Kilby Block Party 2026 had it all

This weekend, Salt Lake City hosted an array of artists across the “alternative” spectrum. Artists that vary in heaviness, genre, birthplace, even generation — though all have something in common. There’s an unspoken, inherent thread that ties them all together. They all exist outside of something. Whether it’s the traditional pop, folk, electronic sphere, they speak with emotional vulnerability and rawness. They’re all fans, of each other and of artists that came before, unabashedly — artists who also tread their own paths, and follow the same code of honesty, a cohort that includes folks from Fiona Apple to Björk. Genetically, the connection is there, clearer than it may appear. It’s something that has always been, for over 40 years, at the core of Alternative Press as well. Our covers have featured the Cure and My Bloody Valentine to My Chemical Romance, Denzel Curry. Butthole Surfers and blink-182 to Radiohead and SZA. Like the artists who landed in Utah this past weekend, AP has been an alternative space that’s both inclusive and expansive, with an audience made up of fans and consumers as much as it is artists themselves.

Framed by snowcapped mountains, Kilby Block Party may not look like the block parties I grew up attending in Brooklyn, but the festival lived up to its name in size and sentimentality — a buzzing celebration of current music culture in real time, both from the ground all the way up. Community ties and both cross-genre — and generational — were a theme, not only at the festival but throughout the city. Walking through the park, and over Mexican food at Red Iguana in the evening, not only did I catch artists from across the literal and sonic map supporting and connecting with one another as fellow festival guests, but I ran into others simply sipping lemonade (or the curious “dirty sodas”) ambling around just as fans and friends, watching sets or stopping by legendary SLC store The Heavy Metal Shop, near the park — everyone from black-metal outfit Agriculture, in town on a tour stop, to photographer and scene muti-hyphenate Atiba Jefferson. I even saw Scowl co-founder Malachi Grenne, who now works as a tattoo artist in the area, walking around. 

Read more: Tea with Hayley Williams: AP Artist of the Year

Headliners offered a fusion of nostalgic feelings and fresh energy — from Turnstile to the xx to Lorde — however, hierarchy felt as though it held no bounds. A true indie gathering, if there ever was one. Crown jewels were studded throughout each day from the moment the music began. Early in the weekend and in the day, Gelli Haha’s whimsical show was well worth waking up early for. Then Die Spitz delivered their trademark heat, spewing impeccable chaos into a crowd that certainly wasn’t holding back any energy on day one for the rest of the weekend, matching the Austin grunge-metal outfit’s powerful jolt of energy. But not to worry, there was more where it came from. Show Me the Body’s banjo-led punk-rock set followed with an extra shot of adrenaline. Later that day, however, audiences were welcomed into dreamier states with NYC’s Chanel Beads, whose completely idiosyncratic, woozy hypnagogic pop has only gotten more poignant as a live show as the band has progressed. Presenting another feeling state, Japanese Breakfast brought nothing but buoyancy in sound and showmanship from the first song (“Paprika”) onwards as Michelle Zauner twirled onstage, banging a giant gong with glee. Then Turnstile tore the house down that night, as they do. 

I ran into neighbors and friends YHWH Nailgun the next morning, freshly signed to 4AD, right before they ripped through a controversial and swift set which featured a mix of hypnotic, scintillating, and forever unsettling songs, a few from their lauded last album, 45 Pounds, though they teased new ones. With the new label, we’re sure to see a different and equally arresting stride of the band soon, one which may even showcase some restraint on rototoms. That said, if ever there’s a throughline for the foursome, it’s that the audience should withhold any and all expectations. Later, after YHWH introduced me to their old friends and my new ones, the impressive eight-piece caroline, and we took a walk to the legendary Heavy Metal Shop, a 39-year-old Salt Lake institution that sells metal music, of course, as well as their famed merchandise — worn by Alice Cooper, Travis Barker — and, yes, I bought a full track suit. Before heading back to the park, I also hit Randy’s Records across the street, another iconic spot that’s been stationed in SLC since 1978.

Back at the fairgrounds, a sunny afternoon was no match for Jane Remover, who wrought full electronic mayhem on a ferociously dedicated crowd. Onstage alone with a DJ and nothing else, the artist crafted an atmosphere that felt like a wild, glitched-out party. From there, the day eased into artists like Ben Kweller and Lucy Dacus, Quadeca and Alex G, the xx. Again, a flow that only epitomizes what alternative music means, or rather, what it doesn’t mean. Deconstructing boundaries between Ben Kweller and the xx, that’s what we’re all about. It wouldn’t be hard to identify influences across Saturday’s artists that trace back to Lou Reed, Nirvana, Bob Dylan — in some shape or form. 

Sunday cemented the fact — This Is Lorelei let it rip at 1:30 p.m., playing to one of the weekend’s largest, most unified afternoon crowds, who sang along to every lyric with gusto. Smerz’s wry stage presence certainly stood out from the rest, a combination of their deadpan, bizarre affect — speaking of Bob Dylan — with Norwegian electro-pop that was nothing short of memorable, and ironically quite dazzling. American Football, just days into touring their new album, played a late afternoon set, where not only did they perform songs from their latest effort, the elusive LP4, but were joined onstage by Hayley Williams for an eerie, elegant live debut of “Uncomfortably Numb.” It was an exciting moment for all, including Mike Kinsella himself — who paused playing to whip his own cellphone out and film Williams singing beside him.

Rain began pouring as Magdalena Bay traipsed onstage, but it didn’t perturb their bubbly pop show, or the people proudly dancing along, rain poncho or no poncho. Williams’ set followed, playing her very first festival set as a solo artist — and unsurprisingly blowing it out of the water with an abbreviated version of the Ego Death tour setlist and a truly unbridled energy that sent fans who had now packed out the entire park into a tailspin. But calmness came, afterward, with Blood Orange — though calmness is not to be confused with less vitality. The multi-instrumentalist’s meditative show and career-spanning tracks were a warm blanket on a cold night, wrapping an emotionally wrought audience — in the best of ways — in an enthralling embrace before Lorde left a comforting, sugary but not too sweet, taste on the tongue. 

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