Late last year, the musician formally known simply as “Eves” added “The Behavior” to her moniker. Since then, the singer-songwriter has appeared at both Laneway and Splendour in The Grass festivals, released a self-titled EP and a couple of tracks placed on high radio rotation. An immensely visual artist, she’s added projections to the live show she’s currently taking on a sold out tour. Her first headline tour, Eves The Behavior (who we interviewed last week) has sold out all her dates, which resulted in the addition of an extra show in Melbourne. It is at this second show where we find ourselves tonight.
While the show that Eves The Behavior (Hannah Karydas) played on Sunday was at a different venue, its is difficult to imagine a setting more perfectly fitting than the underground band room of the tucked away, alley-chic cafe/bar Shebeen, which is where she is about to take the stage. With the lights dim, blue and green projections dance across the stage as the band Karydas has enlisted for her tour take their places. Karydas follows soon after, poised in front of two microphones (one set up, no doubt to filter her voice through some epic distortion) within reach of both her keyboard and guitar.
Never had I expected that dark, electronic style of Eves The Behaviour that I had found on her EP would fill a room as completely as it does. From the first bar, Karydas’ voice is immense and the music is enveloping. She has clear influences from experimental electronic artists like Crystal Castles, but one would refrain from drawing direct comparisons as she has a style uniquely her own. She loops her voice, shouts her lyrics through distortion and presents a wonderfully harmony – all in the first few songs. I move closer to the stage in an effort to view her, but its difficult. The room is packed. She introduces her friend and producer, Robin Waters, to the stage to play Zen with her. After a short battle with her guitar, she leaves the temperamental instrument in its stand and they play the song without it. Zen is not hindered and Waters slips from the stage having done a wonderful job.
The songs that follow are significantly louder than Zen: urgent and filled with a sense of fore-boarding, the reverberate around the room. The projections that serve as the backdrop change with each song. There are ink splatters against red watercolor-like backgrounds and yellow-white dot illustrations against a midnight-blue like an astrological chart. TV is given context through mentions of The OC and House of Cards before taking over the room. Karydas delights with a rendition of The Weeknd’s Can’t Feel My Face; maintaining an unapologetically Australian accent in her twist on the song, she earns a raucous applause as she sings the final note high and strong. Digging, however, is possibly the most impressive performance of the night as the singer switches between the beautiful melody of the refrain and the brash, hurried distortion of the bridge.
Towards the end of her set, Karydas parts the seas like Moses to make her way to the back of the room. She needs to plug her synthesiser in, but it feels a part of the performance none the less. Karydas ascends the stairs to stand at an alter, framed by white rope lights. It is from here she plays her second last song of her main set, Dancing Shoes. She plays the song on her hand-held synthesiser, which she fondly refers to as her “little friend”. Despite a slight technical difficulty which cuts the fade out of the song off short and abruptly, it’s an unexpected surprise breaking the set up brilliantly. The song as has some of the stand out lyrics of the evening: “Don’t listen to darkness/She’s got nothing on you.”
As Karydas heads back to the stage, the projection has a new message on display “just carry on” appears behind the singer as she prepares to play her final song. It is of little surprise that Electrical has been saved for last. The song cloaks the room with ethereal vocals which build to a sweeping soar. Deep shadowy synths and a commanding drum beat energise the room further. As it ends, there is a feeling of anticipation over the room with no one quite sure if Karydas, who has slipped from the stage, is returning or not for an encore. A few moments of confusion pass before she reappears, this time without her band but with her guitar. She introduces the final song of the night, Water. The song is parred back by comparison to the rest of the set and displays Karydas folk influences wonderfully. The lyrics are confessional, open and honest; she says that she still makes the same mistakes.
One mistake not to make, however, is ignoring this beautiful, commanding voice as one of Australia’s finest up and coming performers. In fact, referring to Karydas as an up and comer may soon (if not already) be defunct as she sets out on the road to continue to play to sold out venues, solidifying her status as a brilliant songwriter and performer.