Jan. 16--"There's freedom to/ And freedom from," cooed Mackenzie Scott, who performs under the name Torres, on Friday at a sold-out Lincoln Hall. The Georgia-born singer-songwriter spent the majority of her captivating 55-minute set confronting such dichotomies with head-on bravado. Exploring various states of isolation and place related to relationships, identities and memories, Torres sang at times in violent shudders that suggested a pack of hellhounds were biting at her heels. Her calm deliveries boiled with similarly frightening fervor.
Playing as part of Chicago's annual Tomorrow Never Knows festival, which spotlights emerging musicians, the now-Brooklyn-based artist drew critical attention last year after turning heads at South by Southwest. She then released "Sprinter," a well-received sophomore album steeped in bold dynamics and disarming directness. Much of the record deals with her background as an adopted child who grew up in a Baptist household in the Bible Belt, and whose shyness prompted her need to communicate via songs.
Save for a few occasions when she spoke to the crowd in tender tones that could've passed as those of a kindergarten teacher coddling children on the first day of class, little about Torres appeared reserved. Dressed in black, she projected confidence and cast a magnetic presence onstage. Torres thrashed in place or marched when crescendos built, her combat boots, head and arms moving in a series of sharp angles. The commotion extended to her cheeks, which shook when anger escalated into outburst. On fare like the admonishing "Son, You Are No Island," there seemed no other way to go.
Husky and forceful, Torres' voice came on with scorched-earth intensity. Desperation, devastation and urgency filled nearly every phrase. Able to shift from soft whispers to lacerating howls at a moment's notice, Torres used her range to shed demons, issue warnings and purge anxieties. "Strange Hellos" began with a sincere apology and chamber-rock arrangement before soon turning into a declaration of hatred she punctuated by a primal scream. During "New Skin," crashing cymbals and driving feedback complemented Torres' volcanic singing. She didn't bother hiding the emotional scars.
Nor did she relinquish control even when at her most vulnerable or vengeful. Backed by a well-rehearsed trio, Torres expanded the sonic parameters to feature heavier percussion and richer, synth-driven atmospherics than that of her studio material. She also proved a force on guitar, cutting through the claustrophobic, shadowy settings of several songs with distorted solos that hinted at possible directions for her future work. As it stands, Torres already recognizes catharsis is a noisy process.
Bob Gendron is a freelance critic.
