Allison Russell, the Grammy-winning Americana artist, is coming back up from the underground. On Sunday night, she finishes up a 15-week run in Broadway’s “Hadestown,” which has left her with a very sunny disposition, even if her role as the goddess Persephone requires her to spend a lot of time well away from sunlight, being fated to spend half of each year in a dim underworld in order for the earth to survive. Persephone suffers a mixed fate, but Russell has thrived in the role, which sees her going out with a bang with no fewer than five shows in three days this weekend.
Eight shows a week might seem like a tough regimen for someone who has never done professional theater before, but the Canadian-bred singer/songwriter says there were aspects of it that were easier than being a touring artist — like going home to her own bed near the Walter Kerr Theatre every night. She even found time to work on an upcoming album and memoir while relocated to New York for the duration of the show (and, through all of February thus far, to post daily songs dedicated to Black History Month to her Instagram account from her 46th Street dressing room).
Russell has proven a fan favorite among the very avid cult that continues to spread the word on “Hadestown” to a broader audience that has been keeping Anais Mitchell’s show alive and thriving since its 2019 Broadway opening. Many accomplished actresses have played Persephone since then — or fellow newbies like Russell’s friend Yola (see Variety‘s interview with that singer-actress here, from when she was doing the role last fall). Persephone gets some of the show’s most seemingly joyful moments in show-stoppers like “Our Lady of the Underground,” but even a number like that has undertones that go much, much deeper (literally, considering the setting). And Russell, who has written about her own abusive past and personal liberation in two award-winning solo albums, has proven just the conduit to embody both the boozy glee and the underlying trauma that her old friend Anaïs Mitchell wrote for the show’s most conflicted character.
On a snowy New York night just prior to the wrap-up of her run, Russell talked with Variety about what she is still learning about Persephone as her experience draws to a close.
“Hadestown” has a very emotional impact on a lot of theatergoers, and prompts a lot of tears. The odds might be against that, with a story set in Greek mythology, and with production design that has a band and full ensemble on stage at all times, and even some fourth-wall-breaking at the beginning of each act. None of that matters in how much people get wrapped up in it.
In fact, it adds to it. It’s such an interesting thing, that push and pull of what is artifice, and what is the conceit and the craft of the show? And then what just happens in real moments where music makes us feel things together, and stories make us feel things together. This is an adaptation of a story that has lasted thousands of years for reasons one would assume have to do with our human nature. There’s so many layers to it. Every night I hear something new. Every night I cry. And every night my Persephone believes Orpheus and Eurydice are gonna make it.
Can you talk about how far back you go in seeing or knowing about “Hadestown”?
I first saw it with the original Broadway cast in 2020, right before lockdown. But Anais has been my friend since 2008, when I first heard her sing one of these songs while she was opening for my partner JT (Nero)’s band at the time, JT and the Clouds. It was a series at the Lobero Theatre in Santa Barbara called “Sings Like Hell,” which, you can’t even write this stuff. I remember she said, “Oh, I’m working on this folk opera based on the myth of Orpheus, and this is the song Hades sings,” and she sang “Why We Build the Wall.” Then we chatted after the show and we all got to know each other, because we were in the same nerdy folkie circles; we would all go to the Folk Alliance conference and we would trade shows and sleep on each other’s floors and that kind of stuff. Back in the day, we were feral folkies together.
And then watching it grow… The concept album comes out in 2010, then they evolve it for off-Broadway, then it goes to the Edmonton Theater — all my family back in Canada went to see it there, but I didn’t get to then because I was on tour with Birds of Chicago — and then it goes to London, and then finally Broadway. And so the first time I saw the show live was right before lockdown. It was so moving to see it come to life that way and to know how hard she had worked on it with the devotion of writing and rewriting for over 13 years by that point. You know, that’s not for the faint of heart to do.
So when you got the call, was it expected? Had it been murmured?
Do you know what it was? It was the Hozier tour. Because there’s this massive overlap between “Hadestown” fandom and Hozier fandom. [Russell spent much of 2024 opening for Hozier on his sold-out arena tour.] Much of the demographic, I would say, is similar — like young folks, 18 to 25, very gender-diverse, and femme-presenting, overall, in our LGBTQIA+ family, or a huge ally. But also, the most diverse audiences I’ve ever played to come to these shows, people from everywhere, all walks of life. Tons of Black people come, which is thrilling. This is amazing, because I came up in the folkie world, and it was like wonderful, kind, loving, well-meaning, mostly older white audiences that I played to for the first 18 years of my career. But the Hozier tour was like meeting all these magical babies. And they’d say, “Mother’s mothering.” I’m like, “Yes. I’m literally old enough to be your mother. I’m very happy to sing for you right now.” Anyway, there’s a lot of overlap with fandoms.
