Riot Fest Sucks
The unofficial fan slogan has slowly become the official slogan, and in 2021 those three words were everywhere around Riot Fest at Douglass Park in Chicago over September 16th-19th.
A sign spelling out “Riot Fest Sucks” greeted ticketholders after they picked their way past the fairground with its Ferris wheel, its games of chance and skill, and a clown in a dunk tank insulting passerby. Once inside, via a pre-recorded video, Tom DeLonge tried to get people to chant “Riot Fest Sucks” several times a day. In the clip, DeLonge (who was not at Riot Fest this year) accused attendees of eating their own boogers.
The videos got old, but “Riot Fest Sucks and So Does Your Tattoo,” was a gift that kept on giving: a wall of pictures documenting hundreds of questionable decisions. The winner receieved a free tattoo cover-up, and from Thursday onward, the heavy favorite was “Fuck the Rainboner.”
Still, some people truly meant it when they screamed, “Riot Fest sucks.” I heard it in Douglass Park two or three times — real pain, from a person who thought Riot Fest was for them, only to discover that this year’s iteration isn’t what they had in mind. You don’t get that aggrievement around the all-purpose extravaganzas like Coachella or Lollapalooza.
In a way, it’s a good problem to have. Riot Fest knows its lane, it knows its customer, and it knows a few genres inside and out: alternative, hardcore, metal, a smattering of hip-hop, and flavors of punk from pop-, to post-, to first edition. To a lot of people, that sounds like a dream. In the same way that some Game of Thrones fans bully George R. R. Martin to write faster and better, some Riot Fest fans love the concept so much, they are constantly disappointed in its execution.
Riot Fest 2021 was already a disappointment before it began, as fan-favorites like Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, and Faith No More pulled out of the festival due to COVID-19. The pandemic presented challenges, and in the coming weeks Chicago will find out if we’ll pay a price for the revelry.
But all of that aside, the bacchanal felt sorely needed. A lot of anger and frustration was vented at Riot Fest this year, as artists aired grievances about the world, while some fans flung themselves into the violent pits and others kicked back with buds and beer. The last 18 months have been ugly and hard. Riot Fest offered a bruising catharsis.
For most of the festival, the two main stages — the headline Riot Stage and the Roots Stage — stared across the lawn at each other, close together but miles apart. The booking could be maddeningly eclectic, made worse by several last-minute cancellations. But for a brief run on Saturday night, the festival curated a scorching run of political acts, who together explored themes of oppression and justice from vastly different angles. Spanning hip-hop and punk, empathy and rage, Saturday night at Riot Fest was one of the most provocative programs in recent festival history.
Gogol Bordello led the way, with a sunset show that had the audience squinting at the Roots Stage. No matter, the crowd found it easy enough to dance with their eyes closed. “Alcohol,” was intoxicating, and the whole audience chanted the chorus of “Start Wearing Purple.” But singer Eugene Hütz also explored ideas about borders, migration, and the stupidity of xenophobia. These were serious themes, playfully expressed, and as the sun finally dropped below the stage arch, the audience turned to darker thoughts.
On the Riot Stage, Vic Mensa brought his reportorial eye to his hometown of Chicago. During “U Mad,” he improvised a line about “[Chicago Mayor] Lori LIghtfoot’s bitch ass,” that caused the crowd to erupt. And the people who saw him perform “16 Shots” won’t soon forget it. This harrowing rendition came four miles from the spot where a Chicago police officer fired 16 rounds into Laquan McDonald’s back. I don’t believe in ghosts, but during that track I heard them screaming.
Chicago punks Rise Against continued the political themes, performing songs of alienation and modern distress from their 2021 album Nowhere Generation. They added a cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Vietnam protest song “Fortunate Son,” and they did so with the help of Damian Abraham from the Canadian hardcore band Fucked Up, who were forced to cancel Riot Fest when their drummer had visa issues. Abraham’s growl blended poorly with the soaring tenor of Rise Against’s Tim McIlrath, but that didn’t matter: the middle finger to elites came through loud and clear.
