Roundhouse, London
Showcasing her debut solo album, last year’s Mid Air, the xx frontwoman escapes the elegant restraint of her band with a set full of euphoric rhythms and unambiguous hymns to her wife
Romy Madley Croft, sometimes of the band the xx, is somewhere on stage, veiled in a thick fog of dry ice. Amniotic beats throb in the distance. We’re nearing the end of the first night of her two London Club Mid Air sets in which Romy’s celebrated solo debut album of last year, Mid Air, tours the world in the company of DJs, lasers, fat bass frequencies and the very occasional special guest.
Accompanied by musical director Francine Perry on a bank of electronic gear, Romy has been singing of new love and nursing some old hurts, all to thumping 4/4 percussion, rave stabs and the odd house piano. It’s a masterclass in bittersweet feeling, delivered through euphoric rhythm. Suddenly, a familiar voice takes up Romy’s lyrics.
