It might not be possible for festival openers to steal your show but it happens to me. And Saturday, it happened in a big way. I was already aware of St. Vincent via a compelling Pitchfork album review of "Marry Me". Coming to Bumbershoot was decided this day for me by two independent couples who cancelled toward the last minute, and left me there to wander wherever I pleased. And I just so happened to wander over to you, St. Vincent.We were perhaps 30 strong with the cardboard cut-out, chilling-on-the-lawn perimeter behind us. St. V came out in "Don't Look Back" Dylan-era shades, thanked us for being here. It felt unique, our smallness. There were likely a lot of quietly irritated boyfriend/girlfriends over at the Shins show (same time on the festival, stages away), who would have tenfolded the crowd. Simply put, St. Vincent gave the best solo performance I've ever seen.Close your eyes and let me be your grainy Youtube:She could play in a phone booth and make it feel like you're seeing another being on another planet. This being the immediate environment around her. Songs segued into each other masterfully. Any pauses were spent on best-intended pedal effect switches and punching Roland's clock to set up the work shuffle. Her black drumstick, hitting with the intensity of a prodigal child on their first xylophone, she would step back...move her head in rhythm to what's been set up and play along. You can see those years alone spent honing her craft at that epoch-making time of geniushood, only she is one now. Who needs accompaniment in the form of others? St. V owned that stage. At the age of 24. Nothing is more exciting in the world of music than knowing the "career potential" elation that albums like "Ys" and "Marry Me" have provided us. Legends can do that to you. "Hunky Dory" at 23?! "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" at 22?! Stevie Wonder at (insert age 15-24 here)?! Newsom and Vincent give the world something to tremor in pleasure over and they're not even close to through yet.The St. V comparisons seem to drift toward Berlin-era Bowie and Kate Bush prime but that's because we're obsessed with historical relativism. And, oh yes, they're both openly cited by the artist as personal faves but there's something else going on here. Chord arrangements layer over each other in flawless succession and create instant fluent melody wealth that has your ears hearing something new each time. You can see the repetition, you can see the one person on stage. But you hear the subtleties, deviations.And that voice. She'll step back and shake her head slowly (in that eternal hip Kim Gordon way) and come back as if challenged. One microphone is given the brave soprano each song needs to trigger your transfixed state; the other mike, yr. Dr. Hyde portion of the show. It's misleading to call her voice delicate because her words wrap around the music in ways too precise to be considered complementary of your typical singer/songwriter and St. V has fun with agitating the preconceptions we might have of how the song will go. (The hilarious subtext of this thoughtfully-carved niche is her somewhere-in-that-back-group past with Sufjan Stevens and the Polyphonic Spree.) She leans to mic 2, a precise "HAAH" breath pierces the story told; or an alternate story view comes in alto pitch. The guitar often introduces a second canvas to deride the arrangement given, show it who's the sinister boss. Brian Eno did these things too. But I only hear Bowie and Saint V. warmly inviting you inside to the house that gradually reveals startling architecture and provocative paintings. Eno's house just looks uncustomary to begin with.And by no means do I mean St. V is freakish. Her demeanor is instantly appreciative in-between songs and that smile lets you know she really cares about what you think, how you feel. The juxtaposition makes her all the more compelling/endearing. When the show ended, she walked off stage and whatever potential encore cheer we had was buried in polite astonishment of what we had just seen. I'm not the rallying type (blogs over bullhorns, I guess) but I staggered away myself assuming my wristwatch-less body had just experienced an hour so joyful, time was meant to speed by. We, the crowd, somewhat redeemed ourselves by staying close to the stage for autograph requests/photos so St. V could know she was loved. She greeted us in ultimate gratitude and patience. I'm not big on standard mementos. For me, an adequate response to her show would be to take years of film school and make a film worthy enough to beg for her score. At the very least, I'd want to hand over a mixtape inspired from her album. Society could do with more collective reciprocity. We can be so much more than just an audience judging the performer. Nonetheless, I stumbled over to the seekers and mentally sorted out the inundation of dorky opening lines to give St. V:1) (technical, anti-corporate hipster mode) Hi, I loved your show. I was wondering...I was introduced to your music a month ago and wanted to buy the cd at your show so you could get as much of the cut as possible. But what's with those FYE-sponsored vendors today? How can I buy your album so where you get the most money? Actually, you know, here's 20 dollars. You must need this for road money. I'll just get the album at my local independent.2) (cheesy mode) I read you're from Dallas? Wow! That's so cool. I'm originally from Amarillo and have a fawning reverence for all praiseworthy Texas musicians. Just to think, Dallas already had Erkyah. And now you?! Right on!3) (what likely would have happened mode) Hi...(big smile). Say, do you like Wayne's World? I was going to ask if you knew what the meaning of Seattle meant like Milwaukee in the film. But, you know, I was worried that you wouldn't get the joke. And now I'm explaining this out loud...okay, I'm gonna go now. You're the greatest.4) (nervous wreck mode) Hi! Marry me.........is such a great record!5) (kool thing mode) Annie: Nail me to your car. Show me who you are.Thank the fates some VIP media guy with a big camera distracted her from me, the last guy standing around. I'm not sure outwardly if it looked like lurking fanboy purgatory.Afterward, I floated from each performance afterward with the St. V thoughts firmly fixated. Like the Wendt/Farley/Myers "Bears...Bears...Bears" mental chant on SNL, I was thinking "St. Vincent...St. Vincent", dreamily re-living the show while physically appearing at others.The best example of this came less than an hour later. I was at a presentation called "I Love Led Zeppelin" because I do. At one point in this fun, eclectic show, a lovely burlesque dancer slowly stripped to "The Lemon Song" and thus proceeded to in fact, squeeze a lemon down her leg. At one point, as the tassels spun from her breasts in perfect pinwheel mode, I thought to myself that this indeed was my essential masturbation fantasy at age 12 (when I first discovered the Led). Yet now, my mind was still stunned from the amazing concert I had just witnessed. And this live show, well, there's more where that came from. Based on the live pictures from her blog, not only does she use piano in shows, St. V "bleeds for ivory":http://bp0.blogger.com/__22dX-EAfL8/RqhaxtdAb_I/AAAAAAAAAEU/oEeRojVuIeM/s1600-h/IMG_0033.jpg. This is truly a remarkable performer and I highly recommend you brandish the religious title of St. Vincent to your "supervisor" when demanding time off for her concert. Your new religion:Sep 14 2007 Dallas, TexasSep 15 2007 Austin, TexasSep 18 2007 Denver, ColoradoSep 19 2007 Omaha, NebraskaSep 20 2007 Minneapolis, MinnesotaSep 21 2007 Milwaukee, WisconsinSep 22 2007 Chicago, IllinoisSep 23 2007 Cincinnati, OhioSep 27 2007 San Diego, CaliforniaSep 28 2007 Los Angeles, CaliforniaSep 29 2007 San Francisco, CaliforniaOct 1 2007 Portland, OregonOct 2 2007 Seattle, WashingtonOct 3 2007 Vancouver, British ColumbiaOct 11 2007 New York, New YorkOct 30 2007 DublinOct 31 2007 BelfastNov 1 2007 DublinNov 2 2007 GlasgowNov 3 2007 SheffieldNov 4 2007 ManchesterNov 6 2007 BirminghamNov 7 2007 LondonNov 9 2007 BristolNov 10 2007 Portsmouth