As someone who prides themselves on devouring the fringes of music—everything from experimental jazz to art-house drone— Wand’s performance at The Chapel on Sept. 14, 2024, felt like falling into a chasm of sound I didn’t know I needed. Wand, a band that had always flown under my radar, shattered my expectations in a way that only those once-in-a-lifetime musical experiences can. My gateway into their world was Vertigo, their stunning 2024 album. I dove deep into that record, immersing myself in it for weeks before the show. Given the intensity and cohesion of Vertigo, I was excited to hear the band tour the album in its entirety, expecting the live performance to reflect the hypnotic, seamless flow of the record.
However, while Wand’s live show was mind-bending in its own right, it was a bit of a shock that they chose not to perform Vertigo from start to finish. Instead, they wove selections from their entire catalog throughout the set, creating an undeniably compelling dynamic, unpredictable experience—but it did leave me yearning for a more focused homage to the album that had been my introduction to them. This was my first real foray into Wand’s music, and I deliberately chose to get to know Vertigo in isolation, allowing it to live in my head as a singular, continuous piece of art. As a result, I had hoped to witness its raw emotional arc play out in full.
Vertigo is an album that seems to move in two directions at once. On the one hand, it is an immediate, visceral experience—delicate, powerful, intricately crafted, and brutally raw. Every sound feels meticulously considered, from the spacey, shimmering guitars to the hypnotic bass lines and distant, echoing vocals. Yet, simultaneously, the record is loose and free-flowing, like a spontaneous jam session between a group of avant-garde musicians whose only rule is to trust the moment. The album manages to live in both chaos and control.
The production of Vertigo deserves special mention. Recorded primarily in analog at Los Angeles’ famed Studio 22 with a rotating cast of guest musicians, the album feels organic—like it was breathed into existence rather than produced. The band recorded it as a live-in-studio experience, much of it captured in single takes. There’s a palpable sense of immediacy to every track. It’s an album that demands full immersion, as though it was built to be played loudly in dim-lit rooms with your eyes closed. It’s also a rare record that feels like one long piece, almost symphonic in how it builds from track to track. I had imagined that in a live setting, this would be the perfect opportunity for the band to offer a complete rendering of it—start to finish.
The Chapel in San Francisco is already an intimate venue, but for this performance, it felt almost like a sanctuary. The lighting—deep blues, purples, and the occasional flashing reds—enhanced the surrealism of the evening. The room was packed, but there was a collective sense of stillness. Time itself seemed to warp in the space.
What struck me most about Wand live was their ability to take these intricate, nuanced songs and stretch them into something entirely new on stage. At one point, during the nearly 8-minute rendition of Vertigo centerpiece “Mistle Toe,” they ventured into territory that bordered on free-jazz, bass thumping out heartbeat pulses. At the same time, the band traded guitar textures that ranged from piercing to melodic. It was a moment of pure transcendence, and the crowd—though utterly captivated—felt like they, too, were being carried off into the unknown.
The surprise of the night was how seamlessly Wand could shift between moods. Tracks like “Bee Karma” and ” Rio Grande” echo the psychedelic bliss of early Pink Floyd and the freewheeling experimentalism of Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew. Yet, nothing felt forced or derivative—this was Wand at their most confident, and the audience was locked in, ready for wherever they wanted to go next.
Seeing Wand live after having experienced Vertigo in isolation was a revelation. The album had already felt like an unexpected masterpiece, but the live show took those feelings to new heights. Wand’s ability to capture lightning in a bottle and stretch it across an entire evening of music was mesmerizing. Wand feels like a natural evolution for anyone like myself—someone at home in jazz improvisation, abstract art-house soundscapes, and the occasional prog-rock jam.
And yet, Wand remains an entity unto itself. They resist categorization, blending the spontaneity of a jam band, the precision of a modern jazz ensemble, and the fearlessness of art-rock pioneers. What they have created with Vertigo is more than just an album; it’s a living, breathing piece of art.
Their show at The Chapel was proof that this band is not merely playing music—they are crafting experiences, pulling us deeper into a world we didn’t know existed but are grateful to have found.
