Yelle showers Orlando in glitter and dance

THIS LITTLE UNDERGROUND
Yelle, The Social, Oct. 30

I’m sick AF of saying it but these are dire times indeed. Still, even in this doomsday prophecy come alive, it’s been especially dark of late, and the forecast doesn’t look good. So a dose of eternally bouncy French pop to stave off onset terminal cynicism? Tout de suite! Sweet insouciance, take me away from this burning apocalypse for just one night.
Yelle became a new-millennium indie sensation on the wings of some of the most guileless dance-pop out there. That they’re a little arty and delightfully kooky is nice gravy, but what’s always made them so unerringly fun is that they fly with no fear of cheese or even goofiness so long as it’s in the service of a good time. And live, that manifests in a fantastic, color-splashed dance party with nice aesthetic.
Onstage, the French troupe feature lots of good live percussion by two kinetic and assertive players. But this is an act clearly fronted by the namesake singer, and she juices the crowd with her open charm and irresistible dance moves. With full glitter catsuit and a nonstop Euro-pop workout of spring steps and jaguar slinks, Yelle does razzle-dazzle with zero irony and maximum pep. Even if she executes with more stage crispness and refinement than when they first emerged, Yelle still pumps with the innocent, bright-eyed pulse of a teenage girl jamming out in her bedroom.
That’s the thing with Yelle. Being less slaves to sex and edge than their pop contemporaries has made them one of the most reliably fun of the pack. No airs, no politics of cool, let’s just play. It’s an attitude that’s made them a such a pure neon romp of unmitigated joy, something the world could use a big enema of. Now back to your regularly scheduled dumpster fire.
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