Since that night, I’ve listened to everything Leigh has released, from her 2023 EP “The Only Thing Worse Than A Woman Who Lies Is A Girl Who’ll Tell Truths to Carrier Pigeon,” her debut album from 2024. Prior to seeing her in concert last November, I got the chance to interview Leigh. During our conversation, I asked what fans should expect at her concerts. She described her shows as “quirky, fun, and sassy.” Keeping this in mind, my friends and I headed to the Sinclair in Cambridge on Nov. 10, eager for a stellar performance and a good time. 

Massachusetts native Charlotte Rose Benjamin opened the show with a sweet and sentimental performance. Both Benjamin and myself observed that the crowd was particularly high-spirited, dancing along to her songs with an energy usually reserved for headliners. I took this as a good omen for Leigh’s set –– one which proved to be correct. 

This time around, Leigh’s all-female band took the stage ahead of her: drummer Grace Goodman, bassist Kaitlyn Gerdau and guitarist/keyboardist Taylor Wafford. Then, to uproarious cheers, Leigh emerged from backstage in a neon green halter top with shimmery silver shorts and matching fishnet tights. At the beginning of her set, she asked the crowd to shout out their names, a request we gleefully obliged. Despite the bigger venue and more elaborate production, it was clear that Leigh’s lovable, down-to-earth personability hadn’t diminished. 

Her setlist included both old and new songs, from her 2021 “Thelma and Louise”–inspired ode to friendship, “Ronnie’s Song,” to “Carrier Pigeon’s” lead single “No Doubt.” About halfway through her set, Leigh’s band left the stage, leaving her alone with her guitar once again. 

“I’m gonna do a few songs alone, for old time’s sake,” she told the audience. As Leigh’s captivating voice washed over the Sinclair, I was once again in awe of her ability to foster beautifully intimate moments. The crowd gently swayed and sang along, many turning to serenade the friends or lovers beside them. 

The audience’s liveliness remained consistent throughout the evening, peaking especially when Leigh’s band returned for the set’s electric conclusion. Prior to “Sheep Song,” Leigh explained that Grace Goodman, the band’s drummer, suggested that what these shows really needed was a mosh pit. Whether or not it was a joke, Leigh agreed, and instructed the crowd to open up a circle pit. As the band launched into song, we flooded the now-vacant section of the floor. I’m not sure if what we did was a mosh pit –– maybe more of a dance pit or jumping up-and-down pit. Regardless, it was a blast, and I certainly danced more than I have at any other indie-folk show.

For the encore, Leigh played “Take Back,” the same song she culminated her set with back in 2023. Before she began to sing, she shared its origins: the song was born from a time when she worked all day and went home to a person who made her feel terrible. Her time, she then realized, should belong to her and nobody else. “We’re going to reclaim that time, right now, together. I want you to scream it!” she urged us. And so we did — chanting the cathartic refrain  –– “I’m gonna take back some of my time, I’m gonna take back some of my time” –– as Leigh sang with a smile I could hear.

While Odie Leigh’s musical stylings have shifted considerably since I saw her in 2023, her concert at the Sinclair proved her elegant growth as an artist. Bearing witness to her trajectory has been an incredibly rewarding experience, and like so many others in the crowd that night, I wait with bated breath to see where she brings us next.

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Norah Catlin, Ivy Buck 

On Friday, Jan. 31, Ollie Gullick & The Lads took to the stage at Cambridge’s Middle East Upstairs venue, delighting the crowd with a rock ‘n’ roll set that was nothing short of electrifying. Prior to the show, I got to speak with frontman Ollie Gullick over Zoom to learn more about the singer, songwriter, music director, guitarist and soon-to-be queer rock heartthrob.

“For me, rock and roll is the authenticity, and always has been,” Gullick said candidly. He cited legends like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin as influences, but his passion for music truly took root at a “musical playtime” he attended as a small child.

“I can’t remember that far back, but my parents told me the woman who ran it had an accordion and I wouldn’t take my eyes off it the whole time.”

Once he was old enough to begin experimenting with musical instruments himself, Gullick took up guitar “because my dad played it, and I wanted to interest girls. But I’m gay now, so that didn’t quite work out.” In terms of growing up queer in less accepting spaces, Gullick professed that “it sucked, but I’m grateful because it gave me a lot to write about.” 

On stage, Gullick’s unabashed queerness is instrumental to his performance. At the Middle East venue, he dedicated three of his opening songs to “a guy who wasn’t as straight as he seemed,” gay sex, and “a twink [he] used to know.” Belting out his lyrics in a powerful, gravelly voice, Gullick danced across the stage and smoldered at the crowd as he fluttered a fan emblazoned with the word “cunt.”

