{"id":6411,"date":"2019-12-09T22:58:19","date_gmt":"2019-12-10T03:58:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.bu.edu\/wtbu\/?p=6411"},"modified":"2019-12-17T20:05:30","modified_gmt":"2019-12-18T01:05:30","slug":"review-lucy-dacus-the-royale-12-4","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sites.bu.edu\/wtbu\/2019\/12\/09\/review-lucy-dacus-the-royale-12-4\/","title":{"rendered":"REVIEW: Lucy Dacus @ The Royale 12\/4"},"content":{"rendered":"

By Hannah Shearer<\/em><\/p>\n

Being in the back of a venue, rather than front and center, would usually be a bummer; as someone who loves music, but has very little attention span, I usually feel like I have to be as close as possible \u2014 I want to <\/span>see<\/span><\/i> the words leave the artist\u2019s mouth, I want to see every detail of the stage to commit it to memory. But seeing Lucy Dacus at The Royale, a venue that, in a way, is prone to getting distracted, I have never been more tuned in.<\/span><\/p>\n

From my spot off to the side, I\u2019m reminded that <\/span>sometimes<\/span><\/i> one of the best representations of an artist is the crowd they play to \u2014 even in the boisterous venue the crowd, the bartenders, and even the cars outside seemed to fall silent as the humanoid sign on stage lit up, and Dacus began to play.<\/span><\/p>\n

Dacus\u2019 warm vocals and earnest lyrics draw out the most personal scenes: a woman holding up her phone, pointing at the stage so her partner, who she\u2019s facetiming, could see the show. Couples whispering to each other and moving closer as they hear the first chord of a song they consider their own. Groups of friends jumping up and down as a generally somber song picks up, laughing and belting out the words.<\/span><\/p>\n

The only word I can think of when trying to describe Dacus\u2019 stage presence is <\/span>grounded<\/span><\/i> \u2014\u00a0everything about her feels rooted in itself, so earnest and open and at peace (which could maybe come from me loving the line, \u201cI am at peace with my death, I can go back to bad,\u201d from \u201cNext of Kin,\u201d but it still holds true!). There\u2019s nothing put on about her performance, nothing even remotely forced. It feels like walking into a warm house, coming in from a blizzard to sink into a couch surrounded by everyone you love, creating such a strong feeling of home and comfort and nostalgia that it\u2019s hard to even put into words.<\/span><\/p>\n

And Dacus, when she does chat with the audience, does so like she\u2019s talking to an old friend. Every break she\u2019s beam and thank the crowd, and always invited them to sing. And like an old friend, everything is on the table, especially politics. As an introduction to \u201cYours & Mine,\u201d a song born out of being ashamed of the racism and violence happening in the United States and want to stand up and fight, Dacus declares her own feelings to subsequent roaring applause:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI hope that Trump gets impeached. That just feels like something you should say when you get in front of a crowd,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

She makes it clear that her soft voice and somber songs don\u2019t act as replacements for passion and power as she moves seamlessly between gentle crooning songs like \u201cFool\u2019s Gold\u201d off her latest EP and sharp, biting songs, such as \u201cTimefighter,\u201d a guitar-heavy, bluesy songs about the harsh reality that we are not invincible, and we are not timeless.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Her final songs, \u201cI Don\u2019t Wanna Be Funny Anymore\u201d and \u201cNight Shift,\u201d were loudly sung back to her in a rousing chorus, with the latter peaking in the final verse as the song, which builds and builds and builds, explodes in a release of guitars and drums and vocals and pure passion. Over the hour-long set, which really only felt like 15 minutes, it felt like everyone in the room was a united force, all brought together by Lucy Dacus.<\/span><\/p>\n