This Exclusive Hannah McKittrick Gig Was Ethereal, Captivating & Powerful

Between songs at Judith Neilson’s extraordinary Phoenix Central Park venue last Thursday night, the Melbourne-based musician Hannah McKittrick took the opportunity to address the beauty of a crowd.

“It is striking and powerful when we gather for the same reason,” she began. “Whether that be to attend a performance, an intersection, a movie, or a protest — these things are sacred, and they are innate to us. It is our responsibility to love each other, and I feel that in this room – long may we continue to embody that power we have.”

It was a commanding statement. One that made me vividly aware of the crowd I had found myself within that evening.

Every audience member around me, whether standing on the spiral balcony or sitting against the wall surrounding the stage, had been chosen from a ballot to attend this performance for free.

This meant, from the moment we entered the breathtaking golden building to when we exited into the streets of Chippendale, there was a profound exclusivity attached to the experience.

As if, for only the length of that performance, we were a secret society bound by a single cause: The music of Hannah McKittrick.

Tied to this feeling was a reverent silence which hung through the entire evening. Wordlessly, we had all agreed the space was more akin to a church than a music venue. Thus, it deserved to be treated as such.

This was a sentiment McKittrick capitalised on exquisitely.

At the beginning of each song, the music would emerge as if a creature learning to walk.

Whether atop a soft bed of drones from Theo Carbo’s distorted strings, a heart-beating kick from Ollie Nox’s drums, or a slow repetitive note from McKittrick’s own piano or guitar, the first steps were always tentative.

With her voice as light as a whisper, the folk-rock artist would then take the hand of this music and nurture it as it grew.

On more spectral pieces such as the newly released Crowd Scene or Utensil, cymbals would begin to shimmer, a snare would begin to fire, and Carbo’s guitar would begin to sing. All the while – her voice gaining weight with every word – McKittrick would conduct the piece toward moments of dazzling rock.

At other times, notably during a piece McKittrick calls her lullaby — designed to bring the audience closer together — the music and lyrics would remain hovering at the edge of the silence. An ambience would sink like running water beneath McKittrick’s voice, as almost a cappella, she would strike out with folk songs soaked as much with mythology as a reverberating beauty.

At the conclusion of each piece, it felt as if we had watched a life blossom in the centre of the room to then join us there on the periphery, watching with awe.

Through nine songs, this was how the performance behaved – a constant rise and fall of captivating energy.

Yet, at the finale, McKittrick made a change. Soundtracked by gentle finger picking from Carbo, wordlessly she left the stage and joined us
in the audience.

Embedded in the darkness, she made her way up the spiralling walkway. Whispers of wonder erupting as she drifted by – no one quite sure of what was to come next.

Finally, she ascended to a seat at the beautiful grand piano nestled in a balcony overlooking the room.

Bathed in divine white light, here she performed her final piece solo which hung in the air well after the performance had concluded.

In darkness below, Carbo and Nox were now left to join the audience as the mystifying beauty of McKittrick’s words drew our gaze toward the heavens as one unified crowd — together.