Tricky has every right to suck live. Rooted in hip-hop and hailed as the future of rock, but not afraid to get medieval on your ass, the vocalist and producer creates a wall of sound that's covered with spikes and closing in fast. Listening to his 1994 debut, "Maxinquaye," or last year's follow-up, "Pre-Millenium Tension," can be like surviving a premature burial, as Tricky conjures up a relentlessly oppressive blend of dub and dread, throb and growl, dueling rhythms and sampled plumbing problems. Recreating the above in a mid-sized concert hall like Atlanta's Roxy seems too much to ask, even from such a critically beloved magic man. It's like demanding David Copperfield make the Statue of Liberty disappear -- not on TV, but while you're leaning on the Lady's green hem-line.

But kicking off his first headlining American tour with the harmonica-fueled clatter of "Sex Drive," Tricky made it clear he was one wizard who wouldn't be left in the studio. For the next 80 minutes, backed by a bionic mix of live touring band and prefab keyboard effects, he eschewed much of "Maxinquaye's" heavy-lidded vibe -- and catchier songs like "Aftermath" and "Christiansands" -- in favor of "Tension's" percolating punk fury. The appearance of sultry chanteuse Martina on sparse, loop-heavy meditations like "Overcome" and "Makes Me Wanna Die" brought some melody to the noise (and gave the band a break). But her saucy cover of Chill Rob G's "Bad Dream" reached new levels of dissonance, thanks to a grinding sample that sounded like a chainsaw caught in a tree.

The stage's near-total darkness added to the spook-house atmospherics. Occasional flickers of light revealed Tricky, tethered to his mic, his head vibrating in sync with his forgot-to-take-my-Thorazine mutterings. But for most of the show, shadowy silhouettes and disembodied voices swirled beneath electric-blue aquarium hues. During the mock-gangsta leanings of "Tricky Kid," the gloom was so thick said Kid might've popped in a pre-recorded tape and scooted backstage to smoke a joint.

During the final number, "Vent," Tricky paid tribute to both Miles and Grandmaster Flash, as he stood with his back to the audience and rasped, "Don't push me cuz I'm close to the edge." The song's jammy dissolve into a ten-minute "instrumental" -- a wheezing maelstrom of steam hisses, poltergeist shrieks and swirling hornet attacks -- prompted a neighbor to grouse, "My ticket says Tricky, not Trent Reznor."

But unlike the flashy smoke-and-mirrors of a Nine Inch Nails show, Tricky coolly draws listeners into his own world, on his own terms, no easy feat. His best-known song may be a cheeky cover of Public Enemy's "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos," but by the end of the show, another PE number -- paraphrased -- came to mind. You can believ