So when I was out playing, I had a song called “Persephone” that was on my “Outside Child” album, about my first girlfriend, my first love when we were teenagers. The Hozier fans really liked that song, and I think just because it’s called “Persephone,” it made them think about “Hadestown.” And then with the way I performed my song “Demons,” because I’m sort of this creature when I dance… they would post things on TikTok and be like, “She should be Persephone. Look at her.” That went viral, and JT noticed it and texted Anais one night just randomly and was like, “Do you know that there’s this overlap with Hozier fans and ‘Hadestown’ fans, and they’re saying Alli should be Persephone? I’ve had a couple drinks, and I thought, ‘Hey, that’s a good idea.’ She’d totally do that, just so you know.” He was sort of joking, but she wrote back and said, “Wait, are you serious? We have someone lined up, but we’re rotating that role.” It turned out the person that was lined up was Yola, which I didn’t know at the time — who is our beloved chosen sister, and who spent lockdown with JT and our daughter and I. So the conversation started from there, and started because of Hozier/”Hadestown” fan overlap.
Given your lack of adult theater experience, there had to be a little bit of a leap of faith on your part.
Oh, it was terrifying. I don’t know that I’ve ever been as scared. My debut night was Nov. 12, but even after the month of rehearsal, I had never been in full costume on the automation [“Hadestown” has multiple revolving turntables on stage] until the day I debuted. So we did essentially two shows that day, starting with one matinee, but with no one there, just with me in costume to make sure nothing would go awry, and the whole company. It’s hard on the company that way when a new actor gets put in. … When it got to a half-hour call to stage time of my debut night, I had that moment of, “Every single person in this show would do a better job than me. I’m gonna ruin it. I have no business being up there. I’m not an actor. They made a mistake hiring me. I should run now. I should just run.”
Of course I didn’t, because thankfully Annie Lennox had texted me the night before. I have to show you this text. She just intuited that I was nervous and wrote to me and was like, “How’s it going with the rehearsals?” I told her how nervous I was, and this is what she wrote to me, which is her method for dealing with nerves. It was just so beautiful, and it’s the mantra I say every night. She wrote, “All you need to do is to be prepared and step on stage with total confidence. Before I perform, I tell myself ‘Fuck it,’ then I can free myself from any anxiety that might arise. You’ll be spectacular, and the audience will melt.” So I was like, “Fuck it. I’m doing it.” And it was fun and all went well. [Russell became fast friends with Lennox after Brandi Carlile sat them together on stage at a “Joni Jam” at the Gorge two summers ago.]
And I haven’t missed a show, in 15 weeks of doing eight shows a week. I love the discipline of it, and I committed early on to not wanting to miss a show unless I was experiencing some terrible illness or injury. I feel like I’ve learned so much from every single show and every single audience and every single time I’ve had the privilege to embody the goddess on stage. And I love the discipline of it and the rigor. I love that it’s kind of a marathon. Like, I’m a long-distance runner. I’m kind of into tasks that push you to your limit. They make me happy and they make my brain calm down and shut up.
How did eight shows a week compare to your usual artist regimen?
You know what? Even doing the eight shows a week is so much more humane than touring. Because you go home to your own bed. This final weekend, it’s a five-show weekend, including two shows each on Saturday and Sunday. Those can be intense because there’s wear and tear in your voice, in your body. But for someone like me who did hard-scrabble, subsistence, sort of working-class-poor, poverty touring for much of my career, in folkie worlds where there are not riches to be had, generally… playing a show here where I don’t have to carry the whole thing, it’s not like when I’m headlining and I have to sing for two hours straight. I’m singing lead on a few of the pieces, but it’s such deep ensemble work. No one ever has to carry it on their own. And the “Hadestown” audiences are so giving and loving and uplifting and give us so much energy back, and the story itself takes you and carries you.
And when you’re the character, you don’t know that how long it is! You’re just in the moment. And there’s something really wonderful and magical about that practice. It feels like an alchemy where you get to transform into this other being and make believe. It feels actually much less challenging than doing my own show, because I’m much more mindful of making sure I can sustain for the eight shows of the week. Whereas I’ll get wildly overemotional at my own shows and freak out and not always make the smartest decisions and get carried away in the moment.
