I’ve seen shoegaze live before, but this was my first time experiencing it in a larger, more professional setting. If you’re new to Whirr’s music, I’d recommend starting with their 2013 EP, Around, especially if you love that classic shoegaze sound.

The tour opened with Luster, another California shoegaze band whose sound I really loved. Their music felt homemade and live, like you could hear every layer of the performance. What interested me most, and where I want this concert review to lead into a deeper discussion, was that Luster said only five words throughout their entire 45-minute set: “This is our last song.”

It was odd, I couldn’t always tell exactly which song was playing because I wasn’t a huge Luster listener before the show. But while listening live, I would have loved to hear the song titles so I could listen to them again at home. I really enjoyed their set, and I wanted to know more. They never told us, and that’s okay.

If I were a musician, which I am not, I could imagine the feeling of playing a song that needs no introduction. The whole audience knows the words, knows the song, and knows what it means to them. But with a band like Luster, especially as an opener, not everyone in the crowd knows their entire discography. I would have loved the opportunity to learn more about their music right there.

And when a band says, “This is our last song,” you might expect them to close with their most popular track. Instead, Luster played those songs earlier in the set and ended with “Comeback,” off their 2021 EP Blue Oblivion. Maybe there are technicalities of performing that I don’t know. Is it better for an opener to play their most recognizable songs first to draw the crowd in? Does it matter less who is still paying attention by the end? I honestly don’t know. Then again, I’m not going to be as picky about an opener.

There’s a certain persona associated with shoegaze: mysterious, dark, timid. Luster certainly maintained that image. But their set left me with a lot of questions. The band had Palestinian keffiyehs wrapped around their microphone stands, yet they never had to say “Free Palestine.” As an audience, we could infer something from the symbolism of the keffiyehs. In a similar way, the band never introduced themselves. We were simply expected to know who they were.

When Whirr came onstage, they also didn’t introduce themselves, introduce the band, or introduce a single song throughout their entire set. Now, I know this is starting to sound like I’m being negative or complaining, but I truly am not. I just left the show with so many questions. Maybe that was the point.

Whirr performed for an hour and a half, playing 19 songs without any breaks in between. That alone was insanely impressive. But unlike Luster, when Whirr finished, they were done. There was no encore and no indication that the set was ending other than their choice to close with their popular 2019 song, “Younger Than You.” They didn’t play a lot of their more popular music, but there are reasons for that, of course. Their songs featuring their former female vocalist are no longer part of the live set while she is not performing with them.

What struck me most about Whirr was that, like Luster, they didn’t say a single word. Honestly, leaving the venue, I remember thinking, Damn, they really said nothing.

I am lucky enough to have been to a lot of concerts throughout my life. Live music is a staple for me, and some of my favorite shows have been the ones where the artists shared stories behind their songs that I have grown to love. Jack Johnson explained the story behind “Mudfootball.” Emma Harner talked about learning music theory and incorporating math rock into folk. Those moments gave me a different appreciation for their music. Whirr didn’t offer any of that insight.

Which brings me to the question I kept thinking about after the show: What do artists owe us, the listeners?

We, the listeners, help give musicians their platform. We buy tickets, fill venues, and give them the opportunity to play in places like the Brooklyn Paramount. We deserve a show worth seeing. But what do artists give us in return? They give us their art. They give us music to love, dance to, and live to. We owe them a great audience, and beyond that, we owe them gratitude for sharing their art with us.

So, do artists need to play their most popular songs? Do they need to talk to the crowd? No. They can put on whatever kind of show they want. It’s their show, after all. That’s part of what makes live music so great: every performance is different. There shouldn’t be an expectation that every artist will give us the same experience.

This could easily turn into a much bigger discussion about living life without expectations, but we don’t have to get existential just yet.

What I will complain about is the audience at this show.

I went in excited to move around. Not necessarily hardcore moshing, but enough movement to break a sweat and leave with a smile on my face. Instead, no one moved. Ever. It was wild. It’s literally shoegaze. How can no one move?

There were a lot of couples in the crowd, and I love going to shows with a partner, don’t get me wrong. But here’s a crazy thought: you can let go a little. You don’t need to spend the entire show standing practically inside one another. You can dance. You can move around. You can even push each other during a mosh pit. It’s okay.

I’ll end with the thought I had when I left the venue: if we had been a better audience, would the band have had a better time? Would they have played an encore? Would they have interacted with us more, if at all? I’ll never know unless I go to another Whirr show. I’ll check back in a few years.

All in all, I left the show quite content. I went to see Whirr perform, and they sounded amazing. Their backing visuals were especially engaging, particularly as an animal lover. They showed footage of groups of terns and horses alongside visualizations of the music itself. It was a really cool experience.

I left a happy camper. I got exactly what I, the audience, deserved out of that show.