Riot Fest Sucks—that’s not my opinion, just the annual three-day punk rock music festival’s slogan. It’s a sentiment so embraced that it even peddles a Riot Fest Sucks pale ale by Goose Island Beer Co. at the bar tents. Turning the punk spirit into a profit machine has drawn local criticisms in its hometown of Chicago, but as an Athenian I digress. Around 40,000 people attended this year’s Riot Fest at Douglass Park Sept. 15–17, and I had the honor of being among them for the first time.
For years I’ve looked at the Riot Fest lineups with starry eyes, and there were too many opportunities I couldn’t miss this time. In particular a couple of touring acts not coming to the South: Death Cab for Cutie with The Postal Service (more on that later) and London-based alternative metal band Sleep Token. However, what I wasn’t expecting was just how many activities and attractions could be packed into the festival grounds: carnival rides, a wedding chapel, a free arcade, half-pipe, vendor markets, a boxing ring, etc.
Try as I might, I didn’t make it to everything. But here’s a general look at how I spent my three days at Riot Fest.
Entering the festival was a breeze. On day one, before taking stock of the landscape and locations of the five stages, my group hit the nearest beverage tent, where I had to try a 0% alcohol cherry Riot Pop seltzer (5%, 8%, and CBD versions also). It was fun and tasty, but I didn’t end up buying another. One friend in my group was craving a corn dog, so we hit the food vendors right next to where Parliament Funkadelic was performing for an enthusiastic crowd. The corn dog ended up being $20 plus a $5 credit card fee; he also didn’t end up buying another.
We set up to catch our first full performance of the day at the main stage, Pittsburgh-based metalcore band Code Orange. It felt like a proper way to start a punk festival. The members threw themselves across the stage through the whole performance, with vocalist Jami Morgan and guitarist/vocalist Reba Meyers bringing particularly intense and raw energy—even through the “slower” songs they played after Morgan announced there was a bunch of “normal people in the crowd,” but they had something for everyone that “rocked.”
After Code Orange I had some time to explore, so I made my way to the arcade tent, where I found the true unforgettable gem of the festival: Biscuits. The Biscuits are the “house band,” an animatronic dog-themed Misfits cover band, of Chicago’s Logan Arcade. It played Danzig-era hits, including his solo material, such as “Mother,” replacing “But if you wanna find hell with me/ I can show you what it’s like” with “But if you wanna find bones with me/ I can show you where they’re at.” I’m not ashamed to admit I watched a Biscuits set each of the three days.
From this point I moved into my only true gripe/less-than-great experience: the water refill station. For starters, there was only one area for general admission to refill water. I entered the snaking barricade line, which slowly turned into a winding path of aggressive berating by staff along the lines of “See a spot open and fucking go for it” and “You want water, right, then act like it.” This area dumped you out in front of the Scrambler amusement ride, I guess to remind you that you’re having fun. Instead, I decided to grab a shady, grassy spot on the hill by the nearest stage, where the Screaming Females were playing. A band new to me, but ironically very familiar to what I had just endured. Screaming Females’ lead Marissa Paternoster had some nice vocals reminiscent of Heart, and I caught some entertaining shredding from her on guitar as well.
Next up was emo, pop-punk band Say Anything, and admittedly I have listened to little outside of its first album, …Is a Real Boy. There was an odd point during the set where a track was playing and all of the members abandoned their instruments to sing backup vocals. But Say Anything played my favorite song “Woe,” then I moved on to squeeze a spot near the front of the main stage for Turnstile.
I had only heard good things about hardcore punk band Turnstile live, but WOW. No questions asked the best sounding and looking performance of Friday, and I overheard many fellow attendees echoing the same sentiment. It’s no wonder the band is headlining festivals elsewhere on this tour. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of hate for this, but watching the Foo Fighters, legends and they may be, close out the festival directly after this performance was underwhelming.
For day two, I let this aging elder emo body rest and entered the festival grounds halfway through the day. After giving the Biscuits another visit to pump myself up, I easily walked up quite close to the front of where Eshu Tune would take stage. Better known as the comedian and actor Hannibal Buress, the native Chicagoan had an impressive full band on stage including horns, bongos and a hype man in addition to the usual instruments you’d expect. Buress charismatically blended comedy into his set without it coming across as all for laughs. There was some serious artistry happening on stage.
At one point, Buress asked the crowd if they were “on time for Eshu Tune or early for Insane Clown Posse,” who was later playing on that stage, but from no one budging after he left the stage the truth became clear: Like myself, there were hundreds of people saving their place for Sleep Token. It’s honestly surprising that both Sleep Token and Insane Clown Posse were placed on the smallest stage, because both drew insane crowds that flooded out from the stage area and into the neighboring porta-potties.