“[Being gay] manifests itself in my performance and the way I write music because I had to hide for so long and now I don’t anymore, so I’m just gonna let it all out.” This explosion of joy and pride was infectious, washing over the crowd as the band performed. 

Born in the UK, Gullick’s family moved to Abu Dhabi when he was 14 years old, where he remained until relocating to Boston to attend Berklee College of Music. While he recognizes the uniqueness of his expatriate upbringing, he’s found that “people can find things within [my story] that they can relate to themselves.” 

During the show, Gullick gave a shout out to a friend in the crowd, stating that he almost omitted the upcoming song from the setlist until she convinced him otherwise. The song in question was “The Cross,” which tells a beautifully heartbreaking story featuring some of Gullick’s most poetic lyrics and stunning instrumental solos. This song was one of my favorites of the night, as it highlighted Gullick’s ability to modulate between melancholy softness and powerful intensity in an instant. 

Along with fronting The Lads, Gullick is also music director and guitarist for ZaZa & The Psychedelic Orchestra and Berklee’s Lady Gaga Ensemble. “It’s been tricky, definitely, wearing all these hats. But I find it similar to how I’ve lived in England, Abu Dhabi and Boston –– for a while, it felt like three different people. ZaZa, Gaga and Ollie, myself, kind of felt like three different people going into those rooms. And I think trying to remember ‘no, it’s just me doing different things’ has been really helpful. I approach everything in the same way, emotionally.”

During Friday night’s performance, Psychedelic Orchestra frontwoman ZaZa joined Gullick on stage to perform his song “Turn Around and See.” The performance was a clear crowd favorite, with many friends and fans shouting out the lyrics as Gullick and ZaZa sang while staring each other down with affected rock ‘n’ roll intensity that repeatedly gave way to beaming smiles, their chemistry as friends and collaborators abundantly clear. 

As the band’s set came to a close, Gullick requested that the venue’s PA system be turned off. A hush fell over the crowd as Gullick and the six Lads stepped to the front of the stage to perform an acapella rendition of “Front Room” in a beautiful three-part harmony. Despite the pervasive booming bass audible from the venue downstairs, it was a heartwarming moment, encapsulating the bond shared by the band’s members.

“It was never planned, this thing,” Gullick told me of his collaboration with his bandmates. “I just thought I was gonna be ZaZa’s guitarist, but a lot of the music I wrote was really personal to me … So I was like, ‘Okay, I’ll put together a little group so I can do my own little shows.’ I just wanted to play at [the pub].” When forming the band, Gullick had never even heard his guitarist, Colin Lillich, or his keyboardist, Leo Birkin, play before. Drummer Alex Reeves and saxophone player Andrew Schuler are Gullick’s roommates and fellow Psychedelic Orchestra members. 

During Gullick’s first semester at Berklee, The Lads received a coveted “Caf Show” slot, earning the chance to perform in the school’s dining hall, which becomes a concert venue by night. The band was met with an outpouring of praise, and ended up booking several other gigs and recording sessions with a producer. The band’s lineup is completed by bassist Jack Helfer and a second saxophonist, Cooper Swartzentruber, who joined the band as a stand-in while Schuler was abroad and ended up becoming a permanent member.

After an electric encore, the band bid their farewells and departed from the stage. As I made my way out of the venue, I noticed “SOLD OUT” scrawled in black marker over the show’s flyer at the box office –– surely the first of many for Ollie Gullick & The Lads.

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Norah Catlin and Ivy Buck 

The show marked the start of their nationwide tour opening for Porches, whose most recent album features vocals from Chloe. sweet93’s music is a dreamy blend of swirling reverb, lullaby-esque melodies and early-90s influences like Cocteau Twins and Mazzy Star. 

The day before the show, I sat down with Chloe to learn more about the behind-the-scenes of making the new single. “It transformed, like, three separate times. I’m talking verse, melody, chords – it shape shifted. I found myself just being pulled to this more ethereal space honestly, and just wanting those sounds,” said Chloe.

As its title suggests, the song asks existential questions about reality and the world around you. “I really was just questioning everything– personal truth, universal truths…  I realized I just wanted to ask the questions that I myself have been really wondering lately, and just genuinely what is ‘truth’?”

I wondered whether she felt that writing and recording the song had given her any answers. “Yes and no,” she replied. She explained that the song allowed her to put the questions into music and let that speak for itself. “I’m just trying to describe that feeling – you don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to say it… [writing the song] didn’t give me the answers of life in a bigger way, but it gave me the answers as a songwriter, as an artist.”

Kohanski takes great joy in the artistic process, no matter how long it takes. “I love creating music, writing music. I love those moments where you break through and you finally get that art or that thing or whatever, even if it takes three months – like with my song ‘Be My Best’.” 