Saturday closed with Run the Jewels. This was, as El-P said, their “third show in three years,” though he and Killer Mike didn’t show any rust. They came roaring out the gate with “yankee and the brave (ep. 4),” and scorched through a set heavy on RTJ4 cuts. Mike spoke movingly about Chicago’s own Alice Johnson, who encouraged him to think less about allyship and more about organizing. This segued into a furious rendition of “walking in the snow,” followed by “JU$T,” with its line, “Look at all these slave masters posing on your dollar.” To drive home the point, El-P warned the crowd to never trust any politician no matter their parties or pledges.
Altogether, the evening expressed a deep mistrust of authorities. In this way, it hearkened back to the original intentions of riotous music, even as the combination of punk and hip-hop pointed towards the festival’s future.
Dressed to Impress
There were the usual colorful costumes: feathery fancies, a pair of hot dogs, penguin lovers in bowtie and pearls. A person in a monkey costume kept forcing themselves close to the stage — or close to the cameras, in any event, ensuring that their furry mug would be projected onto the big screens at mainstages throughout the fest.
Many young people favored the wide fishnet stockings that have been cropping up at festivals throughout the summer. A nice enough look, though the tan lines remain after the stockings are gone, leaving the thigh looking like a trussed ham.
As for what colors are in vogue at Riot Fest, for the 16th year in a row it’s black. Band shirts, novelty shirts, cutoffs, crop tops, and nipple tape: black never goes out of style. There was almost more color to be found on people’s skin. Tattoos were everywhere you looked, and people without ink looked more naked than the naked people.
A Radical Idea: Play Somewhere Else
Whether it’s bad luck or poor planning, every festival has one stage that hosts a majority of the stinkers. Well, pinch your nose, ladies and gentlemen, for the Radical Stage.
To start, the plastic tiles took us out of the park and dropped us in a bad school gymnasium. Stage right was full of distracting foodcarts and people eating instead of listening, and though stage left offered a good view, no speakers faced that direction, and it had to compete with the sonic spillover from Roots and Riot. Besides that, the support structures and rigging destroyed the sightlines in what should have been a sweet spot in the center of the audience area. The division hurt artists, too. Several acts fell into the trap of playing down into the mosh pit, probably because it was the only chunk of the crowd they could see.
KennyHoopla was one such. He also struggled against the size of the stage, though there are signs that he’ll be a ferocious live performer soon. He came out spinning in circles during “silence is also an answer//,” and by the second track, “hollywood sucks//,” he was already gassed. “It’s deadass hot today and my dumbass wore two shirts,” he explained. By the time he got to “smoke break//,” he desperately needed one himself. Unfortunately, he had chosen to kill time with an opening DJ instead of saving those minutes to catch his breath mid-set.
He pushed through by screaming more than singing, and while his commitment never wavered, he’ll certainly need a lozenge. “Sorry I’m not giving you my best show,” he said. “It’s just crazy.” This is a bit harsh; his dive into the audience on “estella//” was fun, and his effort level was never in doubt. The heart was willing but the breath was weak. He’ll do better the next time he plays Riot Fest, and there will be a next time.
On Saturday at the Radical, Rancid did a rote run-through of tracks from their classic mid-’90s albums, Let’s Go and … And Out Come the Wolves. Singer Tim Armstrong is 55 now, and he doesn’t run around quite as much as he used to. The band could’ve used the help of the cameras on the bigger stages. Instead, they preached to the converted, while a small stream of people migrated towards Rise Against.
One of the most bizarre experiences at Radical was Sublime with Rome, which saw Rome Ramirez not only fighting the space but also trying to win over Bradley Nowell’s fans. The Sublime singles definitely landed, while the Sublime with Rome songs were politely tolerated. In some ways however, the Sublime experience hasn’t changed. For instance, two very nice bros became concerned that I wasn’t having a good enough time. For a while, they even forced me to dance.
I was saved by an equally agreeable quartet of young women who needed a picture taken. As it turned out, one of the women seemed to think that one of the men had a good eye for photography. I won’t predict wedding bells just yet, but I certainly smell bong water in their future.
