WOW Hall might be the most Eugene venue of all time—and I mean that in the best way. Part community center, part DIY dream space, part mystical Elks Lodge with better lighting, the whole place practically hums with personality. You descend into the basement and boom — $3 PBRs. LIKE GOD INTENDED. Upstairs, you’ve got a room full of thrifted fits, hand-knitted hats, and one very charming burlesque dancer who casually mentions she sets herself on fire for art. It’s the kind of crowd where everyone seems to know how to tie a bandana 30 different ways and make it fashion.
Opening duo Ringdown took the stage with enough tangled cords to wire a spaceship. I have worked on live sound off and on for decades, cable management is IMPORTANT, OK?! A piece of merch they were slanging a “my two gay aunts are in a band together called Ringdown and they love me very much” trucker hat, which immediately set the tone: queer, quirky, and lovingly positive.
I usually roll my eyes at electronic sets where it looks like someone just discovered how to use a Speak-and-Say as a microphone and the bloop-bloop button on GarageBand. But Ringdown? They got me. From Caroline Shaw’s first shimmering draw of the bow across a violin, their set was more than wires and waveforms—it was intimate, expansive, and deeply felt. Danni Parpan, Shaw’s partner in music and in life, matched her energy throughout the set. A highlight was watching Parpan get on her tippy toes as she forced all of her energy into her performance.
At one point, I realized something kind of wild: not a single person around me was filming. No glowing phone screens. No shaky vertical videos. Just people — strangers to each other— immersed and present. Do you know how rare that is? I can’t remember the last time I saw that. That kind of stillness speaks volumes.
Then came Tune-Yards.
I’ll admit it: I’d heard the name for years but never gave them a proper listen. That was dumb. That was so dumb. Because the minute Merrill Garbus and Nate Brenner hit the stage, the whole place erupted. I found myself next to a college chemistry professor and his wife who’d driven two hours to be there, and I get it now. That kind of commitment makes sense when the show hits like this.
Garbus didn’t just play songs—she channeled them. She embodied them. One minute she’s pounding the drums with polyrhythmic precision, the next she’s looping her voice (shoeless with fun little sickies on her feet) into swirling harmonies while strumming a ukulele like it’s a weapon of joy. Her whole body became an instrument, syncing with the beat, conducting the crowd like some sort of joyful dance sorcerer.
The set list was stacked with tracks from older albums and their latest album, Better Dreaming: “Heartbreak,” “Look at Your Hands,” “…How Big Is the Rainbow,” “Water Fountain” (aka “Mama Ooh Ahh,” according to Garbus’ three-year-old), “Bizness,” and an encore that included “Powa” and “Limelight.” Each song hit harder than the last, the rhythms burrowing deep and demanding movement. Feet didn’t stop moving. Neither did Garbus. I wonder what her step count looks like each set.
This wasn’t a concert, it was communion. I watched a venue full of people being in the moment and loved it.
So let this be a lesson: If your friends won’t shut up about a band, maybe listen to them. Don’t wait a decade like I did. You might miss something electric.