Category: Reviews

By Annika Nelson

Walking into the Lincoln Theater for A Charlie Brown Christmas: Live on Stage projected you into a Christmas wonderland.  The stage was lit with snowflakes as families filtered into their seats.  The venue itself set the perfect tone for an evening steeped in nostalgia, and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the Lincoln Theater popcorn–simply the perfect blend of salty and satisfying.  The historic theater created a beautiful atmosphere to settle in and enjoy a show drawing from a Christmas classic.  

From the moment the lights dimmed, the production attempted to whisk the audience straight into the world of Charles M. Schulz.  While the script stayed remarkably close to the original television special, a few details fell short.  The production’s attempt to modernize or energize certain sequences sometimes felt at odds with the quiet simplicity that makes A Charlie Brown Christmas so endearing.  Not everything translated well from animation to stage.  Some actors embodied the beloved Peanuts characters with impressive accuracy; Charlie Brown in particular captured the spirit of earnestness and uncertainty quite well.  Others, like Snoopy, brought the magic to a crashing halt as the famously wordless character was portrayed by a fully embodied actor, uttering barks that sounded far too close to words.  Maybe this is just my perception as someone who grew up on the comic strip and TV special, but these key moments where they chose to stray from defining characteristics of the Charlie Brown universe made it hard for me to be fully on board.  

The show was clearly crafted with children in mind, and were I five years old in my plaid Christmas dress with puffed sleeves (I know you know the one) perhaps I would have enjoyed it more.  The audience was filled with excited kids and their Snoopy stuffed animals, and the cast leaned into that energy.  There were playful participation opportunities throughout the show, like during the snowball fight when actors encouraged the children to take part.  Laughter soared throughout the theater as soft snowballs flew, making the moment feel alive, spontaneous, and wonderfully chaotic.  

The live jazz band truly elevated the experience.  The character Pigpen both acted in the show and played his famous upright bass.  Hearing Vince Guaraldi’s iconic score performed live added a vibrant texture to the show, enriching the storytelling.  The musicians brought a richness to each scene, grounding the more chaotic moments with a sense of authenticity and holiday charm.  Their presence reminisced on the original’s special emotional heartbeat as the familiar jazz melodies often felt like gentle anchors pulling the show back towards its roots.  

The show certainly attempted to breathe new life into a beloved classic–one I’m not sure it was ready for.  With giggling children, families hugging each other a bit tighter, and the Peanuts gang gathering around their infamous tree, the theater emanated a bit of collective nostalgia.  So while certain creative choices missed the mark, the spirit of the season hung warmly in the air, gently prompting theater goers to remember the true meaning of Christmas and disregard commercialism for a season of love, hope, joy, and care.  

By Isabella Sicilian

Walking into The Anthem on October 7th for Alex G’s show, I immediately realized I might be the oldest person under 25 in the room. Surrounded by a sea of teenagers in funky hats and oversized jeans, and forty-year-old hippies in beanies excited to whip out their leather jackets as the weather dipped below 70 degrees for one of the first times this fall, I felt decidedly uncool—but that’s just part of the Alex G experience, apparently. 

The venue buzzed with anticipation as British musician Nilüfer Yanya opened the night, warming up the crowd before the main event. When Alex G finally took the stage with his live band—a group of guest musicians rather than a regular touring lineup—the energy shifted. Football field-style lights flashed at the audience, new colors flaring for different beats, and it became clear this wouldn’t be your typical intimate indie show. The live band deserves serious credit for nailing the heavier, more produced sound that Headlights demands throughout the night. I stayed toward the back (being short has taught me that observing from a distance often offers me the best view), and from there I could see the crowd jumping and swaying during the heavier songs. The production felt slightly over the top at times, and the arena-style light show seemed almost too much for the relatively calmer indie rock music. It was an interesting contrast to Alex G’s DIY roots, though the dedicated fan base didn’t seem to mind.

