Photos by Dylan Simmons
The sea breeze bit our faces as Dylan and I sprinted past parked cars and docked sailboats. My feet, still asleep from spending the afternoon sitting in traffic, throbbed in protest — but the two of us had no time to think about our journey from Los Angeles to San Diego.
It was a race against time as the opening chords of “Reality Argument TV Bleeds” blared from the Rady Shell. Concertgoers crowded around the stage to catch the opening act, Wednesday, just as the sun began to set. The Rady Shell, uniquely situated in the San Diego Bay, stood against a shifting backdrop of pinks and purples that dappled the crests of the harbor’s gentle waves. To our left, a neat line of parked sailboats bobbed lazily with the current.
Hailing from Asheville, North Carolina, Wednesday is a country-inspired alt-rock band fronted by singer/guitarist Karly Hartzman. Their latest album, Bleeds, tells an intimate story of grief, heartbreak, and bittersweet memories. Hartzman wore her hometown pride on her sleeve, echoing her markedly place-based lyricism. She donned her signature “Grimsley” trucker hat, a nod to her teenage alma mater. Her guitar was adorned with buttons, a camo strap, and a satin ribbon, exuding a kitschiness antithetical to the sleek, metropolitan silhouettes I’ve grown accustomed to.
I heard quiet gasps and excited “Aha!”s as Hartzman began the opening chords of “Elderberry Wine.” Wednesday’s Bleeds was recorded after the breakup between Karly Hartzman and guitarist MJ Lenderman, and the song tells a story of bittersweet goodbyes.
Karly drawled, “Sweet song is a long con / I drove you to the airport with the e-brake on.”
As she plucked out the gentle guitar melody, backed by the sea breeze, I was taken back to listening to the record in the summer’s dizzying heat. The song exudes a quaint intimacy, with lyrics mentioning small details you only gather after spending countless hours with someone.
The band reached the chorus: “But everybody gets along just fine / ‘Cause the champagne tastes like elderberry wine.”
Before fermentation, the raw elderberry is poisonous. “Elderberry Wine” captures the irony of the toxic berry’s transformation into a sweet wine, and how that same saccharinity disguises its deadly origin. The warmth of the melody softens the blow, but the bitterness never entirely disappears. It’s this emotional duality that Wednesday captures well, easing the listener into a quiet sorrow with Hartzman’s tender voice.
I returned to Los Angeles in the beginning of April, after ten weeks living in our nation’s capital. I left the East Coast just as spring was beginning to show her face. To welcome the return of the sun after my first real winter, I found myself listening to “Townies” on repeat. As Hartzman sang the hook in her signature twang, I watched as smiles crept on the crowd around me.
“Catchin’ up with the townies / Some are gone but most are still around”
“Townies” is about a small town rumor mill. Even as Wednesday plays into the frustration of incessant gossip, the song captures a sweet, hometown charm I’ve held onto. My time away from home has reminded me of my fondness for Los Angeles, the place where I’ve grown up and where my love has only grown. For me, “Townies” captures the familiarity of coming home, how quickly I settle into the mundanities and idiosyncrasies of the city’s heartbeat.
Hartzman took a beat before introducing her next song. She explained, “In this song, I scream for thirty seconds straight. I want to scream until I physically can’t anymore, to channel my anger and frustration with what’s happening in the world into this song.”
Cue “Bull Believer,” the pre-release single on the band’s 2023 album Rat Saw God. The song tells a tragic story of succumbing to addiction, a full eight-and-a-half minute saga that builds to Hartzman’s cathartic scream. Her roar was long, almost unsettling — a raw emotional expression that was downright impressive.
It felt like too soon for Wednesday to say goodbye, but the sun set, the temperatures dropped, and the crowd thickened. The anticipation for Ethel Cain to take the stage was palpable.
Known for her ambient Southern gothic pop, Ethel kicked off the second leg of the Willoughby Tucker Forever Tour in San Diego. The titular album, which came out last August, is a lyrical prequel to her studio debut album, Preacher’s Daughter.
A steady stream of fog rolled off the stage and into the crowd. Ethel Cain built a world of her own on the Rady Shell stage; old telephone poles and lush, green ferns evoked Floridian marshlands and Ethel’s signature Southern gothic iconography. Her silhouette emerged from the cover of fog. Sporting a pair of denim overalls, a baseball cap, and a gray hoodie, Ethel exuded modern Western Americana aesthetic.
Ethel kicked off her set with “Sunday Morning,” a track off her 2019 album Golden Age. Raised in a Southern Baptist family, Ethel’s music has always been inextricably tied to her Christian upbringing. Her father was a deacon, and she was introduced to music through her church choir. Sonically, “Sunday Morning” captures that history — Ethel’s vocals were airy, building an immersive ambiance. Lyrically, the song is a candid telling of escaping an abusive relationship, conveying her survival through quiet resilience.
Ethel transitioned straight into “American Teenager.” Coming from Preacher’s Daughter, three years after the release of Golden Age, the track showcases Ethel’s pop prowess. As she danced around on stage, Ethel sang about leaning on your neighbor, on high school memories, on loss and the American Dream. Despite the sonic differences between the two acts, Ethel’s music thematically complemented Wednesday’s.
On her third song, Ethel brought back us to her current era: Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You. The album has a noticeable country influence, both in the sound and the storytelling.
“Nettles” builds the world of Ethel and Willoughby, two characters that carry trauma from growing up in unsupportive homes. In eight minutes, Ethel unpacks a story about two children who grow up too fast, their rush into adulthood causing them to forgo the safety afforded to them as children.
The rest of the night immersed the crowd into the world of Willoughby Tucker — one marked by hometown ambivalence, heartbreak, desperation, and teenage longing. Ethel effortlessly brought an emotional range — the audience went from swaying together in a quiet reverence to jumping and dancing.
After a night spellbound by Ethel’s narrative universe, the crowd slowly filed out of the Rady Shell. The harbor lights shimmered against the dark water. Still carrying the echoes of the night with us, Dylan and I trekked through the crisp air, bracing ourselves for the trek back north to Los Angeles.
Check out Wednesday and Ethel Cain’s latest releases!
