Photos provided by Alive Photography
If you were to pass unsuspectingly by the Wiltern on June 23rd or 24th, you would have had no idea that the crowd wrapped around the venue was there to see an artist whose debut album isn’t even a year old. The colorful tights, feather boas, and tiaras made the sea of young fans look like they had time-traveled straight from the 2000s — or, at the very least, were lining up to see an artist who had spent years developing such a signature aesthetic. Quite the contrary, Audrey Hobert dropped her first single in May 2025, but her ability to craft a clear brand and hit the ground running is precisely why she’s sold out two nights at the Wiltern just a year later.
With such an instantly meteoric rise, the title of Hobert’s latest tour, “Staircase to Stardom,” is a little tongue-in-cheek, likely a humorous nod to her nepotism privileges, but also not all that far off. She’s been taking her pop career one step at a time, and just so happens to be taking those steps incredibly quickly. Hobert graduated from NYU in 2021 with a degree in screenwriting, and subsequently wrote for The Really Loud House. Notably, the Nickelodeon sitcom was developed by Hobert’s own father, an executive producer known for his work on shows like Scrubs, Community, and The Middle. With those kinds of connections, Hobert probably had a career in television practically laid out for her, but after helping co-write some of her best friend Gracie Abrams’ biggest hits, including “I Love You, I’m Sorry” and “That’s So True,” Hobert chose the path of pop stardom instead.
Hobert’s experience writing behind-the-scenes for both sitcoms and hit songs has helped bridge the gap during her transition to the stage. Her debut album, Who’s the Clown?, is a thirty-five minute flow of consciousness that attempts to toe the extremely delicate line between sarcasm and honesty. It works on some tracks far more than others, but it’s clear from the second Hobert takes the stage — standing on a ladder, wearing an extremely oversized trench coat and Groucho glasses, repeatedly singing “I like to touch people” with a straight face — that this project was always meant to come alive in concert. With every embarrassing confession paired with silly choreo and a prop, what was once a wordy, quirky pop album seamlessly transforms into an eccentric musical standup set unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.
Near the beginning of the night, Hobert opened up to the crowd, “If you live here and you come to shows and LA is where you see shows, you are always seeing your artist at their most scared. It’s not the same as Arizona. I’m sorry. It’s not.” With her perfect comedic timing, she added, “Just yesterday afternoon, I was getting a steroid shot in my ass so that tonight, I could feel like Iron Man.” If she was nervous, you couldn’t tell, and given the way the crowd was passionately singing every lyric back to her, they didn’t seem to mind.
While her stage presence exudes the vibes of a quirky character from a teen sitcom, her lyrics tell a different story: one of a twenty-something seeking love and success in a big city where those are in short supply. The setlist is perfectly balanced between satire and sincerity as she sets the scene for her unexciting love life and occasionally interjects with bluntly diaristic lines like “I woke up from a nightmare where I loved a socialite,” “Sorry, is it rude to already be at the bar when you’re not?,” and “I know it’s hard, I know he’s pretty / But baby, don’t go back to his ass.”
After humorously recounting her many failed attempts to socialize, Hobert suddenly shifts the tone of the night with “Thirst Trap,” the highlight of the album that best exhibits Hobert’s willingness to say all the embarrassing things nobody else is willing to. “I’m taking thirst traps in the mirror in my room / I think I look bad so I change the lighting,” she sings while jumping around stage in front of a crowd that’s endearingly singing the lyrics right back at her. If she’s the clown for letting a crush consume her every waking thought, then we all are. By publicizing these confessions, she’s created a safe space to be vulnerable about the strange or taboo thoughts and experiences we all secretly share.
Every song tells the tale of a different night out, a different party, a different love interest — but she always comes back to the relatable realization that big city life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sex and the City is just a show, not a promise. Especially in a city like LA, where everyone’s LinkedIn and Instagram makes it seem like they’ve got it all figured out, there’s something comforting about standing amongst thousands of fellow young women who are crying, “I’m drunk and I’m high so I’m crossed / Didn’t score any guys so I’m lost.” There’s something even more comforting about the whiplash that comes from songs like “Shooting star,” “Chateau,” and “Silver Jubilee,” where Hobert’s downer lyrics are paired with glittery synths to replicate her relatably heartbroken headspace when she goes to the club or a concert to try to drink and dance her problems away.
This juxtaposition of dry humor with sincerity all throughout the album is wildly effective, but far and away best utilized on “Phoebe,” the premise of which begins with Hobert sharing, “I’m finally watching Friends,” but quickly descends into a spiral on beauty standards as she wryly questions, “‘Cause why else would you want me? I think I’ve got a fucked-up face.” It’s a line that would suck the air out of the venue had any other pop star delivered it, but that kind of authentic awkwardness is typical of Hobert, who knows how to pull it off like a pro.
The show ends with Hobert putting one of my favorite audience engagement tactics in recent years into practice by letting the audience record her biggest hit, “Sue me,” before playing it again with one rule: no phones. It’s a rule that shouldn’t have to exist, but it’s a smart one, especially for an artist with a fanbase as young and content inclined as hers. For at least one song, the crowd got to live entirely in the moment, throw their phone-free hands in the air, and scream, “Being a saint is exhausting / Sue me, I want to be wanted.”
With just one, very short album out so far, Hobert puts on a show that only clocks in at around fifty minutes, and critically lacks an opener to pad out the run time. In this economy, it’s maybe not the best deal, but if this tour is any indication, Hobert is honing a live show undoubtedly distinct from anything else out there right now. She packs a ton of energy and fun into just those fifty minutes, so if you’re looking for a good laugh, a good cry, and some good music all in one hour, Hobert is the clown for you.
Listen to Who’s the Clown? below!
