In preparation for this article (but also because I’m a Florence + the Machine nerd) I spent hours poring over grainy and shaky footage, shot on iPhones by half drunk festival-goers, of Florence Welch’s performances during summer 2018. I have had to settle for watching the band on TV up until now, but I am counting down the days until I get to see them play this autumn in Dublin.

Each time I watch one of the band’s live performances, I am more in awe than ever. In awe of Welch’s energy; in awe of the seamless union of the visual and the aural; in awe of the way the performance tirelessly merges with the music to create something bigger. Welch’s live style is unique and exhilarating, with a way of performing that makes it seem like she is not singing but becoming the song. She becomes a vessel for the music and the moment.

Welch’s performance style has changed very little since her early days. In 2010 – the band’s “Dog Days” – while Florence was still dancing across the stage, she perhaps seemed a little more reserved and held back (think 2010 Oxegen). Eight years on, however, her enjoyment is clearer, and the music seems more like an extension of herself. ‘High As Hope’, the band’s latest album, has been described as Welch’s most honest yet – she is the band’s primary songwriter as well as frontwoman – and onstage also she appears more comfortable, more sure of the way in which she wants to project and perform the band’s songs.

She has a way of merging movement and music seamlessly. She whirls across the stage, dancing and shimmering in front of adoring crowd after adoring crowd. She remains raised on pointed toes often, with fluttering and delicate fingers arching overhead. Her movements are reminiscent of contemporary ballet, and as such feel infused with the meanings of the songs themselves. Her dancing style is not unlike the choreography of Akram Khan (who fittingly, was involved in the choreography of the “Big God” music video, right off the back of his production of famed ballet Giselle), Welch seems to employ a series of different moves for each song. Her movements onstage are sudden and brash, desperate and aching, or light and airy, changing depending on the lyrics and the music in question. They feel like natural and instinctive responses to them. Her performance of “Big God” at BBK Bilbao this year showed the potential of her physical interpretation of her lyrics, as did the performance of “100 Years” at GMA’s Summer Series. Welch was seen constantly darting back and forth across the stage, even breaking free of its borders and floating down towards the crowd of people below singing back to her, as if magnetically drawn to them.

Clothing is also important to Welch. She always seems to look ethereal in draped and flowing vintage dresses, which move rhythmically and hypnotically with her, rather than impeding or restricting her performance. The sweeping fabrics exaggerate her movements in a way which elevates her image. Welch has cultivated an otherworldly, ethereal image; in particularly magnificent performances, she looks like some sort of goddess or nymph, straight from Ovid’s Metamorphoses – like something straight from classical myth or art.

Of all the versions of Florence, the best has to be festival Florence. Standing up on an open-air stage with the wind whipping her hair, and thousands of people on the muddy grass crowding around to witness magic. In “Hunger”, Florence sings of thinking “love was on the stage” and in giving herself to strangers. Nowhere is this experience more visible than in her festival performances. There is a sense of Welch allowing herself to be subsumed into the song, the audience, and the energy. Festival Florence is beyond electric. She leaps about on huge stages, jumping up and down, not missing a single note. 2018’s BBC Radio 1 Biggest Weekend is a perfect example of this combination of control and electricity. There is something about these festival performances which is ethereal, delicate and incredibly powerful. Festival Florence is some kind of high priestess, and the audience is full of the devoted, along with the newly converted. In these synaesthetic performances, Florence lifts her host of believers with her, elevating those watching, and those performing with her, to something higher, something bigger, something better. Her haunting, unwavering voice becomes a cry, a call to arms. The shimmering, rolling, half-drunk audience of festivals are the perfect congregation, embracing her energy and returning it tenfold.

Welch may be singing to her devotees, but she herself is beyond devoted to the performance, to the craft and the art of the music. Her lyrics often begin as poetry, before being given musical backing. She is involved in the writing, production, vocals and percussion on just about every track. A lot of thought is put into music videos, which are ripe with metaphors and imagery, and consideration is put into the album art and the presentation of the physical album. But just as much energy and care is put into her live performances. Welch takes singing live as a chance to elevate and bring more to her songs. Singing live becomes an opportunity to bring the songs to life; they become more than simply something you can add to a playlist on Spotify. They become experiences. Movement, sound, and more merge in each emotive and hypnotising moment.

 

This article previously featured in our print edition, available now across campus and in select locations across Dublin.