New Order’s oldies still sound like the future

The intimate acoustic show can denote many things for an established artist. One is that, in the infamous euphemism coined by Spinal Tap, their audience has become more ‘selective’. Attempting to make the best of a bad job, the artist shifts down a gear while aiming upmarket, much in the manner of a balding man cultivating a fancy moustache.

The cosy concert is also favoured by pop stars craving some old fashioned string-and-wire authenticity. Occasionally, the urge is a creative one, propelled by the sense that the material being promoted lends itself to a less triumphalist approach.

The impulse for Mitski’s coolly choreographed hour in Edinburgh seemed to lean towards the latter. The US singer-songwriter is one of those contemporary artists whose success is hard to measure by conventional readings. There have been no hits to speak of, but her knotty, apparently very personal songs are a magnet for cultish fervour online – and, it transpires, in the flesh. The Queen’s Hall bar was serving tumbleweed; although few people in attendance were old enough to buy alcohol, most were drunk on devotion. Mitski’s songs channel all the angst, dread, intimate detail and flashes of dark humour that encourage young people to overidentify. One new song is called ‘I Don’t Like My Mind’. During a pause, a girl called out: ‘You seem a bit sad, Mitski, are you okay?’

I think she’s fine. Wisely, she refused to light the fuse of an audience primed for detonation. Singing in character, she kept us at a studied distance throughout, deliberately breaking focus only towards the end, when we were urged to adopt a cat. The show was no less theatrical for being minimalist. Dressed sombrely in a black dress, ankle socks and sensible shoes, she sang with a slightly severe poise which was quietly mesmeric.

Backed by acoustic guitar and stand-up bass, Mitski performed her new album in sequence, all half-an-hour of it, followed by a handful of older songs.