She explained that although the lyrics to the song took less than half an hour to write, the process of mixing it took place over the course of two years. Others may have found this frustrating or excessively arduous, but for Chloe, it was an “awesome” experience. 

On the eve of sweet93’s first tour, Chloe expressed her excitement for the upcoming experience. “There is literally nothing like being in a room with people who are there to really experience music and really be a part of a night of a show. It’s communal. There’s an exchange of energy. It feels special. Every time I play, afterwards I’m like ‘This is my destiny.’ This is what I love.”

As sweet93 took the stage at The Sinclair on Oct. 15, Chloe’s passion for performance was evident. Her set had the audience under a trance which held until the end of their final song. Joined by her band, a revolving cast of friends and collaborators, Chloe serenaded the crowd with “what’s true?” and their most popular song “Stars Above,” an ethereally haunting track featuring echoing vocals and bluesy, note-bending guitar. 

sweet93 concluded their set with “You Decide,” a heavier, reverb-drenched tune reminiscent of the golden days of shoegaze. According to Chloe, this song is the band’s favorite to play live. “I hope people feel like they can just like, rock out to it, close their eyes and just feel it,” she said. Indeed, this track appeared to be a crowd favorite, with even the stiffest of flannel-clad men (a demographic stunningly overrepresented in the crowd) gently bopping their heads in appreciation. 

Shortly after their performance, an older gentleman in attendance excitedly emerged from the restroom wearing a brand-new sweet93 t-shirt, his original shirt stuffed into his back pocket. He proudly showed off his look to Chloe at the merch table, who beamed from ear to ear and gave her new fan a big hug. The heartwarming moment perfectly captured the magnetic appeal of sweet93 –– their timeless, nostalgic sound resonates with fans across demographics.

sweet93’s tour with Porches will continue across the United States through the end of November. Whether you’re drawn to moody, atmospheric sounds or just love a great live show, don’t miss your chance to catch them on stage!

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Ivy Buck, Norah Catlin

I was on the 6:45 p.m. shuttle to Marlboro Market as doors opened at the House of Blues, listening to Duster’s setlist as we crossed the Charles River. Before long, I’d made it to the front door, my 19-year-old hands complete with two Sharpie X’s as I made it through security. Having never covered a concert for press reasons before, I wasn’t aware that I couldn’t bring my professional (and rented) camera inside the venue, but security workers kindly allowed me to store it in the coat check for $5 instead of kicking me out of the building. Grateful, I took a long glance around the lobby –– my first time in the House of Blues felt more familiar than I’d expected; with charming rock paraphernalia posted around every corner, I found myself reminded of venues like Whisky a Go Go and The Wiltern back in Los Angeles (my hometown). Duster’s opener, Dirty Art Club, could be heard through the large double doors leading into the auditorium.

As I walked in, Dirty Art Club played relaxed electronica at a DJ Booth set up on stage, a projector screen displaying abstract visuals behind the booth. The crowd gathered on the floor, talking amongst themselves and waiting for the band to come out. I took my spot in the merch line and observed the audience; I saw a lot of people around my age, a lot of tall lanky dudes (as a shorter person, I take note of this when choosing where to stand in a crowd) and well-dressed alternative-esque women. Conversely, I also saw a lot of men who seemed to be the same age as the band members themselves; lifelong fans of the band ever since their first albums came out in the late 1990s. These 30-40 year-olds mainly hung by the bars and periphery of the hall, while the younger generations carefully staked out their spots on the floor. 

About a half-hour after I arrived, Dirty Art Club exited the stage as the audience cheered. Anxious and still waiting in the merch line, I watched to see if the band would be coming out. The band emerged as I checked out, guitars pounding the opening of their first song, “The Twins / Romantica.” The crowd stood and swayed, entranced by the members on stage, nodding their heads along to the melancholy rhythms. A dreamy distorted guitar riff ended the song as the audience roared. A brief pause elapsed before the next song; I moved down further along the floor and situated myself as the lights changed colors. Metalheads and indie listeners alike faced the music, possessed and entranced. As Duster moved through the setlist, I migrated to different points in the crowd. 

Having attended a Beabadoobee concert a few weeks ago, I noted the differences between their crowds: fewer phones blocked the stage at this show as people seemed to be enjoying the moment, but the crowd at the Beabadoobee concert definitely had more energy. Duster’s music isn’t exactly the type to scream out along a crowd; it’s unhurried, more pensive, and the type of slowcore that invites a sort of dreamy trance to come over everyone all at once. Propped behind the lighting booth, I watched the operator adjust some switches and cover the hall in orange hues as the band played once more. As “Me and the Birds” began, suddenly the crowd was the most animated they’d been all night, cheering and taking out their phones with smiles before the song’s rhythm settled in. 

