On a humid Saturday morning in Downtown San Diego, as Lululemon-ed pedestrians and twenty-somethings with their dogs sip coffee and bustle about the weekend Farmers’ Market, a distant thumping cuts through the salty air. Just three blocks West of the humming streets of Downtown, merch tents replace brunch spots, and the inaugural Bleached Festival conducts sound checks as they gear up for two days packed with over 30 shows.
Organized by FNGRS CRSSD and indie-pop curator Tight Knit, Bleached Festival took over San Diego’s grassy Waterfront Park this weekend, for a new festival showcasing the upcoming talent in the alternative space. It was the festival’s first year, but you wouldn’t know it. With impeccable design, the festival’s layout felt intuitive and laid-back — designed for seated listening rather than for a dusty rave in unforgiving heat.
Read more: Fan Poll: 5 best alternative songs of the summer
Kicking off Saturday, Sam Austins sauntered onstage in an untucked white button down and a skinny black tie. Heavy distortion and thick reverb invaded the sun-soaked field, an ominous starting note to remind us that this is not your average sunflower-crowns and cartwheel-filled indie-pop fest.
As the Detroit-born singer-songwriter screamed in a gravelly roar, “Baby I’m in love!” from his track “Pretend Friend,” industrial noise dissipated into surfy alt-rock. His forceful vocals and off-kilter mixture of indie-rock and rap pulled a couple groups from shaded picnic blankets over to the stage and onto their feet for some dancing.
Many of Austins’ songs start in one place and end somewhere totally different, exploding into different genres and sounds. They’re unexpected and quirky, an intoxicating mix of breezy indie-pop and ‘70s industrial grunge. From tracks of his new psych-rock EP, Boy Toy, to music that hasn’t yet been released, Austins performed a compelling range.
When a haunting and bluesy version of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” echoed from the main stage, like a country music mating call, festival goers were magnetized to its envoy. There, in an all-white denim two piece with embroidered flowers and acoustic guitar, stood Lily Meola, the 30-year-old singer-songwriter from Hawaii, accompanied by a powerful crew of women musicians. Rising to fame after her stirring performance on Season 17 of “America’s Got Talent,” Meola is now churning out music and has even gotten the stamp of approval from outlaw country icon Willie Nelson.
Playing her viral song, “Daydream,” the crowd echoed word-for-word, “Darlin’, don’t quit your daydream.” When the iconic laid-back drums and sliding guitar for Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” cut in, the crowd began to double in size, as girls in frayed shorts and peasant tops were called to the mothership.
“Ready for a change of pace?” called out Riovaz, the 19-year-old New Jersey hitmaker who has recently coined a new genre he’s calling “Riorave.” In baggy light-wash jeans, a black tee, and black frame glasses, Riovaz looked like your average teenager who might make music in his closet or pen songs on the back of his notebook. But on stage, the school-aged singer-songwriter embodied the energy of a seasoned rock star. “I want everyone shaking their ass!” he screamed into the crowd, as he sprinted across the stage, thrashing his head, hiking his knees, and whipping his fists.
It was 3 p.m. and the sun was strong, beating down on those who opted to stand in front of the stage and not seek shelter under faraway tents. The crowd was responsive, but still settling in, cracking their first beers of the day.
Aware of the energy deficit, Riovaz hit the stage like he was fired out of a cannon, conducting the crowd with intense purpose and intention. “I know it’s an indie festival,” Riovaz said, laughing, “but let’s mosh!” Under Riovaz’s strict direction, a dusty circle opened up, and with pumping firsts and banging heads, said mosh pit respectfully ensued.
On the other side of the festival, Baltimore-raised, LA-based Baird was about to begin. Right before his set, you could hear warm-up chants and playful singalongs from Baird and his touring members: two drummers, a keyboardist, and rhythm guitar player. On stage, Baird and the crew slipped on green serpent head-covers as they tore into “Chameleons,” the lead single off Baird’s 2023 MOONSHOTS album with The South Hill Experiment and Goldwash.
When you see Baird live, it’s shocking to learn that he writes every instrument’s part. Blurring the lines of a jazzy live band set and electronic production, the multi-instrumentalist shined on stage. His attention to detail, musical curiosity, and distinct flair for constructing solid, yet offbeat tracks was evident with his performance.
