nyc’s bread & roses fest was a diy utopia

“Hearts starve as well as bodies/Give us bread, but give us roses.” — Judy Collins

Mounting a DIY festival in New York City sounds like an impossible feat, but it happened. No proper venues, no one turned away for lack of funds. All the typical, perceived barriers were present: rapid gentrification, police presence, the general high cost of living. Yet 30 or so bands played in five locations across three days in late September, and by all accounts, Bread & Roses Fest was a success.

The genre was peace punk, love rock, and indie—but only in the original sense of the word: independent. The uniform was a local band tee and an assortment of pins, most of which ended up on the floor. The drink of choice, aside from cheap beer, was yerba mate. And as cliché as they are, the core tenets of the weekend were peace, love, and music. Ari Bales of Good Flying Birds summed it up best: “This is the crustiest indie rock festival ever, and I mean that in a good way.”

The ambitious project was mounted through the collective efforts of a dozen or so volunteers. Donna Allen and Jake Barczak, pillars of the New York music community, helped spearhead organizing efforts. “I’m just happy no one got hurt,” said Allen, who also performed with her band Chronophage. When asked if there was a moment that defined the weekend, she said, “me and a few others were definitely defacing city property to help with accessibility, and there was this older guy looking around, and we were positive he was calling the cops. So we were freaked out. About 15 minutes later, I tried to talk to him to see his deal, and he was just trying to help us. He ended up jumping a fence and watching some of the show.”

Sonically, the bands that played at Bread & Roses lie on a spectrum based more on DIY spirit than style. Solo guitarists and full-blast five-pieces were equally anticipated and appreciated. Delegates of local scenes were present from all corners of the U.S. and even Canada. Yet despite the wide range of origins, most attendees were already friends through the broader music community. More than once, the weekend was described as “Instagram in real life.” What brought zinester Eli Schmitt from Chicago was “the music”: “The beauty of it. A lot of friends are playing and it's such a special thing that like, it feels like if I could go, it’d be silly not to go, you know?”

“It’s a great beautiful weekend of seeing all of my friends from all over the country and meeting people that are connected. Everyone's so connected,” said Guiding Light’s Elise Cook, who traveled from Texas.

September 26 day show, Herbert Von King Park Amphitheater

As the first show took place in Brooklyn, the borough was represented by its first artist. In the middle of Bed-Stuy’s red and green painted concrete round, singer-songwriter Jel serenaded with an acoustic guitar set to open the festivities. “I think it will be a good time,” she said. Optimistic trepidation was the general energy from the crowd, wondering if the festival and its lofty goals could actually be pulled off. 

One point of certainty came from the merch table, which was immediately functional with tapes from Giant Beat duplicated on the spot. “We’re cooking up a beautiful moment in American DIY,” said Mag Greaves, who came from Texas to help with the event. “The tape is one track from every band who’s playing this weekend, and some who aren’t; some had to drop, but we just had them on anyway. And it comes with a huge newsprint zine where each band did a page. We have stacks of them in the car.” 

Screen-printed t-shirts and patches were also made, plus an assortment of pins in heart-shaped designs. Artists also sold their own cassettes and records throughout the weekend. Two large banners were hung from the wall and would be the backdrop for subsequent shows, one with the name of the festival, the other calling for a free Palestine. 

Acoustic sets came from Minneapolis mainstay Caitlin Angelica, with a series of folk-tinged requiems, and Jason Shapiro, the comedic troubadour from Chicago. “Daytime shows, I think, are a little bit more nerve-racking because they can see you, and people aren’t drunk,” he said. 

The public nature of the event became apparent when Shapiro was interrupted by a heckler; a child from the playground above. “A lot of my songs contain swear words and talk about sex. And he was yelling, ‘more cursing songs, more cursing songs,’ because I was playing one of my cleaner songs. So he didn’t like it. I think this made the set more memorable.” 

The first full band to play was Heartknit, the new Austin indie poppers fresh off the adrenaline of their first tour. The ever-changing Chronophage has roots in Austin as well, but appeared in its latest Brooklynian incarnation as raucous as ever. By the end of the first show, the stands had emptied into a dance circle; a wave of knowing smiles affirmed that yes, this might just work. 

September 26 night show, undisclosed Long Island City location

The swampy backwoods of the expressway came alive with buzzing amps and string lights, far away from any NIMBY who might have a problem with loud music, which was the night’s general theme. In July, the Bread & Roses team put on a proof-of-concept show at this same location, but now the crowd was more than three times the size, and it seemed that the entire student body of the New School was present. It sounds shocking that rock music could draw a crowd under the average age of 50, but less so when you learn that the headliners were Horsegirl, the Matador darlings who insist on maintaining their DIY roots.   

“I couldn't be more psyched about the scope of the event and the diversity and the ambition and the rough-and-ready aesthetic,” said volunteer Gabe Fowler, beaming about the show. “And that there’s people here to receive that. It’s pretty joyous.”

