By Megan McAllister
It’s a Wednesday night, Radio East’s red neon sign glows above the stage. Some folks have beers, a few have coffee; occasionally, a dank cloud wafts through the air. A winter storm is supposedly on its way, but tonight is lovely. Most people only wear a lightweight jacket, and as the night continues, many of these jackets slide down, cheekily exposing shoulders as people shake and shimmy to the music. Sudan Archives has drawn a solid crowd, some fans have been waiting since her September show at Stubb’s was cancelled last year. The venue is full, but it’s not uncomfortable; the lines for drinks and the bathroom never get too long. It’s the perfect size crowd for an unfurling night. Shy folks can feel safe to dance, anonymous in a sea of people, and boisterous folks will have plenty of space to let their freak flags fly.
There is a strong turnout for opener Angélica Garcia. It’s immediately clear why Garcia’s artistry resonates with Brittney Parks, aka Sudan Archives. She’s one woman, but she owns the stage. In between songs, Garcia laughs and claims that she’s really quite shy, but she doesn’t seem shy when she’s singing over her experimental pop beats. Her voice ranges from high falsettos to deep growls, occasionally she slips into rap. Most of her lyrics and some of her crowd banter are in Spanish, which melds perfectly with her tropical, Latino beats. By the end of her set, she’s clearly charmed the crowd; everyone has a ball during her last song, “Paloma.”
When it’s time for Sudan Archives to take the stage, everything goes dark and birdsong fills the soundscape. The lights begin to flash as a silhouette emerges, it’s that of a woman and her violin. The crowd cheers. Sudan Archives enters slowly with long, deliberate footsteps. She’s gazing around her, taking in the environment, exploring her stage in an almost theatrical sense. She’s like a woodland fairy, exploring her forest. She discovers a brightly lit computer, sits in front of it, and begins to type. Suddenly, the natural sounds dissipate, all there is is the clackity-clack of her keyboard followed by a sharp, animatronic whirring sound as Sudan Archives transforms into a robot. Every movement she makes is sharp, timed perfectly with her sound cues. She marches, robotically, to center stage, bends her back, unsheaths her bow, and launches into “Dead.” “Hello, it’s me, did you miss me?” she sings into the crowd.
As she expertly plays her violin, it becomes clear she’s no robot but a cyborg—part woman, part instrument. Throughout the night, she effortlessly slips in and out of the strap that holds her violin to her collarbone. Her bow is stored in a quiver on her back, giving her violin a weapon-like appearance. She leans into this, often manipulating the violin and its bow like a gun. “She’s a femme fatale,” one of her fans gushed after the show while waiting in line to have her vinyl signed. Sudan Archives launches into “Noire,” and the trance is broken, the crowd no longer stares captivated, for the rest of the night, they are dancing.
Every moment of this show is meticulously planned. Parks is a woman in complete control of her craft, her violin, her voice, and her body as she drifts between a myriad of electronic instruments strategically placed around the stage. Her most epic violin solos take place either atop a large platform, where everyone can admire her technique, or at the very edge of the stage, just beyond her fan’s fingertips. On “Come And Find You,” all of her strengths shine. Her hips wiggle to the rhythm, her feet stomp to the beat, she spins in place while playing her violin, and never misses a beat. At any given moment, she’ll serve her fans a piercing, fiery gaze or a silly smile.
Her precision goes beyond the choreography, perfectly timed with every audio queue. Both she and the audience seem to have the most fun when she’s pounding on the electronic drum kit. Maybe it’s the way she holds the mallets up high before driving them down, the drama of it all, the sheer power, the space she takes up. When the light hits her face just right, it illuminates the cat-eye contacts she’s wearing, which give her a freaky, almost demonic look. This is further accentuated by the crystals glued onto each of the four corners of her eyes, and the long black eyeliner that extends all the to her hairline. As she whips her bow round and round, gearing up for the next violin solo, it starts to feel like she’s not of this world.
It’s not all perfection and power and meticulous planning. There are moments of vulnerability and spontaneity too. She shouts out to the crowd that she’s “looking for someone tonight,” which they eat up. “Where my freaks at?” she calls as she launches into “Freakalyzer.” Then, during “My Type,” she leans into the crowd and puts herself face-to-face with her fans. The crowd is riled up, “I think I found them,” she giggles. Security helps a fan over the gate, then Sudan Archives leads them onto the platform at center stage. Her fan giggles, hiding their face in embarrassment for a brief moment before owning their moment and dancing it out for “A Bug’s Life.” Beneath them, Sudan Archives paces, gassing them up. By the end of the song, her fan is spinning, clearly feeling the music and the hype. It’s how we all feel during the sexy and fun set.
Queue “Ms Pacman” the song that bridges the gap from spontaneous and sexy, to vulnerable and maybe even a little afraid. As “She’s Got Pain” begins, the lights flash red, and Sudan Archives climbs on top of her platform. She spins g and marches in place, eyes flashing. It’s as if she’s summoning something the way she gathers her arms up around her. As the song crescendos, a snapping sound pierces the audience. In that same moment, she bends her back. Next, she falls to the ground, arms up in a protective stance as she cries out in fear. You get the sense that she’s being swarmed. For a moment, it feels like we’re watching a play, our protagonist is lost and terrified. The beat picks up, but this time it’s frantic. “A Computer Love” has begun, “right now I feel alive,” she screams at her on-set computer, “right now I feel alive.” Fear and love, validating those experiences, telling her fans that yes, I see that too.
She takes us back to more familiar and perhaps comforting territory, with a selection of songs from Natural Brown Prom Queen (2022)and Athena (2019). She takes a moment here to send Austin some love, recounting a tiny SXSW set she performed nearly 10 years ago that led to her taping on NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert. It’s a full circle moment, but the Sudan Archives playing Radio East in 2026 isn’t the same one that’s been here in years past. Yes, she’s true to her roots, but as an artist, Parks is constantly evolving and her fans are ready to ride with her.
She returns for a high-energy encore, playing “The Nature of Power,” and the title track from her 2025 album The BPM. “Austin, y’all have been fucking with me for a long time,” she cries out, “can I move here?” For once, the answer to that question is a resounding, ”Yes.”