Headline: Having the time of our lives on Benson Boone’s mystical, magical Wanted Man Tour

By Rob McCune

Twenty-four-year-old Benson Boone appears to have a firm hold on his skyrocket to fame, which even the most cynical, if they’re being honest, must admit can’t be all that simple.

In his breakout single “Beautiful Things,” a No. 1 song on global charts, Boone confides that he’s “up at night thinkin’ (he) might just lose it all.”

With wide-open eyes and maturity beyond his years, the superstar takes criticism in stride, at least outwardly. Cheekily, his own tour merch trumpets the headline “One-hit wonder” (according to “the whole internet”), “backflips and magic included.”

It’s this vulnerability that his fans—fast friends and new—relate to and connect with. In return for the unfettered access to Boone’s “Young American Heart” that his music provides, fans are willing to give anything and everything.

In Pittsburgh, the opening show of Boone’s Wanted Man Tour, the faithful heaped gifts at his feet. A rose, a pair of sunglasses … one young fan tossed him her phone, which he joked she might legitimately fear not getting back. A Spider-Man mask, which Boone put to excellent use as he back-flipped into a hero stance.

The crowds do their best to make him “feel like a wanted man.”

And their reward is a performance like no other.

It’s not all backflips and pyrotechnics—though, we counted at least seven of the former, all of which landed impactfully, and the heat from the latter certainly complemented the energy.

Boone’s showmanship is bigger than the props and the stunts. He owns every bit of an enormous stage, as well as the airspace above it and the runway around it.

The show is packed with fun surprises, from a Star Wars-like scroll entrance to the appropriately high-flying rendition of “In the Stars.” For “Young American Heart,” the arena erupted with red-white-and-blue heart-shaped confetti.

It rarely slows down. The exceptions being intimate reflections like “Momma Song,” played to home videos and for his mom, watching from the crowd; and “Love You Again,” a new unreleased song in a piano solo from Boone.

On this opening stop of the tour, the Pittsburgh crowd also was fortunate to be the first, of anyone in the world, to hear “The Time of My Life” live.

Experiencing this performance with my wife and 19-year-old daughter (a Benson Boone fan from early on in his Tik Tok surge) was no doubt a “time of our lives” moment.

Follow Rob McCune on Instagram (@Every_Thing_After_Photo) and listen to the “Every.Thing.After Podcast” on Spotify.

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By Rob McCune

Gin Blossoms, or as frontman Robin Wilson calls them “your favorite Nineties band from Tempe, Arizona,” formed in 1987 but has been touring since 1992. Thirty-four years of concert tours, in the range of 1,500 shows, and the bloom still hasn’t fallen.

The band kicked off its 2026 summer tour with an outdoor amphitheater show in Akron, Ohio, sharing the stage with a local band, Dave Rich & His Enablers. A few shows in early July on their own, so to speak, will lead into another blitz with fellow Nineties hits-makers Blues Traveler and the Spin Doctors – a second-straight summer of this pairing, which is really can’t-miss for anyone who came of age with this music.

Gin Blossoms are always a great, fun time live on stage. Wilson shakes a tambourine for much of the set, which he usually lends to someone in the front row for a song or two, before rocking out on a red-white-and-blue guitar.

The crowd sings along on all of the radio hits—obviously, “Hey, Jealousy,” but also “Follow You Down,” “Alison Road,” “Found Out About You,” and more.

For Nineties kids, Gin Blossoms provided the soundtracks to our crushes, nervous first dates, and crushing break-ups. As such, that music is seared to our hearts and souls. Which means, literally, many of us will follow the Gin Blossoms down … anywhere they go.

For this show on a night in Akron which threatened a storm and briefly sprinkled rain, the sky turned a vivid pink as the sun set on what turned out to be a perfect evening.
It was the start of a 50-plus show tour for the band, so there’s plenty of opportunity to catch them live, and you should.

Follow Rob McCune on Instagram (@Every_Thing_After_Photo) and listen to the “Every.Thing.After Podcast” on Spotify.

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Agora

Cleveland, OH

Drew Latshaw

There are concerts where you leave with ringing ears.

There are concerts where you leave with sore feet.

Then there are Insane Clown Posse concerts, where you leave wondering whether your camera insurance covers soft drinks.

Walking into Cleveland’s Agora on Friday night, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. I knew about the face paint. I knew about the Juggalos. I knew Faygo was part of the show.

As it turns out…

I knew nothing about what was about to happen.

The evening began with three opening acts that helped set the stage for what was to come.

Detroit’s Mr. Sadistic opened the night,

followed by Cleveland’s Ruin The Moment,

with Los Angeles’ Wakko the Kidd serving as direct support for Insane Clown Posse.

One thing became immediately apparent: this audience was already invested.

Fans rapped along with every set, raised their hands in approval, and responded with an enthusiasm that steadily grew throughout the evening. While these musicians weren’t particularly my style, it was obvious I was in the minority. These artists had found their audience, and the audience fed that same energy right back to the stage. By the time the lights dimmed for ICP, the atmosphere inside the Agora had reached a fever pitch.

The lights went down.

The house music stopped.

A roar erupted from the crowd.

Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope emerged from behind the curtain, and within seconds the Agora was in a frenzy.

Then the first bottle flew.

For anyone unfamiliar with Insane Clown Posse, the Faygo isn’t simply a gimmick. It’s tradition baked into the DNA of the Juggalo family.

The story dates back to the group’s early Detroit club days in the early 1990s. During one performance, a bottle of Faygo was tossed into the crowd, and instead of confusion or frustration, the audience erupted with excitement. ICP leaned into the moment, eventually making the Detroit-born soft drink an inseparable part of their live shows. Today, hundreds of bottles accompany nearly every performance, turning the concert into an interactive event where nobody, including the band, leaves dry.

The choice of Faygo is fitting. Like Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope themselves, the soda has deep Detroit roots. Over the years, it has become more than just a prop. It represents the group’s blue-collar identity and their belief that everyone in the room should be part of the experience rather than simply watching it unfold.

No one watches an ICP concert from a safe distance.

Everyone participates.

I quickly learned that this includes the photographers.

More than once I felt like I had a target on my back. Not in a malicious way, but almost as if the band was saying, “Welcome to the family.” It became a carbonated baptism unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Before Friday night, I had seen countless photos and videos of crowds being drenched with Faygo. They don’t accurately prepare you for the reality.

Wave after wave erupted from the stage. Two-liter bottles became improvised fire hoses as Violent J and Shaggy launched colorful arcs deep into the audience. Fans welcomed every soaking with raised hands, laughter, and enormous smiles, while those of us in the photo pit quickly learned that staying dry was never an option.

By the end of the night, I was convinced I had personally worn half the venue’s Faygo supply.

After a while, I stopped worrying about getting soaked. I accepted that it was simply part of documenting an ICP show. Lens wipes came out between songs. Camera bodies were wiped down whenever there was a brief opportunity. Then another wave of soda came flying over the barricade, and the process started all over again.

Somewhere in all of that chaos, I found myself paying less attention to the spectacle and more attention to the people. The Juggalos filling the house.

For decades, they have often been portrayed as one of music’s most misunderstood fan communities. Standing inside the Agora, however, I saw something entirely different.

I saw strangers celebrating together.

I saw fans looking out for one another.

I saw one of the most diverse crowds I’ve encountered at a concert. Families with children as young as four shared the venue with fans celebrating their 68th birthday. Different generations. Different backgrounds. All united by something they genuinely loved.

Whether someone had followed ICP for thirty years or was attending their very first show, everyone seemed to be welcomed into the same wonderfully bizarre family.

I’ve photographed everything from death metal and punk to classic rock, symphonic metal, and pop. Every genre has its own traditions and rituals. Until Friday night, I’d never experienced one where the audience willingly stood beneath a rainbow-colored downpour of Detroit soda. Strange? Absolutely. Memorable? Without question.

That may have been the biggest surprise of the night.

Not the face paint.

Not the theatrics.

Not even the endless tsunami of Faygo.

It was realizing that beneath the outrageous stage show exists a community built on shared traditions, acceptance, and the simple joy of escaping reality together for a few hours.

I walked into the Agora expecting to photograph a legendary concert.

I walked out understanding why Insane Clown Posse has inspired one of the most fiercely loyal fanbases in music.

Their concerts aren’t just performances.

They’re experiences.

And after surviving my first one, I can honestly say there isn’t anything else quite like it.

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Andrew “Drew” Latshaw is a photographer, writer, interviewer, gamer, and lifelong music fanatic. As the owner of Art-Abandoned Photography and a contributor to UnRated Magazine, he combines a love of storytelling with a passion for live music and pop culture. Whether he’s standing in a crowded photo pit, interviewing artists, or geeking out over the latest game release, Drew believes every person has a story worth telling.

Drew Latshaw

Newport Music Hall

Columbus, OH

Friday night at Newport Music Hall in Columbus felt less like a concert and more like a Saturday morning cartoon that somehow crashed headfirst into a punk rock house party.

The evening kicked off with SULLVN, who wasted no time making an impression. If the crowd wasn’t already paying attention, they certainly were when Dicky Barrett emerged as a surprise guest toward the end of their set. The unmistakable voice of the former Mighty Mighty Bosstones frontman immediately drew cheers as he joined the band for their hit, “That’s the Impression.” The collaboration felt natural rather than gimmicky, adding a shot of adrenaline to an already energetic opening set. For many in attendance, it was one of those unexpected moments that becomes part of a show’s lore before the headliner has even taken the stage.

On a personal note, Dicky and I had a bit of a moment while he was performing. He spotted me in the pit with my camera trained on him, stopped in his tracks, crossed his arms, and locked eyes with my lens in the most intimidating “mean mug” pose he could muster. I snapped a couple of frames, then gave him an apologetic shrug, thinking I’d somehow annoyed him.

After the set, he found me in the crowd, laughed, and explained that there are a lot of terrible pictures of him out there. He wanted to make sure I got one where he actually looked tough. We shared a bro-hug, a high-five, and a laugh. It ended up being one of my favorite moments of the night.

Next came Murphys Law, and if SULLVN lit the fuse, Murphys Law detonated it.

