FKA Twigs

FKA Twigs

Oran Mor, Glasgow

Nicola Meighan

WITH the exception, perhaps, of Crazy by Seal and Tasmin Archer's Sleeping Satellite, pop music has always been about sex. But few contemporary artists explore its solo and communal vagaries as intimately and uniquely as London-based Tahliah Barnett, aka tech-pop alchemist FKA Twigs.

The singer-songwriter, dancer and producer's Mercury shortlisted debut album LP1 variously comes on like a carnal obsessive (Hours), expectant lover (Two Weeks), erotic tryst (Lights On) and onanistic call-to-arms (naked futuristic-soul chorale Kicks).

FKA Twigs' stage show and choreography were suitably feverish, lithe and entwined - her acute physical art-pop expressions (vogueing, ballet, silhouettes) were reminiscent of St Vincent at times - but for all the stifling connections and heat in Barnett's music, her performance, though striking, felt cool and removed.

This may have been intentional, of course - FKA Twigs' stripped-back R&B is as much about what (and who) is not there - and her on-stage conversation was similarly minimalist ("I've always been a fan of awkward silences," she murmured during one stilted guitar changeover). The show had its climaxes - the euphoric electro-grind of Give Up; breathless machine-aria Pendulum - but it feels like, live, there is better to come.

And it is early days. Barnett's debut album has been out for less than two months, and she is already a Mercury favourite.

She is still emerging from the shadows, where she performed as a backing dancer for Kylie Minogue and Jessie J (as referenced on forthcoming single Video Girl).

And in terms of talent, ingenuity and promise, FKA Twigs is a single-minded, thrilling solo artist. "When I'm alone I don't need you, I love my touch," she sings on Kicks.

Well, quite.