I rushed from my friend’s apartment in Lakeside and got to McCarter Theatre right before Natalia Lafourcade was set to perform. When I first arrived, I was shocked by the sounds of code-switching I heard between English, Spanish, and their hybrid form known as Spanglish. I worked my way through the crowd and heard a wave of languages as I tried to navigate the directional signs that are only in English. As I got to my seat there was a man behind me shouting for his friend below us. Christopher Small points to how architecture of performance venues conditions us to behave in certain ways, especially settings for musical performances. While some around us were annoyed at his shouts, I found this to be a welcome disruption of the conventions of performing arts centers. Cherishing Latinidad together can productively disrupt and transform spaces that feel inflexible like the concert hall. 

It is hard to remember the first few songs beyond how they felt in my body. My hands were shaking in anticipation as Natalia played out the same suspended chord to ensure her guitar could be heard. It was almost hard to watch at first—it felt too raw and open for the hundreds of us watching her. I looked down as she played, tapping the rhythm on the notebook I brought. But I gasped and lifted my eyes towards the stage once she sang in falsetto. Her voice drew the breath out of my lungs. She would later describe how naked she feels to perform with just her guitar. Then came another shout from someone sitting to my left— “¡Nunca estás sola!” (“You’re never alone!”). There was a visceral connection between the audience and the performance. We could hear the soft tapping of Natalia’s foot to maintain her tempo. There was a closeness in the same way I might perform in my friend’s living room.

Later on, Lafourcade began explaining the motivations behind her songwriting process. In the middle of a sentence, she stopped and asked, “¿Debería hablar en ingles?” (“Should I speak in English?”) The audience, including myself, shouted, “No!” at the top of our lungs. The crowd was united in their belief that Lafourcade should not have to conform to the audience members who solely speak English. Yet Lafourcade also encouraged us to translate for our English-speaking friends to ensure they could appreciate what she had to say. During her performance, Lafourcade often spoke of bridges, between cultures, sounds, and communities. This call to whisper a translation to our friends was itself an attempt to bridge linguistic barriers. Music is not a universal language, but it can build connections and foster dialogue if we let it.

This performance was by no means unidirectional—the audience was engaging in musical acts by singing, cheering, and shouting praise. The audience naturally began to clap along to Lafourcade’s voice and guitar. The rhythms of Lafourcade’s songs, however, can be difficult to follow. For one particular song, she guided us with a mnemonic device for the specific rhythms of Son Jarocho—“Café con pan.” The audience clapped together as Lafourcade began the song. At times she whispered “café con pan” into the microphone as we fell out of time. Though Lafourcade was on stage by herself, she was aware that her audience functioned as her orchestra. Lafourcade made this clear in one of her final songs, where she shouted, “¡No me dejen sola!” (“Don’t leave me alone!”) as the voices of her ensemble faltered. She was instructing us on how to perform alongside her. 

Lafourcade’s encore can only be described as sensational. The performance ended with “Cielito Lindo,” a folk song my mother used to sing to me as a child. I could not hold back my emotions as I sang along, and even now as I write this I am moved to tears. Alongside our chorus were several gritos, a shout held to express admiration for a performance. Gritos are a cathartic release of emotions, in the same way that I saw lovers and friends holding each other and swaying to the song’s rhythm. I attended alone, but I felt a deep connection to the Latines who grew up with the same melodies and pride in the songs I grew up hearing. I rushed to my feet as the song ended to give her the standing ovation she deserves. But it was also to say thank you for making me feel seen.

The Scholar’s Take is a series of essays by Princeton students in response to experiences at McCarter. It is part of Arts & Ideas which connects University scholarship and campus life to the work on our stage. Co-sponsored by the Humanities Council at Princeton University.