The legendary New York hardcore veterans delivered exactly what longtime fans hoped for: chaos, humor, and relentless audience participation. Frontman Jimmy Gestapo remains one of punk rock’s greatest ringmasters, effortlessly turning the barrier between performer and audience into little more than a suggestion. Crowd surfers appeared early and often. Fans shouted every lyric back toward the stage. At times it felt as though the entire room was participating in a collective exercise in controlled anarchy.

What stood out most wasn’t just the music. It was how much fun everyone was having.

One of my favorite moments came when Jimmy started handing out candy and juice boxes to the crowd. Looking around, I noticed one of the widest age ranges I’ve seen at a punk show. The youngest fan I spotted couldn’t have been more than four years old, while others had clearly been attending shows for decades. Watching those generations stand shoulder to shoulder reminded me that good music doesn’t care how old you are.

For most of the set, Jimmy was either hanging over the barricade or right in the middle of the audience. Judging by the smiles around me, the interaction became every bit as entertaining as the songs themselves. For a couple of hours, nobody seemed worried about work, bills, deadlines, or whatever was waiting outside Newport’s doors. They were simply present, sharing a moment together.

Then came the moment the crowd had been waiting for.

The Aquabats stormed the stage in a burst of color, energy, and wonderfully absurd superhero theatrics. Trying to explain an Aquabats show to someone who’s never seen one almost sounds ridiculous. Giant inflatable creatures. Costumed villains. Audience members becoming part of the show. A room full of adults happily embracing their inner ten-year-old.

And somehow…

It all works.

What separates The Aquabats from many novelty acts is that beneath the costumes and comedy is a genuinely talented band. Even during the three songs I was permitted to photograph, their musicianship was sharp, their energy contagious, and the crowd completely invested.

Unfortunately, my photo pass ended after those first three songs, so I can’t honestly tell you every twist and turn that followed. What I can say is this: judging by the reaction inside Newport Music Hall, I have a hard time believing the show slowed down for even a second after I walked out.

By the time I left, one thing was abundantly clear.

Joy was the headliner.

From SULLVN’s surprise collaboration with Dicky Barrett, to Murphys Law’s audience-fueled punk rock celebration, to the opening spectacle of The Aquabats, Friday night’s show delivered exactly what live music is supposed to deliver: memorable moments, genuine human connection, and a reminder that sometimes growing older doesn’t have to mean growing up.

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DC

September 25-27

by Eric Xiao

All Things Go didn’t set out to become a movement. Its identity crystallized in 2018, when
Maggie Rogers helped curate an all-female lineup for what was then a small DC blog’s festival,
named years earlier after a Sufjan Stevens song. The pitch was simple: women were
underrepresented across festival lineups, not just at the top. That day sold out its room at Union
Market, an early-career Billie Eilish down the bill. Eight years later that same instinct still drives
the booking, and it returns to Merriweather Post Pavilion September 25–27 for its first full
three-day DC run.

The 2026 bill rewards close attention. Mitski opens Friday, back as a headliner since 2022,
performing with the deliberate, choreographed staging she’s known for. Ethel Cain follows with
the slow-burning, Southern-gothic atmosphere of Preacher’s Daughter; below them, Slayyyter
and Ninajirachi bring the maximalist hyperpop of the moment. Saturday is “The Hayley Williams
Show,” a solo retrospective and her ATG debut, building toward material from Ego Death at a
Bachelorette Party. Sunday turns rockier, with Wolf Alice and Father John Misty, before Brandi
Carlile’s first appearance here and a closing set from Lola Young, returning to the festival after
stepping away last year to focus on her health.

The crowd is half the story. All Things Go has built one of the most genuinely queer, women-
and nonbinary-centered audiences in American festivals, with the singing loud and the dressing
louder. The founders have described a recent edition selling out in thirty minutes, 40,000 left on
the waitlist, someone calling it Coachella for people on antidepressants. It is the rare festival
where the audience photographs as well as the stage.

That is what makes this edition worth covering up close: not only who is booked, but a festival
that grew a stance into five straight sellouts and made its crowd the main event.

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MidFlorida Credit Union Amphitheater

by Maya McKeefery

Laila was the first opening she has a very soft tone to her music that’s very relatable to people her age. The type of music you play on the way to class when you are day dreaming. She’s very causally dressed and even does her own dj set in the middle to show how she produced it all. Her music is very r&b like if Kehlani had a little sister.

Mariah the scientist is very lover girl revenge with guitar solos in her songs and a mix of soft girl wearing long pigtails & singing softly but with meaning. She gives off maneater vibes.

Kali uches came through the stadium through the rows of the stadium on a horse chariot giving fans with the farthest seats the best view. Opening the show with her best song “Moonlight.” Giving everyone a chance to sing her most viral hit.

She teamed with AT&T to give the fans synced bracelets to work with the change of songs. While camera is working with her flawless transitions on the big screens, the back of the stage turning into different photos for each music video she recreates. making each song keep the crowed high in energy. Plenty of stage props were used in visual story stelling. The sycrinized dancing with her dancers also throws a very professional show. The attitude as well as the stage set up even to the colors and song choice. Kali Uchis this is a 10/10 concert. Her tour was called “For the girls”and it absolutely was. I encourage anyone who is a fan to go and see this tour!

