A New Song That Makes You Wanna Make Music: A Maya Hawke Concert Retrospective
Hawke in Denver, Colorado on the Maitreya Corso tour.
Photo credit: August Leonard
It is no exaggeration to say that my attendance at a Maya Hawke concert was the greatest day of my life.
A month before, I’d begun work on my outfit — a crochet sweater inspired by Maya’s outfit on the cover of her third studio album, Chaos Angel. It still wasn’t done by the day of, but it was wearable, and rest assured, wear it I did.
The concert was at the Bluebird Theater in Denver, Colorado, a tiny venue that fit maybe a hundred people. This was all the better for me, though, as, shortly before the concert proper started, I managed to wriggle my way up against the stage. I made a dozen friends doing it, and got none of their names, but I remember them fondly. They loved my sweater. I loved their art. We all loved Maya Hawke.
It was a week before the release of her fourth album, Maitreya Corso, and a scant few days before she’d dropped the second single, one that became my favourite song within the first minute of its four and a half minute runtime: Bring Home My Man, a love song for the ages. As we waited for Maya to walk onstage, I told myself—and several of those around me—that seeing it live may quite possibly fulfill all my life’s desires. We all went still and silent, though, when she approached, striding on the stage right at my eye level with her band, violinist Odessa and second guitar (and husband) Christian.
“Tell me about Denver,” she asked, and I raised my hand high, never expecting to be chosen — not in a million years.
But I, much like the protagonist in some tropey YA novel, was plucked out of the crowd by my idol and all of a sudden, I had her undivided attention.
Have you ever heard of Blucifer? It’s a statue of a horse, right outside Denver International Airport. And it is absolutely possessed. The eyes glow red at night — they say it’s LEDs, but we all know better. After all, the horse is bright blue, twenty feet tall, and oh yeah, killed its sculptor. This isn’t a joke. The head fell over and crushed him. Nasty business.
This is what I told Maya, the tale of the demon guarding DIA. And she loved it. Not the horse, obviously, but my story. It had her laughing a real, snorty, graceful laugh. And then she began to sing.
The live production of “Devil You Know” was a bit different than the recording without the voice alteration technology, but I found it haunting and mellifluous, an incomparable contrast to a transfixing song.
She told us that she would perform the type of concert she loved to see, though not one that found itself popular — new music first and foremost. When you love an artist like I love Maya Hawke, though, that’s not precisely a hardship. Especially when she tells you the stories.
Hawke’s real-life anecdotes add such depth to the lyrics that if I’d never known them, though the songs would still bespell me, they wouldn’t be the same without. After all, if it hadn’t been for Levonne Hawke’s attendance of Christian Lee Hutson’s Michigan concert, we never would have had “Love of my Life”, the story to which goes something like this.
Once upon a time, when Maya and Christian were broken up, he was touring, and one of those tours happened to be in Michigan — the same place where Maya’s brother was currently residing. He went to see Christian, and spoke to him briefly afterwards before calling his sister.
“It was cool,” he said. “He talked to me, but I think it was just because he knows you,” before adding an afterthought. “He was bleeding the whole time, though.”
It turned out that prior to the show, Christian Lee Hutson had slipped in the shower and hit the back of his head, causing it to bleed profusely, as head wounds often do. It’s hard to bandage the back of your head, though. There’s hair and stuff back there. It doesn’t really stick. And the woman at the front desk wouldn’t help, either — as Maya said, it was because he didn’t have enough Best Western rewards points.
The love of my life is in a hotel in Michigan
Riding the elevator down to reception
To ask the nice lady at the front desk if she would
Put a band-aid on the back of his head
Lyrics that don’t hit quite so hard without the backstory.
Then, of course, there was the crown, and the person who got beat up after buying tickets, and the musical accompaniment to said brawl, and the signing. And we all had things for her to sign.
Two girls dressed as her Stranger Things character Robin Buckley had Scoops Ahoy hats she signed. One of my temporary friends, whose name I never learned, had a truly astounding piece of digital art. I had a sweater. And everyone else had posters, and CDs, and LPs… and Maya signed them all. Her signature is embroidered into the sleeve of my sweater so that it never fades, and it is one of my most treasured possessions.
She closed out the night with two of her more popular songs off 2022’s Moss, “Luna Moth” and “Thèrèse” — not my favourites, but still wonderful pieces of art. And as we all know, when an artist says goodnight, it’s time to hit the merch table.
However, and I’m honestly still a bit mad about this, they sold out of posters. Signed tour posters. To the person ahead of me in line. I was so close, and yet…
But, if you see me around, you’ll notice that often I am carrying a tan bag with a flower on it. If you turn to the other side, though, you’ll see Maya Hawke looking out at you serenely. The words “Maitreya Corso” grace the fabric, my beautiful bag of crochet from the greatest day of my life. So not a total bust, merch-wise or otherwise.
So really, everyone should listen to Maya Hawke. Right now, preferably. And tomorrow, and the day after, until she gets all the love she deserves. Maybe don’t see her live, though. Save those tickets for me.