Eleri Ward at Public Records, Brooklyn
Spending a transformative night with Eleri Ward
Photos credits: @alexajaephoto
At the beginning of her show, Eleri Ward asks the audience to take a deep breath and reflect on something that no longer serves us. Together, we exhale, and she announces that moving forward, each breath is a release. “Let’s all keep breathing,” she says, “I’ll keep breathing too.” Ward’s intimate performance at Public Records in Gowanus, Brooklyn, is an exercise in transformation. It’s the first time she’s performing her own music, and she’s beaming with pride; an artist on the verge of a creative breakthrough, the energy radiates off her.
Public Records is a small venue nestled among a cluster of industrial buildings. To get to the show, we must pass beneath an underpass of leafy vines constructed between the garage door entrance and the Sound Room, a “sonically immersive live and club space.” In addition to the indoor space, there’s a cafe, a rooftop, and the Nursery, which doubles as a plant nursery and performance venue. That night, it’s pouring rain and unseasonably cool. Stepping from the soggy New York streets to a buzzing private performance area feels like a portal out of Brooklyn and into the world Eleri Ward and her team have crafted for us.
Accompanied by keyboardist Cynthia Meng and guitarist Michi Egger, Ward’s simple setup makes sense; the room is filled with her powerhouse of a voice. Undulating between ethereal high notes and a rumbling alto, Ward moves from an anxious singer to an embodied performer in the blink of an eye.
Ward, who is most known for her Stephen Sondheim covers in a soft, indie style, is ready to move into something new. Her original music is more sensual and, of course, personal. “I don’t write many love songs,” she confesses, “I like to write about problems.” When she does write about love, it’s also about death. Ward describes her music on Instagram as “ethereal woo woo yodel siren”–– a pretty apt description. Combining messages about trusting one’s intuition with a lilting pop sound, Ward is as influenced by Broadway melodies as she is by indie artist Sufjan Stevens, whom she credits as a major inspiration.
Besides her obvious vocal talent, what’s most evident are Ward’s performance chops. During her song “Medusa,” Ward transforms; Her wide eyes, teeth snarled, Ward becomes the mythical figure. She embodies the monstrous reflection of the envious Goddess Athena, all while maintaining her gentle tone. It’s a step beyond singing, it’s subtle storytelling. As Ward flows into her song “Moss,” she takes us on a sonic pilgrimage. As she warbles “I finally made it to the trees / finally resting on my knees / in the moss”, we are taken to a meadow, resting our heads on pillowly flora. It’s a tough feat, in the middle of industrial Brooklyn, but somehow we, too, have made it to the moss.
As we round the corner to the end of the show, Eleri Ward is overcome with emotion. “If I could tell the girl recording songs in her closet,” she says with gleaming eyes, “where she’d be now, she’d be like girl, what the hell.” She downs a swig of coconut water as the audience goes nuts. She reminds us, once again, to reflect on our breath. The transformation is now complete; that thing we wanted to get rid of is gone by now.
“I have to honor the present moment,” Ward continues after a thunderous encore, “by acknowledging my past.” She pulls out a guitar and launches into a few of her old Sondheim renditions. Her cover of Sweeney Todd’s “Joanna (Reprise)” is eclipsed by a flow of tears. It works, though. A self-proclaimed authenticity lover, Ward’s strength comes from her vulnerability.
Somehow, we do feel like different people than when the show began. Ward’s bleeding heart, her overflowing gratitude, has successfully seeped into the crowd. A night overscored by self-reflection, she invites us to take a piece of the show home with us. As Ward puts it, “music is a ritual.” More than a concert, we have been taken on a voyage, a transformation.
