In the months between announcing her 2024 headlining tour and her June 4 stop in Little Rock, 26-year-old queer pop icon Chappell Roan catapulted to superstardom. After seeing her perform to a packed house of the most adoring and enthusiastic fans I’ve ever encountered, it’s hard to imagine her ever being dethroned.
In other words, those who were lucky enough to score a ticket (I’ve heard the resale market was brutal) to her long-sold-out show at The Hall beheld something almost certainly ephemeral. Following the end of this run of dates (several of the venues were even upgraded to larger spots in response to demand), there’s a very good chance that Roan will never play in a room this intimate again.
Brian Chilson
The Hall’s standing room capacity is roughly 1,300, but from the looks of the line snaking around the entire building when I arrived over an hour before showtime, you might assume you were dealing with an arena-sized crowd. Perhaps another reason the line was so intimidating is that 75% of the people making it up were loyally dressed according to the theme Roan designated for Little Rock: Pink Pony Club.
Unsurprisingly, pink cowboy hats were ubiquitous, variously bedazzled with feathers, glitter, rhinestones and light-up apparatuses. Dresses, skirts and tops made of denim, satin and tulle commingled as volunteers from Arkansans for Limited Government collected signatures in support of putting the Arkansas Abortion Amendment on the ballot in November. Most importantly, compliments gushed generously between strangers-turned-fast friends. Former Arkansas Times reporter Mary Hennigan called it the “cutest line ever.”
Another wholesome dimension of the affair that hopefully won’t disappear once Roan inevitably graduates to stadiums: Throughout the tour, Roan enlisted local drag queens as her openers for each show, with Little Rock’s Pagan Holiday and Kitty Kouture and Memphis’ Zoloft being her selections. Holiday played host, introducing herself as “Sarah Huckabee Sanders’ worst fucking nightmare.”
My experience with drag show production is that it’s often a little scrappy, so it was special to see these performers in a high-voltage context. All three were top-notch and totally at ease, with Kouture’s full-bodied command of the audience (her cartwheels were flawless) and all-Ariana Grande playlist rising slightly above the rest.
Still, the highlight of the opening sets was probably the moment when Holiday’s wig accidentally fell off. A consummate professional, she finished out Olivia Rodrigo’s “Good 4 U” by lip syncing its vengeful lyrics to the wig itself, which had the perhaps unintentional but thought-provoking effect of making the song seem about gender angst instead of an ex.
The crowd was so ear-blisteringly engaged during the drag portion of the show that it felt impossible that there was room for leveling up, but sure enough, once Roan (and her band, an all-femme trio on drums, bass and guitar) took the stage in a metallic pink corset/bodysuit with fringe tips and tightly-wound fishnets, the decibels surged higher. Every word of the first three songs — “Femininomenon,” “Naked in Manhattan” and “Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl” — was screamed so loud that Roan nearly got drowned out, and she seemed delighted, confident yet smiley in a way that suggests she’s still a bit in awe of her effortless domination.
Really the only song that the concertgoers were less-than-perfectly-fluent in was the B-side ballad “Love Me Anyway,” which came next. It might have been my favorite tune of the night, in part because Roan’s powerful voice was the most untouched by crowd participation but also because the song falls far on the sincere side of her tonal spectrum, which roves freely from heartfelt to campy.
About halfway through her set, Roan cheekily introduced “HOT TO GO!” by saying, “We’re gonna teach you a dance,” as if we weren’t already familiar (and obsessed) with the YMCA-esque moves that satisfyingly accompany its chorus. She proposed that maybe we use our fingers instead of arms to spell out the letters because of the tight quarters, but — ever committed to the bit — we found a way to make it work, limbs and all. It was glorious.
A couple of songs later, Roan and her guitarist, now strumming an acoustic, did a quiet rendition of “Coffee.” The two stood close together with few theatrics, making it a good time to admire Roan’s slow-blowing hair, a long and curly mane of deep crimson that simultaneously sets her apart and also gives her an everywoman quality.
After the song ended, she chatted with the crowd for a bit, describing herself as a “random girl” who “got lucky,” and it came across so genuinely, her popularity being as fresh as it is. She mentioned growing up in Springfield, Missouri, where the climate for queer people isn’t unlike Arkansas. “We want you exactly as you are and nothing more,” she concluded, as if speaking for both her band and the softhearted community that’s formed around her music.
Soon after was “Casual,” Roan’s devastating tribute to a one-sided situationship. While the recording has an understated magic that locates its emotional core in dejection, the song’s underlying bitterness crackled louder in a live setting, bolstered by the rock instrumentation of her band. It made me wonder what a more electric guitar-forward album from Roan would sound like and got me fantasizing about all of the different directions she might explore next.
Roan’s final three songs were “Red Wine Supernova,” recent single “Good Luck, Babe!” and “My Kink is Karma.” “California” and “Pink Pony Club” were set aside as encores, but really any of her songs would have made sense as a way to close out the set. It dawned on me that another unique facet of her rapid ascent to fame is that it’s come at a moment when she has only one full-length record under her belt, 2023’s “The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess.” She played every track on the album, and there may never again be an era when an entire audience is utterly unified by knowing her whole catalog so thoroughly. What a treat to have witnessed it.