Tickets are $25 in advance and $30 day of show. Doors at 7:00 pm | Music starts at 8:00 pm. 21+ You’re not doing what you need to do, but feeling stuck and overwhelmed by the thought of getting from point A to point B. In its lived-in meditation on impermanence and transformation, A Sign In The Weather inhabits a pensive intensity on songs like “Stuff”—a heavy-hearted look at living with your decisions, graced with free-spirited harmonies and Shveitser’s spellbinding pedal-steel work. “I went on a trip with some of my best friends, and experiencing those dynamics again made me realize how much I’d changed,” says White. “We were out drinking martinis, having a fun girls’ night, and I started sobbing at the dinner table because everything felt so different. I think ‘Stuff’ is about recognizing the changes you’ve made and processing what that means, instead of just getting caught up in the excitement of your new life.” Next, on the gritty but tender “Dream Song,” White ruminates on the often-hidden burdens of the past. “That song came from grappling with anxiety and questions of self-worth, and asking whether I’m going to carry my past experiences in relationships into this next chapter of my life,” she says. “At the same time it’s recognizing that I’m in a beautiful relationship now, and in some ways it’s the first love song I’ve ever followed through with.” A work of immense sensitivity, A Sign In The Weather endlessly showcases White’s gift for turning complex emotions into songs that unfold with an undeniable ease. On “False Start,” for instance, she vents her frustration at the pettiness of mindless chatter, evoking a glorious catharsis at the song’s gorgeously rambling outro. “I wrote that after the floods in North Carolina and a few other catastrophes related to climate change,” White explains. “It came from a place of feeling so sick of hearing people gossip about surface-level drama when it felt like there were more important things to talk about.” Meanwhile, the sweet and breezy “All My Friends” paradoxically emerged from a moment of restless exasperation. “I was at a music festival and felt like there was a lot of posturing going on, and I noticed how I tend to shut down in those environments,” says White. “‘All My Friends’ is about recognizing that I don’t ever want to participate in any kind of situation where I’m not being totally authentic to who I am.” And on “Pink Living Room,” White contemplates certain heartache in her past and sinks into the lovely tranquility of her current circumstances. “I was sitting in the pink living room in the house where I live now, and it was like I was in a cocoon where I felt so safe and cared for,” she says. “This pink living room felt like a physical manifestation of the gentleness I was experiencing, and the song became like a conversation where I’m telling a past version of myself, ‘Check it out—this is what it’s like now.’” As White reveals, the journey of uprooting her life has proven to be both wonderfully disorienting and unexpectedly grounding. “Where I’m from is pretty much as far away from New Orleans as you could possibly go in North America, so it’s definitely a shock to my system sometimes,” she says. “There’s an incredible contrast between this swampy, sticky place and the mountains and the ocean back on the West Coast, and I find it really fascinating that you can feel very much at home in such different places.” In discovering a profound sense of belonging in her new surroundings, White has unlocked a deeper understanding of her own values as an artist and musician. “I think if you have a musical community around you—people that you feel a comfort and connectivity with—there’s no need to go elsewhere or find other people to play with,” she says. “To me this album was a real labor of love and so empowering to make—it validated that I trust myself and trust my vision, and now I just want to keep doing it my way and keep working with people I believe in.”