Fever Ray, Christeene @ Terminal 5

by Kate Bell | May 8, 2023

Fever Ray at Terminal 5 (photo by Kate Hoos)

Driving around Brooklyn with Fever Ray’s most recent album, Radical Romantics, at full volume transforms the frustration at double-parked cars and traffic into a sensual experience. But navigating the crowds at their sold-out show at Terminal 5 this past Wednesday was a bit more aggressively sensual than I might’ve wanted…a lot of packed-in bodies, most of them nearly a foot taller than me (I’m way fucking short). A path would open toward the stage and I would try to shimmy through, sometimes successfully, trying to remember that during the isolation of the pandemic I longed for sweaty clubs stuffed full of revelers. The crowd pressing in around me, too, was for the most part joyously queer and having a great fucking time. So hey, I took a deep breath and swayed with the multitudes, as the hypnotizing spectacle of Fever Ray (aka Karin Dreijer of The Knife) washed over us all.

But before Fever Ray, the hilarious, outrageous, trashy and wildly over the top performer Christeene—who describes herself as a “drag terrorist” and who we also declared a “DIY nightmare fashionista” at her album release show few months ago (read our coverage)—lovingly pummeled the gathering audience with her signature mix of flirtatious insults (“it’s a lunar eclipse for all you astrology shitheads” being a particular highlight), high-energy synth-punk-drag-fabulosity, and graphic lyrics about “shoving shit up your ass.” Her synth player glittered in a jacket of green sequins and spangles; her sax player sported a wild pair of shades while dancing all over; and Christeene worked it in a layered and tattered leotard/bodysuit number that she progressively removed bits of as the set wore on. All three of them looked fantastic and shook Terminal 5 with a delicious who-gives-a-fuck energy, and before her last song, she gave the audience one final irreverent shout out: “All you fuckin’ shitheads showed the fuck up tonight, thank you!” leaving with the parting “Good luck getting home you shitbags!”

Christeene at Terminal 5 (photo by Kate Hoos)

Fever Ray’s set began with the flames of an old-timey gaslight streetlamp flickering on stage. On platforms upstage, their percussionist and synth player vamped on the opening section of “What They Call Us” as two backing vocalists slinked out, taking their positions at microphones on either side of the stage. Finally, Fever Ray materialized in the haze and walked calmly toward the audience, beginning to sing. The packed-in crowd undulated, all eyes on the spectacle of the performers. This was my first time seeing Fever Ray live, and the experience is as mesmerizing visually as it is musically. All of the musicians’ outfits were works of art in themselves. The percussionist wore a crown of spikes. The synth player was topped with a giant cloud-like headdress covered in tiny lights. All three vocalists were decked out in different style suits, Fever Ray in white, a satin tie knotted at their throat. But it was their face and eyes that were most riveting, their skull-like make-up emphasizing the haunting energy of their smiling stare.

Fever Ray at Terminal 5 (photo by Kate Hoos)

The lengthy set included most of the songs from Radical Romantics, with “Shiver” being a real highlight of the night, as the three vocalists leaned on each other, becoming like one body, a three-headed sex caterpillar. They closed the night with “Coconut” (from their 2009 self-titled album) as an encore, after a quick costume change, with all three singers reappearing in black hooded capes. After triumphant bows to the ecstatic audience, they left the stage and the gaslight flickered out, and I was pushed out into the night satisfied, but looking forward to the next time. Fever Ray is headed to the West Coast and then back to Europe for the rest of the tour, so I’ll have to content myself with having Radical Romantics on repeat in the Brooklyn traffic until they return.

Scroll down for setlist, pics of the show (photos by Kate Hoos)

Setlist: What They Call Us, New Utensils, When I Grow Up, Mustn’t Hurry, Triangle Walks, To the Moon and Back, Shiver, Kandy, Even It Out, An Itch, I’m Not Done, Carbon Dioxide, Now’s the Only Time I Know, Tapping Fingers, If I Had a Heart, Coconut

CHRISTEENE

FEVER RAY

Christeene, Holland Andrews @ Market Hotel

by Kate Hoos | Dec 8, 2022

Christeene at Market Hotel (photo by Kate Hoos)

Google “Christeene” and one word will keep coming back over and over again to describe her, feral. And indeed, the recent performance by Christeene at Market Hotel could hardly be described as anything other than feral. But other words—wild, trashy, over the top, radically and unabashedly queer, cathartic—are also very apt descriptors too. She is the embodiment of every normies’ nightmare brought to life—out of the shadows and into the spotlight while they clutch their pearls. Arriving on stage with a butt plug jammed in her ass attached to a bouquet of balloons, this was not going to be some delicate ride were were in for, this was some real queer shit, right in our fucking faces. And for those of us lucky enough to be assembled at the debaucherous altar of Christeene, it was exactly where we wanted and needed it to be.

The show was opened by experimental composer Holland Andrews who, in sharp contrast to the later ferocity of Christeene’s set, played subdued and thoughtful soundscapes cleverly constructed with mostly just their voice run through an array of effects pedals and loopers. The early birds were certainly treated to a special performance that held the room in a rapturous place.

But then it was time for the full on sonic assault that is Christeene, the excitement palpable in the air as we all waited. And as the band to took the stage, the anticipation grew as Christeene herself slowly made her way up through the audience, a trail of balloons out her ass. When she finally arrived, the crowd was more than ready to go off and as the butt plug came out, the real party began. “I’m Christeene, this is my Fukkin Band,” she introduced herself and the assorted musicians, themselves stalwarts of NYC nightlife and queer circles (I photographed guitarist Viva DeConcini drumming at 2021’s Dyke March). From there Christeene and the Fukkn Band proceeded to rip and rage through song after song, reaching a fever pitch frenzy that went right to the edge of sanity but somehow never fully teetered over, pushing and pulling the audience as we were fully entranced in her spell of beautifully freaky faggotry.

This show was in celebration of the brand new album, Midnight Fukk Train, which was recently released on Spaceflight Records and is in itself a wild ride, a drastic range of styles that “leaves no soul unscathed.” I was happy to be dragged down to the depths of hell though and if the total abandon of the audience around me was any indication, so was everyone else. The full on seductive depravity was exactly what we were craving, the icy chill of the November air outside forgotten as we sweat it out while Christeene led the band full speed ahead through playing all eight songs on the album.

Her stage presence is of course, extravagant and over the top, and she being a sexy DIY nightmare fashionista, the show came complete with multiple costume changes as well as plenty of crotch grabbing and ass rubbing to heighten the mood. Highlights for me were the rowdy “Beaucoup Morocco” and the glorious filth of “Fix My Dick” which translate so well to the live setting. Not one person stayed still during the entirety of the set save for during the stirring “Piano Song.”

Suffice it to say, this was one of the best shows I went to all year and that’s certainly no small feat. I go to shows for a living (this was show 229 of the year for me) so I get to see a lot of stuff on an almost nightly basis and truly, not much if anything has held a candle to what Christeene and Her Fukkn Band brought to the stage that night. I’m all aboard the Midnight Fukk Train and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get onboard too.

Scroll down for pics of the show [some NSFW] (photos by Kate Hoos)