Just Like Heaven Delivers Pure Indie Euphoria Under the Pasadena Sun

There is something inherently special about walking around the Rose Bowl to the northern green area for Just Like Heaven. Now in its latest incarnation, the single-day gathering has perfected the art of millennial indie nostalgia without feeling stuck in amber.

First and foremost, massive credit belongs to Goldenvoice and the festival organizers for actually listening to concertgoers. August in the Arroyo Seco can be unforgiving, but this year the festival grounds were thoroughly prepped: sprawling shaded structures, abundant bottled water alongside fast-moving refill stations, and high-powered misters keeping the field cool throughout the day. Yes, it was hot, but the crowd arrived ready to match the elements with relentless devotion, showing up early and giving pure adoration to every single opener on the bill.

Our day kicked off with Tanlines, whose rhythmic, sun-bleached percussion and bright synths delivered a surprisingly heavy, dance-forward set that immediately shook off any afternoon lethargy. From there, the energy skyrocketed to pure chaos courtesy of Matt and Kim. Nobody—and I mean nobody—commands a field quite like Kim Schifino hammering her kit while standing on her bass drum and Matt Johnson orchestrating massive, joyful circle pits. Their kinetic, infectious joy felt like a shot of straight adrenaline into the veins of Pasadena.

Next came vaporwave pioneer and DIY hero George Clanton, who turned his stage into a high-drama performance art rave. Doing quintessential George Clanton antics, he threw himself into the audience, screaming anthemic hooks while locked in sweaty, ecstatic embraces with the front row. Bolstering the low-end groove and punchy live percussion behind him was Jason Wyman (drummer for TV Girl), whose crisp pocket gave Clanton’s hypnotic nostalgia-pop a massive live engine.

Needing a detour into club territory, we wandered into the legendary A Club Called Rhonda tent, where the vibes were entirely transcendent. Between overhead sprayers keeping the dance floor blissfully drenched and the relentless four-on-the-floor rhythms, Montreal producer CFCF delivered an immaculate, balearic-tinted electronic journey. The tent reached total sonic bliss when he brought out the magnetic pop visionary Cecile Believe, whose soaring, ethereal vocals cut through the heavy low-end grooves and sent the packed dance floor into pure euphoria.

Rushing back to the main lawns, we caught STRFKR, who pulled off a flawless, wall-to-wall crowd-pleaser that hit every single beloved staple in their discography. And, as always, huge love to their troupe of dancing spacemen who launched themselves into the sea of hands for some of the most iconic crowd-surfing of the day.

Even with the packed schedule, staying hydrated in the shade made the marathon effortless. We caught Chicago garage-rock heroes Twin Peaks, who drew a genuinely massive, rowdy crowd that swayed and shouted along to their gritty Midwestern hooks. We then caught the tail end of Dayglow, whose buoyant, Technicolor indie-pop charisma proves why Sloan Struble has become one of the modern torchbearers of feel-good guitar melodies.

Then came the legendary Feist. Witnessing Leslie Feist command an open-air stage remains one of the most stunning live experiences in contemporary music; her looping prowess, raw vocal dynamics, and intricate arrangements commanded pin-drop reverence from thousands of listeners at once. It was a sublime, deeply moving set that cleansed the palate before The Rapture completely blew our minds. Gabriel Andruzzi’s blaring live saxophone, Luke Jenner’s post-punk squeals, and those razor-sharp cowbell grooves brought the gritty early-2000s New York dance-punk resurgence right back to life in full force.

As twilight settled across the San Gabriel Mountains and the heat finally broke, the moment we had all circled arrived: a full, triumphant headline set from LCD Soundsystem.

Watching James Murphy lock in alongside Nancy Whang, Pat Mahoney, Tyler Pope, Al Doyle, and Nick Millhiser is to witness live rhythm section chemistry at its absolute zenith. There is no studio trickery here—just pure, analog, airtight musicianship. From the soaring emotional punch of “I Can Change” to the cathartic, roof-raising release of “Dance Yrself Clean” and the communal choir of “All My Friends,” thousands of us spent the entire seventy-five minutes locked in collective movement, grinning ear-to-ear under the field lights. It was impossible, breathtaking magic.

To follow that, we darted over to catch funk dynamos Chromeo. Dave 1 (David Macklovitch) and P-Thugg (Patrick Gemayel)—childhood best friends from Montreal who have spent over twenty years refining their sleek, talkbox-fueled electro-funk—joked on mic about having the wild task of being “sandwiched right between LCD Soundsystem and The Strokes.” They owned every second of it. Flanked by their mirrored chrome synth rigs and airtight basslines, their set was sheer, unadulterated party perfection.

Finally, The Strokes took the stage to close out the night in front of a sea of roaring fans. Frontman Julian Casablancas was in peak deadpan form, leaning heavily into his offbeat, rambling banter and quirky, dry jokes that felt like a private inside laugh for those tuned into his frequency. Behind the humor, the entire five-piece sounded remarkably tight—powered by the airtight, driving rhythm section of Fabrizio Moretti’s punchy drums and Nikolai Fraiture’s steady basslines, alongside the razor-sharp interlocking guitars of Albert Hammond Jr. and Nick Valensi. As soaring lasers cut through the Pasadena night sky, they ripped through classic after classic while the crowd sang back every single lyric at the top of their lungs, bouncing with every opening chord.

Top-tier food options, breathtaking mountain backdrops, and an organization that truly cared for its attendees made this year’s edition unforgettable. Just Like Heaven, you have our hearts—see you on the lawn next year.