GWAR didn’t come out of the Radical unscathed, but their sheer over-the-top theatricality helped smooth over some flaws. They began by executing Joe Biden, who said he’d been promised he would not be killed, and who bragged of “restoring the swamp” and “restoring gas prices to pre-pandemic highs.” The decapitation was carried about by a character called Mr. Taliban. Later, a “stupid fucking redneck piece of shit,” who refused to wear a pandemic face mask, got hacked to pieces. In between those and other killings, the band ran through eight tracks off Scumdogs of the Universe. None of the original band members remain, but the Harlem Globetrotters of metal always put on a show.
I only saw one artist absolutely demolish the Radical Stage, and he did it with hardly any help. Amigo the Devil vaulted clear over the architectural hurdles with nothing more than his acoustic guitar and the sharpest audience management of the fest. He taught the crowd to scream “Somebody call the cops!” during “Murder at the Bingo Hall,” and led sing-a-longs of “This life is a joke and death is a punchline,” on “Hungover in Jonestown.”
His ghastly lyrics elicited laughs and groans, and while he impressed with operatic vocal control, he worked quickly like a choir teacher, teaching the audience to participate. He was also funny. During “Perfect Wife,” he said, “We’re gonna divide ourselves evenly, as adults do, into those who can and cannot handle percussion. Don’t lie,” he warned,” “We’ll know.” Just about everyone managed, and soon he had the whole crowd clapping.
$18 lo meins, $15 sandwiches, $12 mixed drinks, and $10 beers ensured the food and drink options were a wallet wasteland. Best bite could go to the Harold’s food truck (attention, Chicago people: It was the red Harold’s truck — the good Harold’s truck — not the white one) but honestly, the best bite was off-site. The finest spread, the most palatable price, and the sweetest service could be found after hours in front of Mt. Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church, three blocks away from Douglas Park on Ogden Ave.
Riot Fest is technically a three-day event, with the fourth day — Thursday — advertised as a preview. Only six acts performed for this not-quite-opening night: Kristeen Young; WDRL; Joyce Manor, who played their 2011 self-titled LP; Patti Smith and Her Band; Alkaline Trio; and Morrissey. It was by far the weirdest of the days.
Despite playing second-to-last, Alkaline Trio drew the largest crowd. This is no great surprise, since the Chicago punks had homefield advantage. Unfortunately, the sound mix was slightly off. Matt Skiba’s vocals were not quite loud enough, and would often get drowned out by Derek Grant’s drums.
Perhaps Skiba was quieter after sound check because of an accident. Before “In Vein,” he told the crowd, ” Before the set, I hit my head on a tree branch and threw up. So I’m pretty sure I’m concussed right now.” Or perhaps he was only joking. Regardless, bassist and vocalist Dan Andriano turned in several highlight performances, especially on “Every Thug Needs a Lady,” and “Emma.”
Patti Smith was deliciously dry. “We love the sun,” she said early on. “Thank you so much for all you do. But you’re shining in my fucking eyes.” Later, she spotted a fan holding one of her records in the crowd. “You think I have nothing better to do than jump off the stage and sign my fucking record?” She offered to sign it “with my mind,” and then, with Smith’s blessing, security brought the object to her feet. She marked it, and said, “Ok, I’ve done my job, I’m going home.” But not before closing her set with a stunning medley of “Land” and “Gloria,” with an aching build and tour-de-force vocals from the legend herself.
As for Morrissey, we’ve covered his performance at great length here. Suffice it to say, things got weird.
Change in Weather
On Friday, Pinegrove’s show was brought to you by water. “Hello, outdoor music festival,” Evan Stephens Hall began. “Requisite advertisement for water. Drink it. This set is sponsored by liquids.” The band also used their new song, “Orange,” as a call to action. “For me, it’s about metabolizing the climate crisis,” Hall said. “Clearly, the people we elected to take care of this aren’t doing it.” He recommended fans join an organization such as Sunrise Movement or Democratic Socialists, even if it’s getting on an email list.
Soon afterwards water came to Riot Fest, as did thunder. When Coheed and Cambria opened with the chords of “In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3,” lightning split the sky. As Claudio Sanchez sang the first, “Man your own jackhammer,” the clouds opened up and rain came down. With a little help from Mother Nature, Coheed and Cambria won the title of most dramatic entrance, but it was their punishing riffs that earned them the most crowd surfers. The security guards at the front of the stage looked like they mere manning the gates of Helm’s Deep, getting pummeled by airborne bodies as they took a beating from the rain.