The hopeful energy of the first show was built upon by increasing the intensity and volume of the music. Daniel DiMaggio’s Home Blitz began by conducting a folding table of customized electronics with a Martin Newell-esque clank. New Jersey peace punks Jolana Star thrashed their way through new songs of rage and love. Other highlights included Austin-based group Touch Girl Apple Blossom, who connect soft vocals with tight-laced guitar rock, and Guyscrapers, the hometown heroes who finally got the crowd to dance. 

“I definitely feel like it’s the dirt or something that’s making my body feel insane,” said Diyana Xross, who plays in Genre, a band that toured from Kansas City to deliver an electrified set. Their ping-pong vocals and sharp tempo shifts are more engaging than TikTok. “Music has such a greater payoff whenever you’re doing this all outside of the confines of a sort of capitalized bar or venue.”

Fashioning themselves as spokespeople for the Midwest, Good Flying Birds led a raucous brigade of double tambourine-brandishing indie rockers. They passed around a bag of cheap Canadian cigarettes for the audience to share. Guitarist Luke Corvette surfed across a sea of tattooed hands. “Being surrounded by so many others with a similar vision and drive gave me the fulfillment and hope that I’m continuously searching for,” he said. With mics pushed to a level far louder than their recordings, singer Susie Slaughter led the crowd to join in the percussion with house keys: a new definition of jangle pop.

The tambourine continued its shine during Horsegirl’s performance, as friends of the band climbed the yard’s shipping containers and played above the stage. It was well after 1 a.m., but the crowd was singing “Switch Over” so loudly together that the band was drowned out. When Horsegirl wrapped their set, the lively yard made a mass exodus. There was no need to mill around and extend the hang, it was a long day, and a longer one was ahead. People filed into rideshares, looking for a bite to eat and a place to rest. 

September 27 day show, Ridgewood Presbyterian Church basement

Maybe the previous night was a little more debaucherous than people realized. The collective vibe of Saturday morning was sleepy, but it was actually 2 p.m. “We're hungover,” said Diyana Xross, who was playing again that day with Kansas City’s 2W33DY. “But we’re going to rally. I’m going to get some pizza. Maybe we’ll all just have a big pizza party.”

The world was running at half-speed, but the basement at Ridgewood Presbyterian Church was full. Also known as Stone Circle Theatre, the Queens church has become a staple location for DIY shows in recent years, but they’re typically held in the main building—a space that was already occupied by a Gamelan workshop. The droning Indonesian percussion rang out to the lot below where the punks were smoking: amusement to some and annoyance to others. A few even went in to learn the ancient art form, an unofficial extension of the festival into new spheres.

The second day of Bread & Roses began much like the first. Ava Miah Rose and Alina Jacobs each played solo guitar sets, one haunting and ambient, the other twee and humorous. The prolific David Grubbs appeared to play an array of atmospheric guitar variations. Among the full bands that played the basement were the whispery, shoegaze jangles of Canaries Visiting Hour, as well as 2W33DY, whose twangy ballads are roughed up by Kenia Balquier’s commanding stage presence.

Providers, the New York-based punk trio, gave the most politically potent display. Singing in Spanish, their call to action spoke to the general values of the festival, against genocide, ICE agents, and AI. A few members of the local hardcore scene, who often don’t come out to indie shows, made an appearance to support their performance. By the end of the day, energy had re-entered the space; maybe it was the music, maybe it was the pizza. 

September 27 night show, undisclosed Williamsburg location

Beyond a wire fence and piles of broken glass, there still lay a part of Williamsburg that hadn’t been overdeveloped. In a year, that spot is sure to be razed over and replaced with a big glass high rise, but for one night it was a secluded paradise. But just when it seemed that the festival would make it through the weekend without any issues, the generator ran out of fuel and it began to rain. For the dedicated festival-goer, two hours of waiting around wasn’t too much of a hassle as long as there was food, beer, and conversation.

So by 10 p.m., when Miranda Soileau-Pratt’s guitar rang out for a Spatulas set, the crowd was hungry. The earnest stomp and howl of her solo opening number slowly unfolded to include the full band in a roar, and there were seven more bands to go. Rat Henry performed during a dry spell, essential for their tape manipulation techniques, poetry, and monotone spells. Ribbon Stage even made a surprise appearance to play a three-song set, a welcome appearance from a band on K Records (whose historical significance to the Bread & Roses Festi did not go overlooked). 

Watching the weather deemed useless, as the rain came and went on a moment’s notice. It was never punishing enough that the show had to stop, but there was definitely concern for the equipment. The makeshift solution was a blue plastic construction tarp held over the heads of the bands to keep their instruments and the PA system dry. “It doesn’t matter if things are kind of running late. We’re watching out for each other and making it happen no matter what,” said Mag Greaves. “People are taking turns holding up the tarp and finding a perfectly sized stick to hold up the center of the tarp. Having everything get waterlogged and just keep going is beautiful.”

Ridgewood pop group Jeanines had a good sense of humor about the turn of events, as Jed Smith remarked that “this is not the night for the guy who plays drums without shoes on.” Once people accepted that they were going to get wet, the energy picked up. There was no need to be precious about shag haircuts and white t-shirts; it was more important to dance than to stay dry. 

