Community, Solidarity, and Good Fucking Music: Liberation Weekend Recap

All photos by Taylor Grimes

Any music festival that starts with a wall of death and a band smashing a guitar is cool as fuck in my book. Any festival where the lineup is comprised of mostly trans and queer musicians is powerful and inspiring. Any festival where the proceeds are going to a good cause and the event revolves around more than just getting shit-faced with your friends while loud music plays… well, that’s about as radical an act you can take part in as a music fan. 

Liberation Weekend is a brand new music festival in Washington, D.C., billed as “two days of music and arts for trans liberty.” The festival was organized by punk band Ekko Astral and trans rights advocacy collective Gender Liberation Movement. The festival began as a kernel of an idea that frontwoman Jael Holzman had in the wake of last year’s election and materialized as a sort of Pitchfork Fest for trans rights, with all proceeds going to the Gender Liberation Movement. Featuring a knockout lineup of Certified Swim Favorites™ like Home Is Where, Greg Freeman, Bartees Strange, and Pop Music Fever Dream, the fest took place across two days on Friday, May 30th and Saturday, May 31st at famed D.C. venue Black Cat with afters at the tri-level DC9 Nightclub. 

Long story short, Liberation Weekend was two days of incredible music, infectious energy, and communal support. I was on-site (alongside esteemed member of the Swim Team, Caro Alt) from start to finish, taking in a collective 20 hours of music, 22 different sets, and an infinite number of fits, smiling faces, and jumbo slices. We captured at least a little bit of every set on Instagram, preserved forever as a Highlight for your viewing pleasure, but also nabbed some pics on our trusty digi cam. Read on to see what the inaugural version of the festival was like.


Day 0: Solid State Books presents Niko Stratis' "The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman"

On Thursday, May 29th, before a single note of music was played, Black Cat hosted a reading and Q&A with Niko Stratis that served something of an unofficial kickoff to Liberation Weekend. Stratis’ recently released book, The Dad Rock That Made Me A Woman, is one of my favorites that I’ve read in a long while and felt so immediately revelatory that a handful of the Swim Team writers decided to start a book club just so we could all talk about it. 

An absolute masterwork in music writing, the book is a memoir-in-essays on transness, labor, music, and self-realization. Each chapter of the book is centered around a specific “dad rock” song, with Niko using songs by Wilco, The Replacements, Sheryl Crow, and more as jumping-off points to discuss transitioning and her eventual journey to sobriety. Throughout the book, I found myself awestruck by how well Stratis jumps back and forth between more traditional music writing and vivid personal stories, often dovetailing the two with an energy that enraptured and inspired me.

After Niko read a bit from her essay about The Wallflowers’ “One Headlight,” she and emcee Rax King (a D.C. local) played a round of “Dad Rock or Not,” which is precisely what it sounds like, as the pair ran through a series of bands for Stratis to determine whether they classify as dad rock or not. This laddered up to a key point within the book outlining the difference between a “father” and a “dad,” with Niko ultimately surmising that “A dad is somebody you remember.”

The night’s discussions also included a tangent on chips and bagels, thoughts on identity through labor, a condemnation of “coolness,” and advice from Niko that “if you’re going to get tattoos, some of them have to be stupid.” Stratis also had some trenchant analogies about how coming out as trans doesn’t fix everything, explaining it as being more like a circuit breaker where nothing’s labeled. On some level, it’s nice to have a fresh start, but you still have to put in the work to figure out what everything does and who you are trying to be. My favorite quote of the night came when Niko was discussing how to discover new music and said, “If you’re ever at a record store and there’s a guy working there who looks too stoned to be alive, ask him what he’s listening to, ‘cause it’s gonna be good.”


Day 1: Emo Music, Smashed Guitars, and a Flood Warning

It’s a muggy Friday in DC, and I arrive at Black Cat an hour before doors to bask in the pre-show calm. The lights are low, and the black and white tile floor is already cast in swirling green laser lights. To the left is a bar hawking a combo of whiskey and Narragansett Lager; to the right is a bank of pinball machines ranging from licensed tables like The Big Lebowski and Johnny Mnemonic to classics like Centaur and The Machine: Bride of Pin-Bot. Also to the right were tables for the Gender Liberation Movement, Transa, and the Trans Music Archive.

Before the day began in earnest, Ekko Astral frontwoman Jael Holzman took the stage to introduce the festival and explain its inception. “Months ago, we had a dream to raise money for trans people instead of against them,” she explained to applause from the already half-full room. Holzman went on to introduce the first band of the first-ever Liberation Weekend…

Pop Music Fever Dream

A brilliantly chaotic no-wave band from Brooklyn, Pop Music Fever Dream kicked off Liberation Weekend with lamentations and bad vibes in the best possible way. Guitarist and lead singer Tim Seeberger wailed into the mic as bassist Carmen Castillo glared into the crowd, the attendees already throwing themselves into each other, an instant reminder that, after all, D.C.’s hardcore scene helped invent slam dancing. The fact that there was moshing for their first song signaled a strong start to the proceedings. At one point, Seeberger unfurled the mic cable and wandered to the back of the room, parting the crowd for a wall of death. “The fight doesn’t stop tonight, but i  in t’s fun to celebrate,” they explained in between songs. After 30 minutes of primal howls crawling around the stage, PMFD ended the set by smashing a guitar, with shards of the sunburst Jaguar flying into the rapt audience. Helluva way to start things off.  Read Lillian Webber’s interview with Pop Music Fever Dream here

Greg Freeman 

Next up was Greg Freeman, a Vermont-based alt-country indie rocker whose 2022 debut, I Looked Out, has been a staple of my musical diet over the last few years. Freeman was playing a solo set, just him, a guitar, and a harmonica, giving effortless folk hero energy as he played through hits from his first LP as well as his upcoming sophomore effort, Burnover. Earlier that same day, he released “Curtain,” a piano-packed barroom brawler that the audience was lucky enough to see in a raw, stripped-down form. Singing through clenched teeth, songs like “Come and Change My Body” took on a feeling of renewed meaning in a room full of people expressing their gender in a genuine and free way. Read Taylor’s write-up of “Curtains” here

Pretty Bitter

After the no-wave freakout of PMFD and the earnest folk stylings of Greg Freeman, D.C.’s own Pretty Bitter swept to the stage, bringing big dance party energy. Running through older material as well as songs from their upcoming Tiny Engines debut, Pleaser, the five-piece strutted their stuff with confidence and momentum that got the crowd grooving in turn. Frontperson Mel Bleker commandeered the mic while Kira Campbell shredded guitar solos and Ekko Astral’s Miri Tyler and Liam Hughes held down the bass and synth, respectively. Behind them, drummer Jason Haze battered his kit, twirled his sticks, and stood up to hammer his loudest solos. To quote my friend Jacqueline Codiga, “The drummer doesn’t have one song where he needs to be doing all that, but I’m glad he is.” The whole set felt like dancing around your room on a random weeknight after finding out your crush likes you back. Luckily, we only have to wait till July to hear the band’s sophomore album. 

The Ophelias 

Not to say the bands before this weren’t getting fits off, but when The Ophelias took the stage in floor-length floral dresses, white platform heels, and long, flowing hair, it was clear a new bar had been set. Reveling in the beauty of their recently released Spring Grove, the Cincy five-piece enraptured the crowd with a set of lush, violin-framed indie rock. Addressing the world at large, then the thrust of the festival, lead vocalist Spencer Peppet laid out, “This shit sucks… but this is cool,” which was met with applause from the ravenous audience. 

Pinkshift

I’ve been lucky enough to catch Pinkshift a couple of times over the last few years, and each time, I swear they get faster, tighter, and even more ferocious than the last. The Baltimore punk band brought immediate anger and urgency to their almost-hometown set, condemning white supremacy before ripping into “ONE NATION,” a song that got the entire front of the room jumping. Leader singer Ashrita Kumar is a force of nature, thrashing across the stage while their voice vaults from heavy growls to soaring high notes. The band and crowd fed off each other’s energy as vicious circle pits seemed to fuel the band’s bone-snapping nu-metal-esque breakdowns. Read Taylor’s write-up on Pinkshift’s breakthrough “i’m gonna tell my therapist on you” here.

Vinyl Raffle + Raquel Willis of Gender Liberation Movement

Before Night One headliners Home Is Where took the stage, Jael and Miri handed out the first batch of raffled vinyl courtesy of Topshelf Records, including the likes of Weatherday, Really From, plus some exclusive test presses. One by one, winners were called up to the stage to collect their wax, then the pair handed the stage over to Raquel Willis of Gender Liberation Movement, who had some choice words to say on the whole affair. “Even if you had a hard day, a hard week, a hard life… bitch you are here.” She went on to explain how apt this pairing is, stating, “It makes perfect sense that this festival centers around punk rock. Music and creation and punk [have] always been ours.” Willis continued with inspiring vamping about how we have to show up for everybody, shouting out the queer freaks and the gender fuckers. She ended on a simple note, stating to the packed crowd, “We deserve liberation forever.”

Home Is Where

In the months leading up to Liberation Weekend, there was one band everyone in D.C. was talking about. Conversations about tickets and lineups circled around one thing — “I mean, Home is Where is headlining.” When the Floridian emo group dropped I Became Birds in 2021, the album was an immediate shock to the system–rickety, electrifying, and invigorating for its entire 19-minute runtime. Two years later, the group followed it up with the even more full-throated the whaler, a tense, loving, and grotesque record about getting used to things getting worse. This year, the group pushed out even further with Hunting Season, a country-fried take on their sound that doubles as a love letter to their home state after members were forced to relocate in the wake of increasingly aggressive anti-trans legislation. Read Wes Cochran’s review of Hunting Season here.

Donning Dylan-like sunglasses and rocking the second harmonica of the night, lead singer Bea MacDonald explained these stakes outright to the packed audience, “Tilley and I had to leave Florida, and we’re homesick.” The group played through high points of their recent LP, including “migration patterns,” “milk & diesel,” and “shenandoah,” all of which were met with a thrashing crowd that emphatically screamed along to every word. I felt second-hand euphoria hearing “Oh, what a strange salvation / bong water transubstantiation” live. In one of the funnier bits of stage patter, Bea introed, “This might be the closest to the Capitol Building that you’re allowed to sing these words” before throwing to “the scientific classification of stingrays.”

Upon completing their set, the crowd was still ravenous for more, spurring a genuine encore from the group that saw Bea and Tilley take the stage, just the two of them, for a stripped-down rendition of “roll tide” off Hunting Season. It was a joyous way to end the first leg of the day, but not the whole day, because there were still afters, so off to DC9 we went.

Interstitial Migration

Situationally, Black Cat sits in the middle of 14th Street, a relic of a different time in D.C.’s music geography that’s now locked in by a couple of fratty bars, a beer garden that doesn’t sell hard ciders, and a Brooklinen. However, up five blocks and through a couple of neighborhoods, DC9 stands in a long line of bars and clubs, catty corner to the historic 9:30 Club and its subsidiary, The Atlantis. Groups of festival-goers walked on the red brick sidewalks from one venue to the next as the sky threatened to open again. Everyone was replaying what happened during Home is Where’s whirlwind set while keeping up a brisk pace to make it to Perennial.
– Caro Alt

Perennial

Because Home Is Where went a little over and it took a while to say goodbye to all our friends at Black Cat, we showed up a few songs into Perennial’s set, but the Connecticut modernist punk trio had already whipped the room into a frenzy. We walked in during the raucous “Up-tight,” which the group blows out into a call-and-response jam, walking into the crowd as vocalists Chelsey and Chad alternate lyrics “in the middle of the night / oh yeah, alright, up-tight.” The trio worked the refrain down to a whisper, and the crowd was more than happy to oblige, chanting along to every word until the group brought the guitars back out and turned things into an all-out punk party. Dressed in matching horizontal striped shirts, Perennial’s set was contagious and pure rock and fuckin’ roll.

