Words By: Jen Bodine
Photos By: Emma Hintz
We made it there in perfect time.
The three of us agreed to meet for a drink beforehand, at Pelican Pub, a teeny-tiny little bar that I’d never been to, right next to the Jannus gates. It’s so teeny-tiny that I walked past it twice, having to snake my way through the thick line of showgoers, most of whom were clad in Webster’s signature cobalt blue. I eventually found my way, but the detour gave me the opportunity to take a look at the people I’d soon join in becoming a crowd. The overwhelming thought: God, they’re so young. The line itself was wrapped fully around the block, which meant that the people up front had definitely been there all day. Had they been drinking water? Had they eaten? Was I in for one of those tragically increasingly common shows wherein the artist is forced to stop a dozen times to get people water or medical attention? This apprehension carried me into the bar and to a double Jack and Coke.
We met up at the bar (I wasn’t late despite my misdirection), and quickly downed our drinks before scurrying over to be let in through the back gate and blessedly allowed to avoid that monstrous line. We got another drink (Jack and Pepsi, because I suppose Jannus doesn’t have Coke), said our hellos, and settled in the back just as the opener took to the stage. Upchuck is a five-piece from Atlanta, Georgia, formed in 2018, with a sound that is as confident as it is driving. I tend to like to leave openers a mystery, as I think there’s a little magic in not knowing what you’re getting into and potentially leaving with a new fixation, and that’s exactly what happened. They had this huge, exuberant energy and got the sense that they knew exactly who they were and what they wanted to do (and they’re doing it, by the way). I envy those who got to see them as they got started, playing dive bars and houses, but I will now be following their career with great interest.
Once they’d completed their set, the loose crowd tightened, as it usually does once openers finish and main acts are set to come on. The crowd wasn’t merciless, though, and I was able to make my way to the middle without any fuss. The sun had finally set and we were all waiting, breath bated.
When Faye finally came out, it was to a sea of phones, poised to record the perfect snippet for their story. That’s a phenomenon that is both very human and dystopian; we want to remember but aren’t making the memory firsthand. That thought came and went as soon as she began, kicking off with “But Not Kiss”, the first single from her latest record, Underdressed at the Symphony, which was released on March 1st via Secretly Canadian. “But Not Kiss” is a perfect encapsulation of what I think makes Webster so compelling: her ability to convey so much so simply. Her sonic influences and production span broadly, but her lyricism is always earnest and exacting while remaining matter-of-fact. The crooned verses, followed by an explosion of instrumentation, and the punctuative “yeah, yeah”s, almost seeming punched out, made for a stirring and entrancing opening. By the end of this first song, the phones were down, and the crowd was transfixed.
This show was technically the first of the tour, but not really. On the 24th, Webster performed for free for FSU students in Tallahassee at a venue called The Moon, playing the same setlist in what must have been a warm-up. Despite this, Webster and her band felt like a well-oiled machine, like they'd been playing this new material live for months instead of the second time. Perhaps that’s to be expected, they’re professionals after all, but I remember thinking about how smoothly it all went. A side note about me is that I go insane for the steel guitar. Even seeing the instrument set up on stage brings out some latent, ancestral Appalachian madness, a stirring in the chest. I think it’s the finest instrument, capable of creating the finest sounds. I was expecting the steel guitar, of course. I’m familiar with Webster’s game. I didn’t expect the saxophone, though, which is, to me, the queen to the steel’s king. It was a huge win for me to see them utilized, and I can always use a win. Webster didn’t stop to talk to the crowd, and no hellos or thank yous or introductions were offered, which some people I’ve discussed it with liked and some people I’ve discussed it with did not. I can see it both ways. The connection between artist and audience is a beautiful, palpable thing, and the back and forth can enhance an experience, but too much pandering can be disingenuous. I take Webster’s lack of dialogue as her choice to remain focused on her work, to let it speak for itself. Nothing wrong with it at all. It’s just interesting to me. I think it added a little mystique, and that it gave her straightforward, earnest, and already heart-wrenching lyrics an even greater opportunity to shoot to kill.
Interestingly, most of the set was not pulled from her newest album, which made up just four songs of the fourteen on the setlist. One notable absence from the setlist was “Lego Ring”, the third and final single from Underdressed at the Symphony, which is a collaboration with Webster’s long-lost-and found again childhood friend Lil Yachty. My theory is that this song will make its live debut when the artists are in the same place and time, likely in their shared hometown of Atlanta. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that it was missing, but it did. Another notable omission was “I Know You”, which is one of Webster’s highest-performing songs on streaming and likely the one you’d recognize if you’d never chosen to listen to her discography, having been widely utilized across TikTok. Such a guaranteed crowd-pleaser seems like a natural addition to the setlist, but maybe that’s why she held it back. I’m sure it’s strange to hear one song receive an intense, screaming reaction, while the rest may not. I think that’s why she saved her highest performing track “Kingston”, which was my introduction to her work, to serve as the encore. The reaction was huge, phones back in the air, folks singing their little blue hearts out. At one moment, Webster sang the first part of a line - “He said, baby-”, before leaning away from the microphone to let the crowd exclaim: “-that’s what he called me!” before continuing, which I found very charming.
It’s easy and often understandable to be annoyed by a song performing well on social media, for an artist’s work to be known to people who don’t know or care about the artist at all. We all have someone we wish never got famous. But, in that little moment, I felt sort of fond of the people in the crowd enjoying that song. I think that’s owed to the good etiquette otherwise displayed by the crowd that night, with only one halt in performance by the band to check on someone, which is a marvel for an all-ages GA show in this day and age. I’d love to know how artists with a heavy TikTok-based following feel about it. I bet it’s bittersweet. Or maybe it’s just sweet, once they cash their checks.
All of that to say, I’m very glad to have had the opportunity to see Faye Webster in this space and time, especially in support of this particular album. I’m always a little apprehensive of all-ages GA shows, especially when the artist has been well-loved on TikTok the way Webster has, but there was some kind of alchemy that night that made everyone act right and my fears of mass dehydration and crowd crush were luckily unfounded. From where I stood, the show was note-perfect, and elevated its source material in the way live performance does; with some strange effect that can neither be replicated nor artfully explained outside of that context. Webster will be on tour through October, and I implore you to take the opportunity to see her if it presents itself.
Keep Up With Faye Webster Here.
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