Words and photos by Edie Oldender

Big stadium shows commodify an artist’s music into a visual performance and the audience into an extension of this spectacle. It’s not something to necessarily be angry about; if you spent two hundred dollars on tickets for a stadium show to sit all the way in the upper wings watching a barely lit acoustic performance with no projections onto the huge screens, it would be incredibly disappointing. In this sense, perhaps it’s unfair to compare a show at a stadium to one at a small venue as they have very different objectives: the stadium show seeks to entertain the eyes while the small venue speaks to the ears.

To meet their objectives, both types of venues dissociate the audience from their physical selves. A stadium show does this through use of lights, pyrotechnic spectacles and the video camera which alternatively broadcasts the artist and audience members into larger-than-life images on the screen. The Andy Shauf solo tour is a perfect example of the other side of this pendulum; I was still dissociated from myself, but I felt bigger in an abstractly fluid sense. 

Arriving at the Bronson Centre, the stage held one seat, a stool, and two acoustic guitars; the latter of which were for the Lauren Spear, who performs under the stage name Le Ren, and her guitarist Fez. One of the first things the Canadian folk singer said after performing her first song was that she thought she would start laughing during it. If you’ve heard her melancholic lyrics, this would be one of the last emotions you would expect. Despite her unquivering vocals, she humanizes herself through the divulgation of her thoughts. Her banter with her guitarist had the room laughing more than I have ever experienced at any other artist’s show. 

“Please take the merch with my face on it,” Spear implored her audience. “It’s awkward to keep things with my face on it,” she said, asking us to imagine having to take it out of her car in front of her neighbours. Spear continued, explaining that Fez “didn’t bring any merch… but the QR code [with links to purchase his merch] also has kind of… a mugshot… you’re gonna see. I really, I recommend looking at it.”

“Some people can’t wait to hold their record in their hands, liner notes…” Fez responded. “I just couldn’t wait to have my own QR code.”

Beyond just comedy, Le Ren’s vocal delivery is like silk, blending bluegrass roots and more contemporary influences. In the song “May Hard Times Pass Us By”, there’s a certain intonation when she says “hard” that reminded me of Sinead O’Connor. This feeling was no doubt heightened by the overlapping themes of motherhood, resilience and tenderness in Le Ren’s Leftovers and O’Connor’s Gospel Oak albums. Spear also mentioned taking the Adrianne Lenker’s songwriting class, and the influence on Spear’s writing is evident; for example, the lines of “Your Cup” are reminiscent of Lenker’s abstract and intimate lyrics: “and as often as I bring you to my skin / I wonder where I start and where you end / yeah I wonder where you stop and where I begin.” 

While Le Ren used her banter to connect with the audience through laughter, Andy Shauf directly incorporated the audience into his banter by opening the floor for questions during his tuning breaks. Some of the highlights were:

Q: “What pedals do you perform with?”

A: “I have a delay pedal, a chorus pedal, an EQ pedal, a tuning pedal, and I’m using an amp modeler.” 

Q: “What type of tea are you drinking?”

A: “Throat Coat… it’s good stuff.”

Q: “Are you from Australia?” 

A: “Am I from Australia? I’m from Saskatchewan…” 

Note that the entire time Shauf has spoken during the set, it has been in a Canadian accent and never an Australian accent. 

Q: “Did you do any cool things in Ottawa?”

A: “Uh we went for… soup.”

Shauf isn’t simply filling time while tuning his guitar; by opening the floor for audience-performer interactions, he’s creating a more intimate show. Shauf recognizes the equal exchange between how he creates art through song while the audience simultaneously creates art through listening, receiving and reforming. Each tuning intermission further invested the audience in Shauf’s concert, creating a hush in the crowd while he sung, as if each person was clinging onto the last syllables. When I finished shooting photos from the sound board and was supposed to return to my seat, I couldn’t bring myself to make any movement for fear of disrupting the beautiful stillness of the collective moment.

Eventually during one of the tuning breaks, I quickly darted over to my seat beside my boyfriend and his best friend. Shauf has an incredible ability to describe mundane experiences and the passage of time in a way that makes it feel philosophically beautiful.  In “Halloween store,” he says, “I started my car and as I did / I wondered if I’d locked the house / Walked back and found that I hadn’t / But now my keys were in the car.” He also played two songs which speak more directly about elapsing time: You’re Out Wasting and Wasting on You. The repetition of this sentiment reminded me of an idea from the introduction of an Eve Babitz book I read some time ago: all time is free time, and you fill it with interesting people. It was so much better not to watch this show alone from the sound board. I experienced it as part of a larger whole, both through leaning into my boyfriend’s shoulder as well as collectively leaning into the feeling of the audience. I closed my eyes, which I could do because there was no screen or visual performance, but only a feeling. In “Clove Cigarette,” Shauf summarizes this feeling: “I take some steps forward / And some steps back / It doesn’t matter / ‘Cause I’m on track.” 

Overall, Le Ren, Fez and Andy are not perfect. My boyfriend noticed how Spear only fingerpicks with her index and thumb, rather than properly with a finger for each individual string. Fez admits that he “screwed up on the song about [Spear’s] mother, and he apologizes “to all moms.” When Shauf was asked why he always uses a capo, he answers “I don’t really know how to play guitar, so that’s how I do it.” They are artists, but they are also just as human as anyone in that room. That is what was most charming about this show at the Bronson Centre; Spear and Shauf utilized the small venue to its full potential by creating an experience that was not performative, but connective. 

Photographer / Writer | + posts

Edie Olender (she/her) is an Ottawa based photographer and content creator. Growing up in a creative household, she was given her first digital camera at the age of six. By age ten, she started experimenting with film photography and has continued to pursue both digital and film throughout her high school and university career. Inspired by the likes of Joan Didion and Eve Babitz, she also contributes to Indie/Alt through her conceptual reviews. Outside of photography, she is pursuing her degree in Biomedical Sciences at the University of Ottawa and is a proud cat mother to her son Stripey.