All Things Go... to Hell?
All Things Go is known as the premiere DC festival, at least here at AU. The lineup just dropped this week, and it’s killer.
Last year was fantastic, but there were major road bumps that make me pretty terrified for this upcoming year.
I’ve gone to ATG for the past two years and have had amazing times, but the jump from the first year to the second was drastic, and that was mainly because of Chappell Roan. Don’t get me wrong, so many other incredible artists were there too. Things just got out of hand quickly. People were buying festival tickets JUST to see her. I get loving an artist, but that type of bandwagon-appeal is dangerous. People were reselling their Sunday tickets for as much as one thousand dollars at one point. $1,000. For one day. In Maryland.
Then, just a few days before Roan was meant to perform, she announced she wouldn’t be playing. I was in my Lesbian Cultures Then and Now class when the news broke. Someone announced Chappell canceled just as the class had ended, and the noise from the collective gasp of the students and professor is something I’ll remember for the rest of my life. It was a once-in-a-lifetime blend of shock, heartbreak, and perfectly synchronized gay panic. And definitely not the good kind of gay panic.
All the people who had flown from all over the country just to see Chappell Roan had their little dreams snatched out of their hands. To be honest, I don’t know what evil is in me, but I was filled with joy. These people had taken tickets from me and other actual fans of the full lineup. I was counting down the minutes until I could see Laufey, Hozier, Remi Wolf, Holly Humberstone, and Renee Rapp, all of whom actually showed up, by the way. Yes, I ended up paying way too much for my resale ticket after scalpers somehow acquired more tickets than Ticketmaster’s own servers. But honestly? I’m grateful Roan didn’t try to make up for her cancellation this year. That debt is not forgiven, partially because it put the festival on the map, which was something that I kinda hoped we could gatekeep for a few more years.
Last year, it was also a lot for All Things Go to expand and include a second festival in New York… on the exact same weekend. It was a bold move and one they absolutely did not have the infrastructure to pull off. Artists were split between cities with set times that were way too close for comfort. Seriously, whose idea was it to end The Japanese House at Chrysalis and start MUNA immediately at the Pavilion? So much for lesbopalooza, it was just a sapphic stampede. Whatsmore, communication was, at best, optimistic guesswork.
What’s wild is that ATG still tries to brand itself as an indie, hand-curated experience. Sure, the lineups feel like they’re built by someone with a pretty gay Spotify Wrapped and a dream, but when the execution is more confusing than a bicurious girl in her first sapphic situationship, it starts to fall apart. Curation isn’t just vibes, it’s logistics.
This year, the logistics aspects are already frightening me. For example, the Boomfy’s Besties pass is $50. You do get early entry with the Besties Pass, which, to be fair, is the one thing that almost makes it worth it. Almost. You’re let in an hour before the rest of the crowd, which means you can either:
Sprint down to the lawn and throw down your blanket like it’s the Berlin Wall of personal space, or
Speed-walk to the Pavilion to stake your claim before someone else’s huge tote of merch does it first.
Still, it’s wild that the pass doesn’t come with even a sticker. Not even a sad little lanyard to say “I gave this company $50 to enter early and emotionally compete for turf with strangers.” Yes, I bought the pass again this year.
This time around getting my ticket, I didn’t even have to fight. I got my Pavilion seat before the Ticketmaster war, and took a chance with blind sapphic faith, and for once, it didn’t lead me astray. The Pavilion seat was mine before the lineup even dropped. Finally, a gamble that didn’t end in heartbreak or a long-distance situationship with someone who “just isn’t sure if she wants to stay in D.C.” While others are out there tripping over each other trying to recreate the vibe of Woodstock with a Hydroflask and their depression mixing with sun-sickness, I’ll be under a roof, in a chair, at least for the majority of the festival.
But that early entry is a full-contact sport. It’s every Bestie for themselves. I’ve seen people take off in that field like it’s the Boston Marathon but with more glitter and enough antidepressants to power a Women, Gender, & Sexuality Studies class (shoutout to my minor!). Someone last year literally dropped their vape mid-sprint, looked at it, and kept going. That’s the level of intensity we’re dealing with. Festival Darwinism at its finest.
I’ll be complaining about the now roughly $700 on a credit line that I had to open just for the festival until September comes. I am now carrying festival debt on top of student loan debt, a gorgeous double helix of poor decision-making and higher education. The gay agenda is alive, and it is fiscally irresponsible.
Last year, my ticket got me basically barricade for Hozier, and he ended up taking my lesbian flag and putting it on the stage, right on top of the mic stand. In that moment, I swear I ascended. Lesbian Jesus himself basically blessed my flag, exalted by the stage lights and the collective power of every gay in a 500-foot radius. He wrapped it around the mic stand like it belonged there, like it always had. It was one of those rare, divine moments where everything in the universe aligns: the music swells, the crowd gasps, and your lesbian flag gets canonized live on stage.
So yeah, I’m broke. That doesn’t matter anyway! Others may have their savings or stocks (for now, that is), but I have a relic of lesbian validation that could power a small country.
With so many amazing artists this year, I know y’all need to be prepared for as many artists as you can. I’ve created a rec playlist, to make sure that everyone knows the best songs. It goes by day, following the order of the poster. There are so many smaller artists who are great for this festival, and I’ve tried to highlight them in this playlist. I’ll even be discovering some of the smaller artists for myself over the next few months, and expect that you will as well. Anyway, go through my rec playlist, you won’t regret it.
All Things Go is chaotic, overpriced, occasionally muddy, and borderline cursed, but it’s also a masterclass in queer joy, emotional unraveling, and indie spiritual warfare. I’ll be there, dehydrated, broke, and screaming, as nature intended.