ZORA

Introduced as “the transsexual menace,” ZORA took the stage as an indietronica duo with live drums and braggadocious hip-hop bars. After shouting out her hometown of Minneapolis, Minnesota, ZORA led a chant of “Fuck Target” after the company rolled back its DEI initiatives earlier this year and pulled their support for local pride events. Playing plenty of songs off her recent Get Better Records releases Z D A Y and BELLAdonna, ZORA offered a fun palate cleanser to the otherwise rock-heavy aftershow. 

Um, Jennifer?

I was lucky enough to catch Um, Jennifer? a week prior, playing The Mercury Lounge with Eph See and Deadbeat Girl, so I was fortunate in that I knew what to expect. That is to say, a triumphant set of rock music helmed by Eli Scarpati and Fig Regan, who playfully trade deliveries between vibrant shades of indie rock. While Eli brings a buoyant, classic rock approach to his songs, Fig impresses with slightly headier songwriting that at times feels like a mix between Black Country, New Road and under-appreciated defunct Detroit prog-punk band Mover Shaker. Together, the pair is backed by Grayson Ellis (of Twinflame) on drums and Carmen Castillo (of Pop Music Fever Dream) on bass. Together, the four churned out effortlessly charismatic pop-rock bangers to a ravenous 1 am crowd.

With a recently released self-titled full-length behind them, the group rocked through a set of songs that spoke directly to transition and gender dysphoria/euphoria. Highlights included the Blondie-coded “Went On T” and “Old Grimes,” a surfy number with a soaring chorus about listening to Grimes before she did all that other stuff. There were times when Eli was flying across the stage, jumping from the bass drum, shirtless, performing with such zeal that I was reminded of a young Bruce Springsteen. Even the on-album interlude “Jennifer’s Dungeon” took on a cathartic new life when performed live, with the entire crowd finding release in the repeated wail of “I shaved my face for you, baby!” The night ended with “Cut Me Open,” a jumpy rocker that has been one of my favorite songs of the year for two years running. Read Brad Walker’s review of The Girl Class EP here.


Interlude: Merch Booths, Organizing, and Wishlists

By the time we emerged from DC9 a little after 2 in the morning, we were met with an absolute deluge of rain. We checked the weather app to learn that D.C. was experiencing both a flood and a tornado warning, almost as if Mother Nature was just as fired up from the eight hours of music we had just taken in. We ran through the streets and piled into a Lyft back to our digs in Adams Morgan, then proceeded to saty up until 4 am, wired from the day’s events.

This midpoint seems like a good spot to show off some of the beautiful merch and organizations that were tabling the fest. There was a little something for everyone: cool shirts and CDs, smut and stickers, zines, narcan, test strips, and DIY hormone guides, the sense of community stemming from the fest was reflected even in these booths.

While I’m breaking timeline chronology, I’d also like to use this space to discuss my personal wishlist for a potential second iteration of Liberation Weekend. First off, my mind goes to Jeff Rosenstock and PUP, two bands that Ekko is about to tour with this fall that seem like prime headliner suspects for an event like this. I also think Mannequin Pussy and Lambrini Girls would bring a hard-nosed punk edge that the festival seems to bend toward. Because I’m a Portland Boy, I also have to rep Alien Boy, whose loud-ass guitar rock tackles something universal in the queer experience. Just to round things out with some emo music, I think Snowing, Ogbert The Nerd, Swiss Army Wife, or See Through Person could all provide prime mid-day sets that would keep the energy high. Okay, enough daydreaming, back to reality. 


Day 2: Local Legends, TRANSA Showcase, and Ekko Fucking Astral

Miri Tyler

Day two of Liberation Weekend started with Miri Tyler kicking off the Locals set at DC9. You can’t talk about DIY music in D.C. without bringing up Miri Tyler. Not only did she play in three sets across the 22-set weekend (all different instruments, I may add: bass for Pretty Bitter, drums for Ekko Astral, and guitar/vocals for her own set), but outside of the festival, you can find her at practically every gig and show. The first time I saw Tyler wasn’t actually onstage, but opening the mosh pit at a Bacchae show several years back – her love of music and D.C. is infectious, and the crowd she was playing to at 2:30 pm was giving her that love right back.

Sonically, Tyler’s project is jangly and a bit groovy – the song “Land of the Loaded Gun” boasts a phenomenal bassline, held down by Kira Campbell, which acts as the song’s center of gravity, much like a Yo La Tengo song. During the set, the trio played a new song with a fucked-up groove, then transitioned into an older track with more of an emo beat. Tyler wears her heart on her sleeve, and that earnestness is what this festival thrives on.
– Caro Alt

Fun aside. Just a short beat after Miri’s set ended, one of the vendors from the back of DC9 shouted, “If anyone wants gay porn, I have some!” Then amending their proclamation with “Trans porn!” What a beautiful festival. 

Berra

I always find it kind of embarrassing when there’s a local act I haven’t seen three times yet, let alone haven’t seen once, but I had never seen Berra live until this weekend. Under the blue lights of DC9’s corner-set stage, Berra’s Roba Djalleta stood in the spotlight and began her dreamy set. The weekend happened to line up with the release of the band’s latest EP, Lover’s Virginia, which came out the previous Friday, meaning there was a plethora to celebrate. The crowd bounced along to poppier songs like “Guys” and swayed to misty tracks like “For Not You.” Djalleta’s velvety voice and the shiny band oscillated between the emo stylings of the Midwest and bedroom pop contemporaries like Beach Bunny. All together, it was a starry set, and I hope to catch Berra again soon. If any D.C. bookers are reading this, book Berra.
– Caro Alt

Massie

Right as Massie kicked their set off with an Interpol-ass riff, Kira Campbell came over my shoulder and whispered, “This band is about to melt faces,” and damn was she right. You know in cartoons when a band plays so loud that the amps start smoking and the volume dial pops off? That’s Massie. The group is a thrashy power-pop project shared between guitarist Emily Yaremchuk and drummer Sam Collings. Collings’ drums sit at the heartbeat of the band, thumping through Yaremchuk’s feedback and fuzz. Sonically, they lean into a bit of gaze and get a little Gladie. No matter what or where I see them – a library, a basketball game, or at DC9 – they always feel like someone lit a firework and threw it into the air.
– Caro Alt

Pinky Lemon

You can’t help but feel electric when Pinky Lemon performs. About as synonymous with The D.C. DIY Sound as anyone can get, Pinky Lemon normally sprawls across the stage with five members; however, for this set, they opted for a stripped-down version of their synthgaze. The last time I saw Pinky Lemon live, they were participating in a tournament called Mosh Madness, in which local bands soundtracked a series of 3-on-3 basketball games made up of local musicians. Their ominous yet dancy sound reverberated around the auditorium then as it did at DC9. While the setting was incredibly different for Liberation Weekend, the performance was just as in-your-face; they even covered “Love Buzz” with Miri Tyler. This set was definitely Pinky Heaven, not Hell.
– Caro Alt

Faith/Void

Back at Black Cat, I walked into Faith/Void’s set right as the NY rock trio were ripping into a cover of Mclusky’s “Day Of The Deadringers,” which brought me back to life. Their whole set was proper shouty down-and-dirty punk goodness with an undercurrent of jilted Gen X energy. The band’s bio on Instagram reads, “suckin dongs and smokin bongs,” and I’m happy to report that’s the exact kind of energy you can expect from a Faith/Void set. 

Big Girl

After reading Katie’s write-up on Big Girl earlier this year, I thought I knew what to expect from the red-hued indie rockers, but turns out taking in this band’s show firsthand is something else entirely. The set began with all four members putting their hands together, then bandleader Kaitlin Pelkey proceeded to lie on the ground and writhe, slowly coming to life as the rest of the band gradually cranked up a swell of noise. Dressed in red tights and a sheer red top wrapped in a protective suit jacket, Pelkey is the ideal frontperson, equal parts iconic, theatrical, intimidating, and captivating. After shredding for one song as a four-piece, Pelkey shed their guitar and began to strut the stage, vamping, tambourine in hand while promising that select members of the audience were going to get that “biiiiiiig promotion,” lulling us in with the promise of “healthcare” and “everything we ever wanted.” The group proceeded to play through a selection of songs off their recently released DYE EP, and within minutes of their set ending, I was already looking forward to the next time I would be blessed enough to catch Big Girl again. Read Katie Hayes’ profile on Big Girl here.

Ted Leo 

Ted Leo is a staple in D.C. music in the same way that St. Stephens is a staple of D.C. DIY venues, in the way that Smash! Records is a staple in D.C. record shops and the way that Fugazi is a staple in knowing what D.C. post-hardcore is in the first place (come on, it was gonna get mentioned at some point). Last year, Ted Leo (and his Pharmacists) took Ekko Astral on tour to celebrate the 20th anniversary of his anti-war power pop album, Shake the Sheets; now he’s returning to support the Gender Liberation Movement. While he was Pharmacist-less, he still brought the house down with his stripped-down punk songs and blood-hungry bite. If everything went according to plan, this weekend was already set to be historic for D.C. punk music, and Ted Leo’s presence tied the whole thing to the city’s storied lineage.
– Caro Alt

Editor’s Note: At this point, the battery on my camera died, so the rest of these photos are just from my iPhone, sorry.

Downtown Boys

One of the weekend’s most forceful sets, Downtown Boys brought raging punky vocals with a message to Black Cat’s stage. Led by Victoria Ruiz’s compelling, compassionate wail, the group ripped and raged through crowd favorites off Full Communism and Cost of Living, interspersing their set by reading letters from Palestinians and reminding the audience that we need to “do this collectively.” There were crowd-churning two-step drum beats, skank-worthy sax solos, and, in a telling move of solidarity, the mic was pointed into the crowd for the first time all weekend as fans screamed the band’s words right back to them. 

Speedy Ortiz

Kicking their set off with immediate distortion and a heavy-as-shit guitar riff, Massachusetts indie rockers Speedy Ortiz brought their indelible pop-rock tunes to Liberation Weekend in style. If The Ophelias got the superlative for Best Dressed of Day One, Speedy Ortiz had it on lock for the second day. Bandleader Sadie Dupuis was rocking a sparkly rainbow dress with a hem like confetti, singing into a bright pink and blue Fisher-Price-looking mic while playing a green guitar with a tiger-stripe pickguard. Talk about fuckin’ style. At one point, in celebration of Gemini season, Sadie invited Ted Leo and members of Downtown Boys back on stage for a round of tequila shots. To close out their set, the group played “Brace Thee” off their most recent LP, Rabbit Rabbit, and brought the house down as bassist Audrey Zee Whitesides screamed the repeating final line “I’m fine!” sounding anything but. 

