Tuyanna Horowitz's Macolecalkin concert is habitually out of bounds: here, fears are juxtaposed with talk of hair and vaccinations, and laughter becomes an almost ridiculous ritual.
The monotonous voice and tiredness of life only emphasize the general feeling: everything looks more like a prolonged photo session at a funeral. Not a concert, but an attempt not to lose self-irony when reality itself is already absurd.
