Stepping into the House of Blues Dallas on Tuesday, April 29, I knew it was going to be one for the books. The moment I pushed through those massive wooden doors—decked out in folk‑art murals and flickering chandeliers—you could instantly tell the night was charged. Low‑lit lanterns cast shadows across the rough‑hewn beams overhead, and the scent of tequila and bad decisions wafted through the air, setting the perfect stage for what was about to go down.
Julia Wolf hit the stage just after 8 PM, wrapped in a leather vest. Her set was this intoxicating blend of smoky blues and alt‑pop swagger—think Billie Holiday meets St. Vincent. She paced the stage like she owned every inch of it, channeling raw emotion into into each note. By the third song, the front row was hanging on her every whisper, chanting back the lyrics like they’d known them forever.
When Artemas finally strode out, the room erupted. He launched into the first track—a synth‑heavy banger that had the entire floor shaking—backed by a tight‑as-hell four‑piece band.
He kicked things off with “i always kinda knew you’d be the death of me,” and you could practically feel the wood floors flex under the collective stomp of the crowd. Later, he dialed down the tempo for “just want u to feel something ,” letting those bittersweet lyrics wash over the room before diving right back into the next high-voltage drop. For the closing moment, “i like the way you kiss me” floated through the speakers like liquid starlight—a perfect, almost surreal exhale after the full-throttle rush.
This wasn’t your average Tuesday crowd. Everywhere you looked, there were thrift‑store vintage tees paired with fresh kicks. The floor was a sea of synchronized head bops, while across the room, couples swayed close under the balcony rails. Everyone was in on the secret: you don’t need Friday or Saturday to have the night of your life.
By the time the final chords faded and Artemas waved goodbye, the energy was still crackling through the room—people clapped for an second encore that never came, reluctant to let the magic slip away. Walking back out onto Ross Avenue, ears still ringing, I realized this was exactly why I live for Dallas show nights: when indie‑spirit, unexpected collaborations, and a packed house collide, you get moments that stick with you long after last call.
If you weren’t there, clear your calendar for the next one—because this was proof that midweek can be the new weekend, as long as you know where (and who) to catch.