After Speedy Ortiz’s set, it was time for the Transa Showcase featuring artists from last year’s staggering TRANS​A compilation. Organized by the music production non-profit Red Hot, the compilation is an eight-part spiritual journey across 46 songs that brings together over 100 artists with a focus on some of the most daring, imaginative, and exciting trans and non-binary musicians working today. 

Bartees Strange

While he’s mostly known for sturdy and eclectic indie rock, Bartees Strange’s solo set found the artist with nothing more than an acoustic guitar and a setlist written on his hand. It was a more solemn affair than the day had been up to this point; it only took a couple of songs for Bartees to transfix the entire room with his killer voice. He played through heaters like “Sober” and “Baltimore” off his recent LP but also dipped back into fan favorites like “Heavy Heart,” “Mustang,” and “Boomer.” With a tasteful amount of reverb on his guitar, the set was an absolute showcase for the breathtaking quality of his voice, even when his songs are stripped of all ornamentation and flashiness. At one point, after discussing how important it is to show up for friends, Strange remarked on the festival, “Jael hit me up about this festival, and I was like ‘yeah if you can do it,’ and look what happens when people come together and try something new.”

Asher White

Asher White was easily one of my biggest surprises of the weekend, a classic case of going in totally blind and coming out an instant fan. Part emo noodling, part indie rock dance party, Asher White is a band that truly contains multitudes. At one point, the group wound from a gentle, finger-plucked slow number to a sludgy stoner rock passage, then into a jumpy pop-punk blast, and finally slowed things down again. There were tight instrumental passages, fun vocals, and some of the best stage banter I’d heard all fest. At one point, White lobbed a softball over home plate, asking the crowd, “Anyone here transgender?” which was met with unanimous applause and cheers. At another point, she explained, “This is my first time in DC, and I think it’s skewed me because I’ve only talked to trans people.” Any band that can have this much fun on stage while rocking this hard is ace in my book. 

L'Rain

After the hometown heroics of Bartees Strange and the rambunctiously high-energy Asher White, L’Rain opted to close the weekend out on a beautiful reflection. For half an hour, L’Rain sat alone onstage, equipped with just a mic and soundboard, and mixed a drone sound using archival samples from the NYC Trans Oral History Project. The set slowed the room down and magnetically pulled people towards the stage to hear the stories over the speakers. The crowd that had been frantically moshing just minutes ago was now sitting quietly, surrounding L’Rain as she crafted a spiral of sounds, dialogue, and looped noises. Some audiences treated the set as a meditation, closing their eyes and opening themselves up to the music on a deeper level. Looking around, some groups were deep in conversation, while others were engrossed in listening or wrapped up in each other's embrace. It was a beautiful scene. 

Occasionally, L’Rain would lift the mic to her mouth just to breathe or hum lightly, adding her own element of live humanity to the soundscape. Even though I was watching most of the set from the side of the stage, it was unclear whether L’Rain was even vocalizing every time she brought the mic to her mouth. At one point, she seemed to raise the mic up and just smiled into it. Again, I couldn’t make out whether she was actively adding something new to the ambient swirl, but maybe capturing that smile in the moment was enough. 

Pure Adult

The floor of the second story of DC9 shakes. While it’s not noticeable for every set, if the crowd starts moving fast enough, the whole room will start to move too. Over the years, I’ve typically felt the shake towards the end of the night in the final thrashes of the crowd as artists play their biggest hits. Pure Adult’s unruly set got the floor swaying in seconds. The room’s pink and blue lights have shifted to a sinister red as the night rapidly turned into a sweaty, jumpy moshfest. Frontman Jeremy Snyder seemed to take infinite glee in this reception, conducting the crowd like a demonic Paul Giamatti – complete with a grey mop of hair, beautiful stache, and a sport jacket – as he gesticulated, fist-pumped, and shouted repetitions into the crowd. Occasionally, he’d pass vocal duty off to keyboardist Bianca Abarca, who would throw the crowd into an even further rage with pit-spurring hardcore vocals. Behind them, the rhythm section was held together with a tribal thrumming, always providing a reliable groove for the group to fall back on. The entire set was hedonistic and hammy, with many beautiful moments where the entire crowd was moving as one, yelping in joy. The stage was set for Ekko Astral. 

Ekko Astral & Friends

On the ground, the topic of Ekko Astral’s set was hotly discussed throughout the weekend. There were rumors about special guests, predictions for the set list, and anecdotes about the last time people had seen the band. The countdown had been on since the moment the festival was announced. 

The final seconds ticked down, and Ekko Astral emerged from the crowd–frontwoman Jael Holzman on bass, Liam Hughes plugging in his guitar, and Miri Tyler settling behind the drums. There was a deep breath, and then the band launched their set into orbit with a cover of SOPHIE’s “JUST LIKE WE NEVER SAID GOODBYE.”

The pandemic is often cited by D.C. locals as a changing point in the city’s rock scene. Bands broke up, venues closed, and people left. When shows started again, there was a kind of rebirth and a longing for closeness. This is where Ekko Astral comes in. For years, Ekko was kind of D.C.’s best-kept secret: a band with a cult following and wild live shows that people always wanted to see again. Following the release of pink balloons last year, D.C.’s music community was finally blown open, with Ekko at the helm. Read Lillian Weber’s review of pink balloons here.

No moment in their set showcases this momentum more than their second song of the night, “TRANSDEMIC, BABY,” off their EP Quartz, which they performed with Sophie Fisher, a local activist. At this point, the crowd was well into hours of slamming into each other, but Jael, aware of the band’s rowdy live shows and even rowdier fanbase (dubbed the Mascara Moshpit), took a moment to remind everyone in the packed room to protect each other and pick people up if they fall. Once the crowd agreed, the band tore into “baethoven” and “uwu type beat,” with the audience singing the entire first verse of baethoven.

While the rock music is cool, support for others was the true theme of the set — a celebration of the profound love for their community that Ekko Astral feels. This is where the fun really begins: the special guest-packed “Oops! All Covers” set. With each song, Jael announced a new guest, shared a story about how they contributed to the festival, and dove into perfect covers of beloved songs, both new and old. Maggie from Tetchy and Em Rainey joined the stage for a room-leveling rendition of Mannequin Pussy’s “Loud Bark.” Tilley Kormony from Home is Where jumped on the guitar for Hanny Ramadan from Latchkey Kids’ roaring covers of “Dancing In The Dark” and “Constant Headache.” After a long “Jo, Jo, Jo, Jo” chant from the crowd, fest organizer Jo Morgan hopped on stage for a version of “Helter Skelter,” complete with Miri yelling, “I GOT BLISTERS ON MY FINGERS!” And finally, Ted Leo and Roba Djalleta reappeared for a hypnotic cover of “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac.

From there, Ekko debuted a couple of goosebump-inducing new songs, along with a rousing version of “On Brand” featuring Kait from Big Girl and a fittingly vitriolic chant of “FUCK ELON MUSK. They brought the temperature back down with a cover of Yeah Yeah Yeah’s “Maps,” then Mel from Pretty Bitter tagged in for a joyous version of Metric’s “Combat Baby.”

As if all this wasn’t enough, the set also included a surprise appearance from Bad Moves, who were introduced as “The Beatles of D.C.” Members David Combs and Katie Park joined Ekko onstage for “Hallelujah,” which the band introduced as a song about “how the state has no place policing gender identity.” They followed up with “Cool Generator,” and man, if you haven’t heard a crowd sing along to “Cool Generator,” you’re missing out. And I mean missing out. Bad Moves is ending this summer.

The night and festival ended in a fittingly cataclysmic way, with “i90,” the seismic slow-burn closer from pink balloons. The group leaned into the riff, cranking the distortion and playing it sludgy as fuck, all climaxing with a molten guitar solo from Liam. The set ended with Liam, Mel, Jo, and Miri arm-in-arm as Jael sang the song’s final lines, surrounded by friends and smiling. Joy. 

Liberation Forever

When all was said and done, the first-ever Liberation Weekend left me astonished, inspired, hopeful, and energized. On a practical level, I was amazed by how efficiently everything ran, both at Black Cat and with two venues at play. On a more existential level, it felt affirming to be in such a supportive space where people were free to be their authentic selves and make it crystal-fucking-clear what they stand for. This support manifested in everything from pit etiquette and resources at the merch tables to explicit calls for trans liberation in the face of a government that is actively working against the existence of the people filling this venue and standing on its stage. To that end, the band has since announced that Liberation Weekend raised over $30,000 (and counting), proving that all of this energy and effort and organization was more than worth it.

Even as I walked around Black Cat, taking notes and snapping pictures, the energy in the room was palpable. Everyone was happy to be there, surrounded by community and taking in art made by people that reflected something about their own humanity. As an outsider to the D.C. scene, I felt welcomed, as if some of the transitive power of this event had rubbed off on me, and I know I’m not alone. I spoke with at least a few crowd members who remarked that they were excited to go home and make music, work on film or art projects, and troll Facebook Marketplace for a used pedal steel guitar. Part of that is just what it feels like to attend a good music festival, but also a testament to the type of space that Liberation Weekend cultivated. 

At one point, I found myself talking to Nikolai Mather, a DJ, reporter, and man-about-town who had driven up from North Carolina with another friend just for the festival. One of the first things he remarked to me was, “I’d never seen an all-trans pit before.” I remembered observing a similar thing early on in Day One as I sat perched off to the side, sipping my beer, jotting notes, and taking in the crowd as everyone wrapped themselves up in Pop Music Fever Dream’s performance. The crowd of mostly trans and queer people was unlike any music festival I’ve ever been a part of, and that’s what makes Liberation Weekend so fucking cool. This was a fest by trans and queer people for trans and queer people in support of trans and queer people. It’s a reminder that there are more of us than them and that community is salvation.

In that same conversation with Nikolai, he casually dropped this gem when talking about trans people creating art, “It’s always been the heart of who we are. Art is the thing that allows us to create ourselves. You have to create something to prove them wrong.” I’ll be damned if I couldn’t say it better than that.

Tonight I Will Be Your Entertainment: The Ascendancy of saturdays at your place

Photo by Ty Benson

“If [saturdays at your place] is what the future of emo looks like, we’re in safe hands.” That’s what Taylor Grimes concluded when he crowned always cloudy as one of the best releases of last year. The trio dropped their star-making EP at the onset of 2023 and have spent the following two years touring relentlessly, building a grassroots fandom on the back of a very small but promising body of work. From “tarot cards” hitting streaming highs to retrieving stolen gear from evidence lockers and selling out their first headlining tour, 2024 has been a banner year for saturdays at your place, and 2025 is looking even better as anticipation builds for their next move. We sat down with a few of the band’s recent tourmates to hear in their own words what makes saturdays special, but before that, a bit of a history lesson. 

The genre’s newest superstars are from Kalamazoo, Michigan, making them, yes, true Midwest Emo. The trio is comprised of Esden Stafne on bass, Gabe Wood on drums, and Mitch Gulish on guitar, with Stafne and Wood sharing vocals duties across their discography, lending the band a nice range as they bounce from one perspective to another. Their debut album, something worth celebrating, came out in 2021, and the group has seemingly been working nonstop ever since, touring everything from basement shows to Hot Mulligan concerts. Sonically, they lean more into the traditional side of second- and fourth-wave emo (if you believe in that sort of thing), taking cues from twinkly progenitors like Pictures of Vernon, Their/They’re/There, and Camping in Alaska while putting their own distinctly gaze-y tinge on the sound. Like all new emo bands at this point, they’ve received plenty of comparisons to groups like Modern Baseball and Remo Drive, but that just scratches the surface of s@ypdom. 


