Live Review: MØ, Kilter

Kilter brings his exotic mix of eminently danceable electro to the Goodgod Danceteria to support MØ tonight. He builds fresh takes on his fellow countrymen from RÜFÜS to Snakadaktal, and raises a tropical storm of marimba on his drum pad. It's a shame the crowd's a little thin for such a solid support act – the teenage girls hovering close to the stage are, for the most part, absorbed in their smartphones, stubbornly reserving front row positions for the main act. “Underrated” comes to mind.

But MØ does take it to the next level. The Danish indie pop chanteuse (real name Karen Marie Ørsted) gets a lot of comparisons to Lykke Li, and why not? She's a pretty Scandinavian weaving the kind of powerful, bright pop that seems to pervade the fresh, clean air up there. But Lykke Li doesn't have synths this menacing, nor are you likely to catch her shouting “Holla, holla, holla, holla, holla!” in between choruses. MØ – Danish for “maiden” (the title of her breakthrough 2012 single) or “virgin” – rocks a gold chain, skintight black dress, Adidas runners and a messy blonde plait. She's here on her first trip and only show in Australia, and she gives no fucks.

“Sydney, you're amazing!” she declares breathlessly after wading into the crowd during the second song, Maiden. She follows that track with a newfound sense of dancefloor supremacy with XXX 88. It's the star of her new EP Bikini Daze and it bears the bite of her newer material, with relentless marching drum beats and orchestral samples woven into a banger – not quite the Miley Cyrus kind, although Cyrus could learn a thing or two from MØ.

She thrashes about the stage personifying the emotions – often frustration and longing – in her music. In Waste Of Time, a track packed with thick, angry synths, she throws herself to the ground, groaning, “Where is the love we had?” Afterwards, she dumps a bottle of water over her head, shakes it off and leaps onto a speaker to look down on the adoring crowd.

She's also more than capable of tugging at the heartstrings with a couple of slow, thumping ballads, and then the  second last song is a return to her triumphant earlier sound with the funky brass of Pilgrim. The closer, Glass, alternates darkly crooned verses with shimmering synths, sugary harmonies and the question, “Why do everyone have to grow old?” It's a stirringly perfect piece of pop music that leaves everyone – teenage girls included – captivated.