mosswood
meltdown
GETS BIGGER,
STAYS BIG-HEARTED
a positively positive punk party
Most people familiar with Uncle Stepmom have heard me talk about Mosswood Meltdown. I’ve been regularly preaching the wonders of this festival since the first time I drove through four states to go there back in 2023 with B-Side Magazine. Since then, Mosswood Meltdown has set the high bar that I compare other events to. The bands I’ve seen there set a standard of artistry, intention, passion, and graciousness that I compare other bands to.
john
waters
I was lucky enough to attend this year’s renowned Bay Area punk festival, and again it proved to be a magical, queer-and-femme-powered event and the cherry on top…. It’s still hosted by the King of Filth himself, John Waters. Every time Waters is on the stage, he digs himself deeper into my heart, and I will forever cherish the one interaction we had when he told me, “You look like you belong here.”
(Coming from him, and my high regard for Mosswood Meltdown, I do ask that when I die, please put that on a plaque on some dumpster or tree near Mosswood Park)
wednesday
Honestly, doing a play-by-play music critique of this festival feels blasphemous and unnecessary. Not only are this year’s headliners, Pavement, Iggy Pop, and Bikini Kill, daily listening for me, but the ‘opener’ amphitheater shows throughout the day are the driving force of why I go.
the dirtbombs
Simply, when else in my life do I get the opportunity to see the same people who inspire the very core of who I am as an artist and person? Where else could I see the Dirtbombs, Toody Cole, Vivian Girls, The Spits, and the Dead Milkmen perform sets in front of a crowd that all idolizes them? Where else can I fall in love with the Bananas, Memo PST, Las Nubes, and Frightwig all over again? And who am I to say what is good and bad, when the music is so well curated and so damn empowering?
No, I have no critiques about the music at this excellently curated event. This is a festival where there is no FOMO; there are hundreds of freaks booing mentions of sponsors; there is collaborative mosh-pitting where we make space and hold hands and spin around in circles, where we pick up people, where we pick up trash, and where we cry happy tears from the deepest part of our anarchist souls.
bringing mosswood home
Sure, it’s easy enough to carry the Mosswood ethos with me—through my music, through Uncle Stepmom, and by doing my best to create safer spaces wherever I end up. But I’m only human, and sometimes just barely. It’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture in a piss-stained political environment so far up Trump’s dickhole you wonder, Is that why there are so many aryan-blonde people in Idaho?
It can be difficult to recognize raw, unruly beauty in the polished suburbs of America. It’s difficult to celebrate queerness in places where the people in power would rather limit free expression than protect it. That becomes even more apparent at festivals and events where music and art are packaged as entertainment for profit, or where artists are quietly asked to avoid messages of "rebellion" or "queer love" to keep things comfortable.
Thankfully, I haven't encountered that often as an artist in Idaho. But I've attended Idaho events and shows in Boise—home of the spectacularly failed $60k Hetero Awesome Fest (crashed by lgbtq+ activist and local hero Daniel Hamrick)—that have genuinely made me question who these spaces are for and whose values they're willing to platform. Because asking artists to censor themselves while sharing stages with, or accepting sponsorship from, people who bankroll or openly support hate is a contradiction that shouldn't be ignored.
If we're serious about building community through music, then let's actually build community. Invite local nonprofits. Make room for mutual aid organizations. Give space to advocates doing the work. Ask festivals to be accountable, and hopefully do what Mosswood Meltdown has done for me: be a reflection of the people they're supposed to celebrate, not just the people paying for a logo on the banner.
Sure, it’s easy enough to carry the Mosswood ethos with me—through my music, through Uncle Stepmom, and by doing my best to create safer spaces wherever I end up. But I’m only human, and sometimes just barely. It’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture in a piss-stained political environment so far up Trump’s dickhole you wonder, Is that why there are so many aryan-blonde people in Idaho?
It can be difficult to recognize raw, unruly beauty in the polished suburbs of America. It’s difficult to celebrate queerness in places where the people in power would rather limit free expression than protect it. That becomes even more apparent at festivals and events where music and art are packaged as entertainment for profit, or where artists are quietly asked to avoid messages of "rebellion" or "queer love" to keep things comfortable.
Thankfully, I haven't encountered that often as an artist in Idaho. But as a member of the press covering music across the state, I've attended events outside Boise—home of the spectacularly failed Hetero Awesome Fest—that have genuinely made me question who these spaces are for and whose values they're willing to platform. Because asking artists to censor themselves while sharing stages with, or accepting sponsorship from, people who bankroll or openly support hate is a contradiction that shouldn't be ignored.
If we're serious about building community through music, let us build community. Invite local nonprofits. Make room for mutual aid organizations. Give space to advocates doing the work. Let festivals do what Mosswood Meltdown has done for me: Serve as a reflection of the artist and the sacred artist-audience connection, not just the people paying for a logo on the banner.
