The XX, Live at the O2

If you caught The xx’s main stage turn at last year’s Electric Picnic, you may have seen this coming. Would the London trio’s hushed, ice cold indie translate to such a prime slot at an outdoor venue? They managed the transition effortlessly – and from there, bigger stages beckoned.
Playing the O2 may be ambitious for a band with just two albums to their credit, particularly one whose aesthetic seemed destined for more cultish appeal. Faced with seas of mobile lights, Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim seem a little startled. “A sureal experience,” Sim observes.
But if they’re overawed, it doesn’t show in the performance. Clad in black, the pair take up opposite sides of the stage. As Croft’s guitar chimes hauntingly (a segue into Chris Isaak’s ‘Wicked Games’ never comes, but it could) and Sim plucks skeletal bass lines, the pair slip in and out of view as they sway through the smoke, strobes and flashes. Their trademark sedated and sensual vocals dovetail perfectly, proving you can pack more punch with a whisper.
Behind them, Jamie xx is actually the most kinetic presence. Switching between laptop and live drums, he adds depth and colour to these exercises in minimalism, often arriving with a beat that elevates the set when it’s in danger of repetition. At times you almost suspect he’s also controlling the actions of his singers, like some enigmatic puppetmaster.
The xx have a very specific template, and this can occasionally mean their songs drift into one another over the course of a show. Offerings from last year’s Coexist, whilst typically gorgeous, suggest their artistic progression will involve gradual refinement of their initial sound.
It’s the older tracks that get the greatest reaction. ‘Crystallised’ captures their masterful pop dynamics, while ‘Basic Space’ pushes a curiously frenzied crowd over the edge at the end. Madley Croft says she’s speechless. The audience roar to fill the silences. Where The xx go from here is a head-scratcher. Right now, they’re doing just fine.