I first heard a song by Lauren Spencer Smith in Milwaukee while volunteering at The Coffee House, a low-key music and poetry venue in the basement of a church. The theme of each performer’s two songs was ‘Long and Short.’ That night, a couple on ukulele and guitar introduced me to “Long Story Short,” a sweet, romantic waltz song by Smith about envisioning the future with a new love.
Smith’s engaging, prop-laden The Art of Being A Mess tour show at The Sylvee was much louder and angrier than the first time I’d encountered her music. Smith, primarily known for her breakup ballads, belted powerful, raw vocals while an enthusiastic crowd of mostly tweens, teens and twenty-somethings sang the lyrics to every song.
The concert started with two opening acts. Maisy Kay, an orange-haired singer in a gauzy, wispy fairy-vampire outfit, sang technopop beats in a high, airy voice into a sparkling butterfly microphone.
Fans seemed to know as many of indie-pop artist Sadie Jean’s lyrics as they did Smith’s, especially on the lost love song “WYD NOW?”
After the openers, the stage darkened. Thunder, lightning and rain effects started to play. A prop telephone rang, illuminating the stage with dim green flashes as the crowd cheered. As the ‘line’ went to Smith’s voicemail, it made it even more exciting when Smith did walk on stage, starting strong with “IF KARMA DOESN’T GET YOU, I WILL.”
Wearing a purple bandanna over long twin braids, a lavender hoodie and baggy, sparkling-gold pants over sneakers, the British-Canadian singer looked like a cool older sister.
Her first song, about seeking revenge after a breakup, crescendoed into the chorus with strong, thumping acoustics. The anger in her lyrics is plainly stated and refreshingly honest, asking not for sympathy but for listeners to join her in seeking vengeance. In another song, “WORSE,” she sings: “I know it's messed up, but I hope you're cursed/And all of your bad days only get worse.”
Another personal song centered around her father’s 28-year-old girlfriend. None of her lyrics are subtle, but they match her strong voice well as she cries: “She was 28/What the fuck is 28?”
Later, the phone rings again, and she picks it up. The speaker checks in with her about losing a friend: “I know you were really close… you wanted her to be your bridesmaid.” When Smith hangs up the phone, she segues into a ballad about the friend she lost in a song called “Bridesmaids.”
Before singing her song “Secret,” Smith invited front-row fans to read from a box of secrets other fans had written, making sure readers were over 18 because the secrets “have been getting inappropriate lately,” she said with a laugh. One secret: “I sent my ex-girlfriend flowers with another guy’s name and had it delivered to her bridal shower.” Another: “I slept with my ex’s best friend!”
The phone made a reappearance when her boyfriend called her from home, wishing her well on her tour. She sang “That Part,” a viral hit from her first album. Unlike painful endings with other paramours, she sings, “The only way this is gonna hurt/Is if we got old, and you were the one to go first.”
My favorite song was “small.” Smith said in a press release that she wrote the song “about anyone who’s felt the need to be a smaller version of themself to fit in society, whether it’s body image or being quiet in a crowded room.” Though not a breakout hit on Smith’s album, it seemed her most deeply personal and a reflection on how societal pressures on women have affected her personally.
Smith also engaged her audience with a “Wheel of feels,” inviting another fan, a 16-year aspiring content creator, to spin the wheel onstage and decide what cover song she would sing. They landed on “Happier Than Ever” by Billie Eilish. Smith’s strong, low vocals lent well to the song.
Smith first rose to fame on American Idol in 2020, where she was a top 20 contestant. Her big break came from “Fingers Crossed” on her first album, Mirror, a song lamenting wasted time in a relationship that soured. She let the crowd help her sing “Fingers Crossed,” her second-to-last song, as her crisp vocals soared over the drummer and guitarist.
“That Part,” a dreamy song on enduring love, was the closest to the song I first knew Smith for. It was accompanied by songs encompassing an impressive emotional range, from post-friendship breakup nostalgia to the pain of losing a loved one, to rage at being mistreated by a lover, to struggles with body image. Smith’s vocals shone with the Sylvee’s acoustics, and the props, along with well-timed sound effects, made the concert a true performance.