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Bobby Rush

Arkansas Folklife Festival

Little Rock, AR

June 26, 2026

by Dan Locke

Bobby Rush didn’t just headline the Arkansas Folklife Festival — he inaugurated it, christened it, and stamped it with the unmistakable signature of a man who has carried the Delta on his back for seven decades. On opening night, the 90‑year‑old bluesman walked onto the stage like someone returning to a house he helped build. And in a very real sense, he was. Rush grew up in Pine Bluff, cut his teeth in Arkansas juke joints, and shaped the very musical vocabulary the festival exists to honor. His performance wasn’t nostalgia. It was continuity — a living tradition still in motion.

From the moment he stepped into the lights, wearing that trademark grin that telegraphs both mischief and mastery, Rush made it clear he wasn’t here to be a museum piece. He was here to work, to entertain, to testify, and to remind Arkansas that the blues is not an artifact — it’s a living organism with a pulse, a sweat, and a wicked sense of humor.

A Stage That Became a Juke Joint

The festival stage, built for folklife demonstrations and community performances, transformed the second Rush hit his first guitar lick. The space tightened, the air thickened, and suddenly the crowd wasn’t standing in a modern festival plaza — they were transported into a juke joint somewhere between Pine Bluff and Helena, where the floorboards shake and the night runs long.

Rush’s band locked in behind him with the kind of telepathic precision that only comes from years of touring the chitlin’ circuit. The drummer kept a lean, snapping pocket; the bassist walked lines that felt like they were pulled straight from a 1950s roadhouse; and the guitarist played with a clean, stinging tone that left plenty of room for Rush’s harmonica to slice through the mix.

And that harmonica — it remains one of the most expressive instruments in American music. Rush doesn’t play it so much as talk through it, bending notes into laughter, moans, shouts, and sly asides. Every solo felt like a conversation with the crowd, and the crowd answered back.

The Voice of a Man Who Has Seen Everything

Rush’s voice has aged the way blues voices are supposed to age — roughened at the edges, thickened with experience, but still elastic enough to jump from a whisper to a holler without warning. When he leaned into a slow blues, the timbre carried the weight of decades: the long nights, the long roads, the long fights to keep this music alive.

But when he shifted into his signature comedic storytelling — the double‑entendre songs, the playful call‑and‑response routines — he sounded 30 years younger. Rush has always been a showman, and he hasn’t lost a step. He strutted, he mugged, he cracked jokes, he teased the band, and he teased the audience even more. The man knows exactly how to work a room, whether that room is a juke joint or a festival lawn.

A Masterclass in Delta Tradition

What made this performance so perfectly aligned with the Arkansas Folklife Festival wasn’t just Rush’s charisma — it was the cultural density of the set. Every song was a thread in the larger tapestry of Delta tradition.

• The shuffle rhythms traced back to the plantation-era fife‑and‑drum bands.
• The call‑and‑response echoed the church services Rush grew up attending.
• The storytelling carried the DNA of front‑porch oral tradition.
• The stagecraft — the winks, the footwork, the comedic timing — came straight from the chitlin’ circuit’s vaudeville lineage.

Rush didn’t explain any of this. He didn’t need to. He embodied it. The festival’s mission is to celebrate Arkansas’ living culture, not as a static exhibit but as a breathing, evolving practice. Rush was the mission statement made flesh.

The Crowd: Multi‑Generational, Fully Locked In

One of the most striking elements of the night was the crowd itself. You had elders who remembered Rush from his early Arkansas days. You had middle‑aged fans who discovered him through his Grammy‑winning late‑career renaissance. And you had younger listeners — some blues devotees, some festival‑curious — who were seeing him for the first time.

Rush united them instantly.

When he launched into a groove, the lawn moved as one. When he cracked a joke, the laughter rolled across the crowd like a wave. When he dropped into a harmonica solo, the applause came in bursts, spontaneous and loud. It was a reminder that the blues, when played by someone who understands its full emotional range, is not niche music. It’s human music.

A Performance That Refused to Slow Down

At 90, Rush performs with more energy than musicians half his age. He danced. He shuffled. He executed his trademark sideways glide. He leaned into the crowd, leaned back, and then leaned in again. He played guitar behind his head. He dropped into a squat and popped back up like gravity was optional.

The audience roared every time.

But the most impressive part wasn’t the physicality — it was the precision. Rush knows exactly when to push, when to pull back, when to stretch a phrase, when to snap a groove tight. He’s a master of dynamics, pacing, and tension. Every moment felt intentional, crafted, and alive.

A Homecoming Wrapped in Electricity

For Arkansas, this performance wasn’t just entertainment — it was a homecoming. Rush spoke about his Pine Bluff roots, about the juke joints where he learned to play, about the musicians who shaped him. He didn’t dwell on the past, but he acknowledged it with warmth and pride.

And the crowd responded with the kind of affection usually reserved for hometown heroes. Because that’s what he is. Rush may have built his career across the South and beyond, but Arkansas is where the foundation was laid. Seeing him return as the festival’s opening‑night headliner felt like a cultural circle closing.

