Audrey Hobert was thankful to be at the Brooklyn Paramount after a mildly received performance on Jimmy Kimmel. “They just kind of sit there,” Hobert demurred about the late-night TV crowd as she stepped onto the stage for night two of three sold-out shows in Brooklyn. Audrey Hobert’s jokes are universal, and her ability to connect with a live audience is undeniable.

Indeed, her crowd at the Paramount on September 30 was certainly not just sitting there. It took me about 45 minutes to get into the show for unclear reasons and the line snaked around three full blocks, resembling a multi-colored lanyard of Gen Z and Millennial pop fans dressed in bright pinks and yellows, and some even in full thematic clown regalia. Once inside, the crowd was faced with a mannequin, a curious decoy prop, on stage before the show began. Once Hobert arrived, standing atop a chair that was covered by an absurdly long trenchcoat a la The Little Rascals, the attendees were pretty much unanimously partaking in collective karaoke.

The Evolution of a Pop Storyteller

Hobert only has 12 songs in her catalogue, but the love she has accrued from a growing audience is deep and thorough. She first emerged into public awareness as Grace Abrams’ best friend and co-writer. With her debut single “Sue Me,” Hobert distinguished herself as a wholly different kind of artist. By the time she released her debut album Who’s the Clown? last August, she was well set up to expand the capacity of her big top circus beyond fans of Abrams.

At times in the Brooklyn venue, it was hard to hear her vocals as the crowd became a choir. The set wasn’t much more than 30 minutes long, but what it lacked in length it made up for in triumphant and theatrical monologues and prop work. Of the various items Hobert brought on stage with her, there was a trampoline, a barbeque lighter treated like an Olympic torch, red roses, and a fan that strategically blew Audrey’s blonde locks like she was in a soap opera.

Narrative and Catharsis

The gags were seasoning for the matter at hand, which was ultimately Hobert’s storytelling. Hobert, whose background is in playwriting and screenplays, has a strong intuition for narrative and momentum. Her songs feel like tight sitcom episodes, with tension and resolution. It even has a laugh track in all of us, as Hobert consistently offers up one-liners that beckon guffaws. The music is vulnerable, yes, but it is also reliably entertaining.

Does its crowd-pleasing quality make Hobert the titular clown of her album title? Not necessarily. In its relatability and universality, Hobert’s music renders all of us the clown. It’s not embarrassing, though, to be a jokerster in this universe. At Brooklyn Paramount, we were all in on the joke together, singing along in the collective circus.