“Maybe I should start a mosh pit,” I said to my friend Noah as we arrived at the Dolby Theatre. It didn’t take long to realize that would’ve been wildly inappropriate.
Sara Bareilles opened with “Home,” emerging from behind draped white fabric to sing, “I am one day older than my father was than he ever got to be.” Against geometric lighting and a stage dotted with lamps, it was a striking opening for a show built around Good Grief, an album that explores loss and the complicated emotions that come with it.
Before “Hands Off My Body,” Bareilles asked the audience who had a vagina, then who didn’t but respected those who did. The question got a laugh before she turned to bodily autonomy and her own experiences with IVF and the grief surrounding them. She encouraged the women in the audience to make room for their anger at the state of the world. I appreciated that she used the stage to speak openly about something that matters to her, rather than keeping the conversation safely within the boundaries of her music.
The performance itself had plenty to offer beyond the conversation. The bassist moved between upright and electric bass, joined by guitars, drums, percussion and vocalists. “Still Crying” was one of my favorite songs of the night. Its bluesy arrangement gave Bareilles room to stretch her voice, building to a soaring high note that stayed with me.
Bareilles also made time for her fans. She recognized an 11-year-old from the VIP experience and told the audience she was a songwriter to watch. Later, another fan held up a large sign asking if she could sing “Machine Gun” with Bareilles. The singer admitted she rarely performed the song anymore because it was so difficult, but invited the fan onstage anyway. They sang a cappella into one microphone while the band stopped to watch and applaud.
During “Idiot Heart,” Bareilles instructed the audience through the wave, and the crowd happily went along with it. It was a funny sight in a theatre full of people who had spent much of the evening sitting quietly and listening.
Recorded voice messages from fans sharing their experiences of loss played throughout the show. One of the last featured a man talking about losing his wife to ovarian cancer. As his message played, the older couple sitting in front of me held hands and burst into tears.
After the songs from Good Grief, Bareilles moved into “King of Anything,” “Gravity” and “Brave.” The audience sang along in unison, filling the theatre with voices. After an evening spent with the heavier material on her new album, hearing so many people singing those familiar songs together brought a nostalgic feeling of hope back into the room.
As Noah and I left the theatre, we talked about how many different emotions the show had made us feel, and how much courage it takes to put that kind of vulnerability into your music. I had arrived joking about starting a mosh pit. Instead, I left thinking about the stories people carry with them, and how a song can give those stories somewhere to live, even when people are gone. No mosh pit necessary.
