A Tale of Two Artists

Sarah McLachlan and Suzanne Vega Get to the Heart of Things

WORDS Ninette Paloma

In the late eighties, when Hulk Hogan and Max Headroom reigned supreme and news over the Iran-Contra Affair jolted our political consciousness, two guitar-slinging women in auburn locks became the antidote to a barrage of cultural noise. With lyrical grace and easy wit, Suzanne Vega and Sarah McLachlan hit the airwaves with piercing songs of heartache and humor, wrapped securely in an armor of combat boots and skirts cut on the bias.


Their music spilled over several genres, a nightmare for purists and marketers alike: too bitter to be folk, too shrewd to be pop.

Over three decades and nearly two dozen studio albums between them later – not to mention a top-grossing music festival and one catchy single used in the creation of the MP3 – the ambassadors of poetic rock pounced onto the steps of Santa Barbara (on the same week, no less) with an armful of tales to unpack.

That they both chose a storytelling approach to their respective concerts should come as no surprise; Vega and McLachlan have been waxing poetic over the human experience on the pages of a writers’ notebook since their teens. More astonishing was how immediate the nostalgia set in during their sets; songs so familiar to their fans, a dense fog of memories seemed to almost insulate the theatres’ walls. At one point during McLachlan’s performance, she remarked whether we noticed the temperature had been steadily rising as the evening wore on. 

Let’s talk about McLachlan, who stepped onto the Arlington Theatre’s stage on September 23rd to the roaring applause of a mostly forty-something crowd donning slip dresses and leather jackets. In casual succession, she transitioned from classical to electric guitar; piano to ukulele; all the while sharing places and head spaces for some of her most successful singles. Only when vulnerability was fully exposed did she segue into the song itself, adding layers of empathy to an already gripping melody. When she revealed that “Building a Mystery” was written by the 21-year-old version of herself navigating a brief and colorful stint in New Orleans, her ensuing vocals came alive with imagery over the “beautiful, fucked up man” she had become entangled with. Grrrl, tell us more.

By contrast, Vega’s September 28th performance at the Lobero Theatre greeted a subdued, café crowd: stoic couples and blazers over jeans and a sea of smart-looking glasses. Vega herself couldn’t help but conjure up that Greenwich Village air, her bookish humor backed up by a serious command over self and the spoken word. When she fished out a top hat and tipped it over her brow before launching into “Tom’s Diner” – a song covered so many times, Vega created an entire album around it – the audience finally let loose, humming along and tapping their feet to a beloved and infectious beat. At 63, Vega still knows how to navigate a discerning crowd.
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Relevance is a funny thing, implying that without a current expression in the cultural conversation, an artist is in danger of downgrading their credibility. Sure, both Vega and McLachlan continue churning out music with new and forthcoming albums, respectively. And the influential impact of their body of work will reverberate for generations to come. Yet the vulnerable act of reflecting on yesterday’s experiences can carry relevant weight no matter the year. Vega and McLachlan exposed their hearts and memories to a rapt audience, and the experience was nothing short of cathartic. I hope it was for them, too.