The lightning never got too close to festival grounds, and by the time Smashing Pumpkins took the stage the storm had mostly subsided. Billy Corgan wore a full-length black dress embroidered with gold-stitched trees, to go with white face paint and red hearts on his cheeks. “You know I’m an arty fuck,” he said at one point.
The Pumpkins opened with the live debut of “The Colour of Love,” from 2020’s Cyr. They played four songs from their most recent studio set, devoting the rest of their time to what Corgan called “the glory days.” And why not? “Bullet with Butterfly Wings?” “1979?” “Today?” Still slap. Corgan’s depressed comments about Riot Fest 2021 not really being his idea of “the glory days?’ Kinda slaps, too.
The Sunday Scaries
Riot Fest’s main stages closed with a punishing hard rock lineup that was twice interrupted first by Devo, then by The Flaming Lips. The two shows were a study in contrasts. Devo played to an audience who mostly only knew one song, but the set zipped along with tightly choreographed set changes. They swapped costumes, tossed flowerpot hats — sorry, energy domes — into the crowd, and theatrically ran in place. Unfortunately but perhaps unsurprisingly, the audience started to break up after “Whip It” had come and gone.
Meanwhile, The Flaming Lips performed for fans who knew every word, but the song flow wasn’t what you’d call smooth. The band was always pausing to inflate or deflate something or other. Wayne Coyne climbed in and out of bubbles, vamping while he waited for his next sphere to fill by asking the audience to scream. They also pumped air into a giant robot for “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1,” and blew up a rainbow for closer “Do You Realize?”
Having said that, the songs were magnificent. The soaring chords are perfectly suited for standing on the grass under the full September moon. It was magical. But one quibble: Live, The Flaming Lips like to keep Coyne’s vocals really low, so that it’s just another instrument rather than the lead instrument. It seems to be intentional, but call me old-fashioned, I like to hear the words. Me and the Lips might just have to agree to disagree on this one, but since the audience was always singing along, you’d never miss a syllable.
Besides those two diversions, the main lawn took a pummeling. Veteran noise rockers HEALTH powered through the morning by playing with texture. Jake Duzsik’s vocals gently floated over BJ Miller’s thunderous drums, as John Famiglietti toggled between bass and sound effects.
Body Count was responsible for perhaps the bleakest set at Riot Fest, with Ice-T’s veteran stage presence sugaring over the band’s desolate worldview. They opened with “The Bowels of the Devil,” dedicated “Point the Finger” to late Power Trip singer Riley Gale, and made the point that “No Lives Matter.” Ice-T led calls of, “Fuck the police,” saying, “Yeah I play one on TV, but they can kiss my ass.” He also brought out his adorable five-year-old daughter Chanel, who threw up the horns.
Anthrax drew the sunset show on the Roots Stage, meaning if you didn’t have sunglasses, you didn’t see the show. The band opened with their 2011 song “Fight ’em Til You Can’t,” moving on to their biggest hit, “Madhouse,” and closing with “Indians.” It wasn’t what you’d call a breathtaking performance, but as Joey Belladonna said, “We’ve been doing this for forty years.”
Riot Fest 2021 ended with a performance by Slipknot, who were filling in for Nine Inch Nails after they cancelled their tour. Slipknot lost a fair bit of The Flaming Lips’ audience, but it’s possible that audience still heard them on the Pink Line; the Iowan icons had the loudest set of the four days by far. The thumping of those three drummers is like nothing else in music — a vibration in your cartilage, a feeling of being literally rattled by sound.
Slipknot opened with 2019’s “Unsainted,” and it’s a tribute to the band’s longetivy that this newer material hit as hard as tracks from their 1999 self-titled debut. Corey Taylor didn’t mention the band’s former drummer Joey Jordison’s July death, but he did dedicate “Wait and Bleed” to “Our family: past, present, and future.”
With flamethrowers, torches, and the occasional firework explosion, Slipknot kept up the assault on the senses. The performance of “Left Behind,” brought the house down, and after a very brief, very fake exit, the band launched into a furious encore of “People = Shit,” “(sic),” and “Surfacing.” And so Riot Fest ended with wild atavism under the full moon, having saved its most ferocious performance for last.