An Emotional Affair: Phoebe Bridgers at the Leader Bank Pavilion
By Sarah Fournell
Phoebe Bridgers’ presence was announced in Boston with the sound of the laces of every Doc Marten in Boston tapping eagerly against the streets of Seaport. The salty air buzzed with excitement as many of us took in the long awaited reunion to the shared experience of live music. The block-long line of local sad girls and hip millennial dads with moustaches fervently flooded the sidewalks along the glistening harborfront, eager to get inside the Leader Bank Pavilion.
What felt like the majority of the venue was haunting the merch line as MUNA first illuminated the setting night sky. As they dazzled the Pavilion with electric pop hits, groups of friends and lovers jumped up and down with interlaced hands, celebrating the blithe liberation that can only be fulfilled by the physicality of live music. With a flash of Bridgers in a performance of “Silk Chiffon,” her song with MUNA, the inhabitants of the Pavilion were reinvigorated. Even the 500 person long merch line was teeming with exhilaration. The entire auditorium was holding their breath waiting for the start of Bridger’s set.
Bridgers teased her entrance with a TV glitch graphic, followed by the opening notes of “I Gotta Feelin” by the Black Eyed Peas. The band cooly sauntered on stage in skeleton suits, followed by Bridgers in a sequined ribcage tank top underneath a dark blazer. The opening reverb of Motion Sickness completely entranced the audience, as Bridgers pulled the crowd instantly into her clutches. From that moment on, every word of hers — to quote Moon Song — held us like “water in [her] hands.” After “Motion Sickness” Bridgers essentially played Punisher in full, only deviating to play “Scott Street” off of Stranger in the Alps, and “Me & My Dog,” a song from her Boygenius collaboration with Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker.
The visual graphics behind her perfectly supplemented the existential dreamlike nature of each song. The images portrayed the haunting comfort of shared experiences in the form of pop-up storybooks. They were not just pages turned, but an entirely new book for each track, each song having its own individual life. Key lyrics from each song manifested in fairytale style illustrations, such as whimsical gardens, white picket fences, and haunted houses.
The overall heaviness of each track was juxtaposed with cheeky Shawn White anecdotes and fan-band banter that was sprinkled throughout the pauses between each encapsulating performance. Each song put her insane lyricism and performance capabilities on a pedestal, which she attempted to downplay through unceremonious interjections. It was almost as if, like the audience, she couldn’t believe the moment was real. She spoke to the crowd as if it was full of her dearest friends, like it was all part of an inside joke.
The crowd clung on to every vocal inflection, reminding us that we were there, in person, hearing Bridgers breathe new life and meaning into the songs we had already heard so many times before but never got tired of.
In the back right section of the venue, a teenage fan sobbed throughout each song, experiencing every channel of emotion: happy tears during “Kyoto” and the feeling of complete and utter acceptance during “Halloween.” A husband wiped away the tears of his very wine drunk wife as she screamed the words to “Chinese Satellite.” A lovely pink and white haired couple got engaged during “Graceland Too.” I looked into my partner’s eyes during “ICU” and felt like I had never seen them that bright before. For each of us, there was a song that Bridgers performed for us and us only.
But the heart of the crowd beat hardest during “I Know The End.” The audience lost themselves in the crescendo of existential dread, and released the weight of their fears with a two minute long scream guided by a tantalizing trumpet lead. The closing song was a cathartic return to our animalistic nature, for just a second, before the band exited the stage and a buzzing murmur rang in our ears.
A solo Bridgers returned for an encore with a cover of Bo Burnham’s “That Funny Feeling,” a song Bridgers previously stated that she “wished she wrote herself.” It served as both an ode to Burnham’s lyricism and as an acknowledgement of the common threat of our current reality. Bridgers made it feel like a soft kiss goodnight, and less of a reminder of our dread.
What was so riveting about Bridgers’ performance was that each audience member seemed to experience a song that made them feel seen. Acceptance is what rang throughout the thousands of voices singing every word, like each concertgoer was happy for each audience member for getting to experience this joy. The crowd, for the duration of the show and on the streets after became a community for that shared moment in time.