If there’s one thing that defines Alex G’s stage presence, it’s his endearing awkwardness. Between nearly every song, he stumbled through a “thank you,” occasionally adding “we’re excited to be here” before diving back into the music. He was reserved, almost uncomfortable, yet somehow that awkwardness felt authentic rather than off-putting. And yes, he really does sound like that live—his voice carries that youthful, almost boyish quality that’s become his signature. The entire setlist drew exclusively from Headlights, which disappointed me a bit. I was hoping to hear older favorites like “Forever” or “Animals” from Trick, but it made sense for a major label debut tour. What I personally love about Alex G is his guitar work, and while it was present, I wished it had more room to shine through the heavier production.

The real surprise came in the last third of the concert when Alex G announced they had “a special song” before launching into a rock-heavy cover of “Monster Mash,” complete with distorted guitars and plenty of noise, and the crowd immediately erupted in cheers. It was the perfect way to kick off spooky season in the first week of October. Despite feeling initially intimidated by the impossibly cool crowd, I found myself comfortable in the awkward indie vibe that filled The Anthem that night. Alex G’s dedicated fanbase, the teenagers in funky hats and big jeans, knew every word, swaying and singing along with genuine passion. There’s something special about an artist who can keep such an unpolished, authentic presence even after moving to a major label. Alex G stays true to himself, awkwardness and all.

By Christina Pan

Your girl knows how to put on a show. I couldn’t take my eyes off Renée Rapp the entire time. Her “Bite Me” tour is named after her “biting” style of lyrics—even when she’s singing about a softer subject, there’s still a sharp quality to her music, present in her lyrics, delivery, and overall aura. Playing to a full crowd spread across seated and lawn sections at Merriweather Post Pavilion, Rapp brought the energy and the intensity with excellent production quality. 

Opening Act: Syd

Syd, R&B singer and former The Internet frontwoman, opened the show with some of her fan-favorites and her smooth, enchanting R&B voice. Syd also sang several new songs devoted to her wife, Ariana Simone, whom she later introduced on stage. Syd’s stage presence was undeniable: there was only bass and piano backing, and Syd herself was dressed simply in a crew hoodie. There was no elaborate dance crew or flashy lights present for Syd, but she kept the audience captivated by how the music just flowed with her body.

Main Performance

After a quick intermission, Rapp came onto the stage with red lighting flowing across it. The production of the concert, from the lighting to the dance choreography, was incredible. She started the show floating on top of a high-raised platform, immediately showing off her vocal prowess and dance moves. She belted intense song after intense song, slyly teasing the audience with all sorts of moves and quips. The bass beat was strong enough that you could feel it through the entire massive amphitheater.

Eventually, Rapp transitioned to softer songs, where she sat on top of a piano, reminiscing about her early childhood days when she first discovered songwriting. Back then, it would just be her and the piano, singing melodies into the night. This effect was mesmerizing: there was a quiet intensity even throughout the more mellow songs, fitting for “Bite Me”. The energy of the crowd was undeniably fervent—anything Rapp asked the crowd to do, whether hoot or holler or wave their arms or light up the crowd, they did.

Rapp also showed candor and vulnerability when discussing her songs, especially one inspired by her “first real heartbreak.” She did not shy away from honestly describing how she felt about that person, and how she felt such love and, at the end of it, a deep feeling of irreconciliation, a betrayal of trust. Her music, as a whole, is pop-driven but comes from a more personal than performative side. 

Atmosphere and Logistics

Concertgoers were all dressed up fashionably, from oversized flannels to miniskirts to quippy shirts with “Bite Me” or the like fashioned onto them (a small word of warning if you’re parking at Merriweather Post: it takes forever to park, and forever to get down from the top floors). 

By Alex Zuehlke

If there’s a right way to hold onto summer a little longer, it’s seeing Royel Otis live. The Australian duo—Royel Maddell and Otis Pavlovic—brought their fun, sun-soaked energy to The Anthem on September 14th, somehow making a Sunday night in D.C. feel like a rooftop party in Sydney. 

The opener, bby, came out first and immediately set the mood. bby is an indie band from East London, and their sound matched the vibe of the night perfectly—catchy guitar parts, upbeat tempos, and a casual sort of charm that loosened the crowd up right away. 

