Last summer, LA-based artist Dijon released his second album, ‘Baby’, a clear evolution from the sound which defined his debut ‘Absolutely’.
Last summer, LA-based artist Dijon released his second album, ‘Baby’, a clear evolution from the sound which defined his debut ‘Absolutely’. Drifting between genres, its glitchy and deliberately unpolished production treats incompleteness not as a flaw but a form of honesty. With the record anchored by themes of fatherhood and love, it is fitting, then, that his most experimental work would also arrive as his most vulnerable.
The European leg of Dijon’s tour carried that intimacy across a string of major cities with a seven-piece band in tow. I caught two of its key stops: a sold-out night at London’s Brixton Academy, and, one week later, his closing set at Paris’ Le Bataclan.
Before delving into the quiet confidence of his live performances, attending not one but two of Dijon’s shows offered an unexpected insight into the differences between UK crowds and their European counterparts.
Firstly, as any avid gig-goer knows, arriving early is in fact arriving on time, and this holds especially true for British crowds. Night two at Brixton Academy began with a two-hour queue for doors, and another teasingly long hour of waiting inside. Still, the determination to secure a spot close to the stage meant the ache in my feet didn’t pain me too much.
Paris, by comparison, felt almost accidental. I arrived just half an hour before entry and still ended up at the barricade. The crowd felt different too; less pretentious, more open, with conversations flowing effortlessly between strangers. I soon learnt those around me had travelled from across France, Switzerland and even Bulgaria. It wasn’t long before I was candidly joining in on one fan’s offhand rendition of ‘Are You Looking Up’ by Mk.gee - Dijon’s long-term friend and collaborator, who has been generating equal excitement amongst like-minded listeners.
Both crowds were strikingly diverse, yet all unified in their emergence from creative fields: aspiring musicians, actors and so on, each in awe of Dijon’s unguarded approach to artistic expression. This brings me to the singular nature of Dijon’s gigs, which feel less like watching an artist ‘perform’ and more like an invitation to an intimate jam session. Each show features live mixing, unfamiliar reworkings of his back catalogue, and distinct setlists that appear almost improvised.
At the latter of the two shows, this looseness announced itself immediately. The concert opened without warning on a sped-up version of ‘Many Times’, pulling the crowd into its new rhythm almost instantly. The pulsing energy continued with a duo of his newest material, ‘Another Baby!’ and ‘HIGHER’, before softening with a tender cover of Sly & The Family Stone’s 70s soul track, ‘Mother Beautiful’.
Dijon’s earliest fans were also treated to older songs such as ‘TV Blues’ and ‘Good Luck’ (the former introduced with a joking admission that he might not remember the chords).
However, the show’s encore served as a reminder that whilst driven by experimentation, Dijon’s catalogue is above all deeply emotional. The four-song finale moved through love and loss, beginning with the popular devotion anthem ‘Big Mike’s’ before the crowd’s excitement melted into something more tender during the nostalgia-inducing singles, ‘Nico’s Red Truck’ and ‘Skin’. Silence then overcame the room entirely as the night closed on his most devastating track, ‘Rodeo Clown’. Clinging to the microphone stand, wiping his eyes and isolated by a spotlight, Dijon’s raw vocals and nakedly honest lyrics pierced through the room, lingering long after the lights came up and revealed a sea of tear-stained cheeks.
Dijon is at his best when on a stage, so, if the chance comes to see him live, take it.