From the moment Mitski entered the stage, deliberately frozen off to the side while the band played, approaching center stage step by purposeful step, it was clear what one of the main themes of the performance would be: control. Mitski controlled her body, and through this she controlled the audience. There may have been catcalls and hoots, but it was obvious she was inviting them and that she was the one in charge. All her movements were immaculately choreographed, toeing the line between mechanical and sensual.

This duality, the intimate and the performative, was another striking aspect of the set. Her overt sexuality was scripted and almost stiff, her posing seemed natural, but was held too long to be comfortable or lifelike. Her vocals sweet and innocent, and her lyrics full of sweet innocent sentiments. And also the double entendres of someone who is interested in sex but not comfortable with it yet. Basically the show felt like adolescent sexuality and frustration played out writhing on a desk.

As the set went on she seemed to overcome her staged shyness, to replace it with anger and more confidence in her body Even her voice grew more full and virtuosic. Almost melancholic. Perhaps this was the part of the story where you learn about yourself through the loss of another. We’ve all been there, right?

Beyond the power of this performance, which occasionally felt more like musical theater than rock and roll, was the music. The band was fantastic. It is clear Mitski has a great deal of trust in them, enough to allow herself to step away from the comfort of instruments. If her act seemed rehearsed, her band seemed loose and natural on stage, another wonderful point of contrast.

One of her final messages, telling the audience via song to fuck off and that she doesn’t need their money, was the ultimate proof that this performance was for Mitski. We were just spectators lecherously peeping through a hole in a fence.

Shows like this don’t come along very often. We should never take them for granted.