When Royel Otis finally took the stage, the lights dimmed, and the massive screen behind them began to flash lyrics, short clips, and trippy visuals. The production wasn’t overdone, but rather just enough to add to the atmosphere. The screen behind the band added a kind of hazy, nostalgic mood to everything as it cycled through old video clips and text walls. It matched their sound perfectly, reminding me of flipping through old summer photos you forgot existed.

The duo opened with “Adored,” and from there, the set never really slowed down. Their sound feels even punchier live than it does on the record, as if every song wants to pull you into motion.

They played a selection from Hickey, the album they released in August, and mixed in some older fan favorites too, like “Oysters in My Pocket” and “Sofa King.” I was just as impressed with the audience as I was with the band; the energy was electric as the crowd sung every word to their hits and danced carefree. These days, concerts are often filled with a sea of cellphones, recording every second of the show for Instagram stories. However, the Royel Otis show was relatively technology-free, underscoring the summery, “live in the moment” vibe that their music gives off.   

Then came the last song before the encore, which ended up being my favorite part of the show. Instead of going back to the main stage, Royel Otis reappeared on a small platform near the back of the venue. The crowd turned around, and suddenly the Anthem felt like a tiny, intimate venue. They played their cover of The Cranberries’ “Linger,” and it was gorgeously soft and far more stripped back than the rest of their set. 

I didn’t go into this concert expecting much, but Royel Otis completely won me over. Their music is fun, warm, and weirdly comforting, and live, it just clicks. By the time I walked out, sweaty and smiling, I realized I’d found a new favorite band, something that I’ve kept returning to as summer slips away.

By Christina Pan

Swedish rapper Yung Lean came to the Anthem on October 19th to cap off his Forever Yung tour, and it was a fine demonstration of his current artistic vision. He kicked the night off with tracks from Jonatan, his latest album, marking a creative leap from his past music. The album deals with a lot more melodic ground and the tracks sound much more vulnerable than his previous music, which had more of a nonchalant, constant motion sort of sensation. His new music resonates differently with a second or third listen. The crowd was rather subdued for the first songs, swaying politely, getting the hang of the night.

Things picked up once he started playing the classics. When “Ginseng Strip” and “Kyoto” came on, the energy completely changed. A mosh pit formed and Lean was feeding off of it, bringing intensity and stamina to his performance. He was stomping around, dancing, rapping with a presence that matched what the crowd wanted. The crowd seemed more mature than your typical mosh pit too – people were into it but not chaotic, there was this sense of respect for the space and for each other while still keeping the energy up.

The staging elevated things. Midway through the set he had this spiked axe that he’d draw over his shoulder. He used a white curtain at the front of the stage and would stand in front of it wearing a spiked helmet, so you’d just see his silhouette against the light. It created this dramatic effect that broke up the set and kept things visually interesting. His all-white outfit the whole night—cargo pants, some kind of military-style top—mixed with the helmet gave off this fusion of militaristic and Prince-like energy that surprisingly worked.

He even included a few false endings leading up to the real finale, with the lights going up and then Lean returning to run through some of his older classics. “Ginseng” is the oldest song of his that we know about and he has been playing it since the age 16. He has a very unassuming baby face, but is able to spit and dance around the stage with genuine authority. The show seemed to be a nice balance between where Jonatan is going and the roots that were built that got everybody out here to begin with.

By Isabel Liu

DC’s most down-bad gathered in the hallowed halls of 9:30 Club to witness Indigo De Souza play on Oct. 23.

De Souza had a way of making the venue feel smaller than it actually was, as if we all had convened to hear her profess her most intimate secrets. In “Be Like the Water,” De Souza emphasized the importance of speaking up when something is bothering you: “I won’t be sorry and I won’t be silent / I’m temporary, I am an island.” Her confessional lyrics quieted the audience and seemed to transport them to another place. Not even two songs in, my roommate started dissociating and thinking her deepest thoughts.

De Souza comfortably mixed humor with cynicism in her set. During “Ghosts” she sang: “And if you ghost on me again / These tits will ghost on you forever.” That’s certainly one way to put it! 