The swelling crowd became antsy though as there were technical difficulties on stage that delayed the Sleep Token set by about 17 minutes, but when they came out, they delivered. Aesthetic is everything to this band, whose members wear robes and masks to conceal their identities, and the light show created the perfect dusky, eerie ambiance as the sun faded out of view. I could fangirl all day about this band, but the wall of sound conjured by its members in an outdoor setting was mind blowing. I’ve never felt so fully engrossed in what was happening on stage that I completely lost what was happening around me before.
Pulling myself out of that moment to go catch the last half of Queens of the Stone Age was jarring, but not as jarring as the rivers of Faygo that were certainly about to form next when Insane Clown Posse took the stage. The main stage crowd extended out in every direction as far as you could see, but there was plenty of walkable, breathable room to make my way midway up to the stage comfortably. Lead singer and guitarist Josh Homme is just a force to be reckoned with, and that beautiful guitar tone resonated with all the power I hoped it would.
Unfortunately every festival comes with trade-offs, some harder than others, and my big sacrifice this year was missing Death Cab for Cutie for Sleep Token. Death Cab and The Postal Service, both fronted by singer-songwriter Ben Gibbard, are currently touring together for the 20th anniversary of their respective albums Transatlanticism and Give Up. This also marks The Postal Service performing for the first time in 10 years. Gibbard is a personal hero, and finally seeing The Postal Service was genuinely magical—somehow increased by all of the members wearing white outfits that gave off very religious cult-vibes.
Overnight a storm was brewing in Chicago, and the rainy Sunday morning perfectly fit the shoegaze-heavy lineup for the day; however, it did cause a devastating delay on doors opening. A slew of bands were cut from the lineup, including two I was very eager to see: a personal favorite Atlanta band Microwave and Philadelphia-based heavy shoegaze group Nothing. The park was not as big of a mud pit as it could have been, but a slippery sog permeated the ground that never seemed to go away.
I spent most of the day at the one stage I hadn’t seen any bands at yet, and doing so I found a great strategy for getting a center view next to the middle railing. It was a different kind of sound experience for sure. I started things off with Pennsylvania alt-rock band Balance and Composure, which recently broke a five-year hiatus with two new singles and a tour. It’s also the 10 year anniversary of its album The Things We Think We’re Missing, and it was clear the songs the band played from that album were crowd favorites.
Next up on the same stage was L.S. Dunes, which was a priority for me to catch. The supergroup is composed of Circa Survive and Saosin vocalist Anthony Green, My Chemical Romance guitarist Frank Iero, Coheed and Cambria guitarist Travis Stever, and bassist Tim Payne and drummer Tucker Rule from Thursday. It’s one of those bands where there’s no debate that everyone is absolutely great at what they do. Green was fueling the performance with plenty of chaos and stage antics, including having an audience member crowd surf their pizza up to him (which he didn’t eat) then another send him up funnel cake (which he did eat, and later regretted).
Taking a break to grab water, some food and catch some Biscuits, I caught the end of AFI’s set. I watched from afar, which lead singer Davey Havok made plenty entertaining. I also came across The Dresden Dolls, who I had never listened to before but were very attention-grabbing. This duo seemed to be a general crowd favorite performance by many. While I was watching, the two members brought out a special guest to perform a cover of Beastie Boys’ “Fight For Your Right,” bassist Melissa Auf der Maur of Hole and The Smashing Pumpkins. As she took the stage she said, “I’m here to bring more volume to your party. Your hometown heroes The Smashing Pumpkins changed my life and your history.”
When I returned to the area I had previously left, the stage transformed into a sea of pink and white flowers for one of the godfathers of emo, The Used. This sunset performance was packed with energy, crowd participation and giant plumes of smoke. Lead singer Bert McCracken encouraged the audience to throw up their middle fingers, boo the band and mosh—but it obviously became a display of ego-stroking as he also made statements about The Used being his favorite band, the fact it hasn’t broken up in its 23 years and declaring “A Box of Sharp Objects” the greatest song ever written. I love The Used; it’s a crucial band in my emo upbringing, but come on, Bert.
But the long weekend had come to its pinnacle, a closing set by The Cure. The members may have looked like they crawled out of their goth crypts, but the band sounded amazing. Robert Smith’s voice echoed into the night flawlessly. My biggest regret was that my aching body could only endure 30 minutes of The Cure’s two-hour set. Another festival sacrifice, but I was staring down a 30-minute walk back to my car still. Thankfully, the sound was loud and crystal clear enough to catch walking out of the festival and down the road for some way.
Even while hobbling to my car and knowing I had 14 hours the next day between me and home, I had no doubt that Riot Fest would be on my to-do list for 2024. Hopefully next year there will be less bees??? I forgot to mention the bees… there were a lot of bees.
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