In September of this year, Japanese-American singer-songwriter Mitski released her seventh studio album, The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We, and shortly after embarked on a brief tour marketed as “a handful of intimate acoustic performances,” Her stop in Edinburgh was at Queen’s Hall, a small venue wedged between shops and cafes on South Clerk Street. While she could have easily sold out a much larger venue, Mitski expressly opted to hold her acoustic sessions in smaller venues; Queen’s Hall has a capacity of under 1,000. Mitski has been publicly candid in the past about her relationship with fame, specifically, her struggle to come to terms with consumerist fan culture and the idea of being a product. Her decision to opt for intimate venues reflects her yearning for privacy in the face of high demand and mounting pressure to acclimatise to mainstream fame as her popularity grows.
The venue is set up with rows of folding chairs in replacement of a traditional pit. While waiting for the concert to begin, the audience is teeming with anticipation. Excitement is high and the venue echoes with chatter and laughter. As Mitski comes out, the crowd breaks into a roaring applause – to no response from Mitski. Her face unreadable and her movements deliberate, she wordlessly approaches the mic with no acknowledgment of her surroundings. The audience quickly adheres to her somber demeanor as a hush falls over the once-buzzing crowd. Her presence is truly captivating in a way that engulfs the entire room in a meditative fog.
During her performance, the audience sits still and silent, though most in the room knew the lyrics by heart, as if in attendance at a classical music performance rather than an indie concert. After each song, powerful applause breaks out momentarily before the audience falls back into suit with Mitski’s unwaveringly calm composure.
The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We blends orchestral and folk sounds to create a deeply existential and emotional album. However, in her acoustic session, she stripped the songs of their symphonic and choral footings, leaving only her voice, an acoustic guitar, and an upright bass. By reducing the songs to only their bare essentials, Mitski forces her audience to confront her melancholic, vulnerable lyrics. Her sonorous vocals enchant the room, dismissing any worries that the absence of a backing track would make the performance feel too raw or even incomplete. Mitski plays through the entire album, and each song feels uniquely personal. Her voice reverberates throughout the venue, intensified by the intimate setting and pensive atmosphere.
In her performance of ‘Star’, the instrumental is replaced with only drawn-out, resonant notes on the upright bass. The song tells the story of a faded love, captured in the metaphor of the light of a star that has already died. Her lyrics “That love is like a star / It’s gone, we just see it shinin’ / It’s traveled very far,” feels deeply mournful in the absence of its silvery instrumentals. She only breaks her from her dream-like state once, going on a warm yet unexpected tangent encouraging the audience to consider adopting a cat, preferably an older cat.
Mitski concludes the set with some fan favourites including ‘I Bet on Losing Dogs’ and ‘Francis Forever’, encouraging the audience to sing along which they gladly did. Her encore, ‘A Burning Hill’ from Puberty 2, brought the evening to a satisfying close. Mitski gave a soul-stirring performance, introducing a new depth to an already deeply haunting album.
Image by Jada Horan