Category: Reviews

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.