As Duster played their second-to-last song of the evening, I caught someone waving around a cat stuffed animal, referencing the cat featured front-and-center on Duster’s self-titled album cover, known colloquially as the “Cat Album.” Warmth radiated off the stage as the sweet song “Constellations” closed out the show. Maybe it was the sentimentality of seeing everyone in the crowd prepare to depart the concert hall and re-enter the world, but I suddenly felt an urgent need to acquire a stuffed Duster cat of my own. I rushed back to the merch stand before exiting and there it was: ridiculously overpriced and equally ridiculous looking, I ended my night by making a “wise” financial decision and purchasing a $25 Duster cat. Though the concert wasn’t exactly the type of heart-racing rush that typically comes to mind when I think of a night out in Boston, it was a joy to experience in-person the music, audience and atmosphere. To anyone debating their plans for upcoming weekends, I implore you to check online for any cheap concert tickets –– you never know what you may find!

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Ivy Buck, Anabelle Meyers

The iconic figure in all black, who, according to his Spotify, has been “wearing a mask since 2015,” bounced up and down to the spirit of his productions in a way which resurfaced pre-teen memories. After the screen teased his entrance with blinking buffers as tired, patient arms held up phones, his song, “The Spectre,” began to play, an upbeat EDM tune which evoked immediate euphoria from the crowd. 

As part of his Walkerworld tour, Alan Walker came to Boston’s MGM Music Hall at Fenway on Sept. 14 for a seamless set of his original productions and remixes from all his albums for a danceable night to remember. 

When I was first introduced to his songs in middle school, I frequently used his songs “The Spectre” and “Faded” as background music for my silly YouTube channel videos. For songs “Faded,” “Alone” and “Sing Me To Sleep,” I screenshotted the sheet music from YouTube piano tutorials, edited them together on Canva, and learned to play them until my fingers knew it by heart. 

I continued to listen to his full-length albums, enjoying his amazing collaboration with artists like Sofia Carson, Sabrina Carpenter and Ava Max. I listened to all my favorite songs, from “Different World,” to “Lost Control,” and “Back to Beautiful,” on repeat and repeat. Walker’s production always stood out to me as smoother and more melodic, setting it apart from the often mechanical mainstream EDM music. 

Unfortunately, I fell out of the Walkerverse after middle school (we can thank my Taylor Swift obsession for that). It was only by chance that I went to his concert after my friend passed along a ticket. By the end of the night, we were blown away. We loved how we didn’t have to be at the front of the crowd to experience the concert’s brightly colorful visuals and music.

However, the concert also reeked of male body odor and alcohol, something a future Alan Walker concert goer should be wary of. I was tired out from jumping on the wet floor of spilled drinks, unable to maintain my energy for the whole night, because the opener drained my energy, was quite long and not as great as Alan Walker. If I were to go again, I would skip the opener. 

I don’t know why I didn’t expect it, but there were a lot of guys there, which overwhelmed me a lot. Alan Walker is a guy after all, and the EDM genre is dominated by men. At Wellesley, I sometimes joke about missing the energy of guys, but that night made me realize that maybe I don’t; it made me grateful for Wellesley. Thank god people at Wellesley know what deodorant is. I am, in fact, a victim of the Wellesley bubble. 

We were extremely impressed with the way Walker’s productions and remixes sounded live, along with the constant smoke cannons and confetti drops throughout the night. I felt like the music was injected into me in the best way possible. I still patiently waited for any one of the featured singers on Walker’s productions to show up, but alas, none took the stage. The night was, nonetheless, magical and memorable –– it even lifted the spirits of my middle school self.

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Norah Catlin, Ivy Buck

As soon as I entered the concert venue, I could feel the stadium pulsating with energy as excited fans eagerly waited in anticipation for the show to begin. Everyone seemed to have a solid understanding of the night’s dress code, with many fans wearing outfits fit for a rodeo accompanied by boots and colorful, light-up cowboy hats while others proudly displayed images of the Puerto Rican flag on their clothing. In typical Bad Bunny fashion, some fans even sported the iconic “Nadie sabe” ski mask in the hopes of sticking to the album’s Western theme. Bad Bunny’s artistic influence, unsurprisingly, was not only reflected in concert goers’ outfits but in the carefully curated playlist playing before the concert began.

