I Feel Safe When I’m With Shaft: Seeing Susanna Hoffs Up Close
Not Polished, Not Perfect, and Way Better Than Expected
Friday night I went into New York City to see Susanna Hoffs at LPR in Greenwich Village. If you’re young—or have lived under a rock your entire life—Susanna Hoffs was a member of the 1980s hit band The Bangles. Manic Monday, In Your Room, Walk Like an Egyptian, Eternal Flame, Hazy Shade of Winter—these songs were unavoidable on ’80s pop radio. And yes, I’ve had a lifelong crush on Susanna Hoffs. Let’s not pretend otherwise.
I was genuinely annoyed when I found out she’d written a book and I’d missed the chance to meet her on the book tour because I didn’t know about it. That one stung. So when I heard she was performing again, I didn’t hesitate. Ticket purchased. End of discussion.
I’d been to LPR before, to see Castle Rat. It’s a small room, which is exactly what I wanted. I had zero interest in an overpriced arena nostalgia tour. The recent RUSH tour? Hundreds—sometimes thousands—of dollars. Robert Plant’s upcoming tour isn’t much better. I don’t need to refinance my life to watch aging rock gods squint into the lights. But forty bucks to see my teenage crush in a small venue? That’s a rational financial decision.
I went in expecting a polished but mostly bland performance. Hits up front, polite applause for the solo stuff, maybe an early exit if things dragged. I told myself I could leave once I heard what I came to hear. I was preparing for “fine.”
It was not fine. It was better.
Quick detour. I had recently watched one of those videos explaining the famous side-eye from the Walk Like an Egyptian video. It claimed it was a way for Susanna Hoffs to deal with her stage fright.
I called bullshit on the explanation. Total revisionist history. And then Susanna walked onstage and casually mentioned that she’d been pacing backstage, nervous because she hasn’t performed in a while. Her trick for calming herself down? Listening to the Shaft theme. “I feel safe when I’m with Shaft,” she said.
At that moment, the side-eye mystery was solved forever.
She was anxious. Real anxiety. Not cute, not performative. And it showed—in the best possible way.
This was not a slick, rehearsed-to-death performance. It felt like being invited into a band practice that accidentally had an audience. Loose. Human. Occasionally awkward. Completely sincere.
The band was Susanna (or “Sue,” as her bandmates called her), Ryan Lerman on guitar, and CJ Camerieri on horns and piano. Ryan Lerman opened the night with about thirty minutes of his own songs. I was not impressed. Worse, it gave me that awful feeling of, I could be doing this. I hate that feeling. I don’t want to measure myself against the person onstage. I want to be flattened by them.
Then Susanna came out and opened with Manic Monday. Instantly, I was home. They followed it with In Your Room. Still smiling. Still very much in. Then she announced they were going to play a new song.
Here we go, I thought.
To make matters worse, there was a long explanation about how the song came to be. I’ve always believed a song is like a joke: if you have to explain it, it probably isn’t very good.
Except this time, the explanation was interesting. And the song was good. And then the next new song was good. And then another one was really good.
At some point, the word blessed popped into my head—used in the most aggressively secular way possible. I’d arrived in the city early, visited an art gallery, and stopped at 315 Bowery, the original CBGB location. I thought about how lucky I am to be a train ride away from New York City. I love New York. If I could afford to live there, I would. Unfortunately, in my current situation, most things feel out of reach. But for that night, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Back to Sue.
The new songs were legitimately strong. She’s surrounded herself with excellent collaborators, and while Ryan Lerman didn’t do much for me solo, he’s clearly a great writing partner. What really made the night special was knowing we were the very first audience to hear these songs. Susanna kept thanking the audience for being patient with the new material, probably worried everyone just wanted the hits.
I did when I walked in. I didn’t by the end.
The List is about all the people she “dated” in the ’80s. Casablanca came from her time hanging out with Bob Weir from the Grateful Dead. She talked about her novel and mentioned it might make a good musical, prompting the piano player to casually mention that he’s friends with Edie Brickell, who loves making musicals. There was a bit of backing-band name-dropping going on, which was mildly annoying, but whatever. They even played a song written for the hypothetical musical. Whether it ever happens is anyone’s guess, but they did announce an album of all the new material coming in 2026. I’ll be buying it immediately.
They played almost all the hits. Almost. No Walk Like an Egyptian, which felt strange, but I didn’t miss it. It’s not my favorite song, iconic side-eye notwithstanding. I was thrilled she played Sitting in Limbo from The Harder They Come soundtrack—a record I’d just listened to after Jimmy Cliff passed, courtesy of a thrift-store vinyl find. She came back out for an encore and closed with Linda Ronstadt’s Different Drum. Perfect choice.
I couldn’t have been happier with my night in New York—or with finally seeing my crush live.
One last thing. I did my usual move: took a photo at the beginning, maybe a quick video, then put my phone away. I don’t understand taking photos/filming at concerts. Everyone else is already doing it, and you can always find better footage later. Also, it’s been scientifically proven that memories don’t stick as well when you experience everything through your phone screen instead of actually watching it (read the study here).
Sure enough, the entire show was filmed—by the guy standing next to me all night. We’d talked beforehand because he was struggling with the daily Wordle. So if you want to see the whole thing, his video exists.
I watched it with my own eyes.
And I’ll remember it.
Get out and support live music.
Take it easy,
James