In Scenester, we cover worthwhile events of all stripes happening in San Francisco. Want us to stop by? Contact Joshua at joshua@gazetteer.co.
This time last year, Natalie Lu was a freshman at San Francisco State studying computer science. On Wednesday, the 19-year-old played a sold-out concert at the Independent in San Francisco — her first in her hometown, born and raised, since she went big as the recording artist Wisp, dropped out of school, and signed a record deal with Interscope. (A San Francisco State spokesperson confirmed that she's no longer attending the school as of this semester.)
The first song she released under the Wisp moniker was as DIY as it gets: her voice captured on AirPods over an instrumental by an anonymous YouTube “x type beat” producer. That song, titled “Your face,” would blow up in a major way. Natalie’s voice, whispery and airy, swirls in an endless ether of scuzzy, decayed guitars. It’s music to wallow in and drown out your big feelings. It is certifiably huge — 56 million streams on Spotify, thousands of moody, “this is me if you even care”-style TikTok videos, a major-label deal, credited with the modern-day revival of shoegaze huge. She is part of a wave of shoegaze revivalists that feels like where rock music, more broadly, is heading. Wisp has already gotten some spins on Live 105, which is a respite from hearing “Dani California” for a gazillionth time. Already, she’s been featured on Spotify’s mainstream rock playlist.
“Your face” — and the rest of her small, eight-song discography, which taps into a similar vein of yearning, grunged-out shoegaze — is how Wisp amassed a devout following of young people in the crowd, dressed up in their Y2K-revival, mall-goth best. It’s hard to stress just how in demand these tickets were; an Instagram post spotlighting British music magazine NME’s Wisp profile was filled with comments begging for anyone to spare a couple of tickets to the show.
Those who lucked out with tickets pulled out their phones, camcorders, and 2000s-era point-and-shoots as soon as Lu came on the stage. They yelped — like, actually, audibly yelped — as soon as the first guitar washes of opener “Pandora” played.
"What's up, SF?" she said. "I'm back home."
Playing an electric guitar with Hello Kitty printed on the body, Wisp had the crowd enraptured. Natalie roll-called a bunch of cities — South San Francisco, San Jose, even Sacramento — and got cheers for all of them. She shouted out the Sunset, where she grew up. She grabbed a fan’s phone to snap a shot for their BeReal of the day; she graciously accepted multiple friendship bracelets. The set, in all its blissed-out dissonance, was brief. She has eight songs to her name, after all, but it still felt big, like a victory lap for a musician who made it big in a city where being a successful musician is just about impossible.
But for as enthralling as the show itself was, I have to imagine that, for Wisp, it felt like coming home to roost. Being a bona fide rock star probably has its growing pains; she played her first live shows in December. Wisp is self-aware enough to know that her young musical career is on hyperdrive, posting a TikTok in February about still being nervous to play live shows.
No offense to the many, many cool kids who showed out and professed their love for Wisp, but the most important folks in attendance were her family and friends. It really was a family affair; an uncle was hovering around, taking pictures of the show. A family friend, Brent, lovingly likened her music to Depeche Mode — a clear shoegaze touchstone. She shouted her loved ones out multiple times, going so far as to tell the crowd, “Everyone say hi, Mama Wisp!”
Mama Wisp is Natalie’s mom, Wanida, who was holding up one of the three blindingly bright neon signs she had custom-made for her daughter’s show. The one she held had a mermaid on it; the others had “I <3 Wisp” and the word Wisp with a drawing of a kitty on the side. Wanida got the idea from the sea of light sticks fans hold up at K-pop shows, explained Auntie Wisp, a family friend named Alkira.
Wanida and I chatted for a bit about her rock star daughter. She was outright effusive about her in the way that only a proud parent can be. Her favorite song by her daughter? Early single “Once then we’ll be free.” She pulls up a Facebook fan page for Wisp that she runs by herself. It is incredibly endearing.
Wanida even told me a bit about her daughter as a kid growing up in the city, which would probably be a bit embarrassing if Natalie were within earshot. Natalie was an instructor at the local La Petite Baleen swim school — hence the mermaid, Wanida said. She loves to swim. Natalie has plenty of stage presence, she added, which she built off years of ballet and playing violin in an orchestra. She learned the guitar in middle school, and picked up an electric guitar as a high schooler.
But this whole rock star thing? “I never imagined that. It's so unreal to me,” she said, positively beaming with pride. “It still feels like a dream.”
Editor's note: After the article was published, Gazetteer SF was granted permission to use photographs from the show taken by Wisp's uncle, Vin Eiamvuthikorn.