We're Getting Off to a Rough Start

saturdays at your place first hit my radar on some random winter weekday in 2023 the same way a lot of people found them—a joke about their pronunciation of the word “tarot.” The band’s breakthrough song is incredibly catchy, with an immediately recognizable intro, a thumping bassline, and play-by-play lyrics about a Classically Emo Scenario: having a weird time at a house party—great stuff with a very strong start. Around the one-minute mark, the gang vocals kick in and shout, “They’re pulling out the tarot cards!” like an announcement (or a warning) (or a threat) yelled over the music at the aforementioned party. 

The joke comes from the way “tarot” is said. While lots of people seem to say the word as if it rhymes with “arrow,” saturdays at your place hit the "ro" hard, kinda like how you would pronounce “throw.” My understanding is that it’s a regional accent, but emo music listeners are very online, so the song made pretty much immediate waves on TikTok, Discord, and Twitter (to this day) because that line stuck out in such a charming and memorable way. 

Author’s note: This is the part where I admit that there is nothing I hate more than when I’m at a party and everyone decides to start playing a game or doing a secondary activity. I like chatting with strangers over music and generally hanging out. I think starting a secondary thing usually kills the vibe. If any of my friends are reading this, I am not talking about you. I loved it when you pulled out a board game at your party and had a lot of fun learning the rules of Catan at 11 pm.

Two years and eight million Spotify streams later, it's easy to see “tarot cards” success in real-time at any show the band puts on. Even listening to the studio recording, you can almost feel the finger-pointing reaction of the crowd when Stafne reasons, “Well, your friends don’t like me / I don’t like me too.” It’s obvious that someone is going to crowdsurf over the bridge’s “and when the lights go down / I don’t want to leave this house.” In fact, former tourmates Riley! said it’s their favorite song to see saturdays perform live because it's a fan favorite, and the band can command the room with it. I really like the song, too; I think it’s perfectly shy and maybe even cute. I especially like the line at the end, “Well, will you stick around if I do? / I think I found a part of me beside you.” 

Okay, so it only makes sense here to try and describe why people care so much about always cloudy. I mean, the EP has only six songs, how much could the band realistically tear through in 18 minutes? I had the same question. Turns out the answer is it’s just really loud and cohesive and earnest.

Photo by Ty Benson

What’s good about “tarot cards” being a launchpad of sorts is that it's a song that really introduces the band. Even the notion of talking to some unnamed person makes the band name make more sense—is this stumbling partygoer the person whose place you’re at on Saturdays? It makes you double back to start the whole thing from the beginning. The rest of always cloudy follows this kind of crowded hallway feeling. It's sweaty, buzzing, frustrating, overwhelming, and a little overheated from trying to wear winter clothes in a packed house while half-buzzed off three warm Miller Lites.

future” kicks the EP off on the miserable final thoughts of their first album (discussed later), with frustrated lyrics burying themselves under a particularly dancy beat that gives each member of the trio a chance to shine. The groove of “future” extends into “fetch,” which leads into “tarot cards.” To me, the following track, “hospital bed,” is the spiritual sequel of “tarot cards”—kind of like the next morning after a wrought party experience, all mixed with a vibe I can only describe as Carpoolian. After is “it’s always cloudy in kalamazoo,” a song that needs a crowd as much as the crowd needs it.

The EP ends with “eat me alive,” a four-minute closer that's constantly colliding into itself with two distinct halves: one slow and laced with self-inflicted cruelty and another that’s fast and turns the blame outwards. It’s also my favorite. The song starts with the fuzzy dirge before Wood’s drums come in, loud and miserable. The first two minutes feel almost like the waves in the album art are washing over you as Wood lets the more complicated parts of himself crash ashore. The song builds and builds before breaking entirely. Wood speeds up his drumming and spits out one of my favorite lyrics on the EP, a strangled accusation, “You prepare me for a meal / ‘cause your friends / eat me alive.” saturdays at your place is not a band about mending relationships or even necessarily apologizing, they look at a scene from all angles, and, as much as they critique themselves, they aren’t afraid to level blame at others as well. Amidst a pummeling build, Wood flips the cards and reveals, “Saturdays are the worst for me too / I'll do anything to get you out of my room.” Actually, this one contributor on Genius can probably explain it better than me:

 
 

The album concludes with the assurance that “In time, memories will fade / I promise everything in the future” before looping back into the first track and starting again. It is a perfect six-song collection about feeling bad, feeling good, going back to feeling evil, just hanging out, and trying to figure out what you mean to someone.


Well, Will You Stick Around If I Do?

It’s genuinely refreshing to see people so excited about something new again. It should be news to no one that emo has a real nostalgia problem. Whether it's as blatant as When We Were Young Fest or as underhanded as people insisting that whatever Foxing album they heard first is their best one, it’s an irritating bias. I think saturdays at your place managed to unintentionally fulfill a nostalgic niche and satisfy a craving the scene had for ultra-catchy Midwest Emo. I think about how when I first listened to always cloudy–the house show atmosphere of the songs immediately dragged me back to the days of Modern Baseball and their music videos for songs like “The Weekend” and “Your Graduation.” It was instantly familiar in a way that other contemporary emo songs can’t quite achieve. In other words, it’s clear that the members of saturdays came into their own during that particular era of music, but they aren’t stuck in nostalgia. In fact, they seem to be actively combating it by working with other new emo bands as they collaboratively construct a cohesive scene.

saturdays at your place just wrapped their third tour of the year, each outing sharing the stage with other rapidly growing emo acts. They started the year on the Wax Bodega Tour with a stacked lineup of Ben Quad, who is taking over the world; Carly Cosgrove, who is maybe one of the best live acts you can catch (I reviewed their latest album); and Arm’s Length, who is clearing a path for these upcoming legends. When we asked Ben Quad about this, they said, “That tour felt like we were doing something important for the genre.” We agree. A couple of months later, saturdays at your place headed back out on the road as support for Prince Daddy and the Hyena’s summer tour with tapping superstars Riley! and Carpool (I also reviewed their latest album). This fall, they toured with Carpool again, with the midwest emo-revivalists TRSH and Dudes Rock connoisseur Harrison Gordon in tow. It doesn’t even end there because Origami Angel announced they’re taking saturdays on tour with them to the UK in Winter 2025. Phew. That felt like constant name-dropping, but it’s their actual reality.

Photo by Emily Harrington


But If You Get to Know Me, I'll Get to Know You

Beyond their EP, saturdays at your place has released one album, something worth celebrating, and a three-way split with SHOPLIFTER and Summerbruise called That’s What Friends Are For

Author’s note: While you may know that Mitch Gulish joined Summerbruise last year, did you know he’s in the music video for “With Friends Like These, Who Needs Empathy?” Thank you Mike for bringing this to our attention.

I guess this is the part where I speak very frankly. For a very long time, I didn’t care about saturdays at your place very much. I don’t know if y’all remember the state of DIY emo during the pandemic and directly after when touring started again, but it was really rough. I love a lot of the projects that came out during the time, but they were standouts in a total cesspool. Many previously exciting artists had serious accusations leveled against them, there were tensions between bands and band members, and several musicians just gave up and left music entirely during the nightmarish era. I found it hard to truly get excited about anything new, so I didn’t. As a result, when saturdays at your place released their first album in late 2021, I just ignored it. 

It wasn’t until I saw that random “tarot cards” joke a couple of years later that I gave them any time of day. This was after some of the misery of 2020-22 diy emo spaces had subsided, and notably, for one of the first times in a minute, I had seen people thoroughly geeked about something new. 

Photo by Ty Benson

One thing made very clear moments into “first of all” is that Gulish is a very good guitarist. In fact, a lot of the band’s debut album seems to be built on how good of a guitarist he is, with a couple of songs being guitar-led instrumental tracks or featuring extended guitar solos with his constant, complex, twinkly riffing. Elsewhere, songs like “existential shred” pad the release with lyric-less riffing, and I find it genuinely cool that they added these to their debut album. (Author’s note: as I was writing this, the band posted this Tweet encouraging listeners to “just skip all of the instrumentals,” so they seem to disagree, but I like ‘em.) At the time, especially after the popularity of particularly wordy emo artists like Origami Angel, many emo bands felt the need to fill in that same space with lots of lyrics. They don't. This album is proof.

Two years later, saturdays’ first contribution to That’s What Friends Are For is “pourover,” which has legitimately gotten stuck in my head at least once every week since its release in late 2023 (and you should check out their acoustic version with Counter Intuitive Records). Then there’s “forever,” which is easily one of the band’s most experimental songs as they break away from the fairly rigid rules of Midwest Emo and deploy a robotic vocal distortion on Wood’s voice. It makes the song more melancholy and distant. I consider saturdays at your place a fairly upbeat band, but this is the lowest they’ve ever dived in their discography. It acts as the symbolic ending of the split, the emotional endpoint. I look forward to hearing more of this grim experimentation on future projects. 


Can We Change the Conversation?
Can We Make It About Me?

Obviously, with only 19-ish songs to their name, this is a relatively small discography, but that means it’s more accessible to new fans. saturdays seem to have gamified the streaming algorithms that be; their songs have wound up on major editorial playlists on services like Spotify, spreading their music even further than imagined. This is at least partially responsible for their about 200,000 monthly listeners on Spotify (for reference: heavy hitters in the scene like Prince Daddy and the Hyena or Oso Oso are tens of thousands of listeners under that). 

To get a sense of this whirlwind rise to emo fame saturdays is experiencing, we reached out to Ben Quad, an up-and-coming band from another niche music scene who blew up at a similar time and also sold out national tours. In one word, Ben Quad described the experience as “wild.” They referred to tangible things like busier inboxes and new management but focused specifically on the fandom side. “Our audience is definitely a lot broader now, too. There’s also a lot more die-hard fans at our shows, which is something foreign to us. We have multiple people a show flying across the country to see us, and that absolutely blows my mind.” This experience, going from small house gigs with friends to sold-out club shows with fans in just a couple of releases, seems to mirror the trajectory of saturdays at your place and leaves the future of emo music open and sprawling.

While I can’t speak from personal experience, from observation, gaining such a quick notoriety can either drive your project into super-popularity or doom your reputation, kind of like a false start. In the case of saturdays at your place, it seems to have done the first thing. From my perspective, the minuscule mispronunciation in a great song seems to have launched the band into emo stardom and resulted in an instant classic. The enthusiasm for this band is tangible. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about their live shows.

Photo by Ty Benson

2024 started, as mentioned, with the Wax Bodega tour. My tour date was in a cramped new club, and for the first time ever in the venue, I was struggling to catch a glimpse of the stage – it was just so packed and rowdy. When we asked Ben Quad about that tour, they said, “There wasn’t ever really a sleepy show because saturdays were there to get the crowd riled up from the start.” While I had seen saturdays before, that was the first time I really experienced that frenetic energy in action, and all for the opener.

