Thee Sacred Souls don’t just play soul music; they create spaces where it's safe to feel everything at once. Their songs unite lovers, the heartbroken, and those still searching, binding them with something unspoken but deeply familiar. That sense of connection was already in the air hours before the show began. At 5:30 p.m., the line outside The Union Event Center was already wrapping around the corner, despite the doors not opening until 7 and the show starting at 8. The 22-degree cold caught most people unprepared, leaving them running in place to stay warm. But across the rail tracks, a coffee shop offered hot drinks, and it quickly became clear that the music didn’t just bond the crowd—they were connected by respect. Strangers held each other’s spots in line as people made the ten-minute walk for relief. It was a small but meaningful gesture, setting the tone for a night rooted in love and community.
Astyn Turr opened the night with her forest teal guitar, her voice, and a quiet confidence that commands attention without asking for it. Her presence was intimate, understated, and disarming. When she covered Frank Ocean’s “Godspeed,” the room stilled; it wasn’t just a performance, it was a moment. Her ability to fill such a large space with only her voice and guitar highlighted an authenticity that didn’t need embellishment.
The highlight came when she dueted with Viane Escobar—not just her roommate but a fellow backup singer for Thee Sacred Souls. Their voices intertwined with raw, unpolished harmony. By the time Astyn introduced her diss track "Last Song," the crowd was fully on her side, cheering as if they had scores to settle. The song hit with sharp clarity, balancing her wit and vulnerability. She didn’t just warm up the stage—she claimed it, leaving as an artist who demanded to be heard.
When Thee Sacred Souls took the stage, the audience focused intently on the band’s unassuming presence. They opened with “Lucid Girl,” a standout track from their sophomore album. Its deliberate pace and textured instrumentation captivated the crowd, establishing a tone for a performance that relied not on spectacle but on the profound weight of the music itself. Lead vocalist Josh Lane's falsetto sliced through the mix, revealing every emotion without restraint. It was not a polished perfection; instead, it was raw and unrelenting—a voice that engages listeners by laying everything bare. Watching Lane navigate through the crowd during “Running Away” felt like an act of trust, breaking the barriers between artist and audience without theatrics.
The setlist balanced songs from Got a Story to Tell with older fan favorites, creating a dynamic flow that kept the crowd engaged. Tracks like “Can I See You Again” and “Easier Said Than Done” brought a sense of the familiar, with grooves well-worn and beloved. Newer songs like “Losing Side of Love” and “One and the Same” felt heavier, more introspective, and reflective of the band’s evolving sound. These tracks held a different weight live, their rawness amplified by the communal performance. The new material wasn’t just an addition to the set; it felt like the next chapter of a story Thee Sacred Souls have been telling since their debut. The band played with a confidence that comes from knowing they don’t need to prove anything—they’re simply here to share what matters.
Much of the band’s power comes from the rhythm section. Sal Salmano and Alex Garcia don’t play to impress; they play to hold everything together. Salmano’s bass lines are subtle yet commanding, creating a steady pulse that anchors even the most delicate moments. Garcia’s drumming is sharp and deliberate, balancing precision with just enough looseness to let the songs breathe. Together, they form the backbone of Thee Sacred Souls, their grooves so tight and intentional that they feel less like individual performances and more like one seamless rhythm. Touring guitarist Shay Stulz added tasteful riffs that punctuated the set with moments of warmth and melody, complementing the band’s soulful core without drawing focus. This foundation allows Lane’s angelic falsetto to take flight and gives the three-piece horn section the freedom to fill the room without overwhelming it. It’s restraint at its finest—every note played with purpose, nothing wasted.
The crowd itself became part of the performance during “I’m So Glad I Found You, Baby.” Lane led a call-and-response that split the room into two groups, their voices colliding and harmonizing in imperfect unison. There was no hesitation, no self-consciousness—just people leaning into the moment. Strangers turned to each other and sang, their voices filling the space with something that felt less like a performance and more like an act of love. It wasn’t about perfection—it was about connection, a reflection of the band’s ethos: love shared, love expressed, love unifying.
The night closed with a two-song encore that felt inevitable. “Future Lover” came first, a slow, searching track steeped in yearning. Its quiet, introspective tone pulled the room inward, creating a shared moment of reflection—a love song for what could be, for futures imagined but not yet realized. Then came “Can I Call You Rose?,” the song everyone had been waiting for. It wasn’t just a closing number—it was a quiet celebration, a culmination of the night’s journey through love in all its forms. The final notes lingered, leaving the room in a kind of reverent stillness as if no one wanted to let go of what they’d just shared.
Thee Sacred Souls don’t just perform—they create space for their audience to feel. Their music doesn’t rely on pretense or spectacle. Instead, it strips everything down to its core: love, loss, connection. For those willing to listen, the band offers something rare—a chance to sit with yourself, with others, and with the music, and leave feeling just a little more human.