A cuckoo flew over for Lykke's best

MANILA, Philippines - For me, Lykke Li is a reason to fly. The 25-year-old Swedish singer-songwriter, who simply sang “I think I’m a little bit in love with you” in her 2007 EP of the same catchphrase, “Little Bit,” easily hypnotized me to pack an overnight bag for Singapore last week. She has since made two albums — “Youth Novels” (2009) and this year’s “Wounded Rhymes” — for which she’s been touring the world. And while I have no idea if she has made it to MTV, I thought she had two volumes worth of hits; a pack of us from Manila did.

But imagine our mosh-expecting skepticism over the rest of the crowd’s capacity to jam to her signature anti-rhythm moves. We were in Esplanade’s concert hall, after all. It looked like an opera. Everyone was seated, painfully cool in outfits that can only mean Fashion Week just took place in Manila, and I thought I saw feather hats and binoculars at the balcony levels. But as soon as the lights dimmed, we all spilled forward to the stage’s edge.

Strips of giant black seaweed hung from the ceiling, and as the monoliths of instruments were obscured by smoke, lightning flashes showed the band, everyone in black, semi-circled as if for some New Age ritual. Lykke was towering in her platform boots, lithe legs only peeking through a black robe — was she quietly sobbing as she opened with Jerome? — and her dirty blonde thrashing all over as she segued into a rousing I’m Good, I’m Gone. But while I associate this track with her debut, which Stereogum dubbed as “powdered-sugar pop,” this entire set was dimmed with shadows, merged into the entire mood of Wounded Rhymes, heart-wrenchingly showcased with Sadness is a Blessing, Love Out of Lust, and, as an encore, Unrequited Love.

A little bit in love with Li: 2009’s indie discovery has since staged a pretty convincing breakthrough, with songs all over soundtracks and mixes.

Not simply the sophisticated Swedish pop that I’ve loved, almost bubblegum, Lykke draped a new cloak over her tunes — a more primal beat, savage strokes on her melodies. Songs about longing became tribal ceremonies in a post-apocalyptic vision. Suddenly, the Esplanade is pulsating. Some lucky girl even got some of her allotted 15 minutes as she found herself pushed onstage and suddenly singing along with Lykke to Get Some. All cool — never mind the security’s evil eye. Youth Knows No Pain is punctuated with Kanye’s choral hook for Power, Rich Kids Blues saw the stage ablaze in magma red, and Dance, Dance, Dance, after Lykke shouted “Put down those cameras and dance,” erupted into abandoned drumming and frolicking. As I looked back to rest of the shriek-filled hall, its lights sinking down from a blazing finale — that’s when I knew why I flew.