Over the summer, saturdays shared a stage with Riley! who has a similar rowdy fanbase. When we asked about that crowd, Riley! said, “If you could boil it down into one word, energetic doesn’t even begin to explain it.” Carpool was on that same tour, and Stoph Colasanto described the crowd as “ravenous” and detailed how the audience was climbing over itself to get closer and closer to the band, a sight I experienced myself.

Carpool just wrapped up the always cloudy tour with saturdays and witnessed firsthand the band’s shift from a support slot to a headliner. Colasanto said that as the headliner, saturdays went all out. “They brought out all the bells and whistles, and it was genuinely fun to watch every night.” Ultimately, the experience “was a literal party but the type of party that’s all-inclusive and for everyone. It was cathartic.”

Outside of the performances, the fervor around the band had started to change, which can be summed up in one of Colasanto’s observations – that every single day of the tour, fans were lined up outside the venues early to get front spots for the gig. As someone who has stuck around DIY emo corners for several years, I find it hard to picture this happening in such a small and, at times, insular genre, but it absolutely is. 

We interviewed a lot of bands for this article, and one thing became abundantly clear very quickly: this is all just so much fun. Mike Newman of Summerbruise recalled, “Their excitement about every single crunchy-ass aspect of touring really renewed my appreciation for what we get to do.” Riley! added to that sentiment and said that touring with saturdays this summer was a blast – “we truly could not have asked for better tourmates on that run.” Ben Quad continued that train of thought and said saturdays were “one of those bands we instantly connected with as soon as we met them.” From Colasanto’s perspective, “It’s really special to see something so real and organic continue to grow and to get bigger, and for it to happen to saturdays just makes my heart so happy because they deserve everything in this world and more.”

Photo by Ty Benson

So, it’s all gas, no brakes for saturdays at your place, both physically after this year spent as road dogs and emotionally as they connect with a bigger audience than ever before. When it comes to what’s next, saturdays at your place talked about working on their next album during their latest tour. This record will be one of the most highly anticipated releases of the year and the first since their split with SHOPLIFTER and Summerbruise in 2023. Coming up even sooner is their holiday show with Ben Quad, Worry Club, Summerbruise, and Palette Knife. We asked Summerbruise about the show, and Newman’s excitement was tangible: “My favorite shit as a kid was watching the bands I loved who were legit friends goofing off together on stage, and this lineup is stacked with some of my all-time favorite goofers.” 

Like I said earlier, emo has a nostalgia problem, and I pity people who sit out just because they assume the stuff they grew up on is superior for whatever reason. I am so excited, genuinely, that this generation of listeners have a band like saturdays to be a fan of, a buzzing genre to enjoy, and an exciting scene to be part of.

The larger impact of saturdays will be reverberating around the Emo World for years. People will pick up the guitar because they want to play like Mitch, or they’ll start singing in a garage band because of Esden and Gabe, and when asked about their inspirations, saturdays will be first on their lists. I also think about Kalamazoo and how exciting it is for a band from a small scene to get this big. I think about how their attention will translate into people discovering new bands and how Kalamazoo will be intrinsically tied to the emo music of this era. Stoph Colasanto put it best:

They’re a true testament to what it means to be DIY and care about your scene, community, and hometown. That’s something that really resonates with me — talk to Esden about Kalamazoo, he fucking loves it. It's his favorite city in the world. That shit gets me so hyped up. To see a DIY band from a smaller city or town get national attention and to use that to lift up their hometown and their community means a lot. Even as an outsider, I just get so stoked for Kalamazoo and for what saturdays is doing for it.

“Anyone who has ever been in the proximity of that band knows that they are the future.” That’s what Ben Quad said while replying to our first question about saturdays at your place, and I think they’re absolutely right. Since 2023, I have seen saturdays at your place four times, and while this essay is not a concert review, I can’t emphasize enough how good they are live and how fun their performances are. Whether saturdays is headlining or supporting, the whole crowd knows the words to every song, thrashes around to every guitar solo, and the crowd surfs through their entire set. People are excited, and I am too. So, like we said, if saturdays at your place is what the future of emo looks like, we’re in safe hands.


Caro Alt (she/her) is from New Orleans, Louisiana, and if she could be anyone in The Simpsons, she would be Milhouse.

Pitchfork Music Festival 2024 Recap

As far as music festivals go, Pitchfork tends to be one of the better ones. It may not be as gargantuan as Lollapalooza, as buzzy as Coachella, or as tapped-in as Rolling Loud, but you know what Pitchfork has that most other festivals don’t? Identity. 

For better or worse, Pitchfork is a festival designed around one of the world’s most influential music publications and the particular tastes of its readers. Since this festival is centered around such a longstanding entity, the lineup tends to be more curated and intentional than other festivals which often fall into the trap of trying to be everything to everyone. Sure, it’s easy to look at lineups for bigger festivals and imagine how cool it would be to see Megan The Stallion, Deftones, Ethel Cain, and blink-182 in the same place, but in practice, it’s sweaty, messy, overpriced, and you rarely get to “see” many of those artists in a genuine way. 

In contrast, Chicago’s Union Park also translates to a near-perfect festival layout, converting its 13.5 acres of grassy fields and tree-lined borders into wide-open spectacles and tucked-away stages that each feel like distinct areas. There’s ample room for the festival’s three main stages, food vendors, beer tents, merch stations, record stores, local artists, companies handing out free tchotchkes, and a smaller side stage dedicated to artist interviews. It can get pretty packed, but it’s never that hard to traverse, and you can generally get a pretty great view of any artist’s set, especially if you plan ahead a little bit. 

Location aside, the “indie”-leaning lineup of Pitchfork feels like it typically strikes a nice balance between up-and-coming bands, recent breakthroughs, and more enduring legacy acts of all genres. This year, the top-level headliners closing out each day were Black Pumas, Jamie xx, and Alanis Morissette. Directly beneath them, you had artists like Jai Paul, 100 gecs, Carly Rae Jepsen, and MUNA, all legendary projects to a very specific type of person. I personally was excited for Saturday’s shoegaze gambit, where the schedule flowed from Hotline TNT to Feeble Little Horse and Wednesday, each stacked one after the other like the promoters took a page directly from my Spotify Wrapped. 

I’ve only attended one other Pitchfork Music Festival in 2022, so I was eager to return and see what’s changed in the last couple of years. Going in, I was interested in how Pitchfork’s recent fusing with GQ under Condé Nast would impact the vibe, if at all. Truthfully, I wasn’t planning on  until Swim Into The Sound’s own David Williams approached me with a behind-the-scenes photo pass, and I didn’t want to miss out on that opportunity. Below, you’ll find thoughts from me, David, and Logan Archer Mounts on the weekend, along with David’s photography, all shot on 35mm film for maximum coolness. 


Day 1

My group ambled into Union Park at 1 pm on the dot, right as the first band was ramping up. The fields were empty, the sun was out, and all the vendors were at the ready with beer and hot dogs. It’s always fun to see festival grounds like this before they get trampled in and filled out by the crowds; there’s a sense of boundless possibilities knowing that three full days of live music await you. Black Duck prattled through a jazzy improvised set that felt like a nice way to roll into the day with relaxed vibes. Angry Blackmen were true to their name, bringing an aggro hip-hop energy that felt like it properly set the festivities off before ML Buch took us to gazy dreamland.

Rosali was one of the first acts on the lineup that I was actively excited for; her album from earlier this year is excellent and has one of the most striking covers of 2024. Exactly as I had hoped, Rosali brought the homespun southern rock vibes, with her backing band locked in for a couple of inspiring jams, including a particularly rousing version of “My Kind.” The group closed their set with “Rewind,” an absolutely undeniable song that was joyful to watch unfold live on stage after being obsessed with it since January.

After a quick lunch break (aka paying $20 for a chicken wrap), I caught slices of Billy Woods, Amen Dunes, and Sudan Archives, each of whom had their own commanding presence. Billy Woods and Kenny Segal kept the crowd on their toes with off-kilter beats and urgent lyricism while Sudan Archives strutted through a solo set of hip-hop-infused R&B, pulling out her violin at key moments and shredding a melody before sheathing it and returning to vocal duties. 

Back in May, we published a review of Amen Dunes' most recent album, which I quite enjoyed but leaned in a reserved, ambient direction. I was surprised to see him playing with a full band and playing such “band” type songs. Their whole set was super fun, oscillating between a DIIV-like grooviness and slightly more upbeat numbers that sounded almost like Future Islands.

Yaeji graced the Red Stage with a theatrical performance shelving out hit after electronic hit during the tail end of day one. Dressed in Shaq-sized cargo shorts and a black tank top, Yaeji moved and grooved through the summer sun with ease. Her blend of R&B, techno, and synth-pop had everyone’s attention the moment she started her set. The crowd erupted when one of her biggest hit songs, “Raingurl,” bled through the speakers, sparking an impromptu dance-off among the fans.
– David Williams

Yaeji to 100 gecs was a pretty lateral move, but definitely brought the Friday Energy that we needed and helped make it feel like the party was really starting in earnest. I watched about half of the 100 gecs set and realized I barely knew their latest album. I still enjoyed seeing “stupid horse” live and will admit that I got full-body goosebumps during the chorus of “Hollywood Baby,” but the set could only feel so “big” given that it was just two people playing songs off a computer. It's still cool to see 100 gecs live after following them for so long, but I’m not sure their set quite hit it home for me. 

I didn’t watch all of Jai Paul’s set, but I did walk by Red Stage just to see the man in the flesh with my own two eyes. I had places to be, specifically catching Jeff Rosenstock’s set over on the blue stage, which was exactly as energetic, shouty, and boisterous as any Jeff Rosenstock set I’ve ever witnessed. The crowd was jumpin, Jeff crowd-surfed while playing sax, and I ate a Chicago dog while taking it all in, a great way to cap off day one. 

I left before Black Pumas started playing both because I didn’t care to catch their set but also because I was headed over to Subterranean to catch Hotline TNT’s aftershow, which was more like a pre-show since they were playing the next day. I watched the opening band, Graham Hunt, from the upper-level balcony, and then I was able to make it right up front for Hotline’s set, which was a swirling delight of hypnotic riffs and loud-ass guitars. I was beyond tired at the end of day one, but it was worth it to see a band like that play an entire set from less than ten feet away.

Day 2

Chicago’s own Lifeguard kicked off day two with the sort of youthful energy only achievable by a group of kids still approaching their twenties. At various points, the trio shifted around from a traditional lineup of guitar, drums, and bass to drums and two guitars, all rendered in an impressive and jagged post-punk style. The lead singer, Kai Slater, was on crutches, so he played the entire set seated, but with that loss of mobility came the opportunity to use one of his crutches during a solo, which was a helluva way to start things off as we sipped on our free coffee.

I caught parts of L’Rain and Kara Jackson before Saturday’s shoegaze onslaught. L’Rain brought the dreamy vibes with lots of slow post-rock builds, mellow beats, and gorgeous vocals layered on top of everything. I only caught a song or two from Kara Jackson, but they were jaw-droppingly beautiful. At one point, she interpolated SZA’s “Love Galore,” and the crowd let out a “Woo!” of recognition. 