FRIGHTWIG
Which is why I’m grateful that Mosswood does not cross-pollinate their lineups so much that they curate environments so large and diverse that safety for all is impossible to promise. What I find uniquely gorgeous about Mosswood Meltdown is that its narrowed-down line-up brings people there with shared interests and ideals. You can feel that people care about one another and that they are making space for everyone to be their true selves.
A REAL GOOD AUDIENCE
So, yes, the music is chef’s kiss, but above all, I love the people at Mosswood Meltdown. The shared reverence for punk culture and music flowing through the air was so refreshing. The attendees create a safe (and stylish) environment where they are engaged and passionate about the shows. I also get to learn about new bands just by people-watching; punks love repping merch, so check out my series of shows I’m doing over the next few weeks: the Band T-Shirts of Mosswood Meltdown here.
Rodney
Anonymous
the dead
milkmen
The only pause I have is how the festival was much larger than previous years. Despite getting bigger, Mosswood stayed true to its curated small lineup but opened up the ticket sales quite a bit. Thanks, Pavement (literally thank you, I love you). Maybe it's because the festival grounds are also much bigger that this year gave off less of its charming DIY aesthetic.
Yes, more people means bigger bands, and more commerce happening for vendors and the beloved crafty queers and queens. I just can’t help but wonder at what expense? I’m curious where the people living in the park have gone. I am reminded of my own locally beloved festival, Treefort, and some locals that reminisce about how it once was and how it's gotten so big that it feels like two or three different festivals are all happening at once. There is a level of disenchantment with some previously diehard Treeforters, and I’d hate to see that happen for Meltdowners.
stephen
Malkmus
pavement
As a festival goer, and after talking to the local friends I have made there over the years, I could tell that the larger crowds made the shows less accessible for all. One elder punk friend of mine from Oakland, who has been attending since it was known as Burger Boogaloo, said, “Yeah, they let a lot more people in here. But the same amount of people can’t see the stage for shit.”
The eye line of the stage was really difficult to find without elbowing or squeezing your way in, and very few of the main stage acts actually utilized the gigantic screen behind them. I’m not the spring chicken I once was, and my anxiety and BMI don’t allow me to be trapped in front of such large crowds. So to get a good shot, or good perspective, meant facing those fears head-on and hoping I wouldn’t have some sort of panic attack. I never managed long.
I do think, being the first year there was such a big crowd, that Mosswood Meltdown will do what it does best, and adapt and improve. I mean, look how far it's come since the Burger Records collapse; look how it handled the closing of the amphitheater. So, yes, it would be cool to see more monitors being used so us old-timers and ADA members can still watch the stage and safely appreciate the mosh pit without succumbing to it.
vivian girls
Now, I am critiquing the festival—but again, not the music. I still love Mosswood Meltdown and the frame of mind it instills in me. At its core, I believe it will always be a festival for punks. And yeah, people have to make money.
That said, I also believe the heart of Mosswood Meltdown has always been its diehard community. They're the ones who remind the rest of us what punk actually looks like: booing when sponsors get thanked, looking out for one another, and respecting the sacred relationship between a band and its crowd.
In the end, if you're trapped in some suburb-nazi hell like I am, Mosswood is more than a music festival—it's a retreat for the mind and soul. Albeit for me, a beer-fueled retreat. If you or your family have ever felt like outcasts, misfits, or the weird ones in your own community, trust me: seeing the crowd-surfing Gandalf, Photon, the mohawked queers, and the plaid-clad weirdos can restore a little faith in humanity. It reminds you that your people exist, even if you have to travel a few hundred miles to find them.
by Ali O’Malley
Chris shaw
memo
pst
Festival Highlights:
Watching Bikini Kill watch Frightwig while GoGos were on stage, I cried happy tears.
Watching the Dirtbombs, and writing a love letter for Mick Collins (he did not respond)
Snooper at Thee Stork Club. Damn, they are wonderful.
Memo PST at Eli’s
The Bananas (they are to California what Papas was to Idaho) (the bananas/potato fryrock similarities cracked us up, and I felt like I was watching my bffs on stage)
The Dead Milkmen, they were even better than I thought they’d be, and I went in thinking it was going to be great.
Developing a crush on Carrie Brownstein, she is too pretty in person (I feel gayer)
Hearing Kathleen Hanna inspired by a younger band to change her vocal style to screamo while effectively handing the torch to a new generation of rebel grrls.
Festival lows:
The fight for a good view of the stage.
The 6pm Beer Cup
Learning that Eli’s patio is closed down (someone get these guys a building permit to reopen that DIY half-pipe of a back lot they call a patio. SAVE ELI’S PATIO!)