LOS ANGELES, CA- It was one of those soft Los Angeles evenings where the weather seemed to echo the mood of the night. I showed up to the Moroccan Lounge earlier than I usually do, and to my quiet surprise, a small gathering had already formed outside the venue. People huddled beneath overhangs or simply embraced the air, buzzing softly with anticipation. Then, for just a minute or two, a light, ephemeral drizzle fell from the sky — not enough to send anyone scrambling for cover, but just enough to feel like a cinematic foreshadowing.
We didn’t know it yet, but that fleeting bit of rain was the perfect metaphor for the performance we were about to experience: gentle, cleansing, and profoundly comforting. Having recently written about Morgan Saint’s latest album, *Out of the Blue*, I came into the show with high expectations. That record had revealed itself to be a lush, introspective journey — an immersive body of work that tugged at emotional threads with poetic grace. I was eager to see how those sentiments would translate to the stage, and by night’s end, it became clear that her live presence didn’t just meet those expectations — it expanded them.
Inside, the night kicked off with a short but memorable DJ set from Vaniaaa, who was joined by Kate Brunotts and Chloe Chaidez — yes, that Chloe, of Kitten fame — behind the drums. The energy was loose and communal, with the trio conjuring an unorthodox mix of percussion and beats that veered into playful and unexpected territory.
In perhaps the most LA-art-scene moment of the night, a male friend of theirs got down on all fours and acted as a human table, balancing the DJ setup on his back. It was absurd, irreverent, and somehow perfectly charming — a fitting opening note for an evening of creative expression and emotional release.
Next up was an artist who goes by the name Stupid Hobby. Though I hadn’t come in with much background knowledge, what unfolded on stage was a tightly constructed, emotionally charged set. She performed to backing tracks, which helped flesh out her lush sonic palette, but I found myself wishing I could hear more of her raw, unfiltered voice. At times, the vocal tracks felt a bit overpowering — a production choice that may have masked the nuances of her live singing.
What she may have lacked in vocal clarity, however, she more than made up for with atmosphere and flair. Her stage presence was confident, theatrical, and deliberate. A wind machine, aimed just right, sent her hair flowing with each sweeping movement, adding an extra layer of drama to the performance. There’s something magnetic there, and I left curious to hear where she might go next — preferably with a setup that gives her voice more room to breathe.
Then came Morgan Saint.
Clad in a loosely fitting white jersey, with “Los Angeles” boldly stitched across her chest, she stepped into the spotlight like a celestial being returning home. From the first notes, the room transformed. The lighting — stark contrasts of deep shadow and radiant bursts — accentuated every rise and fall of her music’s emotional gravity. It felt like an unveiling of her inner world.
Saint’s setlist traced a throughline of vulnerability and growth, touching on themes of heartbreak, identity, longing, and liberation. Her voice, ever ethereal but grounded in emotion, carried songs like “Out of the Blue,” “Blazing,” and “15 Forever” with aching clarity. Fan near the front sang along to But it was during her performance of “You” — the very first song she ever wrote — that something truly magical happened. Fans near the front began singing along, word for word, and a hush fell over those who weren’t. I felt a chill crawl down my spine. There’s something awe-inspiring about seeing a young artist perform a song that started as a private thought and watching it echoed back at them by strangers turned believers.
She moved fluidly through her set: “Just Friends,” “Glass House,” “Did You Lose Your Heart,” “Hope You Find What You’re Looking For,” “Deep,” “Kiss,” “On Fire,” and “Slipping Away.” Each song seemed to swell with greater intensity, both musically and emotionally. The transitions were smooth, the pacing exact, and the performance immersive. Watching her command the stage — sometimes stepping into near darkness, other times basking in sudden beams of light — felt like witnessing an artist not just perform, but embody the music she’s created.
It’s always impressive to see an artist still carving their name into the cultural stone elicit such a devoted response. There’s a quiet power in Morgan Saint — the kind that doesn’t demand attention, but inevitably draws it. On this night, she didn’t just play her songs; she transformed the Moroccan Lounge into a chapel of feeling. And for those lucky enough to be inside, it felt like the beginning of something luminous.
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