In 2024, the nonprofit organization Book More Women found that women made up just 7.4 percent of the individual musicians on that year’s Riot Fest lineup, excluding touring members. The figure unsurprisingly reflects a larger gender disparity within the historically male-dominated alternative music scene.
That makes Riot Fest’s 2026 lineup notable for a bittersweet reason: having substantial female representation in an alternative music festival should not be newsworthy. Yet, given how historically underrepresented women have been in alternative music, this year’s lineup offers an interesting opportunity to look at how their presence in the scene has evolved.
Despite the many obstacles that remain, female artists continue to push against expectations and limitations that have often defined their place within the scene. Beyond the question of belonging, there’s more room to experiment, take risks, and define their art on their own terms. Below are six acts which showcased that breadth over the weekend.
Bratmobile
Bratmobile, a punk band from Olympia, Washington, was formed in 1991 by vocalist Allison Wolfe and drummer Molly Neuman, with guitarist Erin Smith joining shortly after. The band is considered one of the first-generation “riot grrrl” bands, an underground feminist punk movement and subculture also associated with bands like Bikini Kill and Le Tigre.
As members of the band and their stage tech did a quick check of their gear, an attendee excitedly tried to get Smith’s attention from the barricade. “Erinnnnn!” the woman screamed. “Who’s there?” Smith replied, raising her hand to her brow as she squinted to get a better look. Once she spotted the blonde woman in a Guttermouth shirt and trucker hat, buzzing with energy, Smith responded with an enthusiastic “Hiiiiii!” as the fan continued to jump up and down with excitement.
Overall, a palpable sense of excitement was present throughout the crowd. The enthusiasm was understandable, especially for those who had never seen Bratmobile perform live. The band famously broke up on stage in New York City in 1994, just three years after its inception. After a brief reunion in 1999, they went on an extended hiatus in 2002. While the members pursued other creative projects, they did not play another public show together for 21 years. They returned to the stage at Oakland’s Mosswood Meltdown in 2023, an annual festival celebrating underground punk, garage, and riot grrrl music.
The band opened their set with “Love Thing,” a confrontational song that condemns the sexual exploitation of young women. Wolfe—dressed in a sparkly red sequined dress, matching red sneakers, and red bows in her hair—entered the stage with a cartwheel and continued hitting animated and expressive poses as she sang the lyrics, “Would die to hate you / But it’s a love thing.” For a band that has spent the better part of the last 35 years off the stage, their performance showed a level of stamina and cohesion that made it hard to imagine they had ever stopped.
Bratmobile’s setlist was largely dominated by their 1993 album Pottymouth, which explores toxic relationship dynamics, the reclamation of girlhood, and the repudiation of the male gaze, themes which fit squarely within the band’s feminist politics and rejection of the male-dominated culture of punk rock. “This one is about riot grrrl sisterhood!” Wolfe exclaimed before they dove into “Bitch Theme.”
Between songs, Wolfe also tenderly noted that the band’s sets this year are dedicated to honoring the memory of Jennifer Finch, the longtime bassist of punk rock band L7, who passed away earlier this year. Though brief, the heartfelt acknowledgment was an intimate moment in the otherwise high-energy set.
Throughout the performance, a woman in a dress identical to Wolfe’s could be seen at the side of the stage, singing along to some of the lyrics. With two songs left in the set, Wolfe introduced her as her twin sister Sydney and invited her to come on stage. “It’s a family affair!” she exclaimed. Wolfe’s sister joined in for “Where Eagles Dare,” singing and dancing around the stage. The set closed with a cover of The Runaways’s “Cherry Bomb,” which saw girls and women of all ages jumping around in the crowd as they chanted the famous lyrics, “Hello Daddy, hello, Mom / I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.”
Elizabeth Stokes (The Beths)
Hailing all the way from New Zealand, The Beths formed more than a decade ago after several of its members met while studying jazz at the University of Auckland. Since then, they have toured as the opening act for bands like Alvvays, The National, and Death Cab for Cutie. In 2018, Stokes quit her day job as a trumpet instructor to tour full-time, with the band releasing their album Future Me Hates Me later that same year. But it was their 2025 album Straight Line Was a Lie which seemingly catapulted the quartet to a new level of mainstream visibility.
