They’re calling it “the coldest summer in San Francisco in decades,” which feels about right, but August always drags San Francisco out of hibernation. Outside Lands this year was, as always, a balance between long lines, interesting fashion choices, and the eternal gamble of a porta potty. But the music is always worth Karl’s ice-cold mood swings, and this month is for Golden Gate Park. Festivals are funny that way; time slows down, and a great set can carry you through that $15 boba tea.
For me this year, the vibe was definitely lying low and letting the music do all the heavy lifting. It’s hard to be happy when the world feels like it’s fraying at the edges, but the right set has a way of patching things up for a moment.
Friday
Punk rock is a fresh cup of coffee. I started the day with back-to-back female rage at Lands End: Destroy Boys, then Mannequin Pussy. Girl moshing, primal screams, and calls against oppression were everywhere this weekend, but nowhere did it hit harder than in that pit.
With a stiff neck and smudged makeup, I headed to Twin Peaks for Marina. Like everyone there, I’ve been a fan since The Family Jewels in 2010. Statuesque, elegant, and endlessly talented, she mixed in songs from her new album Princess of Power without losing the crowd for a second — old or new, we knew every word.
Then came the set I’d been waiting for: Doechii at Lands End. Fresh off a Grammy, her performance was tight, theatrical, and impossible to look away from. She’s pushing her artistry higher every time I see her. Friday belonged to the girls.
Saturday
Twin Peaks was a rock block with morning and evening sets by Vampire Weekend and The Wallows, Flipturn, and The Army, The Navy in between. The morning was light and playful with songs like Diplomat’s Son and Oxford Comma. The evening drew from their 2024 album Only God Was Above Us. Tyler, the Creator was pulling the big crowd at Lands End, but Twin Peaks had its loyalists.
The only time I left was for Vallejo’s own LaRussel. Sunny energy broke through the fog, backed by friends, giving us a love letter to the Bay. Then I went right back to my post at Twin Peaks.
Sunday
Big Freedia and the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus took us to church, delivering the gospel energy I needed to get moving. The afternoon blurred until I ended up at Sutro for Rebecca Black’s pop set, which was campy, hilarious, and surprisingly heartfelt.
For sundown, I stayed at Lands End for Glass Animals, conveniently close to my preferred exit. I had seen them here before, and Dave Bayley was just as committed and just as sweaty as ever. How someone can be that sweaty in the fog and wind is a mystery. Then Hozier closed the festival with the longest set of the weekend, nearly two hours of politically charged, soaring music spanning his 12-year career.
T. Von D. is a local museum worker and a lesbian.