On Sunday afternoon, as BADBADNOTGOOD settled into their spots, tinkering with equipment, and plucking on strings, the crowd’s hustled migration path into the pounding sun for their set was remarkable. The Toronto four-piece have become festival titans over the last decade as the jazz-meets-hip-hop crew became known for their spectacular live performances and for being the go-to house band for celebrity events.
The meandering, yet refined set, with percussion that you could feel in your chest, gave each artist their due time. The tracks moved like wind, picking up scattered pieces and pulling them into their orbit, exploding and diffusing into sultry jazz interludes where everything slowed down into the single note of the sax. Their roaming set crescendoed with their seventh song, “Lavender,” their popular funk collaboration with Kaytranada, which sent the crowd into a feverish delight. The eerie and satisfying production and sinister basslines was one of the best sounds of the two-day festival.
When Caroline Polachek pranced on stage, a sense of calm washed over the audience. In an all-white desert chic outfit with space-age white boots and a bleached halo stripe around her head, Polachek looked like she was beamed in from Star Wars’ planet of Tatooine. With one singular, penetrating vocal, like a flare gun into the cloudless sky, “Welcome To My Island” enraptured the crowd as the track seesawed between electronic indie-pop bridges and explosive siren choruses.
With minimalist, repetitive dance choreography that was somehow oddly captivating, Polachek moved seamlessly on stage, like a desert tumbleweed. A breezy blend of electronic instrumentation and soulful folk ballads (with one Spanish flamenco-influenced song “Sunset”) Polachek’s avant-garde approach to indie-pop felt fresh and weightless.
British indie-rockers Lovejoy took over the stage as the sun is setting. Reminiscent of The Strokes and The Kooks, the band from Brighton, England was a necessary rock reprieve. Playing with forceful guitar riffs, pulling in and out of the heaviness of their music, the alt-rock band’s songs crashed over the crowd like rolling waves, their intensity swelling and retracting like the tides. “Warsaw,” an upbeat yet somber song off their 2023 EP, Wake Up & It’s Over, played as the sky grew darker, the perfect delivery into dusk on the final evening.
“You don’t have to go to Reno to see some kinky, sex shit,” Jesse Camp, the now 40-something MTV alum, screamed into the mic. “It’s Yves Tumor!” The enigmatic rock star burst onto the stage in skintight leather bike pants and a sequin bikini top slung over his black tank like a necklace.
The tone was set with the very first song, “God Is a Circle,” the campy, horror-inspired lead track from 2023’s Praise A Lord… that melds shrieking, menacing breaths, and apocalyptic fuzzed-out synth bass into a glittering punk anthem. Blending carnal psychedelia and ferocious glam rock, the set unfurled into blistering electronic production and smoky R&B.
Yves Tumor led the crowd into “Operator” with hip-thrusts and sensuous swaying, titillating the audience. Yves Tumor bared their chest to a screaming crowd who begged for another flash. During the song’s bridge, Yves Tumor initiated a “be aggressive!” call-and-response with the amped-up crowd, which felt like the perfect encapsulation of the set: entirely connected and yet utterly confrontational.
With a “Jackie” encore and a final enactment of pretend fucking the drum kit, the performance feels arena-ready — but not for its technical accuracy or fluidity. Tumor’s booming stage presence is as whole and practiced as necessary to enrapture stadiums.
Closing out a day of great alternative music, Surf Curse rolled in with laughter and rage as they embarked on capping out the weekend. If you were an indie kid in the 2010s, you’ve probably heard the Reno band’s “Freaks.” The now LA-based surf-rock group captures the melancholy coming-of-age suburban sound with a nostalgic ‘60s SoCal twist. Fitting in 14 songs in their 45-minute time slot, the group played with ferocious intensity. At one point, the group’s drummer Nick Rattigan actually breaks his drumstick mid song-opening. The “surf heads” start moshing by the fourth song “Heathers,” a classic indie-rock song that captures the 2010s.
The two-day event showcased the eclectic sound of a new generation of alternative music. From jazz, indie-pop, new age R&B, and alt-rock acts, the weekend felt like less of a classic music festival and more like a highly curated artist’s exhibition of who to look out for in 2023. With more picnic blankets than mosh pits, and endless locations to lounge, sprawl, and frolic, Bleached Festival was as enjoyable as it was thrilling.
