I made a less-than-graceful entrance to Rachel Chinouriri’s show at the Fonda Theatre on Tuesday night. It was the second of two back-to-back sold-out shows for the indie pop princess, taking Hollywood by storm. Perhaps it was my excitement for the evening ahead that clouded my attentiveness, causing me to overlook the venue’s no-gum policy. This oversight stalled my security screening—much to the chagrin of the officer, who seemed to run a tighter ship than the TSA.
After parting ways with my freshly-opened pack of Orbit, I made my way to the box office to secure my tickets, with enough time left to wander and take in the grandeur of the 1920s building. It’s venues like the Fonda that complement the performance not only in acoustics but in spirit, imbuing the evening with an intangible charm.
First to take the stage was BIZZY—an artist I only came to know this evening, but whom I’m sure I haven’t heard the last of. Her strong, energetic vocals enveloped the room, despite it being a tad on the sparse side—with audience members still trickling in gradually. She conversed with the crowd as one would a best friend before beginning her fan-favorite single “I Don’t Get Breakups,” and exclaimed, “I need everyone to lock in and imagine their most grueling relationship”—inciting audible groans throughout the crowd. In addition to delivering a slew of heartbreak anthems reminiscent of 2008 angst, BIZZY’s stage presence was as lively as her name suggests. The artist’s effervescent dance moves made for an overall captivating and memorable performance.
When the intermission commenced, I made my way to the second floor to indulge in some vanity and snag a couple of photo booth strips. Not long after, Alemeda took to the stage, and it was almost instantly apparent from her opening song that the audience consisted largely of her fanbase. As an opener on a supporting tour, I can only imagine how gratifying it must’ve felt to hear the crowd sing along to most of her catalog.
The Ethiopian-Sundanese artist played a generous set of both released and unreleased tracks, and made nonchalant introductions between each—”Y’all gon’ hate me for this. I might kill the vibe with this one.” A false assumption on her end, for Alemeda has a remarkable way of packaging heavy subject matter into a form that people can still dance to, ushering light to the otherwise somber. The delivery of her single, “Guy’s Girl”—which chronicles the aching experience of losing a best friend—is a sound example of this. The artist’s crisp vocals, warm presence, and inescapable draw made for a wholly mesmerizing performance.
RELATED: Alemeda makes sold-out debut at Moroccan Lounge in Los Angeles, solidifying her spot in alt-rock
I made the grave mistake of retiring to the venue couches following Alemeda’s set to decompress during intermission. I quickly came to regret this upon returning to the venue floor, as I found that the crowd had multiplied in a matter of minutes and had bled into the lobby area by the time the headliner hit the stage. After moments of wiggling my way through the crowd in pursuit of a decent view, I decided to cut my losses and settle on a spot in the back of the house. In retrospect, it didn’t matter how far I was from the stage, for Rachel Chinouriri’s radiant energy could be felt within every inch of the concert hall.
The British-Zimbabwean singer opened with “Garden of Eden,” the leading track off her 2024 album, What a Devastating Turn of Events. An apt decision on her part, as the audience collectively buzzed in anticipation to sing along. Accompanied by clean drums, tight strings, and cohesive harmonies, Chinouriri’s band appeared to complement one another seamlessly, and ignited football stadium-like cheers from the audience.
RELATED: Here’s Why Rachel Chinouriri’s new album, ‘What A Devastating Turn Of Events,’ is one of the best debuts of the year
About five songs in, something took place that I can’t say I’ve witnessed before at a concert: an organic, spontaneous, silent pause from the audience, followed by collective chanting of the singer’s name, as one would during an encore request. Delightfully surprised and awed, the artist responded, “You guys are getting me off track! Who’s got the time?”
At several points throughout her set, Chinouriri paused to thank the crowd, sharing her gratitude for her current position, and her awareness of the space she occupies—that of a Black woman in a predominantly White genre: “A message to every single person in this room—I want to thank you so much for listening to me not just because of the color of my skin, but because of my storytelling…thank you for being a safe space for me.”
Chinouriri made the wise choice to shift the energy toward a space anchored in softness and unwavering vulnerability—playing a string of her more personal tracks. The artist invited the crowd to close their eyes on “Pocket”—a song that illustrates the painful role of bearing witness to a loved one’s struggle—and share a moment of ease and safety. A meditative atmosphere was wholly felt by the audience, as Chinouriri leaned into the vulnerability present throughout her album. It was beautiful to observe the resonance that took place during her performance of “Blood,” a song she wrote in memory of her late niece. The chilling guitar strums, coupled with her airy vocals, struck a chord within those singing along in the crowd, who noticeably connected both sonically and lyrically with the material.
In a stripped-down rendition of “So My Darling”—the 2018 breakout single that captured the hearts of many and aided in the launch of her career—Chinouriri transported the audience into a trancelike state, sending ripples of gentle croons echoing through the theatre.
Shifting gears, Chinouriri closed out her set with back-to-back crowd pleasers: “The Hills,” “Can we talk about Isaac?,” “All I Ever Asked,” and “Never Need Me.” During these, Rachel Chinouriri gave it her all, and displayed remarkable breath control given that she danced throughout her entire set—the playful kind, as one would when alone in their bedroom. Her palpable buoyancy cast a spell upon every occupant of the room, leaving no audience member still. Looking back, save for pajamas, the show contained all the ingredients of a slumber party—laughter, gossip, heartache, carefree dancing, and most importantly, irrefutable childlike joy.
Words: Tamara Jiji
ARTISTS YOU SHOULD KNOW
BEST NEW MUSIC
This post may contain affiliate links. Ads and affiliate links are how independent blogs like Grimy Goods can operate. Thank you for supporting our work and being a part of our music community.