Allison Russell in ‘Hadestown’ on Broadway
What have you found challenged you most in doing the show?
The hardest moment for me in the whole show, and I struggled with this — our associate director, Keenan Oliphant, really worked with me on it in rehearsal, actually… Just standing there and watching Eurydice go off to be violated by Hades is an extremely hard moment in the play for me. Keenan told me, “You’re judging her.” And I was like, “You’re right, I am judging her.” That is the hardest moment in the whole show for me, that she’s the only one that can stop it, the only being that could stand up to him, and she doesn’t. Here’s this little baby girl who’s starving, who he is starving — he’s intentionally sent the Fates to buffet her about… He lies to her. He tells her, “You’re gonna have all this” when he’s gonna turn her into this drone and suck her life away and take her memories and identity and violate her. It’s just the hardest moment in the whole show each night, that she just watches them go up those stairs and doesn’t do anything. And so I struggled with that deeply.
And figuring out how to do “Our Lady of the Underground” was really hard for me, because on the surface it’s light, but it’s intensely dark. That is the moment where she is realizing how dystopian and dysfunctional and terrible Hadestown has become. She’s self-medicating herself into oblivion. She’s trying to get the party going (at the beginning of Act 2), the way she did during “Living It Up” (in Act 1), but it’s not a party. Nobody down there even has a memory of their identity or their self. She’s trying to wake people up by showing them the crack in the wall, and nobody can even register it. Nobody wakes up until Orpheus breaks through. But she’s also altered (through alcohol) to the point of not being able to be fully present or truthful with herself. It’s a terribly dark moment in the show, and yet there’s almost burlesque comedy to it, but then the underlying things are really bleak. You have to believe, to be emotionally truthful, and I really struggled with figuring out how to deliver that song. It’s a terribly defeated moment, whilst on the surface being kind of fun. So I really struggled with that as well. And I think I’m still learning about how to be this character, 15 weeks in.
In some ways Persephone really is kind of the most complicated character, because she gets the most comedy of anyone, with all that tragedy that is underlying or further develops. One of messages I read today talked about how much fun you bring to the “drunken aunty” aspect of that character’s energy, and there are a lot of laughs. Yet the seriousness is set up even in Persephone’s first big number, “Living It Up,” where you have this almost kind of aside where you say you’re just doing the best that you can — keeping Hades happy and keeping the world alive.
Exactly. And I’m so glad you felt that, because that needs to be felt even in that moment. Because even as we’re going into the discord between Hades and Persephone, they’re trapped in this cycle of: she has to return; she has to leave him in six months of the year. If she doesn’t return, the earth dies forever. Those are the circumstances they’ve been given, but he’s taking it as “You’re leaving me.” He’s blaming her for a circumstance she can’t control. And in fact, she’s given up being outdoors — being in the sunlight, running with her nymphs that she used to love to do — to be with him for six months of the year under the ground because she, in our version, fell in love with him. Of course there are many different interpretations of the mythology, and in many of them, it’s not consensual. But in our version, in order for our story to make sense in our world, they do love each other. She did consent to be with him in our version, but her mother destroyed the earth till she came back.
In some accounts of the mythology, there are stories about Persephone having a child by her father, by Zeus, and that child is then through his jealousy fed to the titans, who murder this child. So in my own backstory for this character, she is a mother in mourning, a mother who lost a child, a mother who was violated by her father. She ends up finding refuge with her uncle. Of course, it’s all very creepy when we think about the actual familial relationships between them. But in this case we’re saying it was consensual, and there’s this tragedy because Hades is forced to stay in the underworld because he’s treated unfairly by his family, and she has to leave him for half the year, and he goes to the dark side with isolation and insecurity and loneliness.
There’s something very sweet to me about the top of the show, and I don’t know how much the audience can tell what’s happening, on what we call the oyster platform. But Hades and Persephone are playing dominoes. That’s what we’re doing for (much of the first act). And we really play, and we usually can do three rounds by the time our parts come up. So there is a lot of nonverbal storytelling that’s already going on from the top of the show, which I’m sure the vast majority of the audience would never notice, because there’s much more exciting verbal and sung storytelling happening. But for us, establishing our characters and what our story is in this world, we’re having this unspoken narrative. And as it approaches time for her to leave, he gets more and more angry and withdrawn and resentful that she’s leaving, and she of course is resentful that he’s making it harder for her. Like, this is the deal! This is what we’ve done for 5,000 years! Why are you so mad about this? So already, by the time she’s coming down to start “Living It Up,” she’s pissed at him, and sad that he wouldn’t even kiss her goodbye. So then she’s like, “Oh, fuck it. We’re gonna have a party.” But also there’s this underlying sadness there, and she’s self-medicating and she is not entirely well. So she’s Drunk Auntie for sure, but with some real pain and emotional trauma that she’s working through or masking underneath it.