As for the crowd, they seemed fairly happy for a concert featuring discography that was mostly depressing. The somber mood was lifted by De Souza’s bassist, who playfully interacted with the audience during a song break. “If you like onions, let me hear you scream,” he said. “If you don’t like onions, let me hear you say, ‘I don’t like onions!’” More people in the audience liked onions, if you were wondering.

Like a true artist, De Souza knew when she captivated the audience and could leverage her signature yodel-like delivery. In the upbeat anthem “Heartthrob,” De Souza laid down a manifesto of how she wants to live her life: “God, when I’m a grown-up / I wanna have a full cup / A true heartthrob.” Don’t I know it!

A definitive standout from De Souza’s set was “Real Pain.” Following the chorus, De Souza performed an insanely long vocal run, manipulating her voice like a siren while moving her hands up and down. “I wanna kick, wanna scream / I wanna know it’s not my fault,” De Souza sang. “I wanna know it’s not my fault.” I think I had to take a 30-second breather to process that.

Near the end of the set, De Souza reminded the audience why she writes and performs songs. “Thank you for listening to my music,” De Souza said to the crowd. “It makes me feel less alone, and I hope it makes you feel less alone too.”

By Francesca Hales

The night of Oct. 7 at The Atlantis unfolded like a dreamscape. Psychedelic lights, shimmering harmonies, and the unmistakable alchemy of the Oracle Sisters had the room truly ascendant.  

The concert opened with Boomershack, who brought their folk-rock grooves all the way from Austin. Sporting matching mustaches, they fingerpicked intricate melodies on the acoustic and brought raw soul and passion to their vocals. 

Then, the lights dimmed, psychedelic swirls illuminated the bands’ signature spectral circle, and five people took to the stage. With their Scandinavian roots, sparkles, mullets, and shaggy bangs, it looked almost like an ABBA reunion.As soon as they began playing, however, the unmistakable and magical Oracle Sisters sound filled the room. 

Frontman Christopher Willatt had a radiant stage presence, energetically dancing and performing with the air of a Brooklyn Cillian Murphy in his suspenders and high-waisted trousers. 

Lewis Lazar delivered searing, intricate guitar solos while Julia Johansen anchored the set with vocals and drums. The unexpected presence of Melanie Drew Chambers on the synth enriched each song with rich, layered sounds. 

Traveling through their discography, the set was an ethereal journey. While some songs like “High Moon” felt like sweet lullabies, others like “Cigale Song” were upbeat and energetic, and others like “Velveteen” had a bit of angst. Regardless of the tone, every second of their performance felt imbued with joy. 

Much of that spirit comes from their newest album, Divinations, which was heavily inspired by journeys and trips and described by NewNoise as a “nomadic album.” Written while they trekked across Europe and North America on their last tour, many of them have a sense of forward momentum, the steady rhythms and dusky tones evoking a long road trip at sunset. 

During the show, members of the band reminisced about their journeys, sharing how the U.S. has only gotten “more beautiful, more strange” since their last tour. They followed with “Rodeo,” a soft, nostalgic song that drifts from Harlem to the Alamo to Austin, painting a wistful but romantic portrait of America through an outsider’s eyes. 

It was a fitting image for a band that embodies movement and journey. They are an international collective of artists whose music is deeply tied to the places they’ve been. Albums and EP’s Paris I, Paris II, and Hydranism are all rooted in the cities that inspired them. 

I left the Atlantis wanting even more, longing for more hours watching them play and feeling enveloped in their sweet harmonies. 

By Sofia Erichetti

The first thing that greeted me when I walked into The Anthem on October 28th to see Thundercat was a massive, inflatable cat with glowing red eyes overlooking the iconic venue. A DJ warmed up the audience with remixes of 80s funk and R&B songs, including Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison.” When the spotlights shone out over the crowd, I spotted an eclectic bunch of people, many sporting funky prints, beanies resembling cat ears, and trendy moustaches. It was a decidedly cool and relaxed environment. 

