Audrey Hobert Stares Down Stardom at the Ryman Auditorium
Nashville, Tennessee - October 6, 2026
Audrey Hobert packed out the historic Ryman Auditorium this past Tuesday night, turning the former church into a place for a different kind of exaltation. The evidence of the show started about a block away from the doors, with stray feathers from party-store boas wafting through the air, before finding their eventual home on the ground. Concert-goers dressed up with party hats, brightly colored tights, and painted faces, paying homage to Hobert’s debut album, Who’s the Clown.
Those who were not waiting in the merch line that wrapped through the upstairs and back down into the lobby chattered brightly in their seats. A few minutes past 8pm, a man dressed in stage blacks delivered a mannequin to center stage; dressed up in a blonde wig and a pink cowboy hat, the mannequin served as a sort of pseudo-opener. When the man left the stage, there was a brief pause before music pushed through the house speakers. “Blue Strips” by Jessie Murph runs through the speakers, kicking off a playlist full of songs likely to be found on many young women’s “getting ready” or “pregame” playlist, infusing the night with an undeniable sense of anticipation. The playlist closed with Charli xcx’s instant classic, “Von Dutch” contorting at the end as her band took the stage clad in none other but Nashville requirement, of course: pink cowboy hats.
A voice that sounds like a radio dj reverberated through the room before a harsher voice cut through, “You’re 7ft tall, what makes you think you can be a singer?” The criticism compounds on itself until Hobert cuts it off with “I like to touch people,” the lead track off of her album. Standing proud, and over seven feet tall (with the help of a step stool), Hobert pretends to play the banjo while donning a pair of glasses with a fake nose attached. It’s a cheeky way to start the show, and completely endearing to the audience. Hobert is very serious about not taking herself too seriously. This is made abundantly evident as a dance track plays while she strips off her oversized trench coat to reveal yet another trench coat, her outfit for the rest of the evening.
Hobert’s physicality embodies the robust energy of a child performing for their parents after spending hours practicing in their bedroom. It is cathartic to watch. Her performance takes up space. She runs from stage right to left and back again, demanding to be seen and heard and listened to. With each movement, she reiterates what she’s singing about: the desire to be seen and wanted, disillusionment, desperation, joy in spite of it all. A hand punching into the open space around her punctuates how deeply she means every note, word, and theme. In a world full of artifice, self-acceptance can start to feel like the performance. Hobert demands authenticity – from herself and from the crowd.
The room is loud. Every person singing the words that mean so much to them emphatically back to Hobert. It’s a special room and she says as much when she takes a break from singing to speak to the crowd. She also takes the time to shout up to her brother and her mom, getting the crowd to cheer for them before asking for the Padres v. Brewers score, hopeful that the Brewers have put some points on the board while she’s been performing (they haven’t).
The concert flies by. Hobert only has 12 songs, a fact she acknowledges towards the end of the show, but she is confident in her decision not to cover another artist. She does, however, perform 13 songs. Her penultimate song is “Sue me,” the lead single off of Who’s the Clown. It is also her final song. She sings “Silver Jubilee” in between, getting the crowd as energetic as possible before making a special request: phones away. For the final song, a reprise of “Sue me,” she wants everyone to be as present as possible. No phones, just the music and each other. For the next two minutes and fifty seconds, everyone at the Ryman Auditorium might be a clown but no one is a fool. They sing and dance with reckless abandon, as they would in their bedrooms, with no one there to cast judgement, before the music stops and it is time to go home.