Starting at 2:45, Hotline TNT rocked reliably, fusing together into one giant mass of riffage, and even broke out a few songs that they hadn’t played the night before. The crowd was consistently swaying and head-bobbing but didn’t seem to erupt into the same type of chaos I had witnessed at Subterranean, presumably because people were saving their energy for the rest of the weekend.

Feeble Little Horse were wild to see in concert after feeling like they were on the brink of breaking up after an untimely hiatus right as they dropped their second album. It was still too close to Black Country, New Road’s shakeup, and fans were bummed but understanding as we wished the band the best and hoped for their eventual return. Seeing a song like “Chores” live was an experience; there are so many janky little beats and knotty twists in their songs, it was impressive to see them break that all out live. At one point between songs, the guitarist stepped up to the mic and said, “These are songs from an album Pitchfork gave a seven,” which got a laugh from the crowd before he continued incredulously, “We’re like, ‘why are we here?’ Why do they want us?”

At one point, we were halfway through Feeble Little Horse’s set, and I was glimpsing over my shoulder to see Wednesday sound-checking on the Green Stage and felt like I was in my own personal slice of heaven. To be sandwiched between these two bands I’ve been listening to obsessively for years was almost too much for my brain and brain to compute. 

Shortly after that, Wednesday ripped through a scorching set of career-spanning material, rolling through songs from all three of their albums, plus a Drive-By Truckers song thrown in for good measure. They played a few new songs and lightly teased their upcoming album in an interview directly after the set, with Karly stating she’s even more proud of this batch of songs than their last but promising it very much feels like a continuation of Rat Saw God. Of course, the North Carolinians ended their set with the titanic “Bull Believer,” allowing the audience a chance to air out any anger and frustrations they might have had at that moment, either with life or just the state of the world. It was cathartic, it was twangy, it was beautiful.

De La Soul’s set was a celebration for hip-hop, and as DJ Maseo yelled over the microphone, “40 years of friendship!” Legendary rap group gave the crowd exactly what was advertised with a nostalgic trip down memory lane, performing their biggest hits, “Potholes in My Lawn,” and my personal favorite, “Me, Myself and I,” courtesy of the film Good Burger. Surprise guests Talib Kweli and Pharoahe Monche kept the crowd jumping nonstop. Posdnuos made it a point to tell the fans in attendance that it was his duty to bring it for them every night. De La Soul lived up to that reputation tenfold.
– David Williams

Between sets, I got to chat with MJ Lenderman and capture his portrait in 35mm film, which I like because the photos look cleaner and more classic. Film is timeless; there's a reason why movies today still look better shot in 35mm instead of digital. The portraits of him and the band give a vintage feel that, if you didn’t know better, you might not know if the photo was taken yesterday or 30 years ago. Lenderman's reputation of having an everyman demeanor was right on the mark as he couldn't have been a more gracious and friendly guy as he put up with my silly questions like "Who's your all-time favorite wrestler?" (Rey Mysterio and Mick Foley) or "What ‘dumb hat’ were you singing about that drew so much ire in "Taste Just Like It Costs?" (A golf visor). Truly a hat so hideous that it’s worthy to be sung about with such disgust. 
– David Williams

After screaming it out to Wednesday and catching Karly Hartzman’s post-set interview, it was time for a pulled-pork sandwich and Bratmobile, who brought hearty doses of Pacific Northwest riot grrrl energy. After that vent session, it was time to get a good spot for The Queen, aka Carly Rae Jepsen. We scootched up as close as we could comfortably get while still having ample room to dance and jump around for a solid hour as Carly jumped from one sugary confection to the next. I had seen her back in 2019, and this set was just as elating and life-affirming as the one I saw five years ago. 

Day 3

Day three started a little slower (because I’m in my thirties, and three days of music festing was beginning to take a toll), so we headed over to Union Park an hour or two after doors to catch glimpses of Joana Sternberg, Maxo, and Nala Sinephro.

I took a chance on Nala Sinephro from a friend’s recommendation as “a killer ambient artist,” which was enough to sell me. Although at my first Pitchfork Fest back in 2011, I caught ambient titan Tim Hecker on the Blue Stage, who played right around the golden hour while other, louder acts played on the mainstages, and I can’t say it was the perfect setting. Sinephro was much more than just drones, though; her band ran through spaced-out jazz and rhythmic electronic music as Sinephro alternated between harp and keyboards. It was a beautiful way to ease into day three, and I’m anxiously awaiting her new album in September.
– Logan Archer Mounts

Model/Actriz frontman Cole Haden started the band’s set by coming out, applying lipstick, then walking across the stage and posing with a purse before grabbing the mic. That was about all I saw before catching MUNA and Mannequin Pussy interviews on the side stage, which was a much chiller (and much needed) way to start the day on a relaxed note. 

From there, Jessica Pratt brought some of the prettiest vibes of the whole fest, with everyone in the band sitting, so it really felt like an intimate, laid-back show you’d catch in a backyard or a beer garden. “I look like a pallbearer,” Jessica Pratt slyly says into the mic, dressed in all black, practically melting under the hot mid-July sun. Fortunately, that heat didn’t stop her from delivering an intimate set that the crowd enjoyed with a hushed tone during the full hour, giving Pratt the space to clear out for her brilliant storytelling and gorgeous melodies.
– David Williams

Mannequin Pussy started a few minutes late and dealt with a couple of technical difficulties, but they are true rock stars and ran through their scheduled set exactly as intended. Missy is probably one of the best front people in music right now, dancing, posing, and strutting across the stage without missing a growl. At one point, Missy asked all the boys in the audience to raise their hands because she “wanted to see what kind of fucked up dude would go to a Mannequin Pussy Show” then asked us all to scream “pussy” as loud as they could and simply replied “pathetic” when it wasn’t loud enough. She then asked the entire crowd to scream the same thing simultaneously because everything’s better together, right? They played all the hits off this year’s I Got Heaven and slammed all their one-minute punk tracks back-to-back toward the end of the setlist for a full-throttle injection of adrenaline that kept the pit in constant motion. Simply one of the best. 

How many opportunities do you get to see a hip-hop pioneer live in the flesh? Grandmaster Flash is hip-hop’s Lewis and Clark, so this was a must-see set if only to see the face of the man who helped lay the groundwork for an entire genre. Grandmaster Flash was on DJ duty, spinning the 1s and 2s, keeping everyone’s energy up under the humid heat. Getting to hear the beat to “White Lines” live, one of the greatest straightedge anthems ever, was an absolute treat. Only second to Flash dropping in “Sweet Home Alabama” and then immediately shouting “FUCK A STATE TROOPER!” At the Visit Austin Interview stage, I got genuinely emotional listening to Flash talk about the birth of sampling and his “quick mix theory,” how he used to buy two copies of one record, mark them up with crayon to count how many times a record revolved with one beat loop, and switching between turntables to create the endless pattern. Also, he invented the turntable slipmat with the help of his seamstress mother because there was too much traction on his early decks for him to be able to do his scratching and backmasking. An absolute legend.
– Logan Archer Mounts

I generally think of MUNA as something not for me, but I’ll admit, watching the band bounce around the stage (and off each other) as the sun set was a pretty picturesque music festival experience. The songs started to blend together a bit toward the end of the set, but you know I had to show up and throw down for “Silk Chiffon.”

Care to witness a show based solely on chillwave vibes? Then look no further to the psychedelic rock group Crumb. Their song "AMAMA" was a personal favorite of mine, where it feels like you just get strapped in and feel the grooves from the jump. Whenever you see them, just know that they will have you swaying back and forth like one of those inflatable tubes you spot at random gas stations. 
– David Williams 

Les Savy Fav is exactly the type of band I want to see more of at Pitchfork. I grew up on 2000s indie rock, and even though Les Savy Fav wasn’t my most listened-to band of the time, I had always hoped they would get back out there after their hiatus began in the early 2010s. After an exhilarating performance on Riot Fest weekend in 2021, the NYC group brought the same energy back to Pitchfork, now on the heels of their excellent new album OUI, LSF. Like Model/Actriz earlier in the day, singer Tim Harrington spent most of the set in the audience, beginning minutes before the first note was even played by riding a Lime scooter around the crowd, then straight down the center to the barricade before jumping onto the stage. Harrington was covered in glitter with a neon-dyed hair/beard combo and a shirt that read “I’M JUST HAPPY TO BE HERE,” which was removed a few songs into the performance to reveal the same message scrawled onto his stomach. Whether they were playing their ten-week-old songs or their ten-year-old songs, Les Savy Fav was an uncontrollable ball of energy for the duration of their 45 minutes, raucously closing out the Blue Stage for the weekend. 
– Logan Archer Mounts

Brittany Howard brought electronic-infused funk rock to the Red Stage on Sunday night, going deep into her seemingly endless bag of skills. She quarterbacked the entire set, using each instrument at various points and playing each one with the confidence and panache you would expect from someone of her caliber. She pulled off an effortless and joyous performance that felt like the perfect soundtrack as the sun wound down to night. 
– David Williams

Finally, the inimitable Alanis Morissette closed out Sunday with a set that pulled heavily from Jagged Little Pill in addition to tracks from her entire repertoire, sometimes only playing a verse and a chorus of a song as a transition between two others. It felt theatrical, with potential inspiration from her Jagged Little Pill musical that’s been running the last few years. She had the crowd wrapped around the hand in her pocket the entire time; her voice is still absolutely unreal, and watching her close out such a fantastic and full weekend was special.

Bob Dylan Live At the Veterans Something-Or-Other-Amphitheatre

I saw Bob Dylan live in concert for the second time at the Veterans United Home Loans Amphitheater in Virginia Beach. Inching into the gravel parking lot, my friends and I saw big signs stamped with warnings that tailgating was not just prohibited but illegal, not that it would’ve been particularly pleasant in the muggy coastal heat, anyway. So we settled for $14 beers inside the complex, a purchase I justified to myself by reasoning that since it’s a 24 oz can, it’s more like two $7 beers, and that’s not an absurd price to pay for a drink, right? Right?

It was the kind of crowd that you would expect from a venue with this name – a crowd that cheered louder for a flyover of Chinook military helicopters during “Ballad of a Thin Man” than they did for just about anything else. Not that this perturbed Dylan, of course. It seems pretty obvious by now that he’s not on tour for the money or some gratification that comes from the cheering masses but just because he likes to play whatever he wants. This is a trait that is charming to some and aggravating to many others.

Consider this chain of events from when I first saw him live last fall: Bob Dylan takes the stage precisely on time. No opener, no set decoration. Road cases are lying on the stage. He and his band play about twelve songs. No banter, no song titles. After the twelfth song, he angles his head toward the crowd and, almost as if he’s surprised that we’re there, says, “Oh! Thank you!” He introduces the band, plays about five more songs, takes a bow, and walks off the stage. Perfect.

True to his shape-shifting ways, the Bob Dylan I saw perform at the Outlaw Music Festival last month was different. Everything felt a bit looser, from the tan shirt he wore unbuttoned down almost to his belly button to the sometimes sloppy arrangements of songs like “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight,” which is the one 60s tune he’s played both times I’ve seen him. He was somewhat chattier, too, addressing the audience a grand total of four times (we counted) and chuckling into the mic when he fumbled some of the words to “Shooting Star.” Bob doesn’t play the guitar anymore, but when he gets excited about a song, he stands up while jamming his hands into the keys of his grand piano. 