When Thundercat, born Stephen Lee Bruner, came onstage, he was flanked on either side by his drummer, Justin Brown, and keyboardist, Dennis Hamm, on raised platforms. He occupied centerstage with a red, shiny, 

animé-decorated bass guitar almost bigger than his body and an oversized black fur hat. The concert opened with his latest release, “Children of the Baked Potato.” In the first half of his set, each song ended with a jamband-style interlude, during which Thundercat demonstrated his otherworldly bass playing and Brown rocked the drumset. The two complemented one another perfectly, and I heard several people in the audience remark on the talent of the drummer. Brown not only kept up with Thundercat’s bass, but he added another dimension of rhythm and energy to the atmosphere. It was a joy to watch the cohesion between Brown and Bruner’s playing, as the former’s arms moved faster than I thought humanly possible and Thundercat swayed and danced across stage in a charming, easy manner. 

Thundercat had a natural rapport with the audience from the moment the show began. After playing snippets of unreleased songs, he teased the crowd about the state of his new album–whether or not it would be ready for release soon. At one point, he shouted out Mac Miller and D’Angelo, two prominent musicians and friends who passed away tragically in recent years. The set included a cover of a D’Angelo song, “Lady,” as well as Mac Miller’s “What’s the Use?” Before he played “Tron Song,” an ode to his eponymous cat, Thundercat updated the crowd on his two pet felines, detailing a recent FaceTime call with them.  

The second half of the set saw Thundercat place more emphasis on his vocal performance, as opposed to the jamband-style interludes in the first half. In “Lava Lamp,” a somber song reflecting on chasing someone who has passed on, Thundercat’s soulful, expressive falsetto shone. His voice worked in tandem with Hamm’s keyboard playing to evoke a feeling of mourning and quiet longing. Bruner joked with the crowd after that song, wondering aloud what could follow up such a serious performance. The tone quickly shifted when he played the opening chords to “Dragonball Durag,” one of his most popular songs and a crowd favorite. He continued to bring the energy up before “Funny Thing.” The crowd was energized as Thundercat repeatedly asked who was ready to party with him and encouraged people to leave their seats and dance. The song was played at an uptempo pace that coincided with the heightened spirit of the crowd. It was by far the climax of the night, and Bruner and the crowd danced, together, through two play-throughs of “Funny Thing.” During the song, Bruner adjusted the lyrics and sang, “But I just wanna party with D.C.” Afterwards, the encore sent the crowd home on a mellower note, as Thundercat finished up with a subdued, dreamlike performance of “It Is What It Is.” 

The show was a perfect cohesion of tempo, emotion, music, and crowd interaction, which reflects the balance that Thundercat strikes in his playing and production. It felt simultaneously genuine and effortful, and I appreciated the skill, energy, and unabashed sincerity that Thundercat brought to the performance.

Sofia Errichetti

Modest Mouse drew a largely homogenous crowd to The Anthem on October 18th, which I observed as I entered the storied venue. As the opener, Built to Spill, played their set, the spotlights illuminated many thirty-something-year-old men enjoying the band and a $10 beer in reusable cups. Built to Spill’s performance was impassioned and cohesive. The group’s lineup changes every album, save frontman Doug Martsch. Melanie Radford has featured on bass and Teresa Esguerra on drums since 2019, and the two were part of the band for its 2022 release, When the Wind Forgets Your Name. Their playing complemented Martsch’s characteristic vocals–deliberate, high-pitched, and well-suited to the indie rock genre that the group inhabits. The crowd was noticeably invested in and energized by Built to Spill’s performance, and their lengthy set made the concert feel more like a double-header than a traditional opener/main act split. 

The stage setup for Modest Mouse reflected the group’s interest in experimental and production-heavy music as of late–strips of futuristic-looking lighting that mimicked a lava lamp’s movement were the minimal decorations. When the group came onstage, though, there was scarcely enough space for all the musicians. Frontman Isaac Brock was accompanied by an upright bass, a bass guitar, keyboard, two drumsets, and a guitar. The group’s experience playing together was evident in the musical arrangement of the set. Most songs ended multiple minutes after Brock finished singing, and the audience was able to enjoy the unfiltered cohesion of the band playing off of one another. 

