Outside Lands is, first and foremost, a music festival. While I was at Golden Gate Park mainly to cover the weed scene and entertain the stoned crowds in Grass Lands, I was fortunate enough to catch some of the acts here and there.
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I’ll admit that this year’s lineup had me a bit perplexed. As someone who mostly listens to 1960s Brazilian jazz, I was unfamiliar with roughly 95 percent of the bill, making me feel pathetically square. But always in the spirit of adventure, I was unbothered by my lack of awareness. And after seemingly endless joints in Grass Lands, I was ready to be entertained. From Vegas-level theatrics to a Midwest Princess, here’s what went down.
Nostalgia, hula hoops, and fireworks
I have to say, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed The Killers on Friday night. Clad in a magenta suit, frontman Brandon Flowers was a true showman. I had planned to duck out early in order to save my energy for the weekend, but I was so captivated that I stayed until the end. A Whitethorn Rose joint didn’t hurt either.
After Tyler, The Creator bowed out of his Saturday headline slot, Disney star turned pop princess Sabrina Carpenter filled the gap. Carpenter is uber famous, but I only knew the song Please, Please, Please thanks to its incessant presence on my Instagram feed.
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I opted to watch the starlet’s first three songs just to see what she was about. Carpenter was the perfect pop creation: beautiful, breathy, and buoyant. Her band was jazzy and tight, and if I wasn’t trying to act my age, I would have stuck around. When I returned at the end of her set on my way out of Golden Gate Park, she was nearly hit by a pyrotechnic, ending the show with a bang, I guess.
Sabrina Carpenter suffered a little scare during tonight’s pyrotechnics ending at #OutsideLands.
pic.twitter.com/nUiJ1YOSy8— SabrinaUpdates (@charts_sabrina) August 11, 2024
Meanwhile, most of the over-30 crowd meandered to the Twin Peaks stage for 2000s indie pop darlings The Postal Service. Despite my colleague Lester Black’s concerns that the set would equate to millennial karaoke, I was glad I caught the lion’s share of the show. I was transported back in time, for better or for worse, and core memories unlocked with each song off the Give Up rewind.
Another standout performance was courtesy of icon Grace Jones, who started her set perched high atop a 60-foot-tall flowing dress that left everyone astounded. As the 76-year-old star floated down to earth, her enigmatic presence could be felt throughout the grounds—even if the Sabrina Carpenter fangirls had no clue who the star was. Between the wild masks and hula hooping, Jones’s set was easily the most interesting of the Outside Lands weekend.
The Pink Pony Club rises
By all accounts, rising superstar Chappell Roan’s performance was the most anticipated. The Midwest Princess drew thousands of pink cowboy hat-clad fans to the Lands End stage, many of whom lined up at the gates overnight to claim prime real estate for the 4 p.m. set. Admittedly, I knew nothing of Chappell prior to the weekend, but I felt a desire to be among the crowd to try and understand the hype.
I’ll say the energy on the Polo Field was beyond electric—it was more like a sonic boom. I couldn’t help but get swept up in the fray. When Roan instructed her fans to do a YMCA-esque dance to her hit Hot to Go, I couldn’t help but participate. When she commanded the crowd to hold up anything pink, I dug around in my bag for a pack of Pink Jesus pre-rolls courtesy of Sonoma Hills Farm and thrust them in the air.
“Am I doing it right?” I wondered aloud to no one in particular.
I was plenty high before and during the performance, but Chappell Roan’s goddess-like stage presence was a buzz in and of itself. On the N train back from Golden Gate Park, my colleague asked if I was now a fan. I paused and simply said, “I definitely understand the appeal.”
Sturgill brings the (empty) house down
By the end of Roan’s 50-minute set, the sea of people mostly dissipated. Many returned to see the debut of Post Malone’s country phase, which saw the singer cover a wide range of Western hits. Standing on the south hill of the Polo Field, I puffed a hash hole and observed. I was intrigued by the star’s evolution, but Karl the fog was rolling in— and the bitter cold coupled with THC-induced anxiety was nearly too much for me to bear. I considered tapping out, which the vast majority of the crowd did once Posty left the stage.
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After a few sips of beer and a pull of a high-CBD vape cart from Halara, I was able to recover from my distress just in time for twangy singer-songwriter Sturgill Simpson. I was a bit sad by how few people decided to stick it out, but I’m glad I did. Simpson’s outlaw country vibes were flecked with melancholy, somehow befitting of a San Francisco Sunday night. The slide guitar cut like a knife deep into my soul but in the best possible way.
I danced alone at the front gate, making friends with security and letting all my worries go. The high vibes felt in Grass Lands cascaded down to the Polo Field and beyond, melting away the stress. It was truly the perfect end to another magical Outside Lands—I just wish more people got to see it since the music was easily the best part of the weekend. I guess my fiance likes to say, “sucks to suck.”
