Review: Alice Ripley with RIPLEYTHEBAND at Feinstein's/54 Below

Before sitting down and experiencing Alice Ripley's RIPLEYTHEBAND set at Feinstein's/54 Below, I'd have confidently told you that I already got it. I understood her influence as a Broadway juggernaut, I was totally down for her killer, just-salty-and-just-sweet enough personality, and was obviously in awe of her vibratoed belt that could make a tree transition into Fall just a li'l bit too early. But after seeing her show- a relatively short, wholly intimate, and undeniably personal hour with just two band-mates and a former co-star to back her- I would be forced (and happy) to admit, loudly and genuinely, that I was wrong. I didn't get it. I only thought I did.

Let me be clear: Alice Ripley's decade-spanning, ever-impressive career certainly speaks for itself. The crowd at 54 Below was (rightfully) ready and willing to give her a standing O before she even opened her lipsticked mouth to utter a note. The thing I wasn't expecting was the change in mood. It was the difference in intensity. It was the fact that she, a tried and true and Tony-winning Broadway diva, was actually, secretly, a total rockstar.

Okay, maybe not secretly. Alice Ripley has been writing and performing her own music for years alongside her band, and last night's set was a testament not just to the diversity of her talent, but to her personal willingness to be seen as more than one thing, which, in this world and in this industry, can be risky. But it's risk we should all be thankful she's taking. Her set consisted of songs off her albums including Everything's Fine and Ripley EP - albums she graciously and hilariously reminded us were available to stream, despite the relative incompetence of most streaming services. And while most of them were new to me, I never felt untethered, nor misled. I felt, actually, like she was finally completely clear to me. I felt as though, up there, with that band and those songs, she was just right.

In another universe, Alice Ripley is the New York City lesbians rocker crowd's best kept secret- and I mean this as the highest possible compliment. In performing the music she'd written herself, on a guitar she played with Frauline Maria PLUS Dixie Chicks-level confidence, Ripley presented an intriguing blend of Jewel's deep emotional lyricism, Melissa Etheridge's raw, raspy vocals, and the almost-too-dark broody specificity of P.J. Harvey. She transcended genre in a way that was both otherworldly and completely accessible. She put on a show for fangirls and newbies. She was unexpectedly, to me anyway, the underground chick-rocker I'd been missing my whole life. Only just a little bit more dramatic.

During her 12-song set, she performed an entertaining mix of intimate ballads and pop-punky duets with her always-pitch-perfect fellow Next to Normal alum, Jennifer Damiano, who absolutely shone in both her solo moments and the flawless harmonies she stepped in to feature on. And though I'm sure it was as tempting for the beltress as it was for the ever-engaged audience, Ripley never stepped into her Broadway-approved character shoes this evening. Instead, she let her mesmerizing two piece plaid suit and cooler-than-they-had-a-right-to-be sneakers speak for themselves: she was there to play the kickass music she wanted to play.

And play she did, though not without gracing us with between-song banter and behind-the-scenes insight into her process She mentioned, off and on throughout the evening, that she wasn't "supposed" to be telling stories, but bedsides the suit (which I haven't stopped thinking about!) and the surprisingly poignant setlist, her stories were the most memorable and delectable part of the evening.

She sparkled in front of the crowd. She told quick and meaningful tales about her family- she's the middle child of 11-, about her career, about her life in New York City, about her bandmates. She did an insanely perfect impression of Seth Rudetsky, which, amidst everything else, was worth the price of admission alone. She reminded us why we were there- because we all had complete confidence that she'd deliver in every possible way. She made us laugh. She warned us we might cry. And she was never embarrassed, nor ashamed, nor wavering in any way. She was herself. And that's why we were all so excited to be just as present as she was.

She told a brief story before singing a particularly personal song that ended in her admitting, "I was a solitary woman, but now I'm ready for people to invade me." Ripley's show, while intimate and special, never felt like an invasion. It felt like a communal singalong we were all welcome to this whole time, but just weren't sure exactly where to find.

We know now. Or, more specifically, I know now. And whether she likes it or not (and I'm willing to bet she does, based on her refreshingly frank between-song advice about song streaming platforms and their complicated payment cycle), I'm now 100% incapable of tuning her out or looking away. Not that I'd want to. Did I mention the suit?

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