The subsequent deluge of rock goodness came from a duo of Philly bands, first Mopar Stars sliding through the mud with the fastest guitars in the business. Smarthearts continued the beat with a confident strut, garage vibes, and a closing round of Psychic TV’s “Godstar.” And from San Francisco hiked Galore, whose perfect harmonies twinkled against each other with a vintage sensibility. 

By 3 a.m., there was still a sizeable pack holding out for the sake of Artificial Go, the Cincinnati band who had been waiting in the wings all night. They ran a short set out of respect for the soggy weather, which only got worse as they continued to play, but their strength in off-kilter post-punk cut through. Singer Angie Willutt ricocheted around the stage in a teal prairie dress that she had thrifted earlier in the day, the bottom dragging in the mud. Her energy was built by a mixture of excitement, delirium, and exhaustion, and it was matched by the audience tenfold. The pit was alive. “We all danced our rainy socks off,” said Wilcutt. “The tarp fell a couple times, but the band never skipped a beat, even when the tarp got them soaked while playing. All of us who stayed until the end were in a fever dream.” Bassist Micah Wu added: “It was one of those experiences that can’t be replicated.” 

September 28 day show, Rockaway Beach Amphitheater

By morning’s break, the air was warm and breezy; it felt like a reward for enduring the storm. Rockaway Beach was the ideal setting for the last day of the festival, already in its calmer off-season and eternally loved by punks for its Ramones association. Those who could not hitch a ride took the subway, a triple transfer with a sea view. 

On an outdoor stage shaded by a suspiciously Sydney Opera House-shaped canopy, Brooklyn rockers Bullseye plugged into the PA system relatively on time, which is impressive for punks. Things were already bittersweet given that the weekend wouldn’t last forever; it felt like the end of camp. But the day was almost pure and spent well: flagging down ice cream trucks, playing with dogs, and kicking around a soccer ball. 

Unassuming passersby were relatively on board with the whole thing, some folding out beach chairs to watch the show. Bullseye’s tender cover of “Waterloo Sunset” surely helped win the beach crowd over, as well as Lightheaded, the Slumberland band who take cues from C86. As more people filed in, the bold electric freakout of Act took the stage. The trio’s experimental noise rock was the perfect way for the festival to claim its stake on the beach. All are welcome, but you’ve got to be down for anything. 

A surprise set from Aswan Dam, the new project of Harry Wohl, was a real treat since the band’s appearance was in the middle of a tour. Also new was Garden of Love, who came down from Montreal to start their tour across the states with a faulty pedal. Between the crunchy guitar and deliberate songwriting of these two acts, the next wave of great rock’n’roll looks bright. Garden of Love’s Jane Harms said of the festival and the times we live in: “I think there are still ways to imagine alternatives, and in some ways more than ever.” 

By mid-afternoon, the festival had gained an unsolicited mascot, an Italian beach bum with the eyes of Ebon Moss-Bachrach and the physicality of Mr. Bean. He sat at the front of the stage, participating in pit soccer games, inventing new dance moves, and asking people if they believed in love. When the question was turned on him, he said, “No.” After all, the man kept yelling that he couldn’t find his wife, a woman that no one was sure even existed.

Another detour came from an elementary schooler who asked the organizers if she could sing onstage, becoming the warm-up act to National Photo Committee from Chicago. Eliana’s a-cappella rendition of Alicia Keys’ “Girl On Fire” received a standing ovation, naturally. When National Photo Committee did take the stage, their steel pedal grooves and improvisational tunes led to mass grooves. 

“I feel like everyone who played the festival this weekend are people I look up to and am very lucky to call friends,” said frontman Maxwell Bottner. “Most of them. Some of them, you know, you’re on my shit list. But maybe by the end of the night, we can squash whatever.” A bouquet of real roses, and other flowers, we strewn across the audience, and crowd members waved their stems through the air like magic wands. 

Last, but never least, was a dose of cello-spattered alternative from local trio Autobahn, who—although rushed for time—made for a stunning conclusion. The power supply was shut off at 7 p.m. sharp. The drums pounded for one final time, and the beach returned to its natural volume. People hugged, said goodbye, and made the long trek back to Brooklyn for celebratory drinks.

Reflecting on the festival, the collective aspect is what attendees brought up time and time again: “It’s a scary time and it’s really nice to have community,” said Genre drummer Aofie Conway. “And it’s extra awesome that it’s not just local community—that people have come from all over the country for this. I love that. It makes me very happy and it’s very comforting. It makes me feel safer.” 

There were a lot of things happening in music the weekend of September 26. Classic punk fans had the CBGB Fest under the K Bridge. Hipsters had a free Geese show in the triangle at Banker’s Anchor. Many a friend was down in Memphis for Gonerfest. But the people who went to Bread & Roses chose to build something entirely new—something that will grow. “I hope it inspires more things like this in the future, and it also inspires me to do more in my hometown as well,” said Luke Corvette.

Now that the groundwork has been laid, would the Bread & Roses crew consider attempting the impossible next year? Jake Barczak is optimistic: “I think it turned out really epic and fun. I’m 100% considering doing it again.”

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