Delaney Bailey

Delaney Bailey returned home to Beat Kitchen last night for the final show of her Midwest tour, and it felt less like a concert and more like a shared exhale. Before she even took the stage, the room was its own ecosystem of stories and energy: Grey, a longtime fan and talented singer-songwriter in their own right (@greymorganmusic on Instagram), planted themself front row, taking it all in. Devin, a musical theater major from Joliet making the trip into Chicago for his very first concert, slid in beside us with a timid smile, later telling us, “I was going through a rough time this year and Delaney’s music got me through it.” He walked out with the setlist tucked under his arm. A couple drove in from Pittsburgh just for the set, sharing quiet laughter as they waited for Delaney to take the stage. Teenagers took selfies, cringed at the results, and tried again. Here we all were, wildly different strangers, scattered across our respective timelines and stories, all anchored by Delaney’s powerful art.

When Delaney stepped onstage, removed her shoes and offered her gentle, earnest presence, every phone shot into the air for a split second before disappearing just as quickly. No one wanted to watch this through a screen. We all fell silent as her beautiful voice filled the room, her songwriting swelling around us. Every now and then a sniffle surfaced or a soft voice sang along under their breath. 

She moved through heavy hitters like “Nightshade” and “Forgetting Delaney” before offering a gorgeous, reverent cover of Bon Iver’s seminal 2007 classic “For Emma, Forever Ago.” Despite how ethereal she was, she kept us grounded, laughing between heartbreaking lyrics, cracking jokes, sharing pieces of her life and her songwriting journey. For seventy-five minutes, our experiences braided together, young and old, heartbroken and newly in love, wistful and hopeful, drawn into the same warm current of her music. We laughed, we cried (who cried? I didn’t cry, shut up), we danced through it all.

Delaney closed the night by sending her band offstage with the softest thank-you’s before standing alone with her guitar to play “J’s Lullaby (Darlin’ I’d Wait For You).” Voices echoed back to her, a room full of strangers suddenly singing like one body. It felt healing. It felt honest. And maybe that’s the magic of a Delaney Bailey show, she doesn’t just perform songs. She lets you inhabit them, asks you to bring your own stories, and honors the truth that for one brief moment, this story belongs to all of us.