Kuhoo Verma, Sounds of Healing
My first return to 54 Below was for Kuhoo Verma (whose last show was the last time I had been to 54 Below) for her show she was calling “Sounds of Healing,” which was something we all needed about then, roughly fifteen months since the theater shutdown.
I’ve been avoiding using the word “shutdown” lately to describe any response to the pandemic. My store closed a few days before the official closure of non-essential businesses and we kept up precautions long after other stores abandoned them. Big box and grocery stores never closed even in the most safety minded areas. In many areas there was basically no precautions made, we really did not do the bare minimum to protect ourselves. But broadway and the theater world really did shutdown. The theater world really took the harm of everyone else’s mistakes, and they were hurting.
I consider myself lucky for being one of the few to see Ms Verma perform that night, in a reduced seating 54 Below, with an audience first venturing out into a modicum of normality.
54 Below had been a classic New York cabaret. A long straight deep stairway behind a red door and a kind man matching vaccine cards to driver’s licenses to a list of ticket holders, leads to an appropriately garish venue with faux antique fixtures and a red glow that couldn’t help but remind me of Masque of the Red Death even in 2019.
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Ms Verma had given one of my favorite performances of the Before Time. In Octet she played a young person who may have been online too much but had not fallen into the most toxic elements of social media. Octet’s runtime had been one horror of the internet age after another, from the obvious rabbit holes and pitfalls of social media, to the alienating nature of information. Her song, sung along to her own fist beating her chest, was a final chance at joy after an evening of seeing the harsh realities of the internet. This evening was all about bringing joy back into the world.
My knowledge of the actual music is lacking, these are personal choices of Ms Verma, but each one was heartfelt and sweet. It would had been completely expected for her to address the audience about her time during the shutdown. She allowed the music to do the talking, and speak, it did. At her last show, she took us on a tour de force, showcasing a talent for the ages. Here, she didn’t solicit awe, she didn’t show off; like the best healer, she helped us find the path to heal ourselves.
Towards the end, Ms Verma led us all in a sing along of I am Light by India Arie. She led by singing the song in the most beautifully simple melody I have ever heard, allowing us to follow her. I still feel that energy within me, getting through these months that became years. I can’t control the world, I can’t control how the world sees me, I can’t make people I love take care of themselves, I sometimes can’t do the best things for myself, but I am light. She allowed the song to exist and grow, for the audience to become comfortable with singing with her, to become well in a world that is sick.
She is always a revelation, a wonder of unusual magnitude. What is so deeply impressive on this night was focusing all that into a night of meditation and gratitude. How did Jack Benny get laughs from silence? how did Spielberg make daylight terrifying? how does Kuhoo Verma be so overwhelmingly talented while allowing our souls to heal? (Let alone not being intimidating) Her eyes led us to close ours, and not think about our shared trauma. Nearly every other sing-along I have witnessed wasn’t about the audience, it was about the singer leading the audience, showing power over the audience when applause isn’t enough. Ms Verma found a way to use the sing-along to create a community and spread warmth.
It’s not realistic to see every show I want to, but no matter how many theater moments I have or will miss, I will always feel privileged because I got to witness Kuhoo Verma bring hope back into the world.