The Emotional Peak

The emotional high point of the night came during a slow, simmering blues number where Rush stepped away from the microphone and let the band fall to a whisper. He played a harmonica solo so delicate, so intimate, that the entire festival lawn fell silent. You could hear the wind. You could hear the creak of the stage. You could hear the breath of the crowd.

It was a moment of pure connection — the kind of moment that reminds you why live music matters, why folklife matters, why preserving these traditions matters. Rush wasn’t performing at the audience. He was performing with them.

A Closing That Felt Like a Blessing

Rush ended the night with a high‑energy medley that brought the crowd to its feet. He thanked Arkansas. He thanked the festival. He thanked the audience for “keeping the blues alive.” And then he walked offstage with the same grin he walked on with — a man satisfied, a man still hungry, a man still very much in the game.

As the lights dimmed, it was clear that the Arkansas Folklife Festival hadn’t just booked a headliner. They had invited a cultural elder, a Delta griot, a living archive, and a showman of the highest order. Bobby Rush didn’t just fit into the festival — he defined it.

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By Rob McCune

On a co-headlining tour, Five For Fighting’s John Ondrasik and Edwin McCain have true brotherly chemistry that also extends to their bandmates.

These guys clearly enjoy each other’s company.

It goes beyond respect for the music. Both are inarguably incredible songwriters, even if only taking into account McCain’s top-5-Billboard “I’ll Be” and Ondrasik’s emblematic “Superman (It’s Not Easy),” but they have between them at least a dozen hits that occupy permanent pages in the Great American Songbook. And each is quick to give the other props in this arena.

They’re also both great storytellers, which may seem inherent in their songwriting prowess, but not every great songwriter can tell a coherent story on a stage, in a spotlight, without the benefit of a backing track. And these guys are not only coherent in their stage banter; they are captivating. Funny, reflective, humble and heartfelt.

They share a similar sense of humor about it all—fame, family and everything in between.

And whether you agree with or even know their personal political viewpoints, there’s no denying their devotion to the country’s freedom-fighting military servicemen and women and veterans.

Both have enjoyed careers making and sharing music for more than 30 years. And they could easily fill an hour set with their own catalogs.
But they take time to connect with and engage the audience. Sometimes through other artists’ music. Ondrasik on piano treated the crowd at Northfield Park Racino (Northfield, Ohio) with covers of “perfect” songs by Elton John (“Rocketman”) and The Eagles (“Desperado”). And a surprise encore duo on Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” was a delight.

Seeing these two share a stage, it seems obvious that they should do that again, and as often as possible.

Before the show, I got 15 minutes with Ondrasik to talk about this tour for the “Every.Thing.After Podcast.” Watch that interview and read the transcript below.

Every.Thing.After: Hey, I’m here with John Ondrasik from Five for Fighting. We’re backstage at the Northfield Park Racino. John’s about to go on stage with Edwin McCain on this tour. Tell us a little bit about this tour. What are you excited about?

John Ondrasik: It’s been a blast. I mean, Edwin and his guys are awesome. You know, to hear “I’ll Be” every night, I always get a little choked up. The crowds have been great. It’s a lot of fun, kind of taking turns headlining and going back and forth. And as I said, it’s always great to be back in the bus with the boys.

ETA: Are you looking forward to anything in particular coming up on this tour? Any particular stop?

Ondrasik: Well, you know, I think I enjoy going to towns I’ve never been to before. You know, we were just up kind of at the tip of Michigan, which is really fun. And we’ll be heading to Cincinnati tomorrow, and I’m excited about Graeter’s Ice Cream, because I always go there first.

ETA: There you go. That’s a good reason to visit Cincinnati. How about outside of the tour? What’s coming up after that for Fight for Fighting?

Ondrasik: Well, we may be, we’re in the process of putting together something for USA 250. So look for us on July 4th. Looking to do something with the Navy and celebrate our troops, our sailors, and our veterans. So that’s something we’re really excited about.

ETA: I think that’s great. You’ve done a lot of work with the Gary Sinise Foundation. You’ve done a lot of work around veterans and celebrating the active military as well. I think you’ve never really shied away from messaging and music either. And your music has inspired and really been an anthem for everyone from first responders to military members, people around the world. Why do you think music has that particular power to speak to people in that way. And do you feel like that’s a responsibility that you carry as a musician and a songwriter?

Ondrasik: I think everybody can do it their own way. I don’t think anybody’s obligated to do anything. I certainly have a great love and respect for our troops, and I’ve been honored to perform for them my whole career and tell their stories and get to know them. I have no military in my family, but as you mentioned, my pal Gary Sinise and I, we understand that the blessings we have, the freedom we have. At the end of the day, it depends on our troops and their families. So they allow us the freedom of speech to get up and say whatever we want, and people can get mad or be excited about it. And so again, I think it’s easy to do. And tonight we’ll be doing a song called “Two Lights” that really recognizes our military families. We always do at least one song per show that salutes our troops.

ETA: I think that’s awesome. You’re also quite a voice in terms of human rights around the world. You speak out on issues like Gaza and what’s going on in Iran. How do you feel like the music industry or musicians in particular should be responding to the times that we’re in globally?

