Beneath the Rickshaw Stop’s sparkling string lights and shimmering disco ball, indie pop artist Wallice opened her Dec. 8 show with a bubbly sweetness that perfectly paralleled the coziness of the venue.
Her name glowed in a bright pink, curly font on a vintage projector as she exploded into her opening song “90s American Superstar.” Bathed in magenta, Wallice jumped and danced lightheartedly, her youth and relative newness to the musical scene insignificant as she personified the very American superstar she described.
Vibrancy infused the entire show, and Wallice’s personality was consistently shining and shameless. Between the Hollywood-pink star dotting her name, her blue and pink stretchy bodysuit and her cute, theatrical charm, she could almost be a cartoon character.
“Rich Wallice” only proved Wallice’s characteristic quirkiness as she embodied her capitalistic alter ego. Appropriately awash in green as she sang, “I just want more money,” Wallice’s low-toned urgency was backed by the saxophone’s sharp wail. Faux malevolence quickly became hopeless hellraising with “John Wayne.” Burlesque, badass and bathed in red, Wallice sang “I’m an outlaw!” cranking up the cinematic eccentricity as she stepped into yet another comically exaggerated role.
This brash facade melted away during “Japan,” which doused the small space in serenity. Like the glass placidness of an untouched lake, emotion rippled outwards with each strum of the guitar, audience members faithfully raising their phone flashlights in obligatory recognition of Wallice’s struggle to find home. Similarly melancholic was “Punching Bag,” the very first song she ever put out. Lit in metallic blue, Wallice swayed alone onstage, the acoustic ballad heart-hitting and heavy with nostalgia.
“I wanted to thank you guys again for coming,” Wallice said. “Last time I was at this venue I opened for Chloe Moriondo and that was my first show of my first tour ever. And now thirteen and a half months later I’m able to sell out this place by myself.”
Wallice’s quick ascension to success is almost as impressive as her commitment to churning out new music, with the artist playing a total of four unreleased songs throughout the night. Despite her audience’s inability to scream the lyrics back to her, the songs landed in the small space with precision, standing out as some of the best of the night. “Cologne” was especially memorable; its exhilarating, drum-based build and yearning guitar riff hovered in the air like a lingering scent.
“Anyone named Michael?” Wallice asked as a way of introducing her next song, “Hey Michael.” “Sorry, Michael. Hit it!” Casually comedic moments like this that made her show inimitable, her over-inflected tone and childlike energy pulsing through each guitar riff and belted lyric. Whimsical covers of Gwen Stefani’s “Sweet Escape,” complete with audience driven “Woo-hoo!”s, and Wham!’s famous “Last Christmas” further distinguished the performance, with each bubblegum-sweet moment rounding out Wallice’s special, striking singularity.
Wallice’s dazzling distinctiveness culminated in “Headache,” which combined an upbeat dance break with feral rage and grungy passion. As green spotlights scanned the crowd like searchlights, Wallice spun onstage, lost in the saxophone solo’s untamed spirit and the music’s potent build. She screamed into the microphone as the guitars screamed alongside her — hands to the sky, collapsing onstage in a Phoebe Bridgers-esque climactic breakdown. In true Wallice fashion, this intense female rage was summed up in a simple post-song comment: “So dramatic!”
The juxtaposition between saccharinity and solemn severity was only furthered in “Funeral,” her self-proclaimed favorite song she’s ever made. “When my body leaves my soul/ The crowd’s gonna lose control,” she sang as the crowd rocked and rolled alongside her escalating performance. Head bowed over her guitar as she strummed, Wallice danced with unrestrained joy, exemplifying the lyrics of “dancing at my funeral.”
This exhilaration was no match for the audience’s excitement for the final song “23.” Claiming she didn’t “believe in encores,” she eased right into the track — only solidifying her individuality. Nostalgia was saturated with magenta and gold, colorfully framing the bouncing bodies of the crowd as she belted out the coming-of-age anthem.
Shimmering in the half-light of the venue, Wallice lingered for one final moment before exiting. The lights sparkled on her like the sun at golden hour, granting her a transitory elusiveness before a dramatic spin and theatrical bow saw her offstage.
