Libbing Out at the Bitch Cabal Tour with Wednesday and Mannequin Pussy: Live Review
Photos by Joshua Reynes
In the wake of a "Blue Wave" sweeping most of the US (but not Florida) in the '26 election, indie powerhouses Wednesday and Mannequin Pussy provide catharsis, emotion, and a redirect of focus to a sold-out Jannus Live in St. Petersburg.
I.
St. Petersburg is small. I often think that maybe it’s too small. Sometimes, I leave my house and I see everyone I’ve ever met. When Wednesday and Mannequin Pussy announced their co-headlining tour of the southern US, the Bitch Cabal Tour, my first thought was that I was in for one of those nights.
I know I’m not the only one who’s been tired lately. Most of us work hard and most of us care a lot, and we are all witnesses to and subjects of a seemingly unpredictable and indifferent world. It’s been an especially long and strange few weeks in Florida. The show sold out earlier that same day, and Jannus Live seemed fuller than its 2,000 person capacity should allow. As I stood in that familiar crowd, amidst the vape clouds, nursing a Starry over ice because they didn’t have Sprite, I was looking for a little excitement. The house lights dimmed and a narrated pre-show began, welcoming the crowd to the wonderful world of Snõõper from Nashville.
The five piece kicked into overdrive, loud and fast and never once second guessing themselves. The stage was set with the group‘s signature scenery: giant papier mache speakers with lights that flashed like warning beacons, a giant stoplight, and plenty of elevated surfaces for the group to scale and leap from, of which they took full advantage.
In the interest of transparency, my initial reaction was to text our Editor-in-Chief to ask if speaking ill of an act we’d been invited to cover would result in us getting blackballed. Their particular brand of high-octane, electro-punk isn’t what I gravitate toward, and I had some difficulty connecting despite their obvious talent and passion. I mostly just kind of listen to Sufjan Stevens in the dark these days, which is my own business. At home, I can skip to the next song and disregard what I just heard forever, but this kind of moment was different: it was an opportunity to receive someone’s art from them in-person, to experience a moment that will never happen again with 2,000 other people. I decided to just buy in and see what happened.
Once I’d made up my mind to have an open mind, I found myself very quickly charmed by Snõõper. They were in perpetual motion, vocalist Blair Tramel seemingly never stopping to take a breath while making her way across the stage and up onto speakers, practically vibrating with her enthusiasm. What delighted me the most and completely bought me in were the synchronized spins and kicks and, as I wrote down in my notes, “little jumps” of the guitarists and bassist. I just really liked it, okay? I started having fun. I had lots of fun! It is remarkable how wonderful it feels to allow yourself to buy in instead of standing on the sidelines, arms crossed and brow furrowed. I almost forgot.
II.
The last time I saw Wednesday was also their last time in Florida. They’d played a series of small but mighty shows across the state that made me a believer, and they ended that run at the dearly departed Gramps in Miami’s Wynwood neighborhood. It was a long time ago, and things are different now, and not just for me. As brilliant as Wednesday was back then, they were now a different beast entirely. They strolled onstage for a tuning sequence soundtracked by traditional bluegrass hymn “Gloryland,” and immediately kicked off into Bleeds opener “Reality TV Argument Bleeds,” the transition punctuated by a scream wrenched from the very soul of frontwoman Karly Hartzman. This moment perfectly encapsulates the group’s artful synthesis of country and rock music while simultaneously drawing every person in that room deeper into their world—impossible to resist.
I was thrilled to be amongst a crowd ten or twenty times larger than the one I’d been in last, so long ago, experiencing Wednesday the way they’re meant to be experienced: live in living color and as loud as you can handle. It brought me back to a conversation we’ve been having at Small Talks this year: the perils of losing small venues. Without the Gramps (or Crowbars… still on that one) of the world, an entire stepping stone in artists’ journeys to larger crowds has disappeared. You don’t usually start at Jannus Live, do you? It’s an unsettling thought, but for the moment I was just grateful to experience what I had, however things ended up.
Not long into the set, Hartzman paused to introduce Wednesday as a band from North Carolina, remarking that it was an especially exciting time to be Southern, considering the recent midterm elections and the so-called “Blue Wave”. Everyone cheered! Even though, she continued, it’s not quite the same for Florida. Everyone booed! As unfortunate as our beloved state’s ultimate decision was, Hartzman expressed hope for further progress, something that’s been on my mind a lot lately. Election Night was difficult for all of us here, but we cannot forget how close it was, nor can we ignore how much work is left to do. The mere thought of it is exhausting, and I can see how some people feel that our obstacles are insurmountable. I get down, too. When was the last time you saw me anywhere? But did you ever think Mississippi would go blue? I’m not a fool. Democrats in office aren’t going to magically solve our problems, but I prefer 1% better to 1% worse. You need 1% to get to 2%, don’t you?
