w/ Hello Mary
Powered by brilliant, crystalline melodies, Sabrina Teitelbaum’s eloquent writing takes root in the concrete: every line is literal, a keyhole to a bigger truth. “I think my kink is when you tell me that you think I’m pretty,” she sings on “Kiss City,” a witty expression of learning to state desire; “I think you watched way too much HBO growing up,” goes “Joiner,” a blunt address of formative damage. Blondshell is about learning and unlearning, about untangling the ways we’re taught to accept bad behavior, about peeling the layers back. These intelligent songs often contain the epiphanies of therapy sessions more than pop sessions, even when the hooks are simply a blast. “The lyrics are really vulnerable and they were scary to say,” she says. “I feel like the shredding guitars are a protective shell.”
When Teitelbaum sings “Logan’s a dick/I’m learning that’s hot” on the explosive opener “Veronica Mars,” there’s a subtly-stated depiction of how the media conditions us as kids. Later, in the gigantic chorus of “Sepsis”—“It should take a whole lot less to turn me off”—she offers a concise, mic-dropping summary of how those ingrained standards play out later in life, as the song chronicles the process of learning self-respect in the face of toxic behavior. (“It was about how it shouldn’t take as much gross behavior for me to be turned off,” Teitelbaum elaborates. “After one or two negative experiences with someone, I should be like, ‘OK, going to move on now, that’s too fucked up and disrespectful.’”) And when “Olympus” arrives at its refrain, “I want to save myself/You’re part of my addiction,” Teitelbaum vividly captures how addictions can be transferred from substances to people.
For all its complicated, soul-baring subject matter—processing post-lockdown social anxiety, her relationships with men as well as with women—Blondshell is a comfort, and its songs often contain the perfectly-calibrated humor and levity we need to survive. “There were a lot of things that I was running away from—mainly loneliness, self-esteem stuff,” Teitelbaum says.
It all left her yearning to make the kind of music that has helped her feel empowered herself—and the way there was in telling the truth. “I always want to make people feel like they have more power and control and peace because I know what it feels like to want that for myself. I know how music has helped me get there,” she says. “What I’ve realized I need to do is write realistically, and try to not bring shame into the writing. Each song gave me more confidence. I hope the songs help people in that way, too.”
Please note, when selecting the Print at Home or Mobile Delivery method, you will not have access to view your tickets until 14 days prior to the performance
ALL SALES ARE FINAL. PLEASE, DOUBLE CHECK YOUR ORDER BEFORE PURCHASING. NO REFUNDS.
MOSTLY STANDING / LIMITED SEATING
ALL AGES
VALID US OR CANADA ID REQUIRED FOR BAR. GUESTS TRAVELING FROM OUTSIDE US/CA MUST PRESENT A VALID PASSPORT.
Powered by brilliant, crystalline melodies, Sabrina Teitelbaum’s eloquent writing takes root in the concrete: every line is literal, a keyhole to a bigger truth. “I think my kink is when you tell me that you think I’m pretty,” she sings on “Kiss City,” a witty expression of learning to state desire; “I think you watched way too much HBO growing up,” goes “Joiner,” a blunt address of formative damage. Blondshell is about learning and unlearning, about untangling the ways we’re taught to accept bad behavior, about peeling the layers back. These intelligent songs often contain the epiphanies of therapy sessions more than pop sessions, even when the hooks are simply a blast. “The lyrics are really vulnerable and they were scary to say,” she says. “I feel like the shredding guitars are a protective shell.”
When Teitelbaum sings “Logan’s a dick/I’m learning that’s hot” on the explosive opener “Veronica Mars,” there’s a subtly-stated depiction of how the media conditions us as kids. Later, in the gigantic chorus of “Sepsis”—“It should take a whole lot less to turn me off”—she offers a concise, mic-dropping summary of how those ingrained standards play out later in life, as the song chronicles the process of learning self-respect in the face of toxic behavior. (“It was about how it shouldn’t take as much gross behavior for me to be turned off,” Teitelbaum elaborates. “After one or two negative experiences with someone, I should be like, ‘OK, going to move on now, that’s too fucked up and disrespectful.’”) And when “Olympus” arrives at its refrain, “I want to save myself/You’re part of my addiction,” Teitelbaum vividly captures how addictions can be transferred from substances to people.
For all its complicated, soul-baring subject matter—processing post-lockdown social anxiety, her relationships with men as well as with women—Blondshell is a comfort, and its songs often contain the perfectly-calibrated humor and levity we need to survive. “There were a lot of things that I was running away from—mainly loneliness, self-esteem stuff,” Teitelbaum says.
It all left her yearning to make the kind of music that has helped her feel empowered herself—and the way there was in telling the truth. “I always want to make people feel like they have more power and control and peace because I know what it feels like to want that for myself. I know how music has helped me get there,” she says. “What I’ve realized I need to do is write realistically, and try to not bring shame into the writing. Each song gave me more confidence. I hope the songs help people in that way, too.”
Please note, when selecting the Print at Home or Mobile Delivery method, you will not have access to view your tickets until 14 days prior to the performance
ALL SALES ARE FINAL. PLEASE, DOUBLE CHECK YOUR ORDER BEFORE PURCHASING. NO REFUNDS.
MOSTLY STANDING / LIMITED SEATING
ALL AGES
VALID US OR CANADA ID REQUIRED FOR BAR. GUESTS TRAVELING FROM OUTSIDE US/CA MUST PRESENT A VALID PASSPORT.
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