Girl Power, Heat Stroke and Capitalism: Surviving Daisy Chain Fields

By Evelyn McDonnell, Columnist

During Olivia Rodrigo’s closing set at Daisy Chain Fields, the herstoric festival she founded that packed an overheated 45,000 people into the Great Park in Irvine on August 30, she led the crowd of predominantly female fans in two collective actions. First, she asked us to hug a woman we came to the show with and tell them, “I love you.” Next, she asked us to think about something that really pissed us off, then scream. The resulting decibels may have ripped a tear in the Orange Curtain.

Rodrigo and her army didn’t just give lip service to ’90s slogans “girl love” and “girl power.” They offered concrete actions that ranged from hugs and screams to petitions and cash. The festival raised a remarkable $20 million for 10 organizations that support women’s healthcare, rights and survival. In set after set, artists sang about rebel girls (Bikini Kill) and ladies who run the world (Doechii) – i.e. the estimated 40,000 females in the audience with their flower tiaras, octopus tattoos and pink hair. There were declarations and demonstrations of unity with each other, all women and the LGBTQ community that, given the political climate and location, were much more than lip service. I was at the first Lilith Fair, the first Ladyfest, the first mosh pit at the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival, and more shows by women musicians than I can keep track of. Hearing tens of thousands of voices ― particularly the teens and tweens all around me ― singing about “where boys and girls can all be queens every single day” (Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club”) was just one of many moments that brought this old-timer to tears.

Rodrigo announced that this would not be the last Daisy Chain Fields. Fantastic! But I have some notes for her.

Daisy Chain Fields made herstory. Unfortunately, it also failed to provide a safe, equitable environment for its multi-generational audience. The sweltering heat that not even a world-changer like Rodrigo can control was a clear culprit. But many serious, life-threatening organizational failures demonstrated, at best, bad planning, and at worst, a disregard for exactly the people the festival was supposed to serve. Daisy Chain became an endurance test that I saw too many people around me fail. It’s a bad sign when the endless lines include those to the medical tent.

There were 40-minute lines to the hydration station, hour-long lines standing in 95-degree weather to buy food (plus another hour for it to be ready). The shortest lines were to the bathrooms, because we were so dehydrated our bodies were absorbing our pee. People crowded into the too-few shady spots like pilgrims in the desert. At home during this heat wave, I’ve been battling ants who keep pouring into every crevice of my kitchen looking for water. Great Park looked like that, but the ants were people.

As a music critic for four decades, I’ve been to a LOT of festivals: Coachella, Bonnaroo, Lollapalooza, Ultra, etc. But I’ve rarely seen so many people in various states of collapse. As other attendees have said, we were in survival mode.

Some of us more than others. Those who paid even more than $250 for VIP tickets got shade, seats and quick access to food booths. My friends and I – Gen Z and Gen X – stared hungrily at them as we gnawed the pretzels that only took a half hour to buy.

Daisy Chain Fields struck a powerful blow at patriarchy, but it did shit against capitalism.

I understand that the concert industry has built its economic model on an absurdly stratified class system. I did the same plebeian shuffle out of the benches section of the Hollywood Bowl at the (excellent) David Byrne show the previous night. But there’s no excuse for logistics that didn’t provide enough shade, food, water, parking and transportation to an audience whose attendance figures were known well in advance (tickets sold out the day they went on sale). Well, the excuse is greed. DCF donated its profits to good causes, and its artists played for free. But someone was making money by overcrowding the facility. The sheer number of people, coupled with the heat, made it impossible to enjoy all the great activities, artwork and music Rodrigo and her crew brought together. It was too difficult to travel between the two stages, for instance, so I missed Garbage, Bikini Kill, the Breeders and everyone but Die Spitz at the Marigold stage. I saw almost none of the art, though I did enjoy the quotes and historic moments painted on the pathways.

The punk and feminist role models for DCF (Riot Grrrl, Michigyn, Ladyfest, etc.) were anti-capitalist. They saw hierarchical structures as entwined, so prices were cheap and access equal. I wasn’t expecting Pussystock from the one-time Disney princess (whose music I love). But I did expect more concern and intervention for the audience from the performers on stage and the organizers behind the scenes.

I haven’t even mentioned the parking and transportation nightmare. Our shuttle bus got lost on the way to the venue and wound up driving us through the ghostly, sanitized developments of Irvine for an hour. Afterward, it took two and a half hours to get from the park to the parking lot at OCVIBE, most of it in a Disneyland-esque winding waiting line with no food and drinks in sight. We paid $50 for these wild rides. By 1 a.m., we were famished, dehydrated, and exhausted – and just getting to our car. If we had gotten to hear and see more, I might not be complaining. But my friend wishes she could buy an “I survived Daisy Chain Fields” T-shirt.

Fortunately, the problems offstage didn’t manifest onstage. Sets ran excellently: on time (albeit short), clear sound, killer visuals. Everyone I saw nailed it: Santigold and her dancers, Mitski and her grunge band, Chappell Roan with her cut-out outfit and giant voice, Rodrigo with her punk-pop, and guests Sarah McLachlan, Alanis Morissette, and Stevie Nicks (but sadly no Karen O). My favorite set was Doechii’s psycho swamp rap. The Florida woman could handle the heat, even though she was painted entirely in pink.

I hugged my girlfriends and enjoyed the scream therapy. But I’m afraid that, instead of purging the memory of all those times some jerk grabbed our ass in a concert crowd (at least that wasn’t a problem at Daisy Chain), too many of us may have been screaming out of hunger and thirst.

Ladies First: Daisy Chain Fields kicked off Brat Autumn in LA

Daisy Chain Fields brought together a killer-queen lineup of artists of different genres and generations, united by gender. But it’s far from the only great estrogen-powered show in the Southland in the upcoming months. Two women who were among the first to bust through hip-hop’s glass ceiling are playing the Hollywood Bowl (Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill). The OG (original grrrl) bands of Revolution Girl Style will all be coming to town: Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Heavens to Betsy, and Team Dresch. Two thirds of Boygenius have shows (Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus). In homage to Charli XCX (playing the Kia Forum Oct. 17), let’s call it Brat Autumn. This list is probably incomplete and I’ll try to keep updating it.

Sept. 8: Liz Phair and Sleater-Kinney, the Greek.
Sept. 9: Bikini Kill and the Alice Bag Band, The Wiltern. This will be the Alice Bag Band’s last ever show, sadly.
Sept. 13: Bratmobile at the Lodge Room. 
Sept. 13: Lucy Dacus and Catpower at the Hollywood Bowl.
Sept. 14: Patti Smith reading at the Ebell Theatre.
Sept. 29: Erykah Badu at the Hollywood Bowl.

Oct. 4: Bush Tetras, Ikue Mori + Julianna Barwick, MITH (Adele Bertei, Adee Roberson, & Anna Luisa Petrisko), and the Maria Schneider Guitar Army at the Getty. 
Oct. 5-6: Hayley Williams at the Hollywood Bowl. 
Oct. 17: Charli XCX at the Kia Forum.
Oct. 21-22: Chappell Roan’s Super Graphic Spectacular at the Shrine.
Oct. 30, 31, and Nov. 1: Phoebe Bridgers at the Kia Forum.
Nov. 7: Team Dresch at Zebulon.
Nov. 8: Lauryn Hill with Wyclef Jean at the Hollywood Bowl.
Nov. 8: Heavens to Betsy at Sid the Cat.
Nov. 21-22: Katseye at Crypto.com Arena.