There was some New York magic last Wednesday night—a strange and unexpected joy in the air. Knicks fans held their breath for Game 4 and, along with several venues, at the Town Hall Theater near Times Square, Performa: Live on Broadway—a one-night-only, vaudeville-inspired benefit—included 14 acts with more than 50 artists, live music, theater, dance, comedy and visual arts.
The non-profit behind the scenes, Performa, was founded in 2004 by art historian and professor RoseLee Goldberg, who is now the organization’s founding director and chief curator. It commissions artists from around the world—many of whom are visual artists who have never performed live before—to create new concerts performed throughout New York City. Its biannual three-week event in November has become an art form and favorite.
The Town Hall has its own history of unexpected, mysteriously related nights. It was built in 1921 by the abolitionists who designed it with democratic seats (it literally means “no bad seats”). On a November night, one of its founders, Margaret Sanger, was arrested on stage for talking about birth control. His fans followed him down the street, singing “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.”
After more than a century, this place was full of enthusiasm. Notable guests included Solange and Tina Knowles, actress Alia Shawkat and MoMA head of art Lizzie Gorfaine and former New York Times art critic Roberta Smith. Artist Laurie Simmons was also there, to see Music of Regret-a three-act film that premiered at the premiere of Performa in 2005-is presented with live singers and musicians for the first time. Meryl Streep, who stars in it, once told Simmons it belonged on Broadway. After 20 years, Simmons told the Observer, “of course.”
Snaking lines wound up the stairs as people waited for drinks. Nearby, others waved their hands at hoodies with Barbara Kruger’s red text: “Seek it, buy it, forget it.”
Amid the pre-show frenzy, the Observer caught up with Ernestine White-Mifetu, Sills Foundation Curator of African Art at the Brooklyn Museum. He said Performa has “really impacted the New York ecosystem,” creating spaces where you see “a wide variety of artists and visitors, whether it’s young kids or adults.” The evidence was in the room: “A six-year-old child wearing a silver-colored dress with his mother, grandmother—they are all there.”
The system is activated by restarting the Chair/Pillowa 1969 book by legendary musician Yvonne Rainer. The dancers move the pillows of the white bed, spin around the metal folding chairs, sit and stand with deliberate, understated precision. As longtime Performa co-founder Sozita Goudouna told the Observer, one of the organization’s gifts is the opportunity to see historic performances “that our generation doesn’t have the opportunity to see.”
Next, comedian and late-night comedy writer Casey Jost joked that he found old Yelp reviews from backstage in the 1920s. “All this is true,” he said of death. “Five stars. I saw a young, fledgling basketball team, the Knickerbockers, playing down the street. And they were winning until President Harding came in Game 3. Warren G. Harding, dictator.” Later, she left the audience wondering if her shock of blonde hair was dyed or au naturel.
Several spellbinding acts followed: singer and multi-talented musician Lonnie Holley, whom Caretaker named one of the “30 acts you must see before you die,” belting out the piano; and a series from Marcel Dzama Life on the Moon (For Lorca)his 2023 Performa commission, featuring a live dancer as a shimmering, slightly eerie golden moth, against a projected black-and-white film.
Award-winning SNL writer and comedian Julio Torres took the stage next, strutting around with a bent bar strapped to his chest, a Diet Coke dangling from the end. When he caught it, he missed, and failed again. He explained, matter-of-factly: “I went to Barry’s Bootcamp, and they put these on us to … run faster. It’s a great job, I’m not going to lie. The bottom line is you’re always aiming for the unattainable goal.” In all this action, he took a swipe at his precious soda. When he finally struggled on stage and managed to secure his Diet Coke, it was empty. “So, what did we learn today?”
Anne Imhof brought a tender touch to the scene from which it was taken DOOM: House of Hopehis 2025 work at the Park Avenue Armory; Goldberg, a longtime friend and now editor, had specifically requested this love song. “You have to do this,” Imhof remembers saying. It opened with flashing red lights and the sound of numbers—hours, minutes, seconds—as a lone ballerina, en pointe, swept the stage. Between arabesques and pliés, he walked, hands on hips, and looked at the audience as if in a studio mirror. It was the kind of performance that makes you put your hand to your heart. “Live performance is a vulnerable field,” Imhof points out. “It doesn’t produce things. It’s like ephemeral, like these beautiful, magical moments. You have to protect them.”
The lights came on. Red signs with white lettering had been passed to the orchestra seats, and Jost ordered the faltering arms to be held up, each one tilted that way. From the balcony, the words are joined together, some are crooked, some are slanted, everything is amazingly imperfect. Apparently, Jost captured it. People got out of their seats to look: the message was Barbara Kruger’s pieces Untitled (Questions)asking, “Who is above the law? Who is silenced, bought and sold? Who dies first?”
Another favourite, serpentwithfeet, took to the stage in a fog. He put a black boxing glove on one fist and a red glove on the other and sang “Wander.” He was interested that night, he told the Observer, “in suspending disbelief, and inviting others to suspend disbelief.”
Live performance has a way of doing that. Simmons told the Observer that he got more from the night than he had expected and thought about the live performances that inspired him. “That kind of quick, unpredictable, can-go-everything thing is very similar to what making art feels like. I’m not talking about having a polished plan … I’m talking about what happens in the studio when you’re making things. That unexpected part, at least for me, as an artist, is what’s really fun.” Watching his episode live, he thought it might all go wrong. “But you know what? Nothing important. Everything is fine for now.”
There was sadness beneath his happiness. “RoseLee keeps the concept of performing arts alive,” Simmons said. He came to New York at its height. “Believe it or not, there was a point where the market was not controlled by money. It was controlled by ideas about the avant-garde. I would sit in the gallery floor and listen to Laurie Anderson play her violin. There was so much to see, and you didn’t have to pay a cent.” Goldberg said, “you’re keeping something alive that could easily die with everything else that’s dying now.”
Goldberg knows he is weak. In an age where, as he put it, “nobody has time to read or watch or see,” he gives audiences the chance to sit for an hour, their attention “focused on new ideas.” Someone had just come up to him about a piece they had seen and said, “I’ll never forget it.” He loved that. “That’s a good sign of housekeeping certification, that you’re going to see things in a way that you’ll never forget.”
And just like that, in an unexpected twist, the Knicks completed an epic comeback, winning by one point with one second left. The Miracle of New York. The whole town was filled with hope. The unexpected, it turns out, can be a lot of fun.
