PHOTOS: Just Like Heaven Resurrects a Generational Indie Wonderland

Ahead of its return to the Brookside at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, CA, the forecast predicted it would be an overcast Saturday for this year’s Just Like Heaven festival. Yet even as those chilly — for Southern Californians — winds blew through Arroyo Seco Canyon, it didn’t take long for the sun to burn through the clouds, warmly beaming its celestial spotlight on the beloved indie bands that had gathered below for this quarter-century hurrah. Aglow in its rays, some marveled at their sustainment through the decades, gushing joy and grateful tears at fans who’ve continued to show and support them; others were giddy in celebration over their unexpected reunion. Yet everyone was united in the commitment to transport the massive crowds that poured onto the fields of that indie wonderland back to the nostalgia-gleaming aughts of adolescence and fledgling adulthood.

Split between the main Orion stage and the smaller Stardust stage, the groups of early arrivers at the festival funneled over the verdant hills that spread between the two. If you were among them, you probably earned yourself a chance to loosen up at the lushly funky sets that The Go! Team and CSS were starting across from one another. Those taking advantage of the still-short lines for food/alcohol or snapping photos alongside the many beautiful art installations — from large iridescent bubbles to retro-futurism robots — that dotted the greenery between the two stages were treated to this perpetual dance party.

Moments after CSS lead singer Lovefoxxx shed tears of love and appreciation for fans and the bonds their band had built since debut nearly twenty years ago, out came indie-rock rabble-rousers Gossip, ending a similarly lengthy and tenuous hiatus. Delivering the fiery, powerhouse set we knew they would, Beth Ditto reflected on the festival, jokingly renaming it the “Remember Us Festival.” And, of course, everyone did, but I don’t think anyone could’ve predicted just how hard they would rock us in our feels. Regardless of how many years had passed, Ditto’s voice was left unscathed. As she blessed the crowd with her stunning vocals, fans were also treated to some witty stage banter regarding how hot it was and that she would not leave the shady area of the stage: “Not today, Satan! Or, not today, sunburn!”

The scintillating edge of Gossip’s groovy riffs foreshadowed the frenzied tempo that would characterize midday. Between the anthemic and chills-inducing onslaughts of Sleigh Bells to the heady electronica of Phantogram, as temperatures rose, the crowds got thicker and sweatier. Yet, everything seemed to also glint spectacularly in the sparking blitz of electro-rock that pummeled out of the Orion stage’s speakers.

However, if you lacked foresight like me and didn’t grab a bite while the lines were manageable, it was at this point that the panic of eating or catching the next band set in. Thanks to the revolving stage designs, performances sometimes began within a mere ten minutes of the last one ending. Long gone are the days when one had to wait an hour for the next band — but if you weren’t camping out at one stage — that meant you were possibly racking upwards of twenty thousand steps as you oscillated across those fields.

I ended up having a combo meal from Monty’s and later a vegan meat-lovers (you read that right) pizza from Forever Pie. Both set me back $25 and $15 — not bad for a festival meal. But that was from two local businesses who’d set up shop in the VIP area near the main stage; other vendors had no qualms about selling $17 fries and similarly price-gouging offerings. High dollar signs were just one of the hiccups that attendees found themselves snagged on as they tried to enjoy the day; others included the early fill-up of Clubhouse parking around noon, a lack of sanitary materials in stock at bathrooms, and a desperate need for more clearly marked paths.

And so my hike from Stardust to Orion was soundtracked in the late afternoon by the potent melancholia and punchy rhythms of Alvvays, hurriedly eating the side of fries/tater-tots out of my childish to-go box, while on my return from Orion back to Stardust it was to the blasts of synth-pop that emanated from Passion Pit.

As evening arrived and the hillsides were backlit golden light, the nostalgia of Just Like Heaven reached its fever pitch. Metric unleashed their soul-blazing and electrifying catalog onto the raving fans at the Stardust stage, Emily Haines glimmering in a bedazzled silver-gold onesie. She appeared as a dazzling spider-woman spinning her web of joy as the last bit of sunshine made her light up like the constellations that would soon shine above. With her fist in the air, the crowd chanted, “beating like a hammer,” the poignant chorus of “Help I’m Alive.” There were definitely some tears after their glorious set. Immediately after, Death Cab For Cutie subdued audiences with their dually excruciating and rousing laundry list of favorites.

By now Just Like Heaven had undergone another atmospheric change, the nighttime grounds now lit by a colorful array of lights. The War On Drugs closed out the Stardust stage with an unrelenting dose of the band’s rollicking Americana. Fans scanning the stage might’ve caught a glimpse of lead singer/songwriter Adam Granduciel‘s partner Krysten Ritter with their child, who could be heard yelling “daddy” between songs. It lent a heart-warming aura to the set but also touched on the generational sharing of music taking place at the festival as millennial parents imparted the music of their youth onto their children.

Near the end of their set, Thomas Mars of Phoenix compared the whole event to a high school reunion, something they’d never experienced in France. Just Like Heaven felt exactly as momentous and emotional as that — overflowing with the camaraderie forged between these bands at a time when they were all cutting their teeth on the same circuits.

To provide the festival with its finale, Ben Gibbard would return alongside Jimmy Tamborello and the ethereal Jenny Lewis to resurrect The Postal Service, opening with a one-two gut punch of “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” and “Such Great Heights.” Imbuing all the fans who left the Rose Bowl, shuffling onto shuttle busses or wandering around Pasadena for rideshares free of surge pricing, with a dreamy sense that the elusive sentimental mystique of the past that all the music of the day tapped into wasn’t so out of reach after all.

Words: Steven Ward

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