You’ve almost certainly seen the videos from Robyn’s latest tour, specifically the ones where she stops singing and cuts the music, and the audience sings the chorus to “Dancing on My Own,” the 2010 single that has become one of her most popular songs. Online, the gesture can seem rehearsed and a bit melodramatic—the way she falls to her knees and then rises to thank the crowd in city after city. In person, it feels transcendent.
Robyn is currently on a worldwide tour to promote Sexistential, her ninth album, and on September 26 she performed an abridged version of her set at Portola, the San Francisco music festival. Alone on the massive stage, with no backup dancers or pyrotechnics, she was a commanding presence. She climbed the stairs, rolled around on the ground, twerked, walked into the crowd, and cheekily showed off her studded underwear.
For an artist with such a deep well of pop hits, she chose an unexpectedly ambitious setlist. She opened with “Fembot,” an absolute banger from Body Talk that’s less well known than “Hang with Me.” Then it was “Don’t Fucking Tell Me What to Do,” a hypnotic, spoken-word-esque track that even diehard Robyn fans had trouble singing along to. And then there was the title track, “Sexistential,” which has a similar confessional style but with a much goofier bent: “And then my doctor said / ‘Now, Robyn, who would be your dream donor?’ / Well, Adam Driver always did kind of give me a boner.”
About halfway through, she addressed the crowd.
“When I first started making music, I was embarrassed because I kept writing sad breakup songs,” she said. “But then I realized that being alive is embarrassing, so here’s another sad breakup song.” Cue: “With Every Heartbeat,” which isn’t quite a ballad and isn’t quite a dance track but is terribly, terribly sad.
And, of course, she played her greatest hits, including “Call Your Girlfriend.” During the instrumental breakdown, she performed the endlessly endearing choreography from the music video, a masterpiece shot in a single unbroken take. Compared with the video, the moves were less sharp and more playful, exactly how you’ve done them at a pregame or at a house party with your friends. And that was the true charm of the show.
Compared with an artist like Zara Larsson, with whom Robyn performed the following day at Portola, Robyn is and always has been a bit weirder, a bit sillier. Of course, it’s impossible to know what’s in Robyn’s head or heart, whether what we’re seeing onstage is the “authentic” her or not. But after more than 30 years of touring, she’s still able to convey the same earnestness that’s fundamental to her music.
Robyn is willing to roll around onstage by herself. She’s willing to sing one sad breakup song after another. She’s willing to be embarrassing for our benefit. And that’s why it feels so cathartic to sing the chorus of “Dancing on My Own.” Because she’s given us permission to.