The band has a lovely ritual of introducing one another onstage, and it was bassist Benjamin Sinclair who introduced Stokes, saying, “Leading us along, the golden fingers and letters. Elizabeth Stokes on the guitar and voice!”
What a voice. As icy rain continued to pour down on Sunday, Stokes’s crystal-clear vocals projected across the field with remarkable clarity, each note clean, precise, and perfectly pitched. Interestingly, while singing weakens some people’s accents, Stokes’s Kiwi accent remains distinct in her singing, adding unmistakable character to her pristine vocals.
Combined with the band’s ’90s-inspired pop rock melodies, the performance felt like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise dreary Sunday. This sentiment was shared by fans who, even after hours of standing in the rain, appeared on the large screens beside the stage jumping and dancing, some bundled in wrinkled rain ponchos, others completely soaked from head to toe.
After the upbeat “Expert in a Dying Field” came to an end, Sinclair praised the crowd for identifying the “one song” in their catalog that could support a circle pit, a practice where fans open up a space in the middle of the crowd and energetically run around in a circle. The song’s lyrics explore the heavy realization that all the deep knowledge you gain about someone during a relationship cannot simply be unlearned after a breakup. Stokes then remarked, “We haven’t had many circle pits in our entire career, so we feel very honored.”
She introduced their next song as a “love song” before adding, “If you could, keep circle pitting for this one even though it’s slow.” Fulfilling her request, the circle pit continued, but the slower tempo of “Jump Rope Gazers” transformed the usually chaotic running into something closer to a conga line, with fans bouncing around in formation, later clapping their hands overhead to the rhythm.
Vana
The smaller stages at a festival often serve as launching pads for up-and-coming artists, with many eventually making their way up the bill. But every so often, an artist comes along who is clearly ready for the main stage. Vana certainly feels like one of those artists.
The Saturday afternoon sets were pushed earlier due to concerns about an oncoming storm. And when you’re in a park with tens of thousands of other people, cell reception becomes basically nonexistent. Suddenly, one of the photo pit managers held out his phone with an updated schedule that showed I had less than 15 minutes after photographing Descendents to sprint across the grounds for Vana, an artist I had never listened to or seen live but who was highly recommended by a friend.
Tucked away in a corner past the Ferris wheel, Radical Stage—the smallest and shortest stage on the grounds—was packed to the brim with fans anxiously awaiting Vana’s set. On stage, a very stressed-out crew member repeatedly picked up the red microphone that had been laid out and fidgeted with it. The scheduled 5 p.m. start time came and went, and the worst was confirmed: her mic wasn’t working.
Five minutes passed. “Come on!” an exasperated fan at the barricade yelled. “How long is her set?” the girl next to her asked. “Only 30 minutes! That’s why I’m annoyed. We already lost an entire song!” More than one, probably, I thought to myself.
But suddenly, the sound of a beating heart came on the speakers, quickly morphing into an organ-heavy, macabre chorus as a faceless figure wearing a red cloak and antlers appeared on the screen. Vana’s guitarist led the group, wearing a black fencing-style mask. Behind him, Vana herself walked in with both arms extended in a wave, followed by the rest of her masked band.
Wearing a theatrical gothic-punk outfit complete with a Victorian-inspired corset, the candy apple–red color of her dress matched her hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail. Glitter smeared across her cheeks. At first glance, the New Zealand-based artist, whose real name is Yvonne Winckel, looked like a gothic doll.
The opening lines to “Pray” were sung in an angelic voice; high, sweet, and delicate. “Yeah, you better pray to God / That I get what I want / Yeah, the rapture has begun / Don’t you wanna fall to your knees? / Make you say ‘Pretty please.’” Then, she screamed.
