Sexy and disturbing are certainly two adjectives also applicable to the second half of this wonderful double bill, from Helena Wilhelmsson. Innovative and startling are two more. “Trembling Frequencies” sees Wilhelmsson slink onto the stage like some kind of incognito, reclusive rock star. As she rhythmically slaps her body, which is mic’d up, the sound distorts and bounces around the studio space. 

She sings, and her incredible voice reminds me of the incredible early work of Planningtorock, dark and unearthly. The costume is that of Cindy Sherman's Untitled Film Still #35: a bored, medicated housewife in a drab raincoat and shades. Her every laboured movement drips with ennui. It's a dance of disillusionment, and underwhelmed, stilted, desperate movements. 

She takes off said coat, face contorted in pure contempt at the audience and the air is charged with something else, something which is off, more menacing. Now she's akin to a torch singer in a David Lynch film, wriggling and flailing. 

It's at this point I spot a bucket, stage right. The singer/dancer is screaming, a feral roar into the bucket. Now we're firmly entrenched in the hinterland of live art territory fused with a dark, capricious burlesque.

Back at the mic, a gorgeous, keening folk song is sung, full of raw emotion. Wilhelmsson continues to sing, to emote, until the sound drops and all we're left with is a miming woman, giving her all, but mute. This seems to be a meditation on the silencing of women and the lazy tropes and stereotypes that reduce us to housewife/diva/harpy/madwoman. It gives me chills. What a rush, like Irish whiskey.