RAYE is the exact voice you’d want to represent single women. She’s lived through it all before: sleepless nights, painful yearning, years spent getting over an ex, who could be reduced to a few body parts: just skin and bones and two eyes and no brain. But the South Londoner Rachel Keen, a.k.a RAYE, isn’t writing off dating despite the ailments of the single scene; she’s turning it into a grand, dramatic, symphonic narrative — packaged grandiosely in her sophomore album, This Music May Contain Hope.
Closing out her tour of the same name, RAYE radiated at Los Angeles’ The Greek Theatre in an unsurprisingly sold-out first-night appearance. Preceded by opening acts from her sisters, Amma and Absolutely, the family affair was a lively lesson in 21st-century womanhood. No holds barred, the haute hitmaker waltzed onto the stage in a long trench coat and an umbrella — standing under a cardboard rain cloud — establishing the scene around the album’s opener, “Intro: Girl Under the Grey Cloud,” as a dreary London day, but only briefly.
We’re then transported back to a 60s-style soundstage, RAYE’s pin-up style on pointe, where the soulful singer stood before us in a red satin dress and signature bob, sided by two back-up singers in the same garb. The drum sequence welcomed in the next song, her hit single, “WHERE IS MY HUSBAND,” the ol’ razzle-dazzle to match. No one could stay seated—especially when the old Hollywood-style background lit up with bold lettering, reading “Beware…The South London Lover Boy.”
“Girls, stay safe out there/ Best you stay prepared/He’s a South London lover boy,” she forewarns — backed by the energy of the big band. Silencing the crowd was her prolonged, quizzical stare over the lyrics, “He’s not looking for a heart, just your pillow to rest his head.” Perhaps we all stood in solidarity, having found ourselves in similar situations far more times than we care to admit.
From the start, RAYE set the record straight that she does not recommend reading reviews online — vocalizing that she talks too much during her shows. She was right. After hearing her third or fourth fourth-wall-breaking narratives that carried the show forward in story format, one could argue she didn’t talk quite enough.
That said, the performance was laid out in three parts, beginning with Raye’s Jazz Cabaret. “Cue the door!” she hollers to the stagehands. We are then entered as an audience into an intimate England club, where RAYE brings the story to life. “She goes to the band and asks if she can sing a song,” she cues in third person. “I’m going to describe her love life in a few brief words: dried up rivers,” a laugh rippled through the theater. The band picks up the pace as she takes a seat, breaking into song with the smooth, jazzy neo-soul single “Worth It,” brass, percussion, keys, and strings swaying alongside her.
If there’s one thing about RAYE, she’ll keep spirits high with zany asides and theatrical expressions, but she isn’t without her serious moments. In the next section, she gently wound down the audience — even dismissing weary souls to the bar for a drink—while she took a seat at the piano for “Ice Cream Man.” An incredibly raw, years-long look into the inconceivable grief caused by sexual assault and harassment, all sat in silence as the song brought her to tears.
The production was an act that came in many waves, and this part was prolonged in the heavier topics of the album, including heartbreak. RAYE stood solely as she belted the lyrics to “Nightingale Lane,” an ode to her past lover, where she reminisces on kissing beer-stained lips in South London and reflects on the pub, where it all started — and ended. “A bit unoriginal, don’t you think?” she scoffs.
As a prelude to the melodramatic number, she first stepped onto her soapbox: “I’m going to say maybe 25 percent of us are not looking for love — do you think that’s a fair estimate?” she asked. “So, for the 40 percent of us really excited for someone to walk into our lives and choose us, the lyrics of this song are ‘somebody loved me once, and some day someone will love me again,’” reframing the song as less of a lament and more of a reminder that love isn’t lost. “I’m going to tell that to someone who needs to hear it,” she emphasized. Most of us stayed seated as we came to our own realizations that maybe she was talking to us.
But the vivacious vocalist didn’t leave us in our feels for long. It was only a matter of an outfit change that crescendoed the set into the orchestral section, beginning with the high-streaming “Click Clack Symphony.” While the song features Hans Zimmer, RAYE shook her head, signaling he would not be making an appearance, and he really didn’t need to. Her lyrical stamina and impressive range could carry the entire five-minute ballad, instruments not necessary—but certainly not forgotten. In fact, after each song, Keen made sure to list the names of each musician, never missing an opportunity to praise the people who really do make the art a reality.
The night, like a movie, continued its ascent, ushering us into the final section: the nightclub. The set shifted into shades of neon, laser lights setting the scene, almost as if we were joining RAYE on one of her iconic nights out in South London. Harking back to the hits that skyrocketed her initially, she spent just mere moments singing breathy lyrics of “Prada” and “Escapism,” with the crowd echoing back, “Just a heartbroken bitch, high heels, six inch/In the back of the nightclub, sippin’ Champagne.”
The night built to an epic climax. “I’m not a very good liar, so I’m telling you there will be an encore,” she said, lingering in anticipation for the curtains to close. And guess what? There was an encore — a very fitting one at that, with “Joy,” a dance-y, gospel-inspired number, which both of her sisters joined her on stage for. Tying the album’s themes of hope, relentless reassurance, and finding love with a bow, the trifecta sang for everyone in the audience: the 40-percenters in search of the perfect person, those happily partnered up, and even the people who find content in solitude — yes, you, the lucky 25%.
On that note, we’re not good liars either, so you can trust us when we say RAYE is a radiant force to be reckoned with. This Album May Contain Hope is not only a dazzling record from start to finish, but also translates excellently into an on-stage production with all the bells and whistles—big band, bouncy curls, bare souls, and a bit of joy we could all use against our woes, because according to RAYE, there will, in fact, be happier times ahead.