“I’m a motherfucking god!” came out of her as a full-throated shriek. At that point, I immediately understood why my friend had recommended this set. It’s not every day that you see a solo artist, whose clean, breathy vocals that sound almost ethereal unleash screams worthy of a seasoned metal performer.
“Do you mind if we get a little emo? I wanna see you crying or some shit!” she said as she launched into her second song, titled “In Your Name.” For “Bleeding Heart,” she interrupted to say, “Okay, Riot Fest, do you know what a wall of death is?” before instructing the crowd to split down the middle, with fans choosing either the left or right side. From afar, it looked like Moses parting the Red Sea. When she gave the signal, both sides charged toward each other, colliding in the center as the song hit its breakdown.
The reduced 25-minute set only allowed her to play six songs, but she did so with charm and confidence. As I watched the set, I stood next to a fan with green hair and tooth gems who was singing every word. In between songs, I turned to her and said, “Wow, she’s so good! I love the music and the look!”
“Yes!” she said, excitedly turning to me. “She’s even got vampire fangs on!” I swung my camera up from its crossbody strap and zoomed in on one of the photos. Sure enough, her cosmetic semi-permanent fangs poked from her lips as she smiled, mirroring the two spike-shaped nostril studs on either side of her nose.
As the last song ended, she sweetly bid farewell to the crowd in her high-pitched speaking voice, saying, “My name is Vana—thank you so much for coming out today!”
On my way out of the crowd, a passerby stopped me and asked who the performer was. After I told him Vana’s name, he pulled up the festival schedule on his phone to find her, remarking how impressive she sounded and eager to listen to more of her music later.
Jess Bowen
“One more time, that’s Jess Bowen from The Summer Set. Make some fucking noise!” Sean Foreman, one of the two vocalists of Colorado electronic music act 3OH!3 screamed into the microphone as he pointed toward the drums, where Bowen sat grinning ear to ear. She first joined the act back in Warped Tour 2018 as their touring drummer.
Officially, only Foreman and fellow vocalist Nathaniel Motte make up the act’s lineup, with the duo sometimes performing only with prerecorded backing tracks. For larger festivals and tours, however, they bring along a guitarist and drummer to join them on stage. Given the high-energy, party-like feel of their sets, bringing one of the most powerful drummers in pop rock on the road feels decidedly intentional, as Bowen’s strong yet playful spirit perfectly complements their onstage dynamic.
A cloudy mid-afternoon set made 3OH!3’s humorous on-screen graphics, which incorporate the duo’s name into familiar logos and pop references, stand out against the grey skies. Even amid a visually busy stage, the minute Bowen sat behind her kit she stood out. An undeniably heavy-hitting drummer, she delivers a level of energy and emotion that will leave her audience wanting to buy tickets to see any artists she performs with. That was the case for me—I’ve gone to five shows of artists that I didn’t know, just to watch her play.
As the side screens switched from footage of the crowd to the band, the camera caught Bowen extending her left arm with her drumstick to match Foreman and Motte’s raised arms during the “heys!” in their 2010 hit “Double Vision.” That same physical presence continued throughout the set, as her brown curls flew up and crashed back down while she headbanged to musical punches, like those in the chorus of “RICHMAN” and the intro to “IMNOTYOURBOYFRIENDBABY.”
But perhaps what stood out most was her genuine smile, as she absolutely beamed with joy during most of the performance. Those who have had the pleasure of watching Bowen on the road with artists like Tessa Violet and Alice Glass, as well as with her own band, know that her enthusiasm is genuine and follows her no matter who she’s performing with.
As the act neared the end of its set, Bowen tied her curls up in a bun while Foreman and Motte set up “DONTTRUSTME” with jokes and stage banter before slowly diving into the intro. Bowen calmly took a sip of water, but just seconds later, Foreman sang the famous lyric, “You tell your boyfriend, if he says he’s got beef / That I’m a vegetarian and I ain’t fucking scared of him!” and it was as if someone had flipped a switch. She launched into the chorus headbanging while hitting her tom drums with such sheer force that you would have wondered how her sticks didn’t break, as she completely surrendered to the music.
