I had to get to Dodger Stadium by 1 p.m. on Saturday. The Zeeloopers set was not to be missed.
The first time I saw him perform, he was on top of a table at a Dave & Buster’s this past July. Zack Fox was DJing a party called Rave & Buster’s alongside Westside Ty, Sushi Ceej, and Black Noi$e — four men largely responsible for my social life in Los Angeles.
When I arrived at his stage at Camp Flog Gnaw Carnival, he was donning gold under-eye patches. Fashionable, yes, but also great for deep hydration and reducing dryness and fine lines. It was a choice, one that I liked. It was great to be back.
This was my second Flog Gnaw. My first time, last year, I walked in and was stunned by the outfits. Los Angeles is not a city built off of style, so the threads were inspirational, and I couldn’t stop staring.
Walking around this year, there were some exceptional looks, but most people were dressed exceedingly average. Walking up to one outstanding couple, I chatted them up about their matching fit. “It’s our first time, can you tell?” There was a confidence there that I admired — they weren’t trying to impress anyone; this was just who they were. I didn’t know what that meant for Flog Gnaw 2025, but I had my eyes open.
My first attendance in 2024 was primarily dedicated to writing a profile on Tyler, The Creator, the festival’s founder and de facto host. He was my focus, but I couldn’t help but be distracted by all the festival had to offer. There was a gorgeous Faye Webster set, Erykah Badu and Madlib doing a MF Doom profile, and of course Ma$e, a man who delighted the millennial fanbase that walked across the illuminated parking lot to hear one of Harlem’s finest.
This year’s Flog Gnaw was supposed to have taken place the previous weekend. But a real rain came through, causing a postponement. Certain acts were swapped out, and assuredly some of the fans changed, but the energy was electric, from the carnival games to the crowds.
My energy level, on the other hand, was drastically diminished. For years, there was no better way to spend 48 to 72 hours than at a music festival. I covered both Coachella and SXSW three times in my 20s, Essence Fest twice, and spent a handful of years at Lollapaloozas, Pitchforks, Trillectros.
My 38-year-old ass spent a significant amount of time on Saturday looking for places to sit. There was no need to push to the front row; I just wanted the music. After standing with friends, I eventually leaned against a food cart for the remainder of the Geese set. White people in my life had been screaming about them for months, and they were correct. After the sun set, I found a side-stage seat for Paris Texas, a rap group that had graduated from Daytime Coachella to a nighttime set in Los Angeles. During Kali Uchis’ performance, a patch of turf became my place to go horizontal, lying down a true gift six hours in.
My evening’s movements were set, planned even before I arrived: Earl Sweatshirt at 7, Tyler at 8, Clipse at 9, and Childish Gambino at 10.
Watching Earl with photographer Alexis Gross, herself a longtime Flog Gnaw attendee, we both noted that it was feeling a bit like Unc Fest in the best way possible. The performers my age — a group of artists I’d been watching and covering and supporting and thinking about for a decade — were not only aging well, but were making getting older seem cool. Our Gen X elders largely seem stuck in their 20s, but the thirtysomethings are embracing maturity.
It felt right, given a crowd that was largely in their teens and 20s. I loved watching people not know the words as we rapped every word of “Keys Open Doors” and “Grindin,” marveling at how great these two men sounded. In the past, I may have thought, “Why don’t you know this?” in the direction of the youth. But now it’s more, “You’re gonna want to go home and learn this verse.”
We’re passing down recipes.
Once Donald Glover hit the stage, I was running around looking for a phone charger. Ten hours didn’t just have my lower back stressed, my phone was in the afterlife. The people working at a noodle hut let me leave my phone on a charger for 10 minutes while I ran out to hear Glover perform his best song, “Me and Your Mama.”
Then he told the crowd that in 2024, he had a stroke that left him with a hole in his heart.
The news stopped me in my tracks, both his reality and the way he was sharing it. We like to put our stars on a pedestal, but our bodies don’t care about fame or riches. My peers are my heroes so I was in complete awe of what he was giving on stage. It was a message we all needed, especially those of us trying to figure out what fun looks like in this next phase: that the age of invincibility does end. This past April, I had a health scare that has resulted in a lifetime of future maintenance and adjustments, medicine and checkups. And all day, I was in my head about not being able to do a festival with the same vigor.
After Glover finished sharing, continuing into a set filled with requests from fans, I had a new thought. I might never cover a music festival again. Maybe it was a thing I did once, and now it’s time for something new. Entering a new phase can be hard, especially when success comes from your initial offering. But that’s much of what Flog Gnaw represented, artists wanting to evolve and believing their fans would come on the journey alongside them.
I left Dodger Stadium wondering if I’d even come back tomorrow. But after a Sunday morning massage, a good breakfast, and a much later start, I returned in time for the Zack Fox DJ set.
They gave him 90 minutes, and the result was a black barbeque on stage. Zack’s friends were up with him, dancing and popping and dropping and sliding and praising, while he played house music from behind a grill, wearing socks with sandals and an Atlanta Falcons apron, all in front of an image displaying “Zack’s Big Nasty BBQ and Booty Shake.”
And every time he said “fuck ICE,” the crowd, many of whom were wearing shirts that said “fuck ICE,” erupted. I high-fived a few, wanting them to know that even if this event was a bit of a fashion show, standing for something was a look in itself. He ended his set with gospel, Zack a good southern boy from Atlanta. Once “In The Sanctuary” by The Kirk Carr Singers blared, I started jumping up and down, right hand raised. Similar reactions were happening among clumps of black folks throughout the crowd.
Even though there were acts that I loved, and might have stayed for, I knew this where my coverage ended. Music festivals teach you that you can’t have it all, and my truth would be watching Tyler and A$AP Rocky perform “Who Dat Boy” on my television screen. But that was okay, because I’d just been replenished. Zack’s Big Nasty BBQ and Booty Shake had brought me back to life. I wasn’t on stage, but I felt like I was. And it’s what I needed, proof that I still loved and needed these spaces, ones dedicated to the celebration of people and music.
Walking out, I picked up some hibachi for my friend working in the merch tent, and then caught the end of Doechii and the beginning of Glorilla. It wasn’t for the music, which I love. There was a smile I hoped to see from both women, once they broke from the performance and took in the love from their respective crowds.
Once the teeth were flashed, I was out. As I descended out of the gates, I chatted up a woman who had never missed a Flog Gnaw. Eleven years in a row. She was dressed like someone out on a Sunday in Los Angeles — could have been at a flea market, could have been at a taco truck, could have been at a museum.
I asked her why she kept coming back. “This is what I do,” she replied. For some, it was their moment to step out and be seen. But for this young woman, this was a weekend of fellowship. I felt the exact same way. And I was excited to see her next year.
