Hometown Heroes

Lucy Dacus, Julien Baker, and a healthy dose of Richmond pride

Friday night, September 10th, was one of the best concert experiences of my life. After having set up shop outside the National at around 6:15 (doors opened at 7:00), paid $11 for a cup of Budweiser that (upon tasting) was definitely Bud Light, and excuse-me’d my way to the front, I was ready for something loud. I was in attendance with my girlfriend Lauren and several of her friends, though as the venue began to fill I saw a few familiar faces floating among the sea of masked-up glasses and shaggy hair.

First on the bill was Thao and the Get Down Stay Down. Fronted by Thao Nguyen, a Northern Virginia native and William & Mary alum (go Tribe), the five-or-so song set was bursting with energy from start to finish. I have never seen anybody play the mandolin with such intensity, and I’ve seen the Punch Brothers twice.

Next was Richmond’s own beloved Lucy Dacus. This was the first night of her tour in support of her newest album, Home Video, and while Dacus was clearly a bit nervous, there was a palpable sense of joy permeating her performance. Even more tangible was the intense pride that radiated from every corner of the audience. Richmonders feel about Lucy Dacus the way New Jerseyans feel about Springsteen and Wisconsinites feel about cheese.

About 3 minutes into the first song, an audience member near me fainted out of (presumably) sheer excitement. She was out for a good 90 seconds, and after we had formed a protective circle around her and called for help, she popped back up as if nothing had happened, gave the National staff a thumbs up, and kept dancing. Such is the power of Lucy Dacus

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At one point, before launching into the song “VBS,” Dacus inquired if anybody in attendance had actually gone to Vacation Bible School with her. At least four hands shot up. Dacus squinted into the audience and smiled. “Oh! Hey, y’all.”

The set’s two highest highlights arrived in the final two songs, however. First, for her performance of “My Mother and I,” Dacus was joined onstage by her real-life mom. Dacus also mentioned that her grandmother was in attendance, at which point the lights panned to the balcony and a very kind looking old woman waved to us (the entire audience waved back). The elder (not eldest) Mrs. Dacus, as it turns out, can harmonize beautifully. I have been told I will never fully understand “My Mother and I” for the same reason I will never fully understand Ladybird - I have never been a teenage girl reckoning with her relationship with her mother. This is fair, but I was choked up enough at the end of the song that I can only imagine the emotional ruin levied on all current and former teenage girls in attendance.

The other most memorable moment came during the climactic high notes at the emotional crescendo of “Night Shift.” Just as the music swelled and the energy reached its peak, Dacus must have missed a note. I wouldn’t have noticed had she not immediately started cracking up. This was somehow better than if she had just hit the note. There was such a tangible sense of post-lockdown joy at simply being able to do this again, and at that moment it seemed nobody was feeling it more intensely than Dacus herself.

I was full-on chest-against-the-barricade front row for Julien Baker’s set. I would consider myself something of a JB superfan, and I was ecstatic to find myself roughly five feet (or 1 Julien Baker) away from the stage. Backed by a full band, and clad in custom coveralls, Baker played louder and rocked harder than I think anybody really could have anticipated. I was beside myself.

At one point I nearly yelled “Germantown!” (Baker & my shared birthplace - a suburb of Memphis), but I balked last minute. Maybe I sensed that this was a special moment for everyone and I didn’t want to disturb the spell that Baker had so carefully cast. Maybe I just chickened out. I’ll let you decide.

At one point between songs, however, another audience member called out that it was her birthday. Baker abruptly stopped fiddling with her pedalboard and stood up. “It’s your birthday? Happy birthday! Can we sing to you? Or would that embarrass you?”

The response was at once sheepish and incredulous. “I mean yeah… but I’d love it…”

Julien played a C chord and hummed a note. “Y’all got that? Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappy…”

The show was magical, there’s little else to be said about it. Nearly four hours of unadulterated joy, not to mention a sort of communal catharsis. We hadn’t been able to do this for a long time. It felt good to be back.

After the encore, Baker’s drummer hucked his sticks into my section of the audience. I was the only tall dude in a patch of mostly shorter folks and I decided not to be that guy by either a) laying out for the catch and hip-checking whoever happened to be in my way, or b) completely embarrassing myself with a fumble and stumbling around like a lanky wrecking ball. The girl behind me caught it. I only regret my restraint most of the time.

1. A few songs later, a National staff member waded through the crowd, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked if I was alright. I am still pretty baffled by this, but I think I’ve come to a conclusion: my dancing (which consists mostly of rhythmic, violent head bobbing) was concerning enough that venue staff thought I was having some sort of episode.