieter moments. Few can yell above Calvi when it’s loud, as on the raucous “Love Won’t Be Leaving.” Live, it’s a frenetic song, bordering on cacaphonous, before Calvi comes to a dead stop, the smoke still enveloping her deceptively innocent-looking face.
If it sounds like I’m contradicting myself when describing Calvi, blame her. Hers is a gloriously unpredictably sound, anchored equally by the art rock of Bowie, the sultriness of Julee Cruse and the bluesy swagger of PJ Harvey. By the time she encores with an electric version of Edith Piaf’s “Jezebel,’ no one’s complaining about the heat. They’re just happy to have witnessed all the incarnations of a future star.
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