Ondrasik: Well, again, I think if you look back in history, you get a sense of the times from the music of the times. If you go back to the Civil Rights era and you listen to the songs, [or during] the Vietnam War, listen to the songs. … My voice is not any less or more important than anybody else’s, but I just have a certain point of view. And again, I’m not afraid to use it. I tend to be in the minority these days of certain issues. But that’s part of America. That’s part of the freedom we’re celebrating with USA 250. And whether it’s our Afghan veterans or the Jewish people around the world or the Ukrainian folks, I like to align myself with the good guys and I like to write songs that support them.

ETA: John, besides Graeter’s Ice Cream, what keeps you going at the end of the day? What sustains you?

Ondrasik: Yeah, I think musically, knowing every night there’s going to be someone out there in the audience that’s only going to see me once in my lifetime. And I feel I owe them my best effort. And the fact that, and Edwin would say this too, the fact that 25, 30 years later, people are still coming and singing our songs with us is something we don’t take for granted. It’s truly a blessing. I think as long as folks enjoy it, I certainly enjoy it. I like the camaraderie with the band and talking to folks and frankly seeing the young generation who frankly weren’t born yet when I wrote these songs singing along. So I think all of that stuff keeps me inspired. And I still feel my best song is yet to be written. I still feel that I have something to say. And as I said, as a songwriter, to have hit songs is great, but to have a 30-, 40-year career is, I think, what we all dream about.

ETA: Oh, yeah, absolutely. I love to hear that you are writing songs still. Can we expect some new music at some point?

Ondrasik: Yeah, I think at some point. I’ve been dabbling on this tour. We get the keyboard in here, and I have a few things. And I think eventually they’ll come out. I have so many obligations to so many things within music and outside of music that takes up so much of my time. But I’ve been in the studio with my daughter working on some of her music, and it’s really kind of given me the bug back to get back in the studio and that whole experience, which again is very special. I wouldn’t be surprised in the next year or two, you’ll hear some some new Five For Fighting songs, and some may be about the world, and some probably won’t be.

ETA: That’s great. I love to hear you in the studio with your daughter, too. I bet that’s a really special moment.

Ondrasik: It’s wonderful.
ETA: Growing up with you and around music and everything, that’s something that you’ve imparted on her?

Ondrasik: Yeah, she has the passion for it. We certainly didn’t push our kids into the arts, and we certainly didn’t try to dissuade them from the arts. And she’s a much better songwriter at her age than I was at her age. And she opens for us with her folk band, Lace and Lee, on the string quartet tours. But now she’s been doing some more kind of pop, esoteric music, rock, that we’ve been working on. And so it’s great. I mean, we kind of lived through her vicariously, and she works hard, and she understands that a lot of this has nothing to do with talents, but work ethic, relationships, perseverance, and I think she has all those things.

ETA: People sometimes say, “If you could go back 30, 40 years from now and tell your younger self something, give yourself a lesson, tell yourself to watch out for something that may be coming …” I mean, you sort of have, in a way, an opportunity to do that with your daughter as she’s starting out in her music career. What lessons have you imparted to her? Have you given her any kind of advice about what to avoid or what to lean into?

Ondrasik: One thing I do tell her is: “find time to enjoy what you’re doing.” I think particularly the younger generation these days, always, they want immediate satisfaction. And if you don’t have a million followers by the time you’re 22, you’re a failure. And that’s not how the world works. And especially in the arts, there’s no guarantee. You know, it’s not necessarily a meritocracy. A lot of it is fluke, fate. You know, for me, I didn’t have a hit song until I was 30 years old, which is very rare. But you do it because you love it. And there’s work, there’s bad times, there’s rejection, there’s all that stuff. But enjoy what you’re doing because it is a blessing to be able to do it. And I would tell myself the same thing: “quit future tripping, quit dwelling on the past.” But that’s what my songs are about, right? So I’m writing myself these little post-it notes anyways. And I probably would have done a little more collaborating. But you know what? I have no regrets. I wouldn’t change a thing. And again, it’s her career. She does it her way. And I love letting her find her own way. So I don’t give her a ton of advice.

ETA: Is there someone out there that you’d still really love to collaborate with? How about something with Edwin?

Ondrasik: We get up on stage and sing together every night, so we have a lot of fun together. And I mean, what a great singer he is. And one thing I see every night is what an amazing entertainer he is. He is funny. He is smart. You know, obviously the band is incredible. His bandmates have been with him for decades. So yeah, I mean, it’d be great. We did a show the other night and Brian (Vander Ark) from the Verve Pipe was actually there, too. We all kind of were reminiscing about the days where you would hear our songs back-to-back to back, you know, on the radio. But yeah, you know, as I said, I’m always looking to be inspired and find new opportunities. And, you know, maybe I’ll sit down with Paul McCartney and write something. That’s always been a fantasy of mine.

ETA: Is there a new artist, someone that’s up and coming, besides your daughter, that you’d like to call out, that you think is really doing something special right now?

