Minnesota Yacht Club – Day Three – St.Paul MN – July 20th 2025

Minnesota Yacht Club day three staring Green Day, Sublime, Garbage, Beaches and more.

Review and photos by Kyle Hansen

Opening the Crow’s Nest stage on a warm Sunday afternoon is no easy task—but Grace Bowers & The Hodge Podge made it look effortless. Grace strolled onstage with confidence, guitar slung low, and from the first chord, it was clear: this wasn’t just an opener—it was a statement.

The band’s blend of southern rock, funk, and soul felt tailor-made for a festival crowd. You could hear echoes of classic Allman Brothers jams, but with a youthful, modern punch. The rhythm section was locked in—tight, groovy, but never overbearing—allowing Grace’s guitar work to shine.

Her tone was rich and gritty, dialing in that sweet spot between vintage warmth and modern edge. By the second song, she’d already launched into a blistering solo that drew cheers from even the shade-seekers on the hill.

Grace’s playing wasn’t just flashy—it was thoughtful. Every lick had purpose, and her phrasing showed maturity beyond her years. She used space well, never overplaying, letting moments breathe. Her rhythm playing was just as impressive—syncopated, funky, and always in the pocket.

The Hodge Podge—aptly named—gelled beautifully. The keyboardist brought subtle gospel touches, and the drummer was a groove machine. You could tell they’ve played together a lot lately.

Though her set was under an hour, Grace Bowers delivered one of the most musically satisfying performances of the day. In a lineup featuring big names like Hozier and Green Day, she stood out not by trying to be louder or flashier, but by being real. Raw talent, humility, and fierce musicianship—that’s what stuck with people walking away from her set.

If this was your first time seeing Grace Bowers live, you probably left convinced: she’s not just “one to watch.” She’s already here.

On a golden afternoon, with the sun glinting off the Mississippi River and a steady crowd growing by the minute, Blind Melon took the stage with a mix of nostalgia and quiet confidence. They followed rising star Grace Bowers, and while the energy was already high, Blind Melon tapped into something deeper—a connection to the past that still feels alive.

Opening with “Soup,” the band set a soulful, slacker-rock tone right away. The current lineup—featuring Travis Warren on vocals—has grown into itself. While no one forgets Shannon Hoon’s legacy, Warren’s voice brought its own rawness and sincerity, carrying the weight of the songs with both reverence and identity.

As the set unfolded, they blended ’90s alt-rock textures with moments of jam-band looseness. The rhythm section stayed locked in, while the guitarists leaned into layered riffs and melodic hooks. “Tones of Home” hit hard—warm and psychedelic—while “Change” got a quiet singalong from a crowd clearly feeling every word.

Of course, “No Rain” was the centerpiece—introduced with a brief anecdote about the band’s journey, followed by that unmistakable intro riff. The entire park seemed to sway. Phones came out, but so did memories. It was a beautiful, bittersweet few minutes.

It didn’t feel like a band stuck in the past—it felt like a song finding its home in the present.

Blind Melon leaned into the organic side of rock—no click tracks, no overproduction. Just texture, tone, and raw groove. The sound mix was clean: crisp vocals, defined bass, shimmering guitars. A few extended outros gave the band space to jam, but they never overstayed the moment. Their connection as a band was evident. The vibe was communal, relaxed, and emotionally grounded.

Blind Melon’s set at the Minnesota Yacht Club Festival was a heartfelt reminder that good songs endure. With humility, musicianship, and genuine emotion, they honored their legacy without leaning too hard on it.

For older fans, it was a powerful dose of ’90s soul.
For younger fans, it was likely a discovery—that this band still has something very real to offer.

As the late-afternoon sun softened and the breeze picked up off the river, Beach Bunny hit the side stage like a jolt of caffeine. With a crowd of glitter-dusted Gen Zers, nostalgic millennials, and a few surprised parents, the Chicago-based band turned the riverside into a teenage dream singalong.

The energy? Electric. Vulnerable. Joyfully messy—in all the right ways.

From the moment they opened with “Cloud 9,” it was clear this wasn’t just another indie set. The band dove in with purpose—tight instrumentals, bouncy drums, and lead singer Lili Trifilio’s emotionally raw vocals cutting through the warm air like a journal entry set to power chords.

• “Painkiller” had the crowd screaming every word—a feel-good anthem that turned strangers into fast friends.

• “Oxygen” brought more fuzzed-out distortion and maturity, showing how far the band’s songwriting has evolved.

Lili’s voice shifted between soft vulnerability and punk bite, and her connection to the crowd felt authentic—like a friend venting, not a rock star posturing.