A pinned post on Bowen’s Instagram shows a picture of her younger self with the caption “in your teens people will tell you that drumming isn’t a real career path for a girl,” before cutting to a video montage of her drumming in front of massive crowds as the words switch to “it’s very important you don’t listen to them.”
Deanna Belos (Sincere Engineer)
Chicago native Deanna Belos is the lead vocalist, primary songwriter, and guitarist for Sincere Engineer, an act that started as a solo project and later evolved into a full punk rock band.
The band took the Roots stage on Sunday, beginning hours after its anticipated set time due to a weather delay that pushed doors back by three hours and saw two earlier acts cut from the stage. Gracious and upbeat, Belos thanked the crowd for braving the rain to see the set and remarked that she had never played a show in a raincoat and rain boots before.
Seeing how commanding she appeared holding an electric guitar and leading the quartet through gritty songs about anxiety-induced inhibition, it’s somewhat strange to remember that she got her start as a folk punk artist playing mostly acoustic.
By the time the much-anticipated “Corn Dog Sonnet No. 7” rolled around, Belos announced, much to the surprise and slight disappointment of those who had run straight to the barricade to camp for the band when doors opened, that the DoorDash food area was giving away free corn dogs in honor of the band. “The big ones!” she exclaimed. The deep-fried snack has been enthusiastically adopted by the fans as a symbol for Sincere Engineer, with some even getting it tattooed.
At first, one lone corn dog went up in the crowd, but as the song got going, several corn dogs were raised and waved around by fans as she sang: “I had a corn dog / I fell asleep / I feel weird now / I had a bad dream.” When the mosh pit opened up, fans began running around with their corn dogs held up in the air.
“Watch the sticks!” she said.
In between songs, the same cheeky humor that goes along with naming a deeply sad breakup song after a fast-food staple came out in her stage banter.
“Do I look like Oasis in this jacket?”
“Which one?” a band member quipped.
“Like both of them?” she answered.
Before “Cooler,” Belos continued chatting with the crowd as if everyone present were a friend. In her raspy, gravelly voice she proudly remarked: “We’re from here! Has anyone seen us before?” The question was met with a wave of cheers. “Is it still raining over there?” she asked the audience. “A little bit? What a morning! Hell yeah!” Catching herself as she noticed that the rest of the band was ready to start the song, she quickly backtracked. “Alright, sorry, sorry,” she said with a chuckle.
The audience widely embraced and reciprocated her sense of humor and down-to-earth personality. During the set, one fan entered the circle pit during “Overbite” in an inflatable T-Rex costume, while another crowd-surfed dressed like a hot dog.
Alanis Morissette
Those of us who grew up in the ’90s and early 2000s did so with an irrational fear of quicksand, a phenomenon fueled by decades of adventure movies and TV shows that portrayed the substance as a major hazard. From Lawrence of Arabia to The Princess Bride and even game shows like Legends of the Hidden Temple, the concept of sinking into a pit of wet, unstable sediment seemed like one of the major threats of the world. And yet, I never truly understood the fuss until Sunday at Riot Fest 2026.
Except this wasn’t sand. It was mud—enough mud to suction shoes off festival attendees’ feet, rip their soles off, and unearth 10-inch-long earthworms littered across the grounds.
After hours in the rain, I entered a mental tug-of-war over whether I would be able to make it out of Douglas Park if I ventured back into the mud pits surrounding the Roots stage for the so-called “Queen of Alt-Rock Angst.” But after 35 minutes spent slowly waddling towards the stage, I made it to the fifth row. Despite the sore calves and a pair of shoes destined for the trashcan outside my apartment building, the minute the lights dimmed, it was as if nothing else mattered.
The set opened with a video that showed Morissette running through pastel hues, her iconic long hair flowing in the wind. Then, it cut to a montage of several of her career milestones, from magazine covers to talk show appearances and other artists talking about her in interviews. “She’s one of the main reasons why I’m a songwriter,” Kelly Clarkson said. “She’s a female artist that transcended gender,” American filmmaker and actor Kevin Smith added, “Where dudes can be like, I feel the same way!”