 Only avid salsa fans or those aware of Bad Bunny’s biggest musical influences could hear the likes of Hector Lavoe and Ismael Rivera’s 1969 hit “La Controversia” playing in the background. These subtle yet obvious references to the islands’s rich musical history in songs like “El Apagón” demonstrate Bad Bunny’s deep admiration and respect for Puerto Rico’s most famous salseros. Moreover, these songs reflect his commitment to honoring reggaetón’s Afro-Caribbean origins as well as illustrate his desire to experiment with different types of music to redefine the genre itself.

Once Bad Bunny finally took to the stage to perform, I felt overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of our class’s dream turning into a reality. As Professor Rivera-Rideau expressed in her recent interview with the Boston Globe, we had been working hard all semester studying Bad Bunny and drawing parallels between his music and some of the larger problems characterizing everyday life on the island. This concert, in many ways, was a culmination of everything we had learned about him as an artist and Puerto Rican history and culture thus far. To my classmates and I, studying Bad Bunny inside a classroom environment was one thing, but seeing him perform live in concert took our knowledge to an entirely different level.

Immediately at the outset, I saw the presence of gender performativity at work throughout Bad Bunny’s performance. After he finished performing the first 3 to 4 songs off the “Nadie sabe” soundtrack, Bad Bunny captured the audience’s attention wearing the infamous royal blue Western outfit pictured on his album cover. Blue fringes lined the sleeves of his shirt and to complete the look, he wore a complementary royal blue head scarf embellished with small rhinestones and sequins on top of his head. In this moment, I realized that even though Western attire was typically associated with masculinity, Bad Bunny’s outfit was once again using his artistic creativity to challenge the presence of hegemonic masculinity in reggaetón music. 

As I watched Bad Bunny perform in this outfit on the big screen, I was amazed by the fact that he could wear gender-nonconforming clothing like the blue Western outfit while simultaneously adhere to common tropes found in the reggaetón genre, like the sexually driven macho or the violent man (Rivera Figueroa). Nevertheless, seeing Bad Bunny perform gender live reinforced the impact he has on gender politics in Puerto Rico and why he serves as a form of resistance against the presence of violence, transphobia and sexism on the island.

Similarly, Bad Bunny’s performance not only challenged the concept of gender but did an amazing job highlighting LGBTQ representation amongst his backup dancers. At one point in the concert, I was able to see two male backup dancers located on the same side of the stage. While this may have gone unnoticed by the majority of concertgoers, I knew from our class discussions that Bad Bunny is seen as a queer icon by many fans and artists, like Ricky Martin, because he actively refuses to put labels on his sexuality and gender identity. Seeing Bad Bunny commit to fostering inclusivity within the LGBTQ community made me adopt a new level of respect for him as an artist.

By the end of the concert, I had an amazing experience watching my learning unfold before me outside of the classroom and am grateful that I had the opportunity to share this experience with my class.

He took to the grand piano and began “Grey Gardens” from his “Poses” album. The original recording of “Grey Gardens” features a sample of Little Edie Beale remarking, “It’s very difficult to keep the line between the past and the present.” While this was not included in the live performance, the song still set the largely retrospective tone for the evening. It harkened back to a younger Rufus, eager to prove his capabilities as a pop artist with “Poses” following the release of his less successful debut album. 

He hardly gave the audience enough time to applaud before he began the opening motif of “Vibrate.” Written for his 2003 album “Want One,” the song is a desperate plea to an unrequiting lover: “My phone’s on vibrate for you / But still I never ever feel from you / So call me . . . / Call me anytime you like.”

He eventually got up from the piano bench and reached for his guitar at center stage. Greeting the audience, he was just as relaxed as he appears in videos at his house, in the studio and at Carnegie Hall. Rufus is charming, and the audience, bursting with applause and laughter, held onto his every word. 

When he speaks, Rufus is full of witty remarks and elegant bravado, but, when he plays, Rufus is absolutely bare. His hands wander unhesitatingly across the keyboard, and his voice, only richer with age, can reach all corners of emotion — from faint to “fortissimo” — in a matter of seconds. Nothing about his performance felt affected. As he adjusted the strap on the guitar, you could tell that his focus had turned inward. He closed his eyes as he counted in the next song. I recognized the chords immediately.

“Gay Messiah” juxtaposes the softness of its guitar chords, lullaby-ish in their repetitive strumming pattern, to its coarse lyrics: “No I won’t be the one / Baptized in cum / . . . / Someone will demand my head / And then I will kneel down / And give it to them looking down.”

In this Biblical reference, Rufus casts himself as John the Baptist, foretelling the emergence of a messiah who will “fall from the stars” of “Studio 54,” an exclusive Manhattan night club that saw in its prime the patronage of gay icons such as Liza Minelli, Andy Warhol, and Divine. This messiah will materialize on the shores of Fire Island, “wearing tube socks” as if from “1970s porn.” Rufus does not prettify these images; the lyrics are direct and crude with little aesthetic appeal, yet he apotheosizes these things long deemed depraved by modern society. “Gay Messiah” is an insolent declaration to American society that the gay community has no obligation to whitewash gay life in order to make gayness beautiful. 