But forget the guitar-strumming, the kabuki makeup, and the offputting setlists. Bob Dylan could wear his pajamas and sing nothing but nursery rhymes and it would still be a don’t-miss-it-for-the-world performance because of that voice. Many vocalists lose their luster once they can’t hit the high notes anymore, but Dylan’s voice is still stunningly malleable even after six decades of performing. He sneers and bites through a cover of Chuck Berry’s “Little Queenie,” then softens into a croon for doo-wop standard “Mr. Blue.” Sure, a lot of the appeal for me comes from his Tom Waits-cragginess, but it’s also the little things you don’t expect, the little leaps up into falsetto (“and he walks up to YOU when he hears you speak”), the ends of phrases that sound like snide little comments only you can hear. 

When you hear Bob Dylan sing, it’s hard to imagine that he’ll sing that specific song that specific way ever again. He’ll start a line during the buildup to a verse just to see what it sounds like in words wherever it seems like they belong. His longtime drummer, Jim Keltner, described him in an interview as being almost like a jazz vocalist, and you could really hear it on that Wednesday evening in Virginia Beach. Hoping to sing along to “Ballad of a Thin Man” or “Simple Twist of Fate”? Forget about it. It’s a wonderful gift to hear a song you love and to be forced to pay such close attention, to constantly wonder how the next line will be delivered.

Bob Dylan is 83 years old. He’s been around long enough that some of his songs about old age are nearly 30 years old themselves. And he’s still got it. The band is rock solid, the voice is as interesting as ever, and the songs speak for themselves. Go see Bob Dylan because whatever tour date you end up at, no one else will see anything like it again.


John Dietz is a writer and musician based in Virginia. You can find them on Twitter @johndbdietz or Substack at https://johndietz.substack.com

I Hate Music Part 2: Four Days with Carpool

Click here to read Part 1. Read on to learn what it’s like touring with Carpool.

-1-

When Josh and I first met Carpool at Richmond Music Hall, there were lots of jitters on both their side and ours. The two of us were worried (or at least conscious) of how well we’d assimilate into the group, making sure to stay out of their way and not cramp their style, allowing the members to be as natural as they could while knowing a camera might be pointed toward them at any time. On the band’s side, this was the first show they had played together in almost six months and the beginning of the biggest tour they had ever been a part of. Opening up for emo legends like Free Throw is a blessing and a pressure, but Carpool were ready to deliver. 

That night, I saw the band take the stage and witnessed the same spectacle that poured out of them at Fauxchella just a few months prior. They ripped through a 25-minute set of old and new material alike, stacking fresh singles like “Can We Just Get High?” and “No News Is Good News” up against old favorites like “Whiskey & Xanax” and “The Salty Song.”

Gradually, I watched the band win the crowd over more and more with each song, which was a trend I noticed at all three shows. The beauty of a song like “Can We Just Get High?” is that it’s dumb and straightforward, but because it’s dumb and straightforward, that also means it’s catchy as hell. Pretty much anyone can hear that chorus once, get it, and join in before the second one is even over. 

With the first song, I’d notice lots of head bobbing, swinging hips, and nodding along. By the second song, a few people might be finger-pointing or filming short clips on their phones. By the end of the set, at least a few people would be headbanging, thrashing around, shakin’ ass, and screaming along. It was beautiful to watch this transformation happen each night with completely different crowds of people; it felt like I got to watch the genuine power of rock music happen again and again. 

Left to right, Carpool is Stoph Colasanto (Lead Vocals, guitar), Torri Ross (Vocals, Bass), Alec Westover (Drums), and Tommy Eckerson (Vocals, Guitar). Photo by Abby Clare.

Even though there’s an entire documentary showcasing Carpool’s live presence, it’s worth breaking down a little bit here. Just like in the band’s music, Stoph Colasanto is happy to fill the role of charismatic ringleader. He has a yowling, scratchy voice that defaults to a scream but can also stretch and hit a beautiful high note whenever he needs to serenade. To give you an idea of fits and vibe, I saw him rock a David Cone Jersey, black leather cowboy hat, and vintage Hamm’s work shirt across our three shows. 

On the opposite end of the stage, you have Tommy Eckerson, a classic rock guitar god with natural-born solo wizardry and a clear admiration for the greats. He can belt it out when he’s on lead vocals like on “Crocodile Tears,” but more often than not, he is happy to just hit the occasional backup vocal so he can focus on his impressive guitar tapping skills. Tommy dresses in classic single-color outfits like James Dean; he might have a chain or sunglasses on, but not in a flashy way. 

Between them, you have Torri Ross, an Arizona-born bassist who bounces across the stage like a pinball, busting out a high kick and nailing every note along the way with an infectious grin. At one point, Tori said someone compared them to a character from Guitar Hero, so that’s the level of icon we’re working with here. Tori is also a knockout vocalist; their presence makes the band sound even more full, and their delivery during the bridge of “No News Is Good News” would regularly get stuck in my head for hours after each show. 

Behind them all is drummer Alec Westover, a fellow Pacific Nortwesterner who apologized in advance if he was ever a bit of a “space case.” The two of us pretty much immediately spoke the same language, as I also share a rainy-day pensiveness, which means I’m often content to sit back and observe as opposed to being the center of attention. He was usually fitted in another DIY band’s merch or a hoodie with a sports team on it. It was amazing to watch him shift into performance mode each night, busting out 30 minutes of pretty relentless drumming, knocking out every mathy twist and turn of a song like “Whiskey & Xanax” with absolute precision. It was bonkers to watch him hammer out something like that and then find him minutes later backstage chilling like it was no big deal. 

Together, I watched these four rip through the same 25-minute set three times over, and each night, it was nothing short of captivating. The setlist consisted of the same eight songs: they’d kick things off with the two-note nod-along “Can We Just Get High” and then hit us with a Carpool Classic in the form of “Whiskey & Xanax.” From there, the band would wind through songs off each album, with a couple pulled from their recent EP for good measure. If the crowd played along, they’d be treated to a cover of “Teenage Dirtbag,” a nice little throwback that allows for a unique form of participation as half the members of the crowd remember the lyrics in unison, eventually building up to that cathartic cry of “OH YEAH!!! DIRTBAG!!!” 

It’s a wonderful note to end on a non-canonical song because it feels like a fun way to let people know what you revere as a band without taking everything so seriously. In the past, Carpool has put “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit into a similar spot at other shows, but I could see any Sum 41 or Third Eye Blind slotting in there if the band ever needed any more rowdy 90s alt-rock crowd-pleasers to cap off the set with. On a similar note that I want to include here for completeness sake, I still maintain that Carpool’s cover of “Soak Up The Sun” should have been a bigger deal than it was; that thing is a work of art with an amazing video to match. Regardless, Carpool nailed their Wheatus cover and walked off the stage to raucous applause and maybe even a few new converts. Based on the amount of vinyl I saw the band singing that night, it’s safe to assume people were excited to go home and listen to the new record. 

Behind the scenes, the band was already abuzz with an infectious, if not slightly shitposty energy. Throughout most of our time together, Stoph radiated a charming and hilarious front-person energy, indulging in plenty of dirtbag antics but still keeping everything fun and good-natured, much like Carpool’s music. 

The band members already had an ongoing bit, singing the chorus of Lonestar’s 1999 hit “Amazed” back and forth to each other whenever there was a brief lull in conversation. They’d affectionately refer to each other as “cousin,” a term that felt recently re-popularized thanks to The Bear but, in Carpool’s case, felt steeped in the fact that most of the band members still work in the service industry. At one point after their first set, Stoph turned to me and, over his shoulder, offered, “Cousin is gender-neutral,” a surprisingly open-minded logic for something that just felt like an affectionate auditory tick. There’s also “cro,” a portmanteau of “cousin” and “bro” that served a similar purpose. 

Later on in the run of shows, the phrase “Stand on Business!” would take on a life of its own, eventually becoming a universally positive affirmation you could use to respond to just about anything. Just ripped a set? Stand on business. The green room has the exact flavor of Gatorade you like? Stand on business! Hearing someone bark that out and mentally nodding along in affirmation became a shared language. 

Once the concert wrapped up, Carpool spent a good chunk of time slinging shirts, signing vinyl, and snapping pics with fans. We were only an hour or so from the album’s midnight release, so we hung around the bar long enough to celebrate with the band when My Life In Subtitles officially dropped. The vibes were immaculate; Carpool’s first set of tour went off without a hitch, and the record they had spent years working towards was finally out for the world to hear. We celebrated an adequate amount, but eventually, we all packed up and headed north toward New Jersey, where we had an off-day before show #2.

-2-

After a full day of driving, our “off-day” in Asbury Park was more like an off-night. We arrived at the Airbnb around 6 pm after navigating through the utter hell that is the DC highway system. I’ve driven across the country multiple times, so I’m no stranger to long road trips, but that specific drive reinforced how much of tour is just spent packed in a car getting from one city to the next. It’s a lot of gas stations, rest stops, and fast food. You take vegetables where you can get them and get good at constructing a queue of music and podcasts long enough to stretch across multiple hours. By the time we rolled into Jersey, Carpool already had pizza on the way and YouTube up on the flatscreen TV in the shared living room space. The group flipped from the Gel Audiotree to goofy music videos and, at one point, wound up sparking (mostly ironic) a group sing-along to Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the USA.”

I already had some idea of who Carpool were as people before this, so I wasn’t too worried about anything dramatic or salacious happening during my time with the band. Even still, I was wondering if things would ever get tense or “real” once we were all out on the road together. The closest we ever got to some Behind The Music-style drama was when the band’s manager, Danny Doyle, learned that Tommy ordered from a jerk chicken place without him. This restaurant was apparently a bit of a tradition any time the band visited Asbury, but Doyle was only (jokingly) a little put out that Tommy ordered without him. That exchange, the cold and calculating betrayal at the hands of Tommy, was about the closest the group ever came to rising tensions.

A tender moment between Stoph and Alec

After long enough, Carpool, plus myself and Josh in-tow, moseyed a few blocks down to Georgies, a gay bar, in search of karaoke. While we didn’t find an open mic, I quickly discovered that Torri and Dan were absolute pool sharks as I watched them each go on six-ball hot streaks, sinking multiple billiards into the bar’s only pool table. 

We wound up hopping to another bar that actually contained multiple other bars, a needlessly complicated way to cram several distinct vibes on top of each other. My night almost evoked that one Lady Gaga clip, except it was bar, bar, another bar. At one of these bars-within-a-bar, I wound up chatting with Jake Trieste and Frankie Mancini, two of Stoph’s high school friends who were in town from Rochester just to watch the band perform the following night. They were more than happy to tell tales of putting up with a younger version of Stoph and how it felt like he had eternal senioritis, even back then. “Teachers thought he wouldn’t do shit, but look at him now, he’s following his dreams,” Jake laid out at one point. While I was already privy to Eyes Wide Shut, an (admittedly bad) post-hardcore project featuring members of Carpool and calicuzns, Jake was the first to inform me of Stoph’s high school rap project, something I’m still hoping I’ll be able to get my hands on at some point, if the files still exist at all. 

