Photos and Writing By Frances Edwards-Hughes

A tired, bleak, and early-sundown day turns into a dream of a night as I file into The Neptune Theatre. 

I drove my car from Minneapolis to Tacoma, only for it to fall apart one month later, so the trek to Seattle consists of three different modes of transportation: my buddy Theo’s Japanese kei van, the city bus, and then the light rail. That’s all perfectly fine to me—let’s sit with each other for a second, no need for talk, just politely observing. People-watching is my favorite thing.

Forty-five minutes later, I spot a dog on the light rail and coo at it as if it were a child before getting off at my stop–University District.

As I head to The Neptune Theatre, I weave through groups of drunken UDub students in their territory. It’s a charming venue, holding over 80 years of dance, movie, and music history. Blending into the restaurants and apartments that surround it, the Neptune’s exterior is simplistic—its worn-down white bricks conceal the unexpectedly divine interior.

Wild Pink, an indie rock band from New York, opens the show and plays us into the raw, alternative folk music that will sound for the rest of the night. They have a Duster vibe, with their casual clothes and minimal talking between songs. Their set is tight, and I capture photos of their grown-out hair as it falls across their faces. Ross sings with his eyes closed, in a different world, unique meaning in his words, life peeking through with every song. They seem like a band my dad would tell me to listen to, so I’m into it. They wrap up, and the packed theatre, full of mid-20s, overalls-wearing, Reiner-loving folks, chat with one another and fill the room with their own sort of music as we all anticipate Mj Lenderman and his crew.

Lenderman captivates us immediately as the song “Ghost of Your Guitar Solo” rings with its scrappy, dissonant, and emotional feel. He’s a storyteller; his lyrics are why we are all here. Every word gives way to an experience, a corner of his brain, and it’s relatable. We can understand his pain, and he expresses it wholeheartedly, with full force and honesty. He’s genuine—a guy who loved music enough to make it, and that’s something special.

Every band member has a unique set of characteristics that draw you in: Lenderman’s modesty and edgy Neil Young-reminiscent voice, Samuel’s electricity and Animal-from-the-Muppets energy, Miller’s quiet smile and backing drums, Chelmis’s sunbeam-like presence, and George’s rhythm and gregariousness. It makes it impossible not to watch and listen intently, my eyes switching from each member, wanting to capture every moment and movement.

I take pictures for the first three songs, closer than anyone else, feeling the warmth of the hundreds of people behind me, watching facial expressions that scream love, hard work, and passion. Lenderman knows he’s a guy who devoted himself to something, had a talent, and found a way to articulate it well enough to make it holdable. But he’s just a guy—he is every person watching. His music encompasses all of our lives in a real, raw, and self-effacing way, and we love it. He answers questions we didn’t even know we were asking, and we can’t help but be drawn to it. Even after they play three more songs for the encore, we can’t help but want more of it.