"Hoverover" at The Crocodile: A Claustrophobic Dance Amidst Freedom's Cry
Published in 'City Underbeat,' on Oct 23rd, 1992.
By Ponce J. J. Obberlyn, esq.
In a performance where the space felt choked with the same emotive turbulence as the Seattle skies on a storm-waiting eve, "Hoverover" commandeered the stage at The Crocodile last night. It was more than a song—it was a landscape of raw feeling, a symbiosis of music and theater that left us grasping at the rapidly threading wisps of our own sentiments.
The title itself set the stage, being too claustrophobic to be two words.
Held in the heart of a city that breathes the very essence of grunge, it's rare to partake in a performance that takes you through a kaleidoscope of moods as mystifying as Mystic Squared’s enactment of "Hoverover" does. Their iconic redheaded choristers, statuesque and striking, circled around Wee Stirling in a formation that seemed to tighten with every verse. It was smothering by design, each protective arc symbolizing a velvet trap of affection and the might of isolation in its contrast.
The stagecraft was illuminating—not only in its literal oscillations of warm to cool tones but in its emotional chiaroscuro that painted Stirling's pained soliloquy. As the flutes cried out her hidden despair, the lights shifted along the spectrum of her woes, where reds bore a bloody tenacity and blues shrouded the air in a dreamy malaise.
While Stirling was cocooned center-stage by her giants, the others played out an intricate choreography of distance. It echoed a longing to breathe, a visual representation of personal dimensions being drawn and redrawn as the harmonica—courtesy of Rutt Divyek—gave a lonely wail from the shadows. Divyek, whose role as the silent antagonist was brilliantly underplayed, added layers to an already tumultuous ballad with little more than his presence and the haunting sigh of his instrument.
The abstract visuals were, as expected for the secretive nature of this troupe, nothing short of cryptic brilliance. The designs became more oppressive as the protagonist's internal struggle reached crescendo, and as Stirling's entreaty neared its fragile conclusion, they notably receded—a delicate depiction of a storm breaking to afford but a glimpse of solace.
But perhaps the most striking aspect of the night was Divyek, his back almost always to the audience, as though the song's confessions were spoken to the walls rather than the world. When he played, it was not with the band, but parallel to them, his darkened silhouette cut from a different cloth of the story—a shadowy figure both haunting and dictating the narrative.
The Crocodile bore witness to an experience last night that transcended the contemporary definitions of grunge—aught for those who crave their music with a sharper edge of reality and a touch of the theatrical. "Hoverover" delivered, in barely two minutes, an impassioned cry for space in a world that simply doesn't know when it's closed in too tight. In their typical enigmatic flair, Mystic Squared and the cryptic Stirling led us through the psyche of a woman both smothered and seeking, in a dance crafted as much by melody as by the very air of the Seattle night. This performance was not only heard; it was felt, it was seen, it was something close to being touchable in the space it haunted. It has left its ghost in the echoes of The Crocodile, one that Seattle won't soon forget.