Sporting a white button-down, slacks, rain boots, and a shag haircut, grandma (a.k.a Liam Hall) graced the stage as the opener for Coco & Clair Clair on their first headline tour. The LED scrolling message board affixed to the keyboard setup displayed the @s of the drummer and lead guitarist, with shout-outs to “hot sandwiches,” “e-liquid,” “dark forest theory,” “Angelhood” (Hall’s most recent EP), and “never-ending psychological warfare.” The set was cathartic, with songs bleeding together seamlessly, creating a vibe I can only liken to a cybernetic fever dream.
As a nihilistic, existential, 20-something living in a world that seems as though it’s crumbling from beneath, I find a sense of comfort and relatability in grandma’s music. We’re all grasping at straws, yearning to find a semblance of hope. Or maybe that’s just me, trying to survive as an adult who still feels like a kid trying to grow up in a world that feels like it’s not letting me. I feel less alone when I listen to artists like grandma, who seem to understand what it’s like living in a constant state of nostalgia, plagued yet connected by the internet and overwhelmed with romanticism and the urge to make something of oneself.