Allison Russell in ‘Hadestown’ on Broadway
“Hades” is really two love stories, one among innocents where everything goes wrong, and one among the jaded gods, who have a very twisted, fucked-up relationship, to say the least, but they do seem to be in love with each other.
They are, yeah. I think what is so brilliant about the show is no one is two-dimensional, and we even have to feel empathy for someone who is behaving so horribly because you start to realize, well, this is a terrified person, deeply insecure with doubt. This is how this person, this god, has been diminished to being so fearful as clinging to authoritarianism as what to have a certainty of, and afraid of a young boy in love and afraid of a song and afraid of how that’s gonna ruin everything. These are subtle things, but Hades has that tattoo of the bricks. In our version of this world, he was treated unfairly by his family and had to go be stuck in Hades and take care of all the dead souls. But he was this worker himself, a DIY kind of a guy, and made his own world and wooed Persephone, and she agreed to go with him because she was so compelled by his independent spirit and making the best of the situation he had. But then it turns to where he’s hoarding riches and he’s oppressing the workers, but he wasn’t like that in the beginning. And when he takes off the jacket and you see that tattoo, that’s an allusion to how he used to be a worker himself. He didn’t force other people to do it and enslave and brutalize and oppress them. He was doing it himself, and that’s what she fell in love with. But so he’s been pickled in loneliness and insecurity and isolation and has become this terrible, worst version of himself. That’s such a tough thing for all the (actors who play) Hades to have to embody, too, to have a journey where you believe that with this omnipotent, malevolent force, there’s also a heart in there somewhere. And that his prime motivation is actually insecurity, of the loss of love of this goddess who’s his only source of outside light and life and goodness and joy, because he’s trapped in the underworld.
And Persephone being complicit in that, or forced to go along…
Her name also means “bringer of destruction.” She also destroys the world. Her choice to leave…. We’re saying it wasn’t an abduction, it wasn’t a rape (as in some versions of the mythology), it was a choice. She fell in love. This was the compromise that was made: six months above ground, six months below ground. But there’s all those layers are there for sure.
The role has most often been played by a Black woman, and everyone who plays it has something to chew on with the connotations there, also depending on the other casting.
I think only a few white women have played the role. I know Betty Who did and Ani DiFranco did, and Rachel Tucker on the West End. But it’s often been a Black woman. That was a very interesting thing for me because my original Hades was Philip Boykin, who is I believe the first Black Hades, and there were so many nuances to that storytelling. And then when we switched was the day after the inauguration. So my first experience with a white Hades was the day after a rapist came to office who defeated a far more qualified Black woman. And it was really rough. I’m gonna say that Tuesday with my new white Hades — nothing against Tom Hewitt, who’s a wonderful actor — but wth the connotations of the story, it was just like, “This is a little too close to the reality we’re living right now. I’m having trouble with this.” You know, it was like relearning to tell this story with my white Hades when we were moving into this era, working on the subtleties of the undercurrents and the nonverbal storytelling.
I wondered what it was like, dealing with these inherently abusive situations, when you are someone who has lived those and written about them in your songs.
This is my first experience of acting, really, professionally. The last theater piece that I ever did was grade 10, a high school version of “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” And in this experience, I love fully suspending disbelief. I believe it’s happening in real time to Persephone every night. I don’t know what’s coming every night. I believe they’re (Orpheus and Eurydice) gonna make it every night. I’m proud of him (Hades) for letting them go, even if it’s in a compromised way, every night. I really feel the things, and I really cry and I really hope and I really get devastated every night. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to experience this show and not sob. I cried every time I saw it in rehearsal, going to watch it to learn it every night for like a month. And I feel it every night as the character. So I don’t know that that would ever stop.
Allison Russell in ‘Hadestown’ on Broadway
Has the topicality you referred to earlier affected you?