This crowd knew the lyrics better than the band. “I needed this,” someone yelled after “Sports,” and you could tell they weren’t kidding. The mosh pit? More like a hop-pit—gentle, but full of catharsis and sweat.

When Lili thanked the crowd for “screaming your lungs out with us,” it wasn’t stage banter—it was a genuine moment of shared release.

The band’s live sound was punchier and heavier than their studio recordings. There was a grit to the guitars that gave the bubblegum melodies some muscle. The bass was loud (in a good way), and the drums were absolutely on point, anchoring every tempo shift with confidence.

Stage lighting was minimal—just enough to highlight their presence without distracting. The vibe was lo-fi, DIY, and all heart.

Beach Bunny delivered one of the most emotionally charged and danceable sets of the day. If you came looking for catharsis in the form of indie pop hooks and unfiltered honesty, you got it. Their music hits a nerve—but with a sugar-coated smile.

They’re no longer the underdog indie darling. They’re a full-on festival staple.

As the sun dipped behind the trees and the river breeze kicked in, The Beaches took the stage with exactly the kind of confidence you’d expect from a band that’s spent the last few years dominating alt-rock playlists and festival circuits.

From the moment lead singer Jordan Miller strut onto the stage in her signature black top and shorts, it was clear: they weren’t here to warm the crowd up—they were here to take over.

With crunchy guitars, swaggering basslines, and tightly locked-in drums, their sound hit like a high-voltage throwback to early-2000s garage rock, laced with pop-punk edge and feminist fire.

• They opened with “Cigarette” to a chorus of immediate screams. The crowd knew every word—and yelled them like a war cry.

• Follow-ups like “Me & Me” and “Jocelyn” balanced cheeky hooks with real emotional heat.

• “Shower Beer” was a mid-set highlight—equal parts chaotic, catchy, and cathartic.

The band was tight, explosive, and clearly having fun. Every riff from guitarist Kylie Miller landed with intent. Drummer Eliza Enman-McDaniel brought precision and flair. And bassest Leandra Earl? Cool, unshakable, and slyly stylish.

What sets The Beaches apart live is their attitude—equal parts punk, glam, and “we-don’t-care-if-you-like-us” cool. But the crowd did like them. A lot.

Fan Highlights

• “I came for Green Day but I’m leaving a Beaches fan,” one dad in his 40s told his teenage daughter.

• A group of teens up front were holding a handmade sign that read: “BLAME BRETT FOREVER.”

• One couple slow-danced ironically to “Takes One To Know One,” and it turned into an unironically tender moment.

The Beaches delivered a knockout set: punchy, confident, and sonically flawless without ever losing their rebellious edge. They proved they’re more than just viral rockers or indie darlings—they’re a band built for the big stage.

If the Minnesota Yacht Club had a “Best Surprise Set” trophy, The Beaches would’ve taken it home in stilettos and sunglasses.

As golden hour slipped into twilight over the Mississippi River, Garbage emerged from the shadows of the Crow’s Nest stage with the sun right in their eyes. Shirley Manson, draped in a sheer colorful dress, wasted no time—“There is No Future in Optimism” kicked things off and the crowd lost it.

The band didn’t lean too hard on nostalgia—but when they did, they delivered with venom and polish. Shirley’s voice remains razor-sharp: sneering one moment, aching the next. The industrial grind of “#1 Crush” came early in the set, eerie and seductive.

Guitarist Duke Erikson and Steve Marker showed no signs of slowing down, layering distorted textures over Butch Vig’s always-pristine drum work.

Set Highlights:

• “Stupid Girl” exploded mid-set with synchronized strobes and snarling attitude—crowd fists and middle fingers in the air.

• “Push It” hit like a dance-punk thunderclap, proving the band’s experimental spirit is still alive.

Manson’s stage presence is as defiant and magnetic as ever. Between songs, she didn’t hold back:

“They told us in 1995 that women in rock were a trend. Thirty years later, we’re still here. And louder than ever.”

Also taking about age and how getting older fucking rocks. Then right into “When I Grow Up“

She shouted out younger acts on the bill like Beach Bunny and Grace Bowers, adding, “These girls shred harder than half the boys we came up with.”

Garbage knows how to craft an experience. The lighting design was brooding, sensual, cinematic—casting shadows and strobes that matched every dark beat. No pyro or gimmicks. Just aesthetic precision and sonic ferocity.

Despite the crowd being multigenerational—aging goths, indie kids, and curious Hozier fans—everyone was locked in. The band made decades-old songs feel dangerously current.

