Dancing through Disillusionment: Sarah and the Sundays at The Roxy 4/24

Image description: Lead singer/lyricist Liam Yorgensen strums a guitar while singing into the microphone. 

The mood inside The Roxy was relaxed on a Thursday evening, but expectant. A single disco ball cast red flecks of light onto the concertgoers below, who took their time to trickle in for the late show. Framed by a photobooth in the corner and snapshots of iconic past shows (featuring artists such as John Lennon and Bob Marley, to name a few), casual conversations in the pit were punctuated by muffled sounds of the Sunset Strip that lurked just outside. As the pre-show buzz began to creep across the room, one thing became abundantly clear: everyone was in LA, and LA was ready for a rock concert. 

Image description: Buppy. claps his hands while singing to the crowd.

The first opener of the night featured Buppy., a high-energy artist from Utah who blended teenage nostalgia with alternative rock and pop. Throwing out accessible lyrics about growing up and introducing early crowd engagement, Buppy. wasted no time pulling the crowd into his dynamic performance. By the end of the set almost everyone was singing along to songs they had never heard before, but had struck a chord that was nonetheless familiar.

Image description: Beeson looks down at her guitar while singing into the microphone.

Following Buppy. was Beeson, whose stripped-back set built an additional layer of intimacy to the small venue. Speaking on home, love, and new beginnings, the flow of casual monologues into dizzying vocal runs made Beeson’s set feel like a relaxed catch-up between friends, rather than a first-time interaction with strangers. Whether she was speaking over her guitar-tuning or pouring out acoustic ballads, there was never a pause in Beeson’s endearing conversation with her attentive audience.

Image description: Sarah and the Sundays plays onstage, illuminated by smoke and purple lighting.

Of course, the combined energy of a charged rock set and a powerful singer-songwriter performance made for the perfect lead-up to the headliner of the night. Originally from Austin, Texas, Sarah and the Sundays treated their California audience to a magnificent night of dancing, moshing, and slow swaying. Blending their characteristic surf-rock and indie sound, the five-person alternative rock band brought their already electric songs to life on the big stage. Lead vocalist and songwriter Liam Yorgensen tactfully balanced soft banter with fraying vocals, drifting between hushed, droning croons and clear, striking belts. Sometimes gazing beyond the audience, and at other times throwing himself straight into the pit (armed only with a microphone and a tambourine), Yorgensen expertly weaved somber reflection with startling stage presence in both his performance and his lyricism. 

The rawness of the vocals was only heightened by the tight performance of the other band members. Bassist Declan Chill lived up to his name by maintaining a deceptively comfortable presence onstage, while consistently delivering tricky bass lines to accompany sprawling guitar riffs from both Brendan Whyburn and Miles Reynolds. Drummer Quinn Lane delivered nimble rhythms that dragged the audience into measured verses and giddy choruses alike, and Reynolds doubled as a keyboardist by complimenting pieces such as “I’m So Bored” with refreshingly upbeat synth melodies. 

Image description: Guitarist Brendan Whyburn plays onstage, framed by fans from the crowd.

“Moving On” was a particular standout of the night, which opened with acoustic guitar and a fresh clapping arrangement that was immediately taken up by the rest of the theater. As is characteristic to many of their songs, their rapid acoustic guitar quickly fell into a psychedelic medley that sent the crowd spinning into a fun number about spiraling regrets, chanting: “I guess I’d rather stay/Moving on from better days/I miss my better ways/Wish I never saw your face/But that’s okay.”

With slower songs like “Ruby Fields,” Sarah and the Sundays also touched on the shared grief that younger generations feel for futures they have yet to experience, and often struggle to imagine. Alluding to themes such as death, but also creating an interesting metaphor for the losses that come with adulthood, tracks like “Ruby Fields,” “Veneer,” and their newer single “Skin and Bone” that flawlessly execute one of the things that this band does best: youthful energy infused with a certain jaded weariness, representative of the bittersweet nature of coming of age in the 21st century. 

Image description: Drummer Quinn Lane looks up at Whyburn as he walks across stage.

Yorgensen and the rest of the band spoke to this collective experience of despair by frequently grounding their songs in the emotional and political contexts in which they were formed. From sharing personal stories of loss to condemning the actions of the current presidential administration, as well as taping a Palestinian flag to the body of an electric guitar, Sarah and the Sundays made sentimentality political, and used their platform to position music and artistry as both resistance and critique. Beneath drifting blue stage lights and a hazy layer of smoke, both band and crowd swayed together: “We sing and dance through all the fear/We have all but what we need/Indeed.” They asserted that there is community in grief, and that there is catharsis in community. And as concertgoers floated out of the theater in spite of all the heaviness, Sarah and the Sundays left them with another important reminder: there is healing in solidarity, and in rock there is release.

Image description: A single disco ball spins under red lighting.