It feels particularly (apropos) right now, not just here in America, but with the rise of authoritarianism that we are enduring and suffering globally as well as here in this country. It’s everywhere. We’re having a rise in authoritarianism in Canada, too. You know, it feels medicinal almost to do this show right now. And it’s one of the things that has really struck me, having been in the medium of just sort of straight live music performance for so long, to move into this world of much more ritualized storytelling, where people surrender disbelief and take the journey together. There’s something very cathartic to me to to be part of it.
And also just to experience it in the audience — people don’t get defensive in the same way that they would if I were to, from the stage, talk about why it erodes public trust to elect officials that are rapists and criminals. If I were to talk about that from a stage at a show of mine, which I’ve done, I will get lots of DMs calling me the N-word and the C-word, and I should go back to Africa, from people that are triggered and defensive that lash out. That same person who maybe has been raised to believe in the delusion of white supremacy might come to “Hadestown” on a whim, and they might go through that whole show and actually feel the characters and go on an emotional journey and have something — even if it’s imperceptible — shift in their heart and spirit, without feeling defensive or indicted.
In the same way that music does something for us in the limbic systems and gut, when you are in the context of a theater, there is this gift of being on a journey and you’re processing a story, and it stays with you, and you don’t feel called out in some way in the moment, the way sometimes people do. I’m never calling anyone out (in concert performances). I’m always calling people in, back into the circle of our shared humanity. But sometimes I’ll say a thing and someone will hear something else. Like, there’s been times when I’ve said things like “ceasefire,” and someone heard, “You don’t believe in Jewish people’s right to safety?” That’s not what I’m saying; I’m saying “ceasefire” so that everyone can be safe. But someone hears a different thing than what I actually said because of just the intensity of all of it, and then they’re reacting to me as a person in real time, as opposed to a character in a story that’s thousands of years old and being retold for a modern audience. They get to just be in the spell of the show, and they get to see the world of this show through the characters’ eyes, and maybe that helps grow a little bit of empathy, which is being able to imagine the world from someone else’s lived experience.
So often when we’re just talking, people are in this reactive outrage: Call out, get angry, reduce things to a soundbite… all ability to talk about anything is gone. There’s nuance that comes back when people attend a theater show. It’s all the pieces at play — the lighting and the dramaturgy and the choreography and the music and the movement, and it’s the way the audience gasps one night and laughs another night. … It’s created collectively in the same way at all live shows. I believe in our circle work, and anyone who’s on stage is only half the circle. Anyone who’s attending is the other half. It really is a co-creation, always. But there’s something about the intention of the storytelling and the clarity of the storytelling and people getting to surrender to the storytelling that helps us all, I think, just feel things without getting defensive, without getting angry, without getting triggered and reactive. And we need that so much. We desperately need those places where we get to slow down and experience things together.
It really is what has struck me for many of the young ones who come 50-plus times. What they have shared is that it’s like a replacement for a religious or a spiritual practice or liturgy, almost. Many of the kids that come over and over again — I shouldn’t say kids, but young adults and teenagers, who I would say are the core audience age-wise — many of them have been rejected from their faith communities. Many of them have been rejected from their families because of their sexual orientation or their gender identity. I would say most of the kids that I’ve met that have come multiple times fall in the intersection of color, of our sexual orientation spectrum that is not straight, or our gender spectrum that is not cisgender. They have experienced vast amounts of rejection from adults in their lives and institutions in their lives that tell them, “You’re only acceptable to us if you change this about yourself.” And of course they can’t because they are who they are. And they find the show somehow, and they have community with each other, people that have come many times. We have friends who met on a sub-Reddit, and they do pilgrimages to different iterations of the show, and they see different (actors) together. It’s like they’re creating their own liturgy.
It’s fascinating to think of why this show has been so successful when, just on paper, it looks like the sort of thing that gets some good reviews and peters out off-Broadway.
I feel like I’m still just learning about what it means for some of the people who are the lifeblood of why it’s still going six years in — why it’s now the longest-running show ever in the history of the Walter Kerr Theatre. That happened in October of last year. As of this month, it’s now the 43rd longest-running musical on Broadway, period. It’s the longest-running musical written by a woman, directed by a woman. It is still the only musical to ever win best new musical at the Tonys that written by a woman and directed by a woman in history. I mean, it’s a unicorn. It’s this little musical that could, and I feel so privileged to get to be a part of it. And I think I’m gonna be processing it for years to come, what it means and how I got to be part of it and what does it mean in the greater context of what’s happening culturally? And I think we’re still discovering that because we’re in it.
