Review | Noah Kahan’s ‘We’ll All Be Here Forever’ Tour

Noah Kahan, a Vermont singer with New England roots, is one of the fastest rising stars of our generation. One of a few artists who went viral on TikTok and was able to turn it into genuine superstardom, Kahan went from going to restaurants alone in Los Angeles (as he mentioned in night one of his recent string of two sold out shows at the Hollywood Bowl), to playing the biggest venues of his life on the tour of said show.

I had heard of Kahan from many people here and there — more indirectly, he was an artist all of my favorite artists loved; collabing with Lizzy McAlpine, Kacey Musgraves, and Brandi Carlile. And, more directly, I’d heard of him from my cousin’s roommate, who ecstatically told me she’d be going to his concert later this year, my coworker (who grabbed her face, two handed, and squealed in delight when I told her I was covering this show), and from Adam Melchor, whom I had interviewed a while back, to name a few. But the one thing that was clear in all of these scenarios, was that this guy must have it. He had that thing where when you got his music, you really got it. I know because I’ve had that look on my face when people have spoken about his aforementioned collaborators. I knew there must be something special about him, so I signed up for the show and, unlike usual, didn’t listen to any of his music leading up to the show and simply waited to be inevitably (I presumed) pleasantly surprised.

My mission was clear: while I knew he had it, I wanted to figure out, by the end of the show, what it was.

As I waited for Kahan to come onstage, I noticed the crowd around me didn’t have a “skew”; they didn’t skew young, or old, or of any demographic really. A group of young girls sipped champagne and ate pizza, bored, a middle-aged couple held hands in anxious anticipation, staring longingly at one another, and a group of old men in the box next to us looked around, confused (I thought at first they were just annual pass holders at the Bowl, but they ended up being the ones shouting every word the loudest). I thought about how, at that point, I felt I really didn’t have any clue as to what the show would be like.

Kahan started off the night strong with “Dial Drunk,” one of his biggest hits. He put his hand to his forehead, blocking the overhead lights, and peered into the back of the crowd, beaming. He was filled with energy, guitar in hand, bouncing around the stage like he was performing rock music. Staring into the crowd, he made sudden head movements as if striving to be closer to the audience. The band included a violinist and banjo player, both of whom switched instruments throughout the night (including a mandolin). He played a few songs with the band, including highlights “False Confidence” and “Everywhere, Everything,” before moving onto the acoustic portion of the set, where he played “Godlike” and “Come Over” with childhood pictures behind him. It felt nostalgic, especially now paired with the fact that many of his songs shouted out his home of Vermont, yearning wholeheartedly for the days when he was younger. I was slowly realizing that Kahan seems to be a master at capturing that period a lot of us feel in our youth, where it feels like you’re trapped in eternal confusion, with both a simmering resentment and a hesitant fondness.

However, the moment of the night that truly clued me into Kahan’s secret touch was his B-Stage set. Kahan ran into the middle of the Bowl, standing in front of a few fans that were grabbing and yanking each other back and forth. He performed “Pain Is Cold Water,” “Maine,” and “Growing Sideways.” The latter spins a narrative expertly, pairing emotionally resonant lines such as, “I move sideways, until I forget what I felt in the first place,” with hilarious yet dejected ones such as, “spent my savings at a Lulu, now I’m suffering in style.”

“How do you guys go to the bathroom?” Kahan asked, laughing, remarking on the huge climb up the hill required for audience members sitting at the back of the venue. Throughout the night, Kahan made several jokes, one string of them poking fun at the venue’s huge size. Another highlight: “Sometimes we can blame ourselves for our parents’ divorce. I just want you to know, it’s not you. It’s definitely your dad.” Kahan’s stage show is unlike anything I’ve experienced: a mix of aggressively stated humor, sweetly genuine and cheery dialogue with the audience, and running back and forth across the stage with breakneck speed. And it was all while he played folk music. While idiosyncratic, it seemed so real it felt almost unintentional.

Kahan ended the night with his viral hit “Stick Season,” and the crowd sang every line and danced along like the words were running through them. Even the players onstage closed their eyes and would pair together, jumping in unison to the music. As stated before, Kahan mentioned towards the end of the evening how he was his own best friend for a while, and laments on how he went everywhere alone when he lived in Los Angeles. You can hear that feeling in Kahan’s pen, his search for his own truth. And in that, I think I found the key to all of it; the apparent dissolution of his listener demographic, the reactions of my colleagues, how a folk singer with mostly down-tempo tunes managed to sell out two nights at the Hollywood Bowl.

In Kahan’s search, carrying a powerhouse voice that in one line can run from explosive to tender to raspy plus intricate guitar melodies in tow, he taps into the feelings that everyone feels and doesn’t want to say, and puts them into words.

Mission accomplished.