Garbage reminded everyone why they’re icons—not just for their classic hits, but for how timelessly aggressive, strange, and emotionally potent their music still feels.

They didn’t just ride a wave of ‘90s nostalgia. They tore the roof off the riverfront with style, power, and raw truth.

By the time they closed with “Push it”, echoing through the festival grounds as the sky fully darkened, it was clear: Garbage didn’t come to reminisce.

They came to conquer.

The sun had just set, the air was thick with the scent of summer grass and something a little skunky, and the Minnesota Yacht Club crowd was ready to get loose. When Sublime hit the stage—now fronted by Jakob Nowell, son of late original singer Bradley Nowell—it felt like a time warp and a revival.

From the first reggae pulse of “Garden Grove,” it was clear: this wasn’t a tribute act—it was a family legacy recharged.

Jakob doesn’t try to mimic his father—and that’s what makes it work. His vocals have a gritty charm all their own, mixing the laid-back delivery Bradley was known for with a more modern, punk-tinged edge. His stage presence is confident, joyful, and a little chaotic—in the best way.

At one point, he shouted:

“You’re not just here for a memory. You’re here because this music still hits. Let’s go!”

The crowd roared back in full agreement.

The band kept the energy tight and the transitions smooth. Eric Wilson (original bassist) was a rock—cool, unshakable, and locked in from the jump. Drummer Joe Tomino (from Dub Trio) brought sharpness and bounce to every ska-punk beat.

Set Highlights:

• “What I Got” turned into a full-field singalong. Arms around shoulders. Voices cracked from shouting.

• “Santeria” was goosebumps in real time—soulful, bittersweet, and a little drunk.

• They covered “The Balled of Johnny Butt” with a funky twist that got even the lawn chairs moving.

From Gen Xers in old Vans to teens discovering Sublime through Spotify, this crowd loved it. It was a rare show where every generation felt like they belonged.

• One guy near the front screamed:

  “I saw the original lineup in ‘96—this feels right.”

• A teenager behind him?

  “I just came for Green Day but—damn. Sublime kinda changed me.”

People danced. Couples swayed. Shirts were off. It was that kind of night.

Sublime’s set was both a resurrection and a reimagining. It honored the raw, sunburned chaos of the original band without being a nostalgia act. Jakob Nowell stepped out of his father’s shadow—not to erase it, but to add something new to it.

It was ska-punk catharsis with heart, hooks, and heat. One of the most emotionally satisfying—and surprisingly tight—sets of the weekend.

It’s one thing to headline a festival. It’s another thing entirely to turn a festival into your own personal riot. On Sunday night, Green Day proved, once again, why they remain one of the greatest live rock bands on the planet.

With the Mississippi River shimmering behind them and 35,000+ fans packed in under the stars, they unleashed a nearly two-hour, no-filler masterclass in punk, pop, rebellion, and ridiculous fun.

They stormed onstage with “American Idiot,” it hit hard. Billie Joe Armstrong, dressed in a black vest and red tie, looked like he time-traveled from 2004—but sang like a man with plenty left in the tank.

• “Holiday” followed fast, complete with pyro bursts and political middle fingers.

• “Know Your Enemy” had Billie Joe pulling a fan onstage to sing the final chorus (and yes, she nailed it).

Green Day has decades of hits to choose from—and they chose wisely. This wasn’t just a nostalgia trip. It was a celebration of every version of themselves, from snarling East Bay punks to stadium-filling icons.

Setlist Highlights:

• “Basket Case” – sang by everyone within a 5-mile radius.

• “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” – slowed things down for a brief, massive singalong.

• “Jesus of Suburbia” – epic, cinematic, flawless.

• “Minority” – Billie Joe yelled, “This one’s for the outcasts!”

What makes Green Day so unstoppable live? It’s not just the songs—it’s the showmanship.

• Billie Joe controls a crowd like few others. He doesn’t just play songs—he commands singalongs, starts chants, tells stories, and even gives out free guitars. But not tonight.

• Mike Dirnt remains one of the coolest bassists alive—pogoing across the stage like he’s 25.

• Tré Cool? A shirtless blur of sweat and insanity. At one point, he stood on his kit, grinning, just because he could.

The last songs was “ Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” and fireworks erupted over the river.

Green Day didn’t just headline Minnesota Yacht Club—they blew the damn roof off the riverfront.

They proved they’re not running on fumes, not coasting on old hits. They’re a living, fire-breathing punk rock institution, and they’re still hungry.

The pit was chaos. The singalongs were deafening. The hearts were full.

One of the best festival sets of the year. Maybe the decade. We will be back next year.