On March 8th, the wood-paneled walls of the Memorial Room of Willard Straight Hall, usually reserved for official gatherings, cradled neon-colored lighting fixtures, stage subwoofers, and a crowd of Saturday night concert-goers. Cornell Concert Commission, famously skilled in drawing local and global artists to the Cornell campus, arranged a free laid-back show — but not without a touch of their usual class, professionalism. The Cornell Concert Commission approaches every show like a labor of love, regardless of scale. Known for their meticulous attention to detail and ability to curate shows that feel both intimate and grand, the Concert Commission offered another treat to the campus community, inviting students and visitors to spend their evenings with Frog and The FMs.
The night kicked off with The FMs, who wasted no time flooding the room with pulsing synth grounded by a steady kick of the drums, nostalgic and modern all at once, and kaleidoscopic lights, pulling the audience into their world from the very first note. The charismatic gender-bending collective walked a fine line between almost-untouchable, aloof in its coolness stage presence and raw, undoing vulnerability. But The FMs don’t shy away from emotion — and they’re no strangers to a well-timed chuckle either. An announcement of a banger titled “F*ck The New New York” sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd. As their set reached its peak, the vocalist took their presence to a literal new height, scaling the wall mid-song as if the stage couldn’t contain their energy. It was a fitting gesture for a band that refused to confine their authenticity — emotionally or physically — yet still ended their set with a humble, heartfelt “thank you,” inviting the audience to come say hi after the show.
The headliner of the evening, Frog, brought a completely different energy — still unabashedly sincere, yet flowing softly, caught in flux somewhere between the realms of indie rock, country and the wistful haze of a downbeat timeless teenage anthem. Frog look like they could be your infinitely wise best buddies — the kind to hand you a mixtape that changes your life forever; effortlessly cool, but never condescending. Their lyrics, while written with profoundness that only comes from lived experiences and bruised knees, still have a coming-of-age ring to them. Their performance felt like an invitation into a little private world, as if they let the audience in on one of those half-secret stories carried by friend groups in knowingly smiling silence. Each song had an emotional punch but never felt overdone; there was a quiet — and not so quiet — power in the way they conveyed their vulnerability, as if acknowledging the ups and downs of life were just part of the journey. It is no wonder that Frog’s set resonated deeply with Cornell students, caught right in the middle of the beautiful turmoil of existence. But there weren’t only students in attendance — an older crowd along with curious children were also drawn to the honest beating of broken-and-healed-anew hearts, delicately wrapped in the shimmering buzz of guitar. Their inherent ability to capture the balance between youthful idealism and the calm wisdom gave the performance a timeless quality, capable of transcending age and background.
The night felt like a testament to the power of music to connect and heal. Both Frog and The FMs, while presenting drastically different sonic landscapes, spoke to the same ultimate truth: authenticity, openness and mutual understanding are the most powerful things there are, and, no matter where we are in life, we’re all united by their same ebb and flow. The restrained yet undeniable energy of both sets lingered long after the final notes were played, and the audience slowly trickled out into the night, still carrying the afterglow of shared energy with them. Whether you were a student navigating the complexities of first loves, new friendships, insecurities, and both minor and epic fails or a parent reflecting on your journey, Frog and The FMs spoke to everyone. Ultimately, it was a profound reminder of the shared pulse of human existence, a connection we can continuously tap into, no matter where or when — and perhaps that’s exactly the reminder we need when times get tough.
Arina Zadvornaya is a graduate student in the College of Engineering. She can be reached at az499@cornell.edu.
