Itʼs been a few months since my last Racket piece, but Iʼm back—and this time, I brought help. A couple of months ago my wife and I were on the couch, scrolling for shows like we always do, when I asked, “Hey, do you know Lauren Spencer Smith?” She said, “Of course,” and started pulling up songs she thought Iʼd recognize. I knew the big ones. So I reached out to the Emperor to see if this was a stop where we could provide some value, maybe team up with the wife on tunes and photos and I write something real about it. And here we are.
Iʼd never seen Lauren live, or any of the openers on this stop, so I went in pretty blind and walked out pleasantly wrecked. Roseland is tucked into an older part of Portland, and just down the street there were these ridiculous cherry blossoms in full bloom. We stopped there first, and it felt like the theme of the weekend was locked in instantly: Sad Girl Cinema with a beautiful backdrop. Beautiful settings, beautifully placed, wrapped around a very feelings-forward show.
I wasnʼt ready to be one of maybe a handful of dudes in the audience, but I was absolutely ready to hand over the camera to my wife, Kelly. I was stoked for her to take the reins and capture the whole night through her lens. She shot this one, and Iʼm insanely proud of her—she absolutely slayed these photos, and youʼll see them in the gallery that goes with this article.
The tour is called “The Art of Being a Mess,” and stopping in Portland felt fitting. The phrase that kept looping in my brain all night was: group therapy with better lighting and a killer band. Iʼve never actually been to group therapy, but if you have, let me know how close I am. What I do know is this: that room was filled with people who needed a good, ugly cry. The place was feeling and looking like a packed house and Lauren, Sofia, and Maisy were not about to let them down.
Maisy Kay kicked things off in full sparkle mode—sequins head to toe, sparkly butterfly microphone, dancing boots, literal glitter-core. She really hit her stride on “Technicolor Honeymoon,” which washed over the crowd in neon sugar, and she even dropped in an Adele cover that had the room singing front to back. People were already acting like longtime fans, and this was just the opener. Thatʼs when I knew we were in for a night.
Sofia Camara followed and immediately shifted the energy into full feelings territory. Thatʼs not my natural comfort zone, but I do appreciate a good cathartic emotional gut punch every now and then. Sheʼs very Tate McRae-coded to me—emotionally precise, a little fragile in delivery, but sharp enough to cut. She told us to treat “Parking Lot” like a place to get anything off your chest and let out a tear, and a lot of people took her up on that. You could see it on faces all around: folks singing the words back to her and just leaning into their feelings.
She rolled through songs like “Anyways, How You Been,” “Ingrained,” and “Who Do I Call Now,” aptly subtitled “Hellbent.” Before that one, she reminded us that no matter how dark things get, thereʼs always a way out. Meanwhile, her guitarist—pretty sure his name is Sam—absolutely ripped. Somewhere near the top of the set she mentioned she was feeling under the weather, which made the
whole thing even more impressive. I canʼt sing on my best days half as good as she did while sick. Sheʼs that vocally precise. Iʼd love to see what she does headlining someday.
By the time Lauren came out, the room was humming. The room was “the fire Marshal on speed dial” full but Security had people tucked neatly inside the taped-off lines, but the energy was already up. Everyone had already gotten teary-eyed once or twice and yelled through two full sets of lyrics, so the emotional engine was warmed up.
Lauren hit the stage with Giant safety pins in her hair, a huge personality, and big pants to match it all. Sheʼs got a big voice, sure, but what hit harder was how she held the room: like that one brutally honest best friend, but someone gave her a mic and a lighting rig.
Her songs land like group chat confessions and journal entries. Itʼs like scrolling an “are we dating the same person?” Facebook group in real time as she drags red flags out into the sun and, watches them burn to ash, and then start stitching everything back together with self-love, healing, and catharsis.
Fans had dropped anonymous secrets at the merch booth earlier in the night, and Lauren read some of them out loud onstage. It turned the venue into a confessional with a lot more space and a way better PA system than most churches. Instead of just you and one person in a box, it was you and a few hundred people all holding onto similar hurt.
Visually, the stage was pure Sad Girl Cinema. At one point she was sitting on a bench with a tissue box labeled, in big white letters on a blue background, “sad girl on a bench.” Every so often sheʼd step over to a full-on old-school phone booth and “take calls”—from herself, from a partner, from whoever was on the other end in the story of the song. The irony that half the room probably has never actually used a phone booth was not lost on me, but it totally worked.
Back on the bench with that tissue box, she ripped our hearts out with “Small,” then stayed there to set the tone even deeper with “Looking Up.” Her guitarist Johnny laid down immaculate acoustic work, and it felt like we were tracing that weird path from self-loathing all the way back around to something more gentle.
Just when we needed to be shaken loose from the heaviness, the Wheel of Feels came out. She explained there are four possible covers on this tour, and my wife, sitting next to me, was whispering “Favorite Crime, Favorite Crime” under her breath. A fan came up to spin, and the cherry blossoms must have aligned: “Favorite Crime” by Olivia Rodrigo. Hearing one of the most powerful voices Iʼve ever heard live take on that song was something else. Raw, intimate, and the crowd belted every word like theyʼd been waiting their whole lives for this exact moment. Honestly, theyʼd been doing that all night. It didnʼt matter who was on stage; this was one of the most passionate fanbases Iʼve seen, and Iʼve been to a lot of shows.
The emotional pacing wasnʼt just roller-coaster chaos; it felt more like a perfectly timed crescendo. Johnny didnʼt just handle the soft stuff—he tore into a solo on “Thick Skin” that absolutely shredded, and the drummer was right there matching that energy. I even wrote down at one point that the drummer was “carrying the set,” because he was playing that hard.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Lauren shared that the next song is her favorite song sheʼs ever written—and then she gave it to us; “Flowers” . Itʼs a beautiful song, wrapped up in so much emotion, and judging by the sheer volume in the room, nobody disagreed with her choice.
Iʼll admit, I was a little surprised to be reminded sheʼs only 22. Sheʼs funny, quick, and disarmingly nice—tossing compliments to fans mid-set and then coming out after the show (definitely not in fun pajama pants), to meet people even after a long run of tour dates. Sheʼs not just writing sad songs; sheʼs writing sad anthems and quietly teaching a whole wave of younger fans—especially young women—that advocating for yourself and embracing the mess doesnʼt mean youʼre broken.
This tour doesnʼt fix you. It hands you a song, some tissues, and a full room of strangers yelling the same lyrics who might be going through the same thing, or have made it out the other side. For a couple of hours, it lets the ugly stuff feel kind of beautiful. “The Art of Being a Mess” is the perfect name, because sometimes being a mess is the most beautiful part.
Thanks for reading. Huge thanks to Racket Magazine for having us, and to Laurenʼs team and the supporting acts for letting us capture some amazing photos. Weʼll see you at the next one.