In keeping with the tradition of our Day One recap, the line of the night during day two of Kilby Block Party 2025 goes to Michael Alden Hadreas, the singer and chief creative force of Perfume Genius. Gesturing to a black chair on the stage, he said, “It’s a new chair, but I feel like I’ve developed a relationship with it. … It knows my pubic mound.”
He wasn’t kidding. A couple of songs prior, Hadreas, clad in an undersized Guess Jeans T-shirt that exposed his midriff, had straddled the chair, took it for a full-body whirl, and dipped backward, his head nearly touching the stage. It was an acting performance straight out of “Anora,” a work of sensual showmanship that found an edgy purchase amid the largely ethereal instrumentation around him.
Singing in a vulnerable falsetto not unlike Thom Yorke’s, Hadreas’ vocals lay atop twinkly, slow-building compositions for much of the set, with its angelic textures suited for cathedrals and caverns. But just when you think you could define Perfume Genius, the art-pop project adopted a more rocking intensity for the final three songs on the afternoon set on the Kilby Stage—from the viscous bass groove and soaring guitar of “Eye in the Wall” to the ritualistic heaviness of “My Body,” which approached the delirium of latter-day Swans, all while Hadreas’ animalistic crouches and gymnastic contortionism compelled our gaze. Having been only casually familiar with Perfume Genius’ work, I left the set a fan.
Photography by Natalie Simpson, Beehive Photography.
The same could be said for the first act I caught on Friday, the Lemon Twigs, a retro quartet that falls decidedly outside what might be termed the “Kilby sound”—i.e., shoegazy dream-pop occupying a liminal musical space between electronic and indie rock music. The Lemon Twigs were nothing like this. From their hair—mop-topped, in the case of singer-guitarist Michael D’Addario; curly and long, in drummer Reza Matin’s style—to their preppy clothes, the Lemon Twigs are trend-buckers who look to the past, rooting their sound in the Beatles, Beach Boys, Big Star and the Everly Brothers. Like the latter, the Lemon Twigs are primarily the work of brothers Michael and Brian D’Addario, and their sibling rivalry—at least in comedic form—presented itself on the Kilby Stage more than once. Anchored by classic three-part harmony, their music is, dare I say, wholesome. And in a scene in which irony and detachment are de rigueur, their unguardedness is counterintuitively punk.
This second day at Kilby was probably better attended than the first—no surprise here, given that it falls on a weekend night—and the enormity of people moving through the Fairpark increased the difficulty of seeing every act on my wish list. I quickly (re)learned that to have a reasonable vantage point of any act at Kilby, one must show up 30 minutes in advance of the start time, and thereby forgo the second half of another artist’s set list. It’s a balancing act and a judgment call, and it prompted me to miss a couple of the buzzier bands on the lineup: Momma, who has become one of the hottest bands on the scene in the time since Kilby scheduled them, and who was sadly sequestered on the smallest stage at the festival; and Car Seat Headrest, whose turnout was even more massive.
Photography by Natalie Simpson, Beehive Photography.
But I did catch the entirety of Built to Spill, the best thing to emerge from Idaho since potatoes, and a band as reliably tasty as ice cream. The avuncular guitar god Doug Martsch reminded us once again why he’s the GOAT of modern indie rock, whether on chunky pop nuggets like “Big Dipper” or spacious, extended jams “I Would Hurt a Fly” and “Broken Chairs.” Martsch even gifted us with a deep cut in the form of “Virginia Reel Around the Fountain,” from his Halo Benders side project. Martsch, the only remaining original member of Built to Spill, has been touring as a trio since 2019, playing stripped-down versions of tunes originally composed for up to three guitars. This allowed bassist Melanie Radford to play her instrument as more of a co-lead guitar than a rhythm section. Six years into her tenure, she performed like someone who was still thrilled to be playing in Built to Spill, and her exuberance spread into the audience far and wide.
I caught most of Slowdive’s set, and would have been tempted to stay longer if I hadn’t attended their full show in my home state of Florida last November. The shoegaze legends, conceived amid the genre’s turn-of-the-‘90s heyday and resurrected in the 2010s, performed a lush set divided between both periods of the band’s evolution. The breathy vocals of Rachel Goswell and Neil Halstead arguably served a secondary function to their bandmates’ cascading maelstroms of sound. The group brought along some of the most potent video projections of any Kilby act, nearly all of them as abstract as the music itself, from pointy shapes bouncing amid the frame like vintage screen savers to spirals traveling toward an infinite void. I particularly enjoyed the tunnel leading toward an elusive pyramid inside a cube, a symbolically laden trip that would have made Stanley Kubrick proud.
Saving the best for last, I departed Slowdive early to stake out a decent position for Rilo Kiley and was rewarded with the best show of Kilby so far. It was the beloved Los Angeles quartet’s seventh performance since reuniting after 17 years of dormancy, but you wouldn’t know it from the tightness of the set. You might know it, however, from the unfettered enthusiasm emanating from the performers—the still-newness of it all, amid a level of fame the group never achieved in its original run. Having last seen Rilo Kiley in a mid-sized club on the tour for what would become their then-final studio album, I was frankly astonished at how bigger the band has grown in absentia. Now they’re playing giant stadiums and amphitheaters, and essentially served as co-headliners of Kilby’s second night; they were the only artist outside of Beach House to play against no competition.
Singer-songwriter Jenny Lewis, captivating as always in a polka-dot dress, black pumps and a well-earned tiara, led the band through material from every era. Lewis, who maintained a successful solo career after Rilo Kiley’s initial breakup, has refashioned the band into one that is ready for arenas. “Moneymaker” proved it can convulse multitudes, while this version of “I Never” was a belty anthem fit for Broadway. During the trifecta of “Silver Lining,” “With Arms Outstretched” and “A Better Son/Daughter,” I teared up during each song, surprised at the emotional wallop these songs pack now, and should have packed back when they were released, when I probably just took Rilo Kiley for granted. Never anymore.
In a rare moment of stage banter in a fast and fluidly moving set, Lewis mentioned her fondness for Kilby Court, referring to the venue as a “destination” and “sanctuary.” The days of this band playing a venue this small are evidently long gone, and I couldn’t be happier for their success.
Beach House ended the night by doing their thing of playing in the shadows of a smoky stage, and it sounded record-perfect. But after the rousing, fist-bumping, arms-outstretched euphoria of Rilo Kiley, the headliners—like the previous night’s top biller—couldn’t help but feel anticlimactic. Plus, my feet were killing me. There are many miles to go before Kilby sleeps, and our coverage continues tomorrow.
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