Although playing this song in Albany, New York in 2024 was not an act of groundbreaking activism, when it was first released in 2004, HIV-related mortality rates had peaked in the United States only ten years beforehand. Lawrence v. Texas had just overturned an anti-sodomy law in Texas only a year beforehand. The early 2000s was a complicated time for gay people in the U.S. The gay community — Rufus included — hoped for a savior to liberate them from their suffering. 

Returning to The Egg or “L’œuf,” as he likes to call it, Rufus felt drawn to reminisce on his youth. Although he grew up in Montreal, Rufus was born in Rhinebeck, New York, just sixty miles south of Albany, and he attended boarding school seventy miles away in the Village of Millbrook. He performed his song “Millbrook” in which he remembers the “pines” and “gentle tower” of his high school campus as well as the “evening breakdowns” that took place there. 

He explained that the namesake of “Zebulon” was a childhood crush, whom he remembered as his mother was dying of sarcoma in 2009. He further explored this theme of young love in “The Art Teacher,” which tells, from the first person, the story of a young girl who falls in love with her art teacher.

He also looked forward to the future, playing his unreleased “Old Song.” He advertised his West End musical “Opening Night,” set to close in May, as well as his upcoming requiem which will premiere this summer in Paris. 

He indulged his affinity for opera when he sang a pop arrangement of the aria “He Loved” from his 2018 opera “Hadrian”. Paying homage to another Montreal great, Leonard Cohen, with a cover of “So Long, Marianne.” He sang an acoustic arrangement of “Ready for Battle” from his new musical. The concert seemed to touch all ends of his repertoire — with one blinding exception: where was the Judy?

The whole evening, I had anticipated hearing at least one song from Judy Garland’s endless repertory. Rufus’s 2006 tribute concert to her iconic 1961 Carnegie Hall performance sold out both nights and resulted in a Grammy-nominated live album. In 2022, he performed and recorded a virtual concert at Capitol Studios, once again singing only Judy Garland songs. Her live recordings played over the speakers during the intermission of our concert at The Egg, and I was certain that Rufus would sing at least one Judy song. Over an hour into his set, I began to realize that the concert would eventually end, and probably soon. I started to panic — he hadn’t sung Judy yet!

After a lively “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk,” Rufus exited the stage only to return a minute later for an encore. I held my breath. 

He sat at the piano and, ever the Democrat, played an updated version of “Going to a Town” where he poked fun at Republicans. This earned much laughter from the abundantly white, middle-aged (or perhaps just aged), theater-going New York crowd. When he invited his aunt onstage to join him in “Hallelujah” (more Leonard Cohen), I knew all hope was lost. Rufus’s recording of “Hallelujah,” which is featured on the Shrek soundtrack, is his best-known recording. While I enjoyed hearing him sing the Canadian classic, I was overcome with disappointment. I had been so excited to hear him sing “Come Rain or Shine” or “Over the Rainbow” or “A Foggy Day” — anything Judy! But for whatever reason, that I will likely never know, Rufus did not sing a single Judy Garland song. 

Rufus’s evening at The Egg was heartbreaking. His pristine voice is just as rich and luxurious as it was in 1998 when he recorded his first album, and his elaborate, wandering piano compositions are bewitching. The only unpleasant part of his concert was the end. He took a bow and flew offstage as quickly as he had come. His sequin shirt flashed once more before vanishing behind the black curtain. In that moment, I learned — the hard way — that Canadians can be heartbreakers, too.

I was lucky to catch their Feb. 18 opening set for Deap Vally at the Crystal Ballroom in Somerville. While Deap Vally’s unremarkable set consisted of repeated guitar hooks and lacked personality, every song on Sloppy Jane’s setlist presented as its own distinct production. Haley Dahl, the vocalist, songwriter and composer for Sloppy Jane, no doubt electrified the crowd of Boston’s middle-aged alternative community (it’s as small as you would imagine it to be). 

In the process of writing this review, I realized that it’s much harder to label what exactly Sloppy Jane is than what the band isn’t. Sloppy Jane isn’t fully Riot Grrrl, although their recent supporting gigs with bands like Pussy Riot and Deap Vally could give that impression. They’re also not your typical low-budget garage rock band; Sloppy Jane’s second full-length album, “Madison”, was entirely recorded in a cave in West Virginia (unfortunately, the cave didn’t join the band on tour). They’ve been labeled as art punk, chamber pop, experimental rock and with a bunch of other ambiguous sub-genres. Oh, and throw a classical orchestra into the mix.  

