When The Ark’s Night Manager Peggy Geeseman asks “Who’s here for the first time tonight?” on Wednesday, dozens of hands shoot up. The crowd, mainly younger women in their teens and twenties, waits with anticipation for headliner Eliza McLamb, who is on tour promoting her sophomore album Good Story.
McLamb first made waves as a co-host on Binchtopia (https://www.iheart.com/podcast/867-binchtopia-85475867/about), a podcast analyzing pop culture through sociopsychology that took off during the COVID-19 pandemic. Since then, McLamb has amassed more than 300,000 followers on TikTok (https://www.tiktok.com/@elizamclamb) posting her original songs. Last year, McLamb decided (https://www.thelineofbestfit.com/features/interviews/eliza-mclamb-art-of-getting-free) to step away from podcasting to pursue music full-time.
Before McLamb graces the stage, Oldstar, an alt-country rock band from Florida, make their Ann Arbor debut. The lead singer, Zane McLaughlin ((https://staticmag.org/shannon/oldstar-interview/), wins the crowd over easily with playful anecdotes about the members buying shrooms—“which are legal here,” he gushes—and catsitting for McLamb before the tour. It feels right that the only physical media the band has for sale are cassette tapes.
It’s also no wonder the act finds immediate fans. Although Oldstar hails from the South, their ballads, several about relationships that end before they begin and cross-country road trips, are in kinship with Midwest emo. The band’s set-up balances the sweet nostalgia of folk instruments, like the harpsichord, violin, and harmonica, with the gritty standard rock staples, electric guitars and a five-piece drum set. The members are almost disturbed by the audience’s rapt, respectful attention. “Never played a show where the intention was to listen,” McLaughlin quips.
McLamb floats onstage, wearing a white summer dress with her hair newly-dyed black, promptly at 9 p.m. Her band wastes no time launching into “Better Song,” the bass-driven first track off her latest release about the unraveling of a relationship. She sings in a delicate soprano, looking into the distance with some solemnity.
The next song, a power-pop anthem to self-pity called “Suffering,” is a completely different story. McLamb is wry and brazen as she embodies a hyper-critical inner voice. With a dramatic eye roll, she belts the tongue-in-cheek chorus, “I get off on suffering, it’s my favorite thing / If I’m without it, I can’t figure out the point of anything.” The change in energy is electric and catches on.
With the first notes of “Modern Woman,” a mid-tempo send-up of the feminine ideal, two fans rush toward the stage. They scream and jump, gripping each other at the elbows. McLamb smiles, surprised at their enthusiasm, but it’s clear that many more have been waiting for this moment. When McLamb leads with “Sad girl sings a simple song,” the audience dutifully wails the next line, “And all the others sing alone.” From then on, the pit is a dancefloor, standing room only.
In some ways, McLamb calls to mind an early Avril Lavigne. Like Lavigne, McLamb enthralls an audience of mostly young women with catchy hooks, dry humor, and relatable angst. The two reach the mainstream yet proudly represent misfits in a comforting sweet-spot, perhaps confirming that, yes, feeling misunderstood is pretty universal. But where Lavigne swings pop, McLamb leans folk rock. The chorus of “Water Inside the Fence” crescendoes into a haze of electric guitars, and the coda of “Mausoleum” diffuses dissonant keys and drums behind the insistent chant “It’s the only thing I have.”
Throughout the set, McLamb’s bravado falls away as easily as it materializes. In quieter moments, like the twinkly acoustic number “Talisman,” she sings and sways, hands behind her back. Between songs, she crouches to take sips from her Stanley cup and thanks the audience for coming. That modesty doesn’t stop her from cracking the occasional joke. But when the music swells, she looks relieved, her sense of purpose renewed. All the while, the touring band supports her with confident ease, even through song transitions that require significant guitar-hopping and a mid-show mic cable replacement.
Naturally, the show culminates with the fan favorite “Mythologize Me,” a vulnerable ode to seeking male attention for self-validation. The crowd is at their loudest then, the exchanged lyrics like back-and-forth confessions. “Oh, what a relief from feeling!” the girls in the front row sing, moved near to tears. If this concert does one thing, it proves McLamb has avid fans in the Midwest, ones desperate for the opportunity to experience this kind of catharsis again.