Trip hop pioneer Tricky performed at The Commonwealth Room in Salt Lake City on October 2, 2026, but “performed” doesn’t seem to carry enough weight for the experience he and his band created. It’s more appropriate to say they transfixed the crowd. That they hypnotized the lot of us, really, keeping us glued to our spots for just over an hour. How’d Tricky manage that sleight of hand, exactly? No pendulums. No whispers that we were getting a little sleepy. He made a mood-determining decision to never turn the lights all the way on.
It was a beautiful scene to witness unrolling: house lights died, followed by cheering and expectant cell phone filmers raising their contraptions high, then scant blue light, lowered phones, sounds/songs, and an overall rapt awareness. Since he was performing in support of his first album in six years, maybe Tricky was nervous. Maybe that led to not showing his face throughout. And maybe his band planned all along to sing, strum, and drum shrouded in shadows. But not being able to see very much meant ears were utilized more than eyes. The audience adapted quickly. We received the intricate, gorgeous, electric, often sexy performance in a way that allowed his music to take on new meaning. There’s a kind of gratefulness in that, a more-than-anyone-bargained-for value.
Personally, I haven’t been that thrilled by a performance in months. And when Tricky faced his drummer for full songs sometimes, swaying and occasionally sneaking in puffs on a cigarette, it invited us to close our eyes and sway in turn. It felt freeing, like most great experiences ought.
One lesson gleaned is that photos and videos of a concert ultimately don’t matter. What always will, however, is the feeling a group of musicians is attempting to convey. An extended hand. An invite into their most creative space. Tricky and his crew shared a secret last Friday, one most of us have already tried to pass on to others, so they know what we experienced. Most of us have failed (or will) at that task, and that’s a given; the memory we shared, though? It will reverberate for months, like a struck tuning fork that never stops sending out sound waves, over and over.
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