Dahl began the night conducting “Overture” in her signature blue velvet suit. An overture is a piece of music played by an orchestra at the beginning of an opera or play, which fit the ensuing hour-long concert quite nicely. Dahl played a musical version of the game Red Light, Green Light with her band during the piece, squatting down to force the band to stop and then jumping back up to resume the music. 

She put down the conductor’s baton to sing “Party Anthem,” my personal favorite song from Sloppy Jane’s discography. Deceitfully titled, the song explores feelings of inadequacy and isolation in a style reminiscent of a Kate Bush ballad. 

Another highlight was “Judy’s Bedroom,” a sweet-sounding song about murder. As if around a campfire, Dahl sang, “Judy, does whatever she pleases / ‘Cause she’s with Jesus now.” At one point, she dipped to the side of the stage to put blue paint on her face like tears. A chorus of “la-la-la-la” repeated throughout the song, creating an eerie energy around the stage.     

The obvious fan favorite was “Where’s My Wife.” In the song, Dahl screams the title over and over again, each time with a different emotion — first violently, then confusedly and finally in tears. By the time she jumped into the crowd, most people had picked up on the repeating chorus and shouted along into the microphone as Dahl moshed near them. The venue’s energy definitely peaked during this song in comparison to the rest of the night. 

Before playing the final song, Dahl led the audience in a New Year’s Eve countdown. Even though we were about two months past the holiday, she explained that a fresh start was already needed. “Who else feels like they’ve already f*cked up this year,” she yelled, only to be met with resounding cheering. When a woman interrupted her monologue to yell about a Chinese New Year festival that had just happened, Dahl deadpanned, “No more interruptions.” If it wasn’t clear already, Haley Dahl was in charge of the evening’s program for as long as she was on stage. 

Leaving the venue that night, I realized that ascribing a genre label to Sloppy Jane was a lost cause. In reality, their music is constantly evolving and weaving between genres. However, one thing the entire setlist had in common was an affinity to live performance. Haley Dahl’s theatrical charm jumps out when she’s on stage in a way unattainable to fans through streaming platforms. As evidenced by the merch line following Sloppy Jane’s set, Boston’s alternative fans seemed to agree with me.

But one thing was for certain at No Vacation’s Feb. 8 show at The Sinclair in Cambridge: it was a lot of fun.

The evening began with an opening set from French Cassettes, a San Francisco band formed in 2013 with a classic 2015 indie-rock sound. While lead singer Scott Huerta was incapacitated by an injured leg, his confinement to a center-stage bar stool did nothing to impede his stage presence. He enjoyed joking around with the audience and bandmates. Halfway through the set, he introduced “a song we’re working on right now,” but only seconds after the count-in, the band had to restart. “What can I say? We’re working on it. We meant we’re gonna work on it right now,” he joked. After a second count-in, guitarist Mackenzie Bunch jumped in with the hook, and they were off.

They closed out their set with what became my favorite song of theirs, “Utah.” With the song’s easygoing harmonies and simple yet playful lyrics that characterize the rest of their 2023 “Rolodex” album, French Cassettes wrapped up their performance. Senior Arts and Culture editor and proud San Franciscan Phoebe Grandi, who got the press passes and joined me for the concert, is a recent Utah transplant and particularly enjoyed this song.

After a short intermission, No Vacation took the stage, kicking their set off with the timely “Sad Valentine” from their 2015 album, “Summer Break Mixtape.” Bassist Nat Lee set the tone of the evening as they hopped around to the music in their shiny white six-inch platform boots. Meanwhile, lead singer Sab Mai showed their range as a performer and vocalist as they shifted from the floaty, gentle tones heard in “Lovefool” to the deeper, shadowy colors of “How.”

No Vacation’s original music features bedroom and dream pop influences with lyricism addressing themes of shame, alienation, loneliness and anger in words simple enough to sing along to. Not all of their songs are sad, though, and their discography manages these themes with an even balance of the mellow and the upbeat. Nevertheless, their four covers of The Cranberries are, in my opinion, the secret gem of their recorded music. No Vacation performed “Waltzing Back,” one of their most popular songs among fans, and by the time the set had reached “How,” the crowd was jumping and dancing to the breakneck tempo. While they did not fulfill my hope of hearing their cover of The Cranberries’ “I Will Always” live, they compensated for the disappointment when they pulled out “Linger,” my personal favorite of their covers, for the encore. 

