Mrs. Magician captivated spectators at their sold out show at Soda Bar.
Normally it isn’t until the second band gets on that Soda Bar starts to fill up, but by the time openers Goldettes took to the stage, the venue was already half-full. Goldettes welcomed the audience with a nostalgic set of oldie-style jams, warming an increasingly large crowd to start the evening.
By the time Keepers stepped onstage, Soda Bar had filled to capacity, their signature “Sold Out” sign taped across the front door. Keepers were a caustic mess of feedback, a seemingly epileptic fit of noise and rambunctiousness. You could almost smell the whiskey sweating from the pores of the band, baritone vocals of their lead singer weighted by an anxious energy. They finished their set to an enthusiastic applause, but both Keepers and Goldettes were overshadowed by the anticipation of seeing Mrs. Magician.
An infectious energy had spread through the room, an entire audience captivated by the opening chords of guitars. Mrs. Magician have taken on the status of urban myth at this point in their careers, seemingly disappearing for long stretches of time and reappearing as quickly as they’d vanished. The crowd felt sustained, elevated by the mass of sound being catapulted at them by the band.
Mrs. Magician has a knack for the existential. They are repeated endorsers of non-teleological songwriting, essentially singing about the meaningless of trying for anything, and deciding to try for themselves anyway. It doesn’t hurt that they know how to write a strong hook for songs such as the aptly named “There is No God.” They gave the audience everything they had, and the audience soaked every last bit in, junkies on a pleasure run for music, inebriated and enthralled and unwilling to let go. Mrs. Magician, effused with energy and existential apathy illustrated once again why they are such a compelling musical force, continually trying to wake us from the lethargy of our daily resignations.