I started a leisurely Friday at the Sonic Temple Festival with a set from the LA-based, post-hardcore, post-pandemic formed quartet Miliatrie Gun. There was a lot going on, even though there wasn’t. And in that half-sun dappled parking lot, Militarie Gun really wowed a sizable crowd that wanted to hate the lead singer’s brand new Jordans and bomb-detonator jacket. But as I wrote in my notes, Militarie Gun, my first band of a long festival, were able to absorb and confront their audience. Even at 3pm, they exhibited a Fugazi kind of respect. They played zealous hardcore, while their audience gave them performative moshing. No doubt, this band’s in-the-pocket dynamism would absolutely destroy any mid-sized club.

Yet to get to the entrance of Sonic Temple, my pedometer told me I’d walked 2.8 miles. Like the Hotel California, once you enter this fortress of capitalism (average beer cost was $15), you can never leave—literally. If you leave, you can’t get back in. Thus, you are subjected to full sets of Rise Against and Sum 41, who apparently were an enormous draw, while waiting for your nostalgia band of choice to start. The sprawl was immense. While the grounds of Historic Crew Stadium (an actually wonderful venue for shows) were suitable, the Sonic Temple has taken up state fair levels of acreage. It’s too much. I ducked into a fake dive bar on the grounds. No, really, a fake dive bar.

My nostalgia act was Anthrax (pictured top). Though I could sub in Living Colour, Judas Priest, Bad Religion, Mr. Bungle, or, maybe even 311, for nostalgia’s sake. In the 40 years that Anthrax has been a band, I’ve yet to see them in full-form. The only show I’ve ever been kicked out of was coincidentally an Anthrax show. So seeing Joey Belladonna put on a virtual greatest hits performance certainly scratched that nostalgic itch, but also proved why they’ve survived as one of the “big four” pillars of thrash metal. Their placement at 4 pm on the Temple Stage, the largest of the fest’s stages, with a rabid crowd, was not lost on them. Though I don’t play favorites when it comes to the big four, Anthrax’s staying power can be attributed to their likability: they never took themselves too seriously, never got bogged down in politics, embraced the rap-rock hybridization of the ‘90s, and bridged the gap between late-80s glam and the harder stuff that came next. Belladonna’s voice still has a tinge of that forgotten era as he can still hit the high notes, and with an ever-smiling Scott Ian (the band’s totem), showed why they can still command an audience.

The problem with Sonic Temple is one of abundance. The festival is trying too much to be everything to everybody. It’s trying to at once coil Ozzfest, the Warped Tour, Lollapalooza (e.g. L7, Helmet, Cypress Hill), and Rocklahoma all under one tent. Many in attendance likely thought of that as a good problem to have, but as an experienced elder, I felt kind of directionless. For some reason, Bad Religion was forced to play at 2 pm on a Sunday, or another conundrum, 311 and Clutch were playing virtually the same time. Though they are two sides of the jam spectrum, there were likely thousands who wanted to bask in both sets this weekend.

Legacy acts like Pantera, Slipknot, and Disturbed left little to be desired, but there was one huge get for Sonic Temple this year: the (original) Misfits. Surprisingly, this was the least attended of the weekend’s headlining shows, yet it was endearingly, one of the weekend’s purest moments. Danzig and Jerry Only, backed by Frankenstein bassist Doyle and original Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo, opted to turn off the stage cameras and flash the crowd with a litany of imagery that is foundational punk iconography. The Misfits even had their own store in merch alley. To a degree, that might be why so many were turned off by this appearance. The Misfits are so embedded and ubiquitous as boilerplate punk, that when they actually get together to perform, it’s seen as a cash grab. The band, though, seemed to see it another way, they simply gave the people what they wanted. I’m convinced that in the Misfits’ short tenure, they didn’t write a bad song. And on this night, Danzig was plowing through the catalog, even going as far as taking requests from the crowd, showing exactly why they are a foundation that many seem to take for granted. I’ll admit, I was skeptical myself. These were songs I’d heard so much in my youth that they are wired into my DNA. But, on this Friday night, in the dawn of a new summer, they sounded just as visceral and undeniably catchy as those halcyon days of teenage rebellion and mirth. Though Danzig kept up his grumpy ogre routine, screaming about how they’d be canceled in today’s world (a point I contend because the Misfits were mostly about true crime and horror fantasy), he seemed invigorated and tenacious.

So a warning to those, like myself at times, who might want to denounce the mega-festivals and have a laugh at these grab-bag line-ups. Skip at your own risk, because you just might miss one of the best performances you’ll ever get to see in your life. The Misfits certainly proved that.