There are certain people who seem to radiate a type of joy that comes from something deeper, more frequency-changing than simply stage presence: Dolly Parton, for instance, or Beyoncé. In the indie sphere, meanwhile, there’s no-one more luminous than Karen O. The unequivocal coolest woman of her generation (and most others), since the birth of Yeah Yeah Yeahs as part of New York’s blistering, turn-of-the-century indie boom, she’s been the technicolour beating heart of the band. Nick Zinner, with his gothic frame and shock of black hair, wrangles his guitar; Brian Chase smashes the cans at the back. But Karen is the unicorn at the centre: your favourite mad art teacher gone punk; a frontwoman as beloved for her taste in sparkly capes as she was for previously, regularly deep-throating her microphone.
It’s to a suitably reverential audience that the trio take to the Royal Albert Hall stage for their Hidden In Pieces tour: a 25th anniversary celebration of their career that sees them digging through the archives, reimagining old classics with a string section, and underlining their rightful status as a bona fide alternative institution. O is resplendent in a shimmering green-gold jumpsuit and pink glittery boots that she later swaps out for the sort of light up trainers that would make any six-year-old squeal with delight. The effect is like a particularly chic Aladdin, let loose in Toys R Us: pure Karen, utterly perfect.
“We’re the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but you know that,” she begins to gleeful cheers following a subtle, low-lit opening of Cool It Down track Blacktop. “We’re so humbled to be here tonight, oh my god. That being said, this is a Yeah Yeah Yeahs show, so it’s seated - and you’re welcome, for people that are our age and up - but you’re also welcome to move your body.”
There are moments, like a poignant cover of Bjork’s Hyperballad (“This is a song that Nick and I did when we were kids back in the East Village”), where the chairs feel appropriate. Skeletons, which grows and grows into a grand and jaw-dropping finale featuring the RAH’s organ and a tumult of strings, requires a seat to stop your knees buckling under the sheer momentousness of it all. But for the most part, the audience yoyo up and down before giving up on their pews entirely. There are simply too many hits.
A band that have always soundtracked indie dancefloors and incited joyful festival frenzies, there’s a parallel softness to the trio that’s given a place to shine tonight. Runaway, with its sweep of strings, sounds like a lost Bond song that never was; O sings Spitting Off The Edge of the World sat down on a stool, conducting it like an anthem of hope against the doom on the other side of these walls; Maps, partly sung in perfect chorus by the audience, is of course, devastating. There’s something about the closeness of the crowd to the barrier-less stage, the warm lighting and the general tone of the evening - intimate and open - that makes the show feel like an invitation into their personal space; a peek behind the curtain, even in this most historic of rooms.
Then, the volume and tempo are whacked up and we get hedonistic debut album favourite Y Control, plus a joyful encore of Burning and a final, blistering Zero - Karen bouncing around the stage, her shoes giving us a secondary bonus light show. If there is a criticism it’s that, on stage at 8.45pm and done by 10, the whole night feels over in a flash. Even taking away the proper punk rattlers that would make no sense in this setting, there are so many classics that would have surely sounded majestic. But what we get is golden: a very special set from a very special band, led by a O who - 25 years in - is still serotonin in human form.
