Twiggy comprises two live performances from the duo of Chloe Elizabeth Maratta and Flannery Silva. Well, a full set on one side, and parts of shows sequenced together on the other. All the material was recorded when they were still Odwalla88, a name siphoned from one of their email addresses created as a teen. They’ve since changed their name to Odwalla1221 marking Chloe’s move from the duo’s old home, Baltimore, to where they both live now, LA. Twiggy, recorded on a portable recorder on their 2015 tour for the Earth Flirt LP, documents some of their last shows as Odwalla88. Twiggy is the nickname they gave the rental car they used on the tour, although you might mistake it for some estranged reference to the ‘60s model.

Coming from the duo’s shared language, Odwalla’s music is hilarious and forceful. They mold transparent lines into direct, easily inverted, and attractive mantras, and their sound is irrefutably thick (Lil Ugly Mane’s remix can be a nice way to get your feet wet if you’re thrown off initially). Wordplay, delivered by their near deadpan voices, is the beating heart. Vocals are repeated and passed like a hot potato and lines are cut into half-time, in mid-sentence, then spun, drawn, or minced over a tiny sample, a drummed, odd-piece pattern, or their lobotomized YouTube sample bank. Whooping, falcon-swooping bleats—close to those of Willy Siegel or Kathleen Hanna—pierce their performances. If you’re following the words’ refractions, these bleats will send shivers down your spine. Their sound is a boundless collage that’s skinny and thorny, bare and honest. With the wit and humor of Su Tissue, they chew up and invert coy motions, stealing the glow from buttercups placed under chins. Like Inga Copeland or Felicia Atkinson, their poetic actions feel more important than the sounds themselves. Odwalla separate from their sound, hold it up, and point at it, like it’s just the material needed to hold the thing together. And in a live setting, these aspects feel all that more tender.

Both sides of Twiggy have a large portion of the same material, but it’s far from hearing the same song twice. While their previous releases are clean—every word is heard, each inflected sample is clear, and the tracking provides a type of perforation—, these live recordings provide a nice ambiguity. Certain happenings are tacked to the performances and give the material a new weight. The opening of the Olympia side is undermined by Ciara and Missy Elliot’s undeniable hit “Lose Control,” either playing in the background or dispassionately mixed slightly underneath every other sound in the room. And at the end of the final set on the other side, either Chloe or Flannery apologizes to someone in the audience for directing their vocalizations at them. These things remind you that Odwalla’s music grew at house shows and lofts around MICA, and elsewhere. Maybe unintentionally, Twiggy’s a worthy reflection of how performance spaces have inflected and helped create the duo’s porous sound.

In a recent interview, Flannery said their shows are “a pretty and poignant and complicated 17-minute prayer,” with Chloe adding “we kinda rock back and forth.” Performing something between a synchronized tantrum and a fluxus hand game, Odwalla float overtop of it all handpicking clipped cadences and mirroring words off each other. Exposed, these songs don’t falter, and this makes sense because they weren’t built for context; Like an archaeological engraving they weather the bullshit. And when they sit in a thicket of drifting whatever-the-fuck noises and conversations, you can hear these songs feel out the spaces in their silences, indirectly exposing adjacent sounds. Holding the room in their palm and creating an intimacy that feels candlelit yet gravity-fucking, a pretty, poignant, and complicated prayer is a truthful description.