The impression that has lingered (pun intended) with me the most after this concert is that No Vacation knows how to put on a fun show. The band members are not only musicians but also performers. Closing out “Days” with a guitar jam, bassist Nat, who had switched to the violin, leaped into the audience and crowd-surfed while continuing to play. Sab danced around the stage all evening while singing and playing electric guitar, and guitarist Harrison Spencer held nothing back when he launched into his riffs and solos. The band clearly enjoys playing music with each other and entertaining a live audience.

About an hour into their set, No Vacation played their soft and relatively primitive “August” and then left the stage. The audience, knowing that they could not end what had been such an exciting show with such an understated song, chanted, “One more song!” until the band reemerged for an encore. But instead of one song, No Vacation gave us three. Nat, Sab and Harrison huddled center-stage as they began the intro to “Linger.” After a much-awaited “Yam Yam,” a guy in baggy jeans and a black sweatshirt held up a small sign to the band reading, “Can I play?” Sab helped him onto the stage and handed him their guitar. He fiddled with the strings for a moment until James Shi counted in on the drums and the guest guitarist launched into the opening riff of “Dræm Girl.” This surf rock anthem brought the evening full circle, reminding us of the set’s first song from the same “Summer Break Mixtape.”

I’ve been to plenty of indie concerts, but No Vacation genuinely surprised me. Their live music did not match but far surpassed the quality of their recorded music. If I had the opportunity, I would buy tickets to see them live again in a heartbeat. As I fought my way out of the venue that night, it was clear that I was not the only person who felt this way. The crowd was bustling and giddy from the electrifying performances by the two San Francisco bands. French Cassettes and No Vacation brought some much-needed West Coast chill to Boston’s restless drivers and sleep-deprived students.

Since forming in 2014, the band has cemented itself as a rising name in the Riot Grrrl genre. Their wildly energetic discography is filled with grungy guitar tones and songs that perfectly encapsulate feminine rage, a description that epitomizes the feminist punk movement from the 90s. Their most recent album, “Happy Now,” was released in 2022 and explores a wide array of complex topics such as insecurity, victim-blaming, and being your own source of happiness. 

I was first introduced to THICK’s music in November 2022, when they opened for Letters to Cleo, also at Paradise Rock Club. Having no expectations at the beginning of the night, I was left in awe by the time they exited the stage, completely forgetting about the headliner. The next morning, I began planning to learn guitar and endlessly bugging most of my friends about starting a band for the foreseeable future. Needless to say, when they announced their return to Boston with Pussy Riot, I immediately told everyone that would listen. 

THICK began the night with “Montreal,” a song from the “Happy Now” album. The crowd, a surprising blend of people from older and younger generations, gained life as the distinctly robust intro started. Nikki Sisti and bassist Kate Black divided lead vocals as Nikki and Shadow Monster’s guitarist Gillian Visco wielded guitars, producing a vigorous sound that was completed by Rosie Slater’s fervent drumming. After the song ended, a guy behind me exclaimed to his friend, “I told you they were good, man!” 

The song, “Bleeding,” reminds the crowd of THICK’s Riot Grrrl roots. A memorable guitar lick connects lyrics that exclaim the singer’s annoyance with her environment while on her period. A trope that is commonly satirized by male comedians, Sisti and Black powerfully reclaim the truism as they scream, “DON’T TOUCH ME / I’M BLEEDING” into the microphone. The energy radiating from the band continues as the song, “Your Mom” thunders through the venue. By this point in the set more people are moving (I even saw a woman in her 70s dancing), and a few other people obviously familiar with the band sing along as Sisti and Black approach the mic again to scream the first verse. This is just a facet of THICK’s appeal. In addition to a sound that makes it impossible not to dance along to, their stage presence, full of headbanging, jumping in platform boots and overall upbeat enthusiasm, is undeniable.   

After the show was over, my friend and I decided to stay and try to get a picture with the band. I awkwardly loitered around the area where the band was packing up their gear, contemplating how to get their attention, until I decided to finally call out to them. After rambling with a childlike excitement about how much I loved the band and the inspiration they have been to my own relationship with music, Nikki and Rosie graciously talked with us for another five minutes. We chatted about the first couple songs we learned on guitar and how their pre-show ritual had shifted from martinis to jagerbombs. There is no cool way to ask someone to be in your Bereal, but we were met with excitement at the request, even when my friend messed up the first try and had to ask them to pose again.      

That interaction, short as it was, cemented the virtue of the band for me. THICK is just as cool in person as they appear on stage. Additionally, as someone who spent a majority of the year listening to music through headphones (+100,000 minutes according to Spotify Wrapped), the show reminded me of the exhilaration that live music brings. Not only do you support your favorite artists by paying for a ticket and showing up, singing along to songs surrounded by a crowd of people that share your excitement allows you to connect with the music in the way it was intended to.