Ondrasik: You know, I don’t even know what’s going on in the music world these days. To me, like, Ray LaMontagne is a new artist. That’s how out of the loop I am. But my daughter will play me stuff once in a while and it’ll be like, “oh, that’s cool.” And the nice thing about the Internet age is you don’t need a record company to find an audience. So that’s a long answer to say I have no idea.

ETA: All right, cool. John, thanks so much for taking the time to talk to me. I really appreciate it. I’m going to end with the question I ask everybody, which is, John, what’s your everything after?

Ondrasik: If it’s about, what’s the big picture, and it’s sometimes it’s hard to walk the walk or talk the talk, but I think having a certain gratitude for what you have. There’s always problems. We always have challenges. Some people have very serious challenges. But for me, you know, whenever something doesn’t go well or a show goes bad or something, I remind myself how fortunate I am, not just in my personal life, but living in the greatest nation that’s ever existed and the freedoms we have. And having that gratitude, I think, gives you a perspective. We have problems, we have things that go wrong, but at the end of the day, they typically are pretty small things. And try to keep that perspective.

Follow Rob McCune on Instagram (@Every_Thing_After_Photo) and listen to the “Every.Thing.After Podcast” on Spotify.

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The Hall

Little Rock, AR

June 21, 2026

by Dan Locke

When Demola the Violinist stepped onto the stage at The Hall on Sunday evening, the room was already humming with anticipation. The crowd knew they were in for something special, but few realized they were about to witness a performance that would stretch to nearly three full hours — a marathon of musicianship, storytelling, humor, and crowd‑driven energy that transformed the venue into a living, breathing extension of the artist himself.

“This is my second time playing in Little Rock,” he said early in the night, smiling as if greeting old friends. “And you all are one of the best audiences anywhere.” It was a simple line, but it set the tone for everything that followed. Over the next three hours, Demola delivered a show that felt less like a tour stop and more like a celebration — a gathering of people who understood him, appreciated him, and fueled him.

A Three‑Hour Performance That Never Lost Momentum

Most concerts follow a predictable arc: a strong opening, a middle stretch, and a final push toward the encore. Demola ignored that structure entirely. Instead, he built a performance that rose and fell like a living organism — shifting between high‑energy Afrobeats, soulful ballads, improvisational violin runs, electric‑guitar duels, and intimate storytelling.

What made the nearly three‑hour runtime remarkable was not its length, but its lack of drag. There were no filler moments, no extended breaks, no lulls where the energy dipped. Demola paced the night with the instincts of a seasoned performer who understands how to hold a room, how to give it space, and how to pull it back in with precision.

The show’s length also allowed him to explore multiple facets of his artistry. He wasn’t limited to a tight setlist or a narrow emotional range. Instead, he treated the night as a full portrait — a chance to show the audience everything he is capable of, everything he has learned, and everything he continues to become.

A Performer Who Refuses to Stay on the Stage

One of the defining features of the night was Demola’s refusal to remain anchored to the stage. Early in the show, he stepped off the platform and moved through the main floor, playing with the same clarity and control he brings to his studio recordings. Fans reached out, phones rose into the air, and the room tightened around him as he wove through the crowd.

Later, he did it again — this time with even more intention. “I want to make sure everyone gets this experience,” he said, glancing toward the mezzanine. With that, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, violin in hand, and performed directly for the fans above. The balcony erupted in cheers, grateful for the attention and the gesture.

This wasn’t a stunt. It was a philosophy. Demola believes music should be shared up close, not observed from a distance. In a venue like The Hall — with its open floor, wraparound balcony, and intimate sightlines — his approach felt natural, even necessary. The entire building became his stage, and the audience became part of the performance.

A Global Artist with a Global Story

Between songs, Demola shared pieces of his journey — not as rehearsed monologues, but as genuine reflections. Born in Lagos, Nigeria, he grew up surrounded by the rhythms and cultural textures that would later shape his sound. He spoke about moving to the United States, about the challenges of being a young musician trying to get people to listen, and about the slow, steady process of building a social network before social networks were the engine of modern music careers.

He described performing in school hallways, handing out CDs, messaging strangers, and convincing people one by one to give his music a chance. The crowd listened closely, not just because the story was compelling, but because it was clear that the man onstage had earned every step of his success.

That success has taken him around the world. He has performed on global stages, collaborated with major artists, and — in one of the night’s most surprising revelations — played at the World Cup three times. The audience reacted with a mix of awe and pride.

Then came the moment that drew the loudest reaction of the night. Demola told the crowd he had been invited to perform at the World Cup today — the very same day as the Little Rock show. The offer would have come with a significant paycheck, he admitted, but he turned it down. “My fans are more important than the money,” he said, and the room exploded.

Whether delivered with showman’s timing or heartfelt sincerity — and it felt sincere — the line reinforced the bond he has with his audience.

A Multi‑Instrumentalist with Something to Prove

Though the violin is his signature, Demola made it clear that he is far from a one‑instrument artist. He told the crowd that his twin brother, who usually performs with him, was not present tonight. “So I stole his Washburn Stratocaster,” he joked, holding up the guitar with a mischievous grin.

The audience laughed — and then he proceeded to deliver two electric‑guitar performances that showcased a completely different side of his musicianship.

