Photos by Mary Sunde
Review by Brian Nielsen
Day one left me feeling every bit of my age. I woke up drained and devoid of spoons, lacking the will to leave the house. Inertia was my enemy; I was unsure I had the fuel to complete another day of the festival, let alone two. The fear of failure became somewhat self-fulfilling. I missed several bands because of task paralysis induced by anxiety that I would crap out and be unable to cover the end of the fest. A younger me would have had enough drive and curiosity to depart without trouble. However today, after an unfortunately long inner battle, it was only my sense of duty to Dying Scene that finally prevailed, enabling me to put on pants and call a Lyft to Douglass Park.
I had every intention of arriving in time for Melt-Banana; they were a regular on my portable music player circa 2005. It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to them, but I distinctly remember the spastic, hyperactive vocal style. I was never able to see them live back in the day—a tradition I shamefully carried on to the present by not leaving on time. The list isn’t over yet; Angine de Poitrine blew past too. I discovered them earlier this year when I bought into Rick Beato’s clickbait YouTube title, “Please STOP sending me this,” where he finally gives in to the viewers flooding his inbox asking for his take on the band. I think they’re fascinating, and it brings me joy that a band is doing something so weird and different—so different and weird—something borderline unmusical, but they are still getting mainstream attention for it. I have not developed a taste for the microtonal nature of their songs yet, but I listen to a lot of music now that I didn’t understand how to appreciate earlier in life, so we’ll see where it goes.
At least I left in time to catch Thrice. Well, some of Thrice. At least I thought I would make it to the end of their set. Travel times were longer than estimated and I did not see any of their set. I had forgotten Thrice existed for the better part of two decades, but their newer songs have been popping up in my recommended streaming lists and they’ve caught my ear. I’m, like, really bad at this; maybe I’ll have better luck next time they come through Chicago.
I FINALLY made it through the gates and onto the festival grounds in time for Social Distortion. I vividly remember “I Was Wrong” playing in heavy rotation around ‘97 on Q101, Chicago’s legendary local alternative rock station. Despite loving the track, I didn’t deeply explore their catalog until years later. It contains no shortage of fantastic songs. White Light, White Heat, White Trash is a timeless punk treasure that deserves to be played in its entirety. That being said, I held modest expectations for the performance this year. The first time I saw Social D was long enough ago that I don’t remember any details, except that it was great and I was incredibly excited to see them again. However, the second and most recent time I saw them—which, to be fair, was 20 years ago—I left the venue relatively underwhelmed. They played the songs tightly without mistakes, but every song just felt like it was dragging. The tempos fell noticeably shy of what I remembered from the albums. Maybe their drummer just needed some uppers that night and couldn’t get any, or maybe my internal clock just set me up with unrealistic expectations. My perception could have been the problem, not their performance; they are professionals after all.
Regardless, I did not leave underwhelmed this time—the boys were kicking ass and taking names. The band was mostly dressed to impress with expensive-looking pants and dress shirts that were still tailored and worn with a punk rock edge. The beautiful, classy vintage Gibson guitars completed the look, however the drummer’s LA Dodgers hat felt like he thought it was casual Friday. Their set was tight, punchy, and full of energy. The performance was strong right from the start with “Born to Kill,” and “Mommy’s Little Monster” gave me a lovely nostalgia dose. I left early so I could see some of the Descendents, but I left pleasantly satisfied.
I honestly haven’t listened to the Descendents much since my formative punk years. Back in my day, we couldn’t see the Descendents in concert because they were broken up. All we had was ALL, and we had to make do with it. I remember seeing them at the House of Blues before I was old enough to drive. They sounded great and all, but comparatively, while the bands hold a similar sound and attitude, the Descendents just have better songs. Or maybe they’re just more memorable. Or maybe I just remember them better because that CD was in my car and got played more often. I guess I can’t make an objective comparison here, but subjectively, I have to say I enjoyed the Descendents in 2026 more than I enjoyed ALL in ’98. Noteworthy moment: the brief guitar solo in “Dog House.” It started out with a quick shred, then got loose and noodly as he searched for notes he didn’t quite find, and ended with a sharply dissonant melodic phrase that was almost atonal. I don’t remember the album version enough to know if that was intentional or a cover-up, but it was awesome and made me smile either way.
I was ahead of schedule when I went to the Radical stage to get ready for Chat Pile, which proved serendipitous, as Vana was playing and they were awesome. I’m getting kind of sick of modern metal songwriting—I find the majority of it displeasingly homogeneous—but I found myself really liking Vana’s songs. The riffs and progressions are catchy, not just technical. There’s a decent smear of electronic elements in the songs and even some hip-hop-ish parts for breaks and transitions. The frontwoman was straight-up dripping with stage presence and raw energy. She wasn’t afraid to dance while pacing around the stage like a caged animal, supporting her lyrics with both facial expression and body language. I am a sucker for the singing of a clean, melodic female voice mixed with anguished screaming passages, especially when it’s one person doing both parts. She pulled that style off beautifully. Their music carried serious production value for a band playing this early on one of the smaller stages. I’m generally not a fan of backing tracks, but I felt these were tasteful and created an atmosphere that four musicians alone could not make on one stage, blending well with the rock-solid instrumentation and not overshadowing it. The guitar work was full of heavy, djenty, downtuned riffs and the bass complemented it with that wonderful “klank” tone that Korn pioneered in the 90s. They didn’t overdo it, but occasionally they augmented dramatic snare drum hits with an effect that made it sound like a cannon detonating deep in a cavernous space.