And there is the bizarreness of how when it opened on Broadway, it was during the first term of the rapist in office, and everyone thought she wrote “Why We Build the Wall” about that guy. She’s like, no — Anais describes it as an archetypal coincidence. And I think that is so profound because this is an archetype that long predates him, and that will go on after. … I think about forgiveness a lot. I’m a survivor of violent abuse. The thing which has been the most healing for me in my life is coming to recognize that he was just a child that was abused, and to really be able to feel that in the front of my mind, now that I’m a mother myself, and to be able to let go of some of the hurt and the anger and mourn for the kid that that person used to be, who didn’t get a timely intervention, who didn’t get the thing that stopped it from repeating.
We have all this dehumanizing language that is getting thrown around in our various communities about people who do horrific things. We use dehumanizing language and that contributes to the issue because the minute we start to do that, we also dehumanize ourselves and we also turn humans into monsters, when humans are not monsters. They certainly do often behave monstrously when they’ve been horrifically abused, which too many of us have been. But when we speak of people as monsters, we rob ourselves of the ability to find another path and to break the cycle. And I think there’s something really profound about this show with its core of compassion and empathy in the way that each archetypal character is dealt with, that I think is healing in some way. People have the space to go through the journey of the show without having to immediately respond. They can ponder in their heart. And I think that starts to shift things, because nothing can change in the world outside before we change the world inside.
So I do think the show is profound in that way. And I know that it moves people in a very special way because they tell me of it, and I know based on the miraculousness of it. I mean, let’s think about it — Elton John’s show got shut down after two weeks. The Avett Brothers’ “Swept Away,” which was, by all accounts, a beautiful production, also (closed very quickly). It’s not that it wasn’t a good show. But there is something miraculous about the way this show continues to thrive and break through all the ceilings that were projected for it. It’s really amazing and I’m just so happy for Anais, for Rachel (Chavkin, the director), for the whole company — every single artist and craftsperson and crew and lighting designer and sound designer. Everyone in that building, they’re just wonderful people with an understanding of the deep ensemble work, circle work, that a show like that requires, and everyone respects and treats each other well. I feel so lucky to have been in this environment. This is my first experience of theater. And I will take that with me in anything else I ever do from now on.
Speaking of those things… You still have your memoir in progress, and a third solo album.
I never went to university. I left home and ran away at 15. I started working full-time and started playing music when I was 17 and busking, and it was a very feral, folkie existence. So getting this job was like, okay, I’m going to university now at “Hadestown.” I think I’m gonna be processing it for years to come, and already it has been so inspiring in generative cross-pollination for other work that I’m doing: a new album that I’m working on called “In the Hour of Chaos,” and the book that I’m finishing finally, the “Outside Child” memoir, which is now going to end with this period at “Hadestown.” And I now have been completely bitten by the acting bug and want to do more, and my agent at CAA is excited to put my name forward for other things. I’m open to all of it, and I’m curious about film and TV, but I definitely want to do more theater because I just find live theater so satisfying in every molecule of my being.
And you’re going to finish the tour that you postponed.
People have been so kind and understanding about it. We had to delay my tour when I got this role. We moved it from the fall to the spring, which is actually very resonant — like, Persephone’s gonna return to the world above in the spring and do a tour.
Allison Russell’s rescheduled 2025 tour dates:APR 15 – Melbourne Recital Centre – Southbank, VICAPR 17 – City Recital Hall – Sydney, AustraliaAPR 19, 20 – Bluesfest Byron Bay – Byron Bay, NSWAPR 30 – Higher Ground Ballroom – South Burlington, VTMAY 2 – Theatre of Living Arts – Philadelphia, PAMAY 3 – Lincoln Theatre – Washington, DCMAY 4 – Royale – Boston, MAMAY 6 – Webster Hall – New York, NYMAY 8 – The Vic Theatre – Chicago, ILMAY 9 – First Avenue – Minneapolis, MNMAY 12 – Gothic Theatre – Englewood, COMAY 13 – The Commonwealth Room – Salt Lake City, UTMAY 15 – The Egyptian Theatre – Boise, IDMAY 16 – The Showbox – Seattle, WAMAY 17 – Wonder Ballroom – Portland, ORMAY 19 – The Fillmore – San Francisco, CAMAY 20 – Belasco Theater – Los Angeles, CAMAY 23 – Scoot Inn – Austin, TXMAY 24 – Tannahill’s Tavern & Music Hall – Fort Worth, TXMAY 25 – The Heights Theater – Houston, TXMAY 28 – Ryman Auditorium – Nashville, TN
