Some concerts open with LED screens and pyrotechnics, the headliner exploding onto the stage through a trap door. Wednesday’s show, however, was hosted by a menagerie of stuffed animals and old toys. On the muggy evening of October 11th, the North Carolina band took over the Crescent Ballroom in downtown Phoenix.
Before they appeared, the opener, Friendship, offered a cool and unhurried prelude to Wednesday’s southern indie rock intensity. The Philadelphia-based group shared some of the same twangy DNA but leaned more into slow, bass-driven melodies — a calm exhale before the storm. Their sound recalled the deadpan warmth of late-’90s indie stalwarts like Smog and Silver Jews.
Frontman Dan Wriggins broke the ice with dry humor, joking that it must rain constantly in Phoenix and describing a bird he’d seen splashing in a rare puddle — “so excited to finally have water.” It captured the mood perfectly: a mutual, easy rapport between band and audience that carried through the night.
When Wednesday’s turn came, the toys were carefully arranged across the stage — a sock monkey on the amp, a clown doll, a few creepy vintage figures, and a Raggedy Ann. Frontwoman Karly Hartzman emerged wielding a glittery silver guitar, followed by another covered in buttons. The setup summed up Wednesday’s aesthetic: whimsical and offbeat, yet jagged around the edges.
They opened with the gritty, slow-building fade-in of “Reality TV Argument Bleeds,” from their 2025 release Bleeds. The song set the tone — raw, unfiltered, and true to Wednesday’s brand of twangy vocals and cathartic screams. Bleeds stretches their range, weaving in softer, more reflective moments amid the chaos.
The crowd erupted during “Bath County,” from 2023’s Rat Saw God, as a sweaty mosh pit churned near the stage, old and young fans colliding in shared joy. Later, “Elderberry Wine” showcased Hartzman’s fragile, cracking vocals — imperfect, personal, and deeply affecting. She followed with “Townies,” a sharp, danceable standout from Bleeds that wrestles with how young women’s sexuality can be weaponized against them.
Hartzman’s songwriting carries a deep sense of place. A native of Asheville, North Carolina, she writes about her home with the tenderness and grit of lived experience. On “Wound Up Here (By Holdin’ On),” she conjures the small details of Greensboro life: “Weeds grew into the springs of the trampoline / You saw a pitbull puppy pissing off the balcony.”
At one point, Hartzman spoke candidly about taking a class in Greensboro on spotting ICE raids and how that experience made her empathize with border communities. She dedicated the guttural screams of “Bull Believer” to families torn apart by immigration enforcement — one of the night’s most powerful moments.
Though the performance was fully collaborative — with Alan Miller on drums, Xandy Chelmis on pedal steel, and Ethan Baechtold on bass — Hartzman’s voice and vision dominated the night. Absent was MJ Lenderman, Wednesday’s former guitarist and Hartzman’s ex-partner. She also included “The Way Love Goes,” the breakup song that addresses their split, as the former guitarist has since launched a highly successful solo career. For the finale, Wednesday tore into an unexpected cover of Flyleaf’s 2000s emo anthem “I’m So Sick,” igniting a final frenzy in the pit. As the band walked off, the audience roared for more.
They don’t usually do encores, Hartzman admitted as they returned to the stage — but Phoenix’s crowd had earned it.
