This past weekend I went to the greatest city in the world, a place I love so much, which absolutely is not a wretched hellhole of indulgent American despair: Vegas!!! My second trip there this year. The first was to see Dead & Company at The Sphere. This time was for Best Friends Forever Fest. An “emo” festival, for lack of a better term. That designation may have sparked controversial debate twenty years ago, but in 2024, those who shaped the subgenre are EMBRACE-ing its title. I know because I got a press pass via Stereogum & interviewed some bands for an IG supercut, asking them “how does it feel when people call you an emo band?” Most artists said they would have hated that in the ‘90s but now, after decades of linguistic evolution, it’s kind of a nice term to group all these relatively distinct bands together and celebrate what they mean to people.
BFF’s lineup is both a companion and a contrast to next week’s ‘When We Were Young.’ Both are heavy on nostalgia, but BFF caters to the 2nd wave emo / post-hardcore scene. A lot of 50 year old bearded dads were in the audience. Not people who pulled a Skrillex and abandoned screamy music for dubstep as soon as they got the chance. Everyone was pretty chill and happy to be there in the scorching heat. As another writer in attendance put it, “it’s more like a Star Trek convention than a music festival.”
I could write a lot more about BFF, but since you weren’t there (I assume), you probably don’t care. Instead I want to take this opportunity to declare that Mannequin Pussy is one of the most exciting bands I’ve witnessed perform live in a long time.
They played on the secondary stage but a sizable crowd had already formed in eager anticipation toward the end of Unwound’s main stage set. A major perk of BFF was there were only two stages fairly close to each other, with no overlapping performances. When one band ended, you had five minutes to walk to the other stage and catch the next show. But enough about the festival you weren’t at. Actually wait, here’s more about it.
One of the questions Stereogum asked every band was “who is someone you’re excited about in music right now?” Bob Nanna of Braid, who I’ve also interviewed for my book, immediately mentioned that he was excited to share a lineup with Mannequin Pussy. After Mannequin Pussy performed on Saturday night, I heard multiple artists say from the stage something along the lines of “how about Mannequin Pussy, eh?” Several people I talked to agreed they had the set of the festival. They walked out dancing to NLE Choppa’s “Slut Me Out 2.”
I don’t exactly know how to describe it other than to encourage you to go see them live if they come anywhere near you. They have pulverizing Bad Brains-esque hardcore songs that stop on a dime and pivot to sweet, melodic poppy stuff. It’s both a direct descendant of the 90s bands at BFF and something far beyond anything anyone besides that band in particular could conjure. It’s also kinda like Soul Glo, another band from Philadelphia. Singer Marisa Dabice dances on stage like a pop star, then alternates between a drag queen like whispery stage vocal affectation and primal screams or echoey taunting laughs. She lures you close and then stomps on you, then picks you back up and tells you it’s okay. It’s chaotic and weird and overwhelming. When I really think about it, it’s more similar in spirit to Cap’n Jazz than Algernon Cadwallader (philly again), who once infamously said “we sound like Cap’n Jazz.”
At one point Mannequin Pussy’s singer went on a rant about how people who are uncomfortable with the word “pussy” being in the band’s name need to examine why they feel that way. She then instructed the men of the crowd to yell “pussy” as loud as they can. Then she said it sounds much better when everyone’s included. So everyone yelled “pussy” really loudly.
In between songs, she also griped about how water at the festival cost $7. Temperatures were in the upper 90s and simply being there was exhausting. She referenced Woodstock 94 running out of the water and insisted that water access is a human right. Of course this caused panic amongst festival organizers, who later mentioned that they had been trying to give out free water at the security tent before running out. But her words were so energizing to the otherwise calm and respectful crowd that there were a lot of free mini water bottles being passed out the following day. WHOOOHOO.
I’ve listened to Mannequin Pussy a bunch but never fully understood their greatness until seeing them live. It made me jealous of people who live in Philadelphia. It made me happy to be in Las Vegas.
As I told the music festival barber giving me a trim while mentioning his “gram of shroomies” kicked in just as Cap’n Jazz took the stage Friday night, “Vegas has a lot going on right now.” I meant this genuinely. There have now been two musical events that have lured me to the desert’s mob-run nuclear bomb testing boom town. It’s cheaper than LA. In a place once known as the de facto retirement community for aging superstars, Vegas at least seems to be undergoing some sort of artistic renaissance. At least a lot of musicians are working there.
A city-pride related tangent: Late at night after Mannequin Pussy’s set, playing roulette at the Downtown Grand Hotel, a trio of Canadians asked where my group was from. We said “Illinois.” Usually, whenever I say that, people assume I’m from Chicago or a Chicago suburb. Even when I say “Champaign,” the next time they see me, they’ll inevitably say, “Oh yeah, you’re from Chicago, right?” I don’t bother to correct people too much because usually nobody knows what Champaign is. But the first follow up question after saying “Illinois” to this group of Canadians was, “Are you guys from Urbana?” Technically no, but we still answered, “Yes,” because, yes, basically. The Canadians said that American Football (who formed while in college in Urbana and disbanded upon graduation) was one of their favorite groups of all time and the reason they traveled all the way from Edmonton. It was super cool as someone from a relatively unknown place with a great historical music scene to witness the validation of that scene’s ongoing legacy. Just the fact that some Canadians had heard of Urbana made me feel a little better about slowly draining cash by betting all on black like the Alkaline Trio song.
Part of the reason I wanted to write about ‘Midwest Emo’ is so that the documentation of scenes in places like Urbana enters the historical record. It was a surreal experience seeing bands I’m researching and interviewing for the book, many of whom are from Urbana or nearby Midwestern places—like American Football, Braid, Cap’n Jazz, and Rainier Maria—getting together decades after performing in basements and VFW Halls to play for thousands of fans singing along.
Stopping on a dime like Mannequin Pussy here and pivoting to another brief tangent: Many of the band members at the festival don’t perform often because they work regular day jobs as teachers or corporate employees. Seeing the respect those artists received from the crowd, then hearing about the unexpected, tragic passing of the brilliant rapper Ka this week, made me better appreciate the role art can play in our lives. Ka being a firefighter who occasionally releases masterful albums shouldn’t necessarily be unusual. Musicians don’t have to make tons of money off their craft. In many instances, the best music comes from people who have regular routines and life experiences outside of the music industry. I don’t have any fully formed thoughts about this yet, but I am thinking about it so maybe you should too.
Alright, this has been two weeks of newsletters in a row after a months long hiatus. I always feel like I’m just rambling in here and going off on unconnected tangents, but if you read this at all I really appreciate it. It’s fun not to overthink what I’m writing (or edit it) and just dump out my thoughts about the process of writing and thinking about music. Go see Mannequin Pussy. Goodnight.