Canadian electronic duo Purity Ring are world builders. They are orchestral curators of both light and sound with the steady hand of a magician who knows they have the audience in the palm of their hand. 

Multi-instrumentalist/producer Corin Roddick stood behind a MIDI console in the middle of the stage at Brooklyn Steel and tapped the console in front of him to trigger the notes to “Many Lives.” The melodies radiated around him as if he were conjuring a phoenix. It was then that vocalist Megan James appeared on a platform behind him, dancing side to side, interjecting her angelic vocals. If you’ve ever played any of the Final Fantasy games, when you give a potion to a character, a burst of light infuses within their body, either to restore health, give strength, etc. In a way, it felt as though Roddick’s conjuring of notes through the display and James’s vocals were a power transference that could only be refined if you were on a 15-year musical journey like they are. 

I always wanted to know what synesthesia felt like. It’s one thing to hear a good song and have it move through your ears, permeate through your brain, and radiate down your bones. But to see notes and harmonies in color right in front of you, well, that has to be a different experience. Musicians like Billie Eilish, Charli XCX, Billy Joel, and Olivia Rodrigo all exhibit some form of synesthesia, with Eilish stating that the condition influences part of her creative process. Purity Ring’s Brooklyn Steel show was probably the closest thing to being a living manifestation. 

During “Obedear,” the screen showed a projection of a cave to which Roddick played electronic synth notes to simulate the movement of fireflies. James’s words, which blended the worlds of dreams and the human body, seemed to encapsulate what was happening in various spaces inside the concert hall. People began to sway, side to side, allowing their bodies to be taken over by the music, as if Purity Ring had cast a spell. 

Purity Ring at Brooklyn Steel / Photo Credit: Murjani Rawls

I, too, was an avid Final Fantasy player, especially when it came to the yearly releases, ranging from the 7th through the 9th installments. Every Christmas, my PlayStation served as a portal to expansive, fantastic worlds I was eager to explore, new characters to meet, and ultimately, coming together for a greater good. Community is, frankly, harder to find these days. On a digital scale, it’s being torn around and remixed by algorithms to the point where you can go for days without seeing what a friend posts. The platforms are not so much about the people who are on them connecting, but rather the means by which they can stay on, endlessly scrolling until the mental calories are exhausted.  

The need for in-person communities has never been greater – yet it has been splintered by the lack of spaces to cultivate them, or created out of necessity due to the deprivation of rights and protections, and the fight to preserve what’s left of them. Hours before the show, a nor’easter hit New York City, resulting in a record amount of rainfall, massive amounts of flooding, and two deaths. Every day, the Earth is trying to remind us that its beauty is not worth destroying. That the constant ransacking of its resources will ultimately lead to our own demise. Through their concert, the Canadian duo showcased the digital possibilities of looking towards a more abundant future with a deeper connection to nature.

Their proclamation, ahead of releasing their self-titled album this year, was that the music is a “journey to build a kinder world amid the ruins of a broken one.” Throughout their hour-and-fifteen-minute set, they were conjurers of rhythm and lush foliage. The drum-and-bass structure of “Between You and Shadows” gave prophecies of jungles in quick spasms of light. “Imanocean” projected a sunset presiding court over an endless amount of water, purified by the mix of yellow, red, and purple. It’s as if the duo were giving the audience a template, wondering if the world of possibility they created in the musical realm could manifest inside this one. 

Purity Ring at Brooklyn Steel / Photo Credit: Murjani Rawls

Before the “Place of My Own” tour began, Purity Ring put out a request for fans to wear high-filtration masks to shows. They’ve been wearing them during performances ever since they were able to resume touring, as they have immunocompromised family members and a higher risk of contracting COVID-19 in highly populated areas like concerts. Not to mention, there are immunocompromised fans who would love and should have a chance to see them live. 

Volunteers distributed N95 masks for people to wear at the entrance of Brooklyn Steel. A friend of mine said to me, “Wow. This reminds me of the old days.” Truth be told, I believe the “old days” can be divided into two distinct periods: “pre-2020” and “post-2020” (maybe a sliver of 2021). The height of the pandemic forced us into a portal, abandoning our old lives while we try to make sense of this “new normal.” 2015’s “Another Eternity” was the first time I familiarized myself with Purity Ring’s music. The mix of hip-hop 808s with majestic synths, as seen in songs such as “Repetition,” “Push Pull,” and “Body Ache,” caught my attention. They contoured the genres into a unique experience. 

When their third album, “Womb,” was released in April 2020, the world was in shutdown mode, and the only way we could experience music was through digital hangouts, our headphones, and later, from a distance. When concert halls and stadiums reopened, there were (initially) mask mandates in place to stop the spread of the virus. I suppose the apprehensiveness around masking stems from the fact that we have yet to fully grieve the things we’ve lost – the plans, the people, the routines, and the ways of life. All gone. It just so happens the hamster wheel only stopped momentarily and has been running at double speed ever since. 

Purity Ring’s Brooklyn Steel show on Thursday evening served as a reprieve from the never-ending news cycle of bad news and bleak prospects – a gathering of souls to experience one of the purest artistic mediums we have. So, to go back to reach for a pillar of time that signifies the personification of sadness might be daunting.  It wasn’t so much that I missed the times when COVID-19 was a figment of imagination (I do), but the brief moment when most gathered around a goal that was greater than ourselves. The duo not only encouraged the acknowledgment of that grief, but also to think of the possibilities beyond it once we fully understand it.

 

 

Purity Ring at Brooklyn Steel