Smith was onto something. While the crowd drew fans of different ages and genders, plenty of men who had grown up with Morissette’s music were front and center, with one sharing his excitement with those around him, emphasizing that seeing her was “a bucket list item” he’d been wanting to tick off.
The nearly three-minute-long introduction continued, feeling less like a concert opener and more like a celebration of how much ground Morissette has covered during her career, pushing barriers as she went along. “I think anger gets a bad rep because it’s often perceived to be this destructive acting out, but anger itself moves worlds,” she said in a clip. Another showed footage from an interview at the Wisdom 2.0 conference where she said, “My sense is if we’re gonna err on the side of matriarchy [or] patriarchy, err on matriarchy, because matriarchy takes care of everybody.” That quote drew a wave of cheers from the crowd.
As the montage concluded, her band settled into position before the lights went off, and a full moon began to rise on the screen. While a dragged-out synthesizer note played, her voice came on the speakers, singing the intro to “Hand in My Pocket,” before she stepped into view. As the famous lyric “And what it all comes down to / Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine” rang through the field, she emerged from stage left wearing shiny, patterned pants and a tunic-like top.
Morissette then immediately began walking with impressive speed from one side of the stage to the other, over and over again, as she performed. As she turned at each end of the stage, her loose curls dramatically flew behind her.
“Right Through You” was up next, and as Morissette continued to trot across the stage, black and white images with written statistics flashed on the screen behind her: “Not a single country in the world has achieved gender equality”; “81% of women reported some form of sexual harassment in their lifetime”; “Every 10 minutes an adolescent girl dies as a result of violence.” The visuals matched the confrontational nature of the song, which addresses the music industry’s tendency to exploit and objectify female artists.
After what looked like 10,000 steps walked in less than 10 minutes, she finally took a break to excitedly greet the crowd. “How you doin’?” she grinned as she settled at a stationary mic to perform “Hands Clean,” donning a glittery electric guitar. As she sang, she occasionally arched away from the microphone, throwing her head back as she sustained the song’s high notes with the force of a hard rock or metal vocalist.
Throughout the set, she wore an ever-present smile, so big and genuine that I can only assume her cheeks hurt afterward. “You Learn” saw one of the few breaks from her smile as she began twirling across the stage during the instrumental solo for a good 40 seconds. Behind her, multiple silhouettes of herself in different colors also twirled freely on the screen. She then dropped to the floor and sang the last notes on her knees, her hair covering her face as she bent forward.
This playful spirit was also prominent during her performance of the hit single “Ironic,” from the 1995 album Jagged Little Pill. Resuming her march from one side of the stage to the other, she cheekily altered one of the song’s most iconic lines, replacing the word “wife” with “husband.” “It’s like meeting the man of my dreams / And then meeting his beautiful husband,” she sang. The unexpected switch drew a wave of cheers and chuckles from the crowd before the audience roared in unison, “It’s like rain on your weddin’ day.”
Morissette was completely comfortable making herself the visual subject of her show, from the introduction to the twirling silhouettes, to pages of handwritten lyrics projected during “All I Really Want.” For most of the show, this was Morrisette’s world, and the audience became fully immersed in it. But as she ended with “Thank U,” the focus shifted completely to the audience which now appeared on the giant screen behind her. The camera panned through the crowd, zooming in on fans forming hearts and peace signs with their hands, a fan crying as she sang along, and several smiling faces.
While one lineup in one of the biggest alternative festivals in North America can’t erase decades of gender disparity, Riot Fest 2026 gave us a glimpse into what female representation can look like beyond the numbers: a range of artists spanning generations, genres, roles, and approaches to their performances. From riot grrrl pioneers Bratmobile to artists like Alanis Morissette who expanded the depiction of female emotion in alternative music, to newer artists like Vana, pairing delicate, clean vocals with guttural metal screams. Being part of the scene without being treated as an exception to it creates room for artists to simply be artists.