The first song was smooth and melodic, a warm contrast to the sharp, percussive attack of his violin. The second was a full‑on duel with his lead guitarist, a playful exchange of riffs and licks that escalated into a high‑speed, call‑and‑response showdown. The crowd roared with each volley.

The guitar segment added a welcome dynamic shift to the night. After the emotional weight of his storytelling and the physical energy of his crowd‑walking performances, the electric‑guitar interlude brought a rock‑infused jolt that re‑centered the room and expanded the sonic palette of the show.

A Violinist Who Treats Genre as a Playground

Throughout the night, Demola moved effortlessly between Afrobeats, R&B, pop, soul, and contemporary instrumental music. His arrangements were fluid, blending rhythmic patterns from his Nigerian roots with the melodic sensibilities of American pop and the improvisational flair of jazz.

His Afrobeats‑infused pieces were especially powerful. The violin — an instrument often associated with classical or folk traditions — became a rhythmic engine, dancing over percussive backbeats and syncopated grooves. The crowd responded instinctively, moving with the pulse of the music in a way that felt both celebratory and communal.

In slower moments, his tone softened, revealing a warmth and expressiveness that contrasted beautifully with the high‑energy sections. These quieter passages gave the audience space to breathe, to absorb the emotional undercurrents of the performance, and to appreciate the full range of his technical and interpretive abilities.

A Performer Who Understands the Power of Connection

What set this show apart was not just the music, but the way Demola connected with the audience. He spoke openly, laughed easily, and carried himself with a humility that felt genuine. He thanked the crowd repeatedly, not out of obligation but out of clear appreciation. He made eye contact, responded to shouts from the audience, and treated the room as a partner in the performance rather than a passive observer.

This connection was reinforced by his physical movement through the venue. When he climbed to the second floor, the gesture wasn’t symbolic — it was practical. He wanted the fans upstairs to feel included, and he made sure they were. When he walked through the main floor, he wasn’t performing a stunt — he was breaking down the barrier between artist and audience.

In an era where many performers rely on screens, pyrotechnics, and choreography to create spectacle, Demola created his spectacle through presence, proximity, and authenticity.

A Night That Felt Bigger Than the Room

By the time the final notes faded — nearly three hours after the show began — it was clear that the audience had witnessed something more than a concert. They had experienced a portrait of an artist in full command of his craft, someone who has traveled the world, built a career from the ground up, and still approaches every performance with gratitude and joy.

Demola’s return to Little Rock was a reminder of what live music can be when it is rooted in connection rather than spectacle, in sincerity rather than pretense. It was a night defined by movement, storytelling, virtuosity, and the kind of crowd engagement that transforms a performance into a memory.

For Little Rock, it was a celebration. For Demola, it was a homecoming — not to a place he grew up, but to a place that has embraced him as one of its own.

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By Rob McCune

The Grunge-alt-rock band Toadies have frog-hopped through four decades, forming in Fort Worth, Texas, in 1989. Now the band is touring its new and eighth studio album, “The Charmer,” born at least in part out of pandemic-era introspection.

Still led by frontman/vocalist/guitarist Vaden Todd Lewis, the Toadies, like most bands with this much mileage, have cycled through several lineup changes. Aside from Lewis, the longest-serving member is drummer Mark Reznicek, who joined the band in 1991. The band itself has also endured breakups and hiatuses, but perhaps, “so help me Jesus,” that’s how Toadies maintain that same grungy ’90s angst after all these years.

Their 23-song set, including four for the encore, encompassed 10 of the 13 tracks on the new record, but evenly divided time between the new Toadies sound and old. The 1994 breakout album “Rubberneck” occupied a third of the setlist with seven songs, including the band’s highest chart-topper “Possum Kingdom.”

Still this band wears their legacy proudly on their sleeves. Their play-on song is “Gonna Fly Now,” also known as the “Rocky” theme from 1976. And they re-emerged for their encore with a cover of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “I Put a Spell on You,” from 1966. Their music, meanwhile, has a timeless quality born of years of experience and influences.

The Toadies’ tour stop at the Cleveland House of Blues was backed by openers who did their part in bridging the Nineties with the New.

In middle-billing, Local H, a duo of singer/guitarist Scott Lucas and drummer Ryan Harding, plays like a Lake Erie original in Cleveland, despite forming in Zion, Ill., about a six-hour drive away, in 1990. The band has a die-hard fan following and is a staple on the marquees of many of the area venues, including the HOB, which Lucas tongue-in-cheek says has hosted them “thousands” of times. Their biggest Billboard hit, “Bound for the Floor,” kept it “copacetic” and warmed up the crowd with a voracious singalong.

Before that, the Dallas-formed alt country “cow punk” group Vandoliers fired up the room with a rousing mix of fiddle and ripping electric guitar riffs. Fiery-redhead trans frontwoman Jenni Rose boot-stomped and thunderously plucked the strings of her electric guitar to endlessly catchy originals as well as a buzz-worthy cover of The Proclaimers’ “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles).” This is a band on the rise and one to watch.

Follow Rob McCune on Instagram (@Every_Thing_After_Photo) and listen to the “Every.Thing.After Podcast” on Spotify.

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