Until the literal day of the festival, Chat Pile had gone completely under my radar. I am slowly realizing that I may live under a rock when it comes to current music. Thankfully, Mary told me they were worth making time for. Boy howdy, she was right. Chat Pile is aggressive, abrasive, thick, and exquisitely doomy. I loved the fact they were able to deliver the crushing, oppressive doom vibe without playing painfully slow. They have a sound that is distinct and easily recognizable, but unique enough that I really don’t know who to compare them to. Or maybe the comparable bands just haven’t found their way to the rock I live under yet. Doesn’t matter, I’m hooked. As they took the stage, before their first song exploded, I couldn’t help but think their singer looked strikingly like Jim Breuer. It was almost as if he had teleported straight from the 1990s but somehow grew a mustache on his way here. The visuals were misleading, and I was not prepared for his unsettling yet powerful vocal delivery.
Tool was cool. I only caught their first two songs, though, because it was infinitely more important for me to secure a prime spot for Bad Religion. Tool’s performance was highly anticipated, and I wish I had more to say about it. From where I was standing, I couldn’t get a good view of the band members, and to no one’s surprise, they were not broadcast on the video displays at all. The band instead opted for their signature trippy, avant-garde visuals. The set opened with a wall of feedback and eerie guitar noise while electricity from a Jacob’s Ladder climbed up the video displays. As the opening notes of “Stinkfist” kicked in, the projection cut to surreal, alien-like shapes and structures. The structures contained extraterrestrial humanoid beings that reminded me of the Engineers from Prometheus—except they were wearing khakis and sporting total dad bods. Weird. I can definitely see how seeing Tool could be a hallowed experience in the right setting, one that leaves a mark on a true fan. However, I am a casual fan at best. From where I was standing, it was kind of like listening to the studio recordings of the songs really loud while watching one of their music videos outside on a giant TV.
I’ve seen Bad Religion enough times to lose count—at least 10 times, probably closer to 15. I have never once been disappointed and always leave euphoric. That held true this year at Riot Fest, but for the first time, things were a bit bittersweet and complicated. I never thought I’d have the official opportunity to photograph a band of this magnitude that holds such deep, foundational importance to my musical identity, and I was ecstatic that it was happening. At the same time, watching a show through a viewfinder while devoting most of your attention to what will make a good photo is a vastly different experience than being present and getting lost while connecting with your favorite band, even in the best conditions.
And I was not in the best conditions. I was shooting the band from the edge of the general standing area, using an unwieldy, massive telephoto lens. I had been using it for the whole festival at this point, but truth be told, it was a new purchase I made specifically to shoot BR. The distance, coupled with being stuck with a single static vantage point and using new equipment I was still getting used to, made for a challenging shoot. The photos I got genuinely fall short of my best work by a noticeable measure, but I don’t care. I am still in absolute disbelief that I got to photograph them; it is one of the highest honors I’ve had.
Musically, they sounded every bit as phenomenal, fast, and precise as every other time I’ve seen them over the last 25 or so years. Nothing will top seeing them play at a Riot Fest after-show at the legendary, now-defunct Double Door—a venue small and intimate enough that my band was able to play there. I got to see Bad Religion play on a stage I had already been on the other side of. Nothing is going to beat that experience, but this one was still extraordinary. I was thrilled by the number of songs they were able to fit into their timeslot, including several of my personal favorites. Despite the challenging photo conditions, something special lit up inside the back of my mind when I was able to recognize a favorite less than three seconds in. “Generator,” “I Want to Conquer the World,” “No Control,” “Struck a Nerve,” “Suffer,” “Infected,” “21st Century Digital Boy,” and “You” all had that effect.
Hilarious highlight: Greg was talking to the crowd after the second or third song and jokingly said they would get right back to playing “as soon as that garage band is finished.” The stages were close enough together that in between Bad Religion songs you could easily make out what Tool was playing. Jay quickly chimed in to point out they have shared concert bills together before, the first time dating back to the 1980s.
Riot Fest shortened the schedule due to impending rain, and Bad Religion was one of the last bands to play, with their cutoff time listed as 8:00 PM. Much to my joy, the rain was later than expected, and Bad Religion was still going when I checked my watch at 8:10. Nothing lasts forever, though. Shortly after jinxing things by checking the time, I heard the opening harmonics of “Sorrow.” I had seen them close their set with this song so many times before that I was sure it must be the last one. I quickly put my camera away before the opening vocals were sung so I could be off the clock and lose myself in the last song. It was everything I hoped it would be, and in a “But wait, there’s more!” moment, they went straight into “American Jesus” before exiting the stage.
Two days down, one marathon day to go. Check out the gallery from day two below!
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