That night, I ended up having some pretty in-depth discussions with most of the band members. At one point, Tommy and I were embroiled in a conversation about our shared reverence for classic rock, specifically Van Morrison. He informed me how this admiration for that older style of rock music influenced his approach to songwriting for the new LP, and I could totally hear it. The proggy guitarwork at the end of “CAR” and the fiery solo at the end of “Can We Just Get High?” made total sense when placed in a lineage of boomer rock I inherited from my dad. 

Similarly, Alec and I were both from Oregon, a fact I didn’t know until I saw him sporting a forest green University of Oregon hoodie. Bonded by that shared upbringing and mutual appreciation (or tolerance for) rain, the two of us got deep talking about the creation of Subtitles and how it compared to the band’s previous work. He explained his role as drummer and how the instrumental parts for some of the songs on this record took shape long before the lyrics were in place. 

The group communally discussed their shared appreciation for Bug Jar, a 200-cap music venue in Rochester that the band has played so many times they might as well have their name engraved on the rafters. In fact, this July, Carpool will be playing two triumphant nights at Bug Jar, celebrating the release of My Life In Subtitles. The first night will be a set of Carpool classics, covers, and songs the group never plays anymore, while night two will be a full album playthrough of Subtitles for the ravenous hometown crowd. With support from legends like Equipment, Carly Cosgrove, Del Paxton, and Cheap Kids, these shows are gonna be a Carpool summit for the ages.

Carpool Album Release Shows

In a telling moment, at one point, I overheard the band talking to a table of patrons as they were hunting for a lighter. Upon learning that Stoph and Tommy were in a band, they asked what kind of music Carpool made. “Good luck playing Wonder Bar if you’re not a ska band,” one of them warned, “This is a ska-only town,” he said with the most serious grimace one can manage while still talking about ska. 

Knowing how averse everyone is to the “emo” label, my ears perked up to hear what the answer would be. The two band members shared a knowing look before Tommy said, “You wanna know what the actual answer is? Real scumbag rock.” The labels of “punk” and “emo” encapsulate so much yet feel so limiting, especially for a band that just put out a record as diverse and varied as My Life In Subtitles

That same night, your boy made a rookie mistake of Taking Too Much. While I’d been cautious to monitor how much I’d imbibed on night one, on night two, I wasn’t drinking at all. Instead, I decided to help stimulate New Jersey’s blossoming dispensary economy. I started the night off with a little baby joint to myself as we were on the way to Bar #1 and felt fine. Actually, if anything, I felt leveled out after a day's worth of travel in the car. My mistake came at Bar #2, where I went back for seconds, cheefing on a $10 pre-roll of Jersey weed that sent me into an actual panic attack by the time we’d reached Bar #3. 

The band had decided to leave the second bar in search of a casino, something that we quickly learned does not exist anywhere in Asbury Park. Instead, the band was stopped by Joey DiCamillo of NJ emo band Straight Jacket Feeling. “There’s no casino in Asbury Park,” he laughed towards our group, “Come on in here and grab an espresso martini.” At this point, I was so deep in my head that I was sure it would be my last night alive. I pulled Stoph outside, muttered an exchange that was probably as confusing as it was incoherent, and walked back to the Airbnb, fully freaked the fuck out. Not exactly my finest moment. 

While that was an all-time embarrassing moment in my life that happened in front of a band I’d long admired, I wanted to include it here for accuracy’s sake and also to illustrate how sweet and kind-hearted the members of Carpool are. By the end of the night, Tommy, Alec, Josh, and I were huddled around a patio set in the backyard of our Airbnb talking (unironically) about the brilliance of the Goo Goo Dolls, and I could feel my anxiety dissipating by the minute. I apologized to Stoph the next day, and he assured me it was okay; Carpool, if nothing else, are a band that understands the experience of getting too high and freaking out; that’s the content of about half their songs. 

-3-

The next day, the group filed into Wonder Bar for a stormy Asbury Park soundcheck, then proceeded to play one of the best gigs I’ve seen all year. The room was electric, with plenty of the band’s childhood friends and old roommates embedded at various spots in the sold-out crowd, plus a glut of New Jerseyans ready to cut loose on a Saturday night. The band played through the same setlist, but this time, Corey from Free Throw joined the band on stage for their Wheatus cover and set the room ablaze. People crowdsurfed, shouted along, and shared the mic, all for the god-damn opener

Photo by Abby Clare

After the show packed up, the remainder of Carpool and their friends migrated down the boardwalk to a discotheque blasting 70s soul classics, and the group danced the night away in a moment that felt more than celebratory. For me, it felt like everyone had forgotten about my embarrassing faux paus the night before, getting too high and getting weird, but for the band, it felt like genuine revelry. They had just played an incredible set, signed a bunch of vinyl, and were out dancing with some of their oldest friends. As we were collectively shakin’ our booties to Diana Ross, it really felt like the credits could roll at any moment. 

But there was one more show to play. 

After some post-dancing Taco Bell and unwinding with a one-two punch of the Wednesday Tiny Desk and the Elephant Gym Audiotree, the gang called it a night because we all had to be in Pittsburg the next day for the final show of this leg of the tour. 

-4-

In the Steel City, the gig, once again, unfolded in a similar way, with the band winning over portions of the crowd minute by minute. Between songs, Stoph kept talking about how each track was actually inspired by Mean Girls 2 and were all somehow directly tied to the Tina Fey Cinematic Universe. It was also revealed that “Whiskey & Xanax” is actually about the Lizzie McGuire Lego set that got stolen from Stoph when he was in 5th grade (Genius annotators, you can quote me).

Before we all went our separate ways, Stoph, Josh, and I snuck off for a mediocre dinner at a local Schwarma place. We wound up having a surprisingly involved conversation about movies, but it eventually circled back to music. At one point, Stoph talked about how grateful he is to be around such talented musicians, referring to the rest of his band. He spoke about the difference between being an elite musician who can play something flawlessly versus being a band with personality. Ultimately, the three of us agreed that a balance between those two things is the sweet spot, and we unanimously decided that, after watching three consecutive shows, Carpool sat squarely at that intersection. 

Photo by Abby Clare

At the end of this, it was bittersweet and mostly sad to watch the band’s Honda Odyssey pull off into the sunset on the way back up to Rochester for a week off before going back on tour, but I felt like I had been a small part of something incredibly special. 

Josh and I made a brief pit stop to catch Origami Angel close out the Don’t Let The Scene Go Down On Me’s 17th-anniversary showcase, rounding out an already-emo weekend with a heaping helping of dorky pop rock (positive). 

The two of us checked into our Airbnb, and weirdly, all I wanted to do was listen to Carpool. I listened to all of Nasal Use and My Life In Subtitles before going to bed and found myself loving the album more than I ever had. After seeing the band live, I could pick out Torri’s vocals floating through the upper end of the mix. I could spot Tommy’s guitar wizardry after watching him cast the same spells night after night. I could hear Alec’s study drumming holding everything together, the silent assassin murdering every fill and propulsive hit. I could hear Stoph’s voice, literally and figuratively, across each song and every word as I read along with the lyrics and did the public service of uploading all the words to Genius. Maybe all I needed was six months of listening to this album before it clicked. Maybe all I needed was to watch this band play a couple of these songs live to “get it,” or maybe I had just absorbed so much of Carpool’s energy that I started to feel admiration by proxy. 

-reflections-

I think you do something like this (I.e., join a band on the road) out of love but also because it teaches you something about yourself. If it’s not already abundantly clear, I love Carpool: the band, the music, the people, and it was an honor to essentially feel like part of the group, even for a few days. I set out to capture this band as best I could and try to tell their story at what felt like an important inflection point in their career; to try to capture and convey what I love about them to an audience that’s completely external to all of this. 

I genuinely believe this band possesses something special, and that’s evident in the footage we captured for this documentary, the music they painstakingly put to record, and the way that these people navigate the world and interact with each other. You can see it in the fandom they’re building, the merch and videos they’re making, and the connections they’ve fostered. Everything is considered, and nothing is half-assed. Nobody is doing it quite like Carpool.

This entire trip, the final lines of Erotic Nightmare Summer kept floating through my head: “Carpool is a band about sharing smiles with friends.” As I watched the members bounce across the stage each night, nailing every solo and sticking every high kick, it was impossible not to absorb some of that jubilation.

So sure, I did this because I adore Carpool and wanted to show what it’s like to be a young rock band ramping up to release the most important record of their lives. And, despite my initial reservations, I do think My Life In Subtitles is a great album, it’s a giant, challenging, wide-set record where no two songs sound the same. The scope is ambitious, the songs are unlike anything the band has done before, and that’s a good thing. My experience with this album, listening to it on and off for months, has unearthed a level of depth I never expected during that first listen on the Metro North. At a certain point, creating a “grower” is a true test of a band, and that’s what Carpool have done with their sophomore album.

In talking to all these people- fans, friends, the touring bands, and even the members of Carpool themselves- pretty much everyone had a different favorite song from My Life in Subtitles. I think that goes to show how varied and diverse this record is. 

Photo by Abby Clare

Sometimes, you reach a point in life where you just have to throw yourself into something full-force and see what happens. This whole experience of joining a band on the road, interviewing people, taking notes, filming things, sitting in on soundchecks, and spending an extended period of time immersed in a pre-existing configuration of people was all new to me. Sometimes you overshoot (or fly too close to the sun), but even when you do, you learn something about yourself. 

In fact, I think that’s largely the story of My Life In Subtitles as an album: the three-act structure of Dirtbag, Meltdown, and Reclamation feels like a universal truth in some ways. You’ve got this unrepentant scumbaginess in songs like “Can We Just Get High?” and “Open Container Blues,” whose upsides are self-evident. Then you’ve got the middle of the album, which covers everything else: romance (Crocodile Tears), recklessness (Kid Icarus), shitty jobs (No News), questioning who you are (Taxes), questioning organizations (CAR), and the crushing weight of capitalism (throughout). Yet all of this is speckled with glimmers of hope. Despite its title, a song like “I Hate Music” is still a nuanced mediation of the love Carpool has for tour life. They wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t love it. 

Much like “Don’t Start a Band” by Short Fictions, a song can be a biting commentary and a love letter because sometimes you can’t have one without the other. You can’t criticize something without loving it, and vice versa. In Carpool’s case, I think it’s clear that this band loves the music they’re making. Just look at their on-stage presence or who they are as people. When you’re performing songs as catchy, inventive, and high-energy as these every night, who can blame you for having a great time while doing it?

But this overarching structure of living like a degenerate, fucking up, licking your wounds, and then trying again with better intentions feels like an appropriately large thing to articulate. This feels like a process we all must go through ourselves at some point. 

Even disregarding some larger narrative, My Life In Subtitles is a collection of feelings and experiences laid bare for the listener. It feels like a scrambled collection of ups and downs, highs, lows, and just plain frustrations of life. In Stoph’s case, he argues that if his life were a movie, it would be a pretty shitty one… But I think that’s how everyone feels, isn’t it? “Who would want to watch THIS?” Fuckin’ terrible show. 

If that is indeed the top-level takeaway from this record, I think it’s funny that my reaction to it was to double down in the opposite direction. To hear an album’s worth of songs about how unglamorous and shitty and fucked up life has been for the members of Carpool, then to want to join them on the road to capture more of that life. If it’s such a terrible show, why am I so drawn to it? Why do I want more? Why do I keep coming back to this record and this band? I think the answer is right there in the subtitles.

Poster by Hallie Kanter