The main set consisted of Modest Mouse’s 2000 release, The Moon & Antarctica, played in its entirety and in order. This formative album was not entirely familiar to the majority of the crowd. However, Brock kept the audience engaged with quips in between songs and a jokingly-begun cover of a fake song he referred to as “Peace, Love, and Hippy Shit,” which he remarked was based off of lyrics sung by The Dead Milkmen. The band also demonstrated its sense of humor with a cover of a John Williams arrangement from the movie Jaws.

What the concert lost in audience engagement with the material it gained back in the natural cohesion of the set. The thematic elements of the album shone, especially on little-known songs such as “I Came As a Rat” and “Wild Packs of Family Dogs,” where Brock was able to demonstrate his enviable storytelling abilities. The first and last songs of the main set, “3rd Planet” and “What People Are Made Of,” were two of the most climatic moments, being the

most up-tempo and well-known songs. Brock’s voice on these songs took center-stage, as he used his raw talent to convey the emotional core of the album. 

When Modest Mouse returned for an encore, the crowd was excited to hear some popular releases from other albums. Most notably, the group’s 2004 hit, “Float On,” was energizing and injected some participation from the crowd into the group’s performance on the night. “Fly Trapped In a Jar” was the final song of the night. It was a demonstrative choice: the song is not a hit, but it enabled Modest Mouse to showcase the cohesion, vulnerability, and confessional-style storytelling that’s made the group a force to be reckoned with for over thirty years.

By Abigail Kane

When Arc De Soleil finally took the stage at the 9:30 Club just past 11 p.m., the crowd had already settled into a mellow hum of anticipation. The late hour suited the band’s aura. There was something about the quiet patience of a D.C. audience waiting in dim light, soft chatter over a steady pre-show playlist, that set the mood perfectly for the dreamy, transportive set that would follow.

Sri Lanka–born multi-instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, composer, and producer Daniel Kadawatha created the project Arc De Soleil as a way to connect with his roots, inspired by the sound of his father’s guitar. While based in Sweden, Arc De Soleil draws influence from sounds and artists around the world like Khruangbin, blending laid-back grooves and soulful melodies into a distinctly Thai-funk inspired sound.

Kadawatha emerged with a gentle wave before slipping behind his guitar. Without preamble, he and his band began to weave together a slow, textured groove—one that would define much of the night. The sound was lush and layered: guitar lines glistening with reverb, bass pulsing like a heartbeat, and percussion whispering through shaker hits and rim taps.

The set leaned heavily on Lumin Rain (2025), the new album released earlier this year, which expands Arc De Soleil’s fusion of Thai-funk, jazz, and psychedelic soul. Tracks like “Velvet Mirage” and “Sunchaser” translated beautifully to the live setting. “Velvet Mirage” shimmered with intertwining guitar melodies, while “Sunchaser” built slowly from soft percussion into a hypnotic jam, each repetition deepening the groove. Kadawatha’s vocals were delicate and distant—more texture than lyric. They floated over the rhythm section like mist, reminding the audience that Arc De Soleil’s power lies as much in mood as in melody.

Lighting played an essential role in the performance. Waves of amber, violet, and ocean blue rippled across the stage in sync with the tempo, transforming the venue into a kind of sensory cocoon. During instrumental breaks, the lights dimmed to near darkness, leaving only the glow of the guitar pedals and the occasional strobe catching the movement of the drummer’s sticks. At times, the band seemed almost submerged in light, as if performing underwater.

The musicianship throughout the set was subtle but sharp. Each member of the group seemed to play with perfect restraint, allowing small details to shine through: the crisp snap of a snare rim, the soft bend of a bass note, the cascading echo of a guitar riff. These moments of precision gave the performance a sense of control that kept it from drifting too far into ambience.

The audience, though calm, was deeply engaged. Many swayed with eyes closed, immersed in the rhythm rather than reacting to it. 

By the time the lights rose just before 1 am, the 9:30 Club felt suspended between dream and waking. Arc De Soleil’s performance wasn’t about spectacle or energy—it was about atmosphere, about letting rhythm and tone dissolve the edges of time. For a late-night crowd in D.C., it was exactly the kind of escape we didn’t know we needed.