That being said, Hartzman also emphasized that no politician will have your back like your community will. Especially in the South, especially in Florida, abandoned and turned into a sick joke by most of our countrymen, where survival can be difficult, all we have is each other. I think it’s in our best interest to find any ways we can to nurture our communities and provide opportunities to each other for development and connection, and we should try to have fun where we can. Enjoying yourself in spite of (or maybe to spite) the forces that pray for your destruction and failure is underrated. It’s harder to hit a moving target, after all.
III.
By act three I was feeling my age. I’d pulled out a Liquid IV packet despite being dead sober, my back hurt, and I was regretting not bringing earplugs. Nevertheless, I knew better than to give up, and I was rewarded for my steadfastness by a rush of cold air and the dulcet tones of NLE Choppa: “If I was a bad bitch, I’d wanna fuck me, too.” That’s all it took to bring me back to life. The members of Mannequin Pussy twirled out, frontwoman Marisa “Missy” Dabice slunk up to the microphone, letting out a singsong, whispery greeting of “Floridaaaaa” before the band launched headfirst into the beloved “Sometimes.”
The group’s 2024 record I Got Heaven, soundtracked a very odd summer in my life, a memory which had lain dormant until that very moment. Hearing those songs performed live for the very first time was startling and disorienting, but also an absolute pleasure. That pleasure of personal history was only heightened by the exhilaration of watching Mannequin Pussy’s bombastic and liquid smooth performance. They were unrelenting and fluid, thrashing about one moment and serpentine the next. Dabice, the consummate showman, fully aware of the crowd in the palm of her hand, took the opportunity to say what she needed to say.
She dedicated “Of Her,” another cut from I Got Heaven to the women in the audience, who, despite waking up in a world that hates them, Dabice declared, still show up with empathy, compassion, and creativity. The many young women in the crowd, some with X’s on their hands, took that song and its dedication as a moment of catharsis. A few songs later, bassist Colins “Bear” Regisford took the lead on “Pigs is Pigs,” a driving track that rebukes police brutality and institutionalized racism, which he dedicated to the people of color, LGBTQI individuals, and the descendents of immigrants in the crowd. Another release, which had the crowd moving more than they had been all night.
These moments culminated in an extended exhortation from Debice, firm in what she sees as her duty as an artist with a platform to “speak truth” to what she sees in this country and around the world: “You are not the ones who are crazy for feeling so angry… It does not need to be this way.” Her belief, she said, is that we all carry within us an unfathomable pit of rage. She urged the crowd to resist attempts by the ruling class to divide us, and remarked on how she knew it wasn’t “sexy” to be talking politics or to vote, but that it is more important than ever to be engaged, to not just perform our civic duty in the voting booth but to become organized and involved in our communities, to think toward a better future. Most emphatically, she plead with the other white people in the room to “pick a fucking side!” and to reject the apathy that makes it so easy for corrupt systems to proliferate and for fascists to thrive. Ed Sheeran played a stadium show in Tampa that same night.
Before their finale, “Loud Bark,” Debice requested something else: a group “primal scream”—taking that pit of rage, letting it out, and giving it to her. And we did. It does feel unserious to admit, but engaging in a moment like that and remembering that you are not just one person alone is impactful. Sure, you might let out a little laugh after, let your eyes shift between your friends, but you can’t deny the fact that you were exhilarated. Not so much these days: screaming at the top of your lungs.
The show itself was a tour de force, the members of the titular Bitch Cabal undoubtedly among the best at what they do, but what has stuck with me the most is that call to action, that entreaty for the audience to find some way to prevent their personal pit of rage from becoming all consuming, to exorcise it before it becomes poison. It is already electrifying to be a part of a crowd, utterly transfixed on a performance, but it is unbelievable to have that performer make the unfortunately uncommon decision to harness that attention to speak truth to power—to stand on that stage and express exactly the thing that has been gnawing at you every day, and to realize that everyone around you feels the same. We have more in common with each other than we know. As sore and tired as I was in that crowd made up of everyone I had ever met, my community, for all of the history that entails, I was hopeful that we would all take that feeling home with us.
Catch the Bitch Cabal Tour with Wednesday and Mannequin Pussy in a city near you (ends November 18th in Lexington, KY): Tickets
Jennifer Bodine is the Lead Writer of Small Talks Magazine. She can be reached at @jen.bodine on Instagram.
Joshua Reynes is the Head of Content & Creative for Small Talks Magazine. He can be reached at @jreyreyj on Instagram. For more work, see joshuaereynes.com.
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