Go It Alone: Model/Actriz @ Zebulon
Photo by Maya Mabern
It’s a chilly Thursday night on Zebulon’s back patio. Groups of sherpa-lined jackets and leather dusters are clumped together under a faint cloud of cigarette smoke. I'm underdressed for the weather and overdressed for the occasion, having just Ubered from a work function in Burbank. I sit in a chair away from the crowd, wet from the day’s rain. I’ve come to accept the dampness on my dress because I don’t want anyone to see me seat hop.
When I see a show alone, I know there are a few ways the night can go. Often I find myself huddling in the back with the other singles, shoulder to shoulder, all of us careful not to speak or make eye contact. I’ll check my phone every five minutes to seem busy, turning my brightness down so no one knows I’m just opening and closing Instagram. It’s a ritual I’ve gotten comfortable with. Going to shows can sometimes feel like a networking event for a field I have the barest minimum expertise in.
Thursday wasn’t that kind of night. Disappointed that I missed the opening set from Hunter Paris, I came in from the patio a little too early for comfort in hopes of getting a good spot in the front, abandoning the wallflowers for the night. Momma eased into their set as if they lived on the Zebulon stage and we all just happened to be there. There was the typical swaying and head bobbing, but as the set went on the sways became pushes and the bobbing became banging, particularly to their newest single, “Medicine.” I was pushed toward the middle. Founding members Etta Freidman and Allegra Weingarten’s camaraderie permeated through the audience, and brought a warmth to the show that made me feel more comfortable joining in the mosh pit.
Photo by Maya Mabern
Then, Model/Actriz took the stage. Performing mostly new material (and a dark wave, explosive rendition of “Hava Nagila”), the band transformed the space into something of a boxing ring, with lead singer Cole Haden leaving the stage multiple times to join the crowd. Audience members held the mic’s cord for him on his journey through the venue, as he locked eyes with what seemed like every person there (including me). It was personal, it was sinister, and I felt involved, even without a group to dance with.
Often at shows I like to hang back, away from the action. The middle of the crowd is the most daunting: lots of friend groups and couples abound, everyone sizing each other up. Joining in on the fun doesn’t always feel like my place. On Thursday night, though, the middle didn’t feel so bad.