When Arlo Parks’ debut, Collapsed in Sunbeams, won the 2021 Mercury Award, few were surprised.

After all, it was amazing: Earnest without cheesiness, a beautiful glimpse into the life of a young, queer woman emerging into adulthood and being let down – a tale we all can relate to. It was the height of Covid, of the isolation and fear that was dominating all of us. Arlo Parks, while singular, was a universal voice. Her second album, 2023’s My Soft Machine, built on this framework, expanding the sonics while still reveling in the loneliness.

Arlo Parks - Collapsed In Sunbeams — Collapsed In Sunbeams – Arlo Parks

But the world in 2026 is a very different place. We’ve emerged from our cocoons, trying to rebuild community while everything else collapses. We’re reaching back out to each other, desperate to feel a part of something bigger after so long home alone feeling small. For a lot of people – as has been the history of the queer community – this means partying and raving, finding any way to move our bodies in resistance.

This was the energy that Parks brought to Mtelus, Montréal on September 3rd in support of her third studio album, Ambiguous Desire.

The stage was mostly darkness, Parks and her two bandmates more silhouettes through the fog than solid forms. The strobe lights framed their dancing perfectly, while long-interludes of electronic, pounding beats made it feel like a collaborative spectacle, rather than just a replaying of the album.

Ambiguous Desire - Arlo Parks — Ambiguous Desire – Arlo Parks

By halfway through the set, Parks had done what few others have been capable of: Delivering raw emotion to the rave.

Everything that makes her special – the tender open-heartedness and sense of weary strength that permeates everything – were still present, but it felt like the time for crying had passed. It was now time to move.

And just when the sweat was pouring and the crowd were baying for more, Parks appeared in a single beam of light, delivering a slow, piano version of “Black Dog.” It was a stunning moment, both a beautiful rendition but also a second to reflect on how far we’ve all come since those early days alone with Collapsed in Sunbeams. After the last note rang out, the beam of light shut off, plunging us all into darkness. It was healing.

Then, like any great partier, Parks stood up, faced the crowd, and urged us to dance even more, as if assuring us that we’d had the feelings, now time for the release. After all, wasn’t that how she helped us through the pandemic in the first place?

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