It’s September 17, 2024, and I’m sitting at my desk, half-assing some photo edits while my mind drifts elsewhere. I’ve been waiting for days, fingers crossed, hoping for one email—an email that’ll decide whether or not I make the pilgrimage from Columbus to Chicago tomorrow. The email that’ll either affirm or crush my dream of photographing IDLES, one of the biggest punk bands in the world. The clock’s ticking, and I’m losing hope. Then it happens—my MacBook lights up with a notification. I’m in. Time to pack my bags, strap in, and brace for the chaos that’s sure to follow.
Let’s rewind. It’s mid-2020, the height of COVID lock-down, and the world is collapsing in on itself. I’m parked on my couch, lost in an existential crisis like the rest of humanity, grappling with what it even means to be a man in a world that’s come undone. Raised by women, I’ve never fit the cookie-cutter mold of masculinity. What is masculinity? What does it mean to be a man? My mind spins with these questions when suddenly, the YouTube gods smile upon me. The algorithm leads me to the IDLES NPR Tiny Desk Concert, and just like that, everything changes. I learn something profound that day—being soft, gentle, present… none of it diminishes who I am as a man. In fact, it adds to it.
IDLES is a band that walks the tightrope of contradiction: the most punk and the least punk at the same time. They’re loud, unapologetic, and intense, with a message that’s clear and simple: “LOVE IS THE FUCKING THING.” They’ll make you love yourself, your neighbor, and maybe even the world, and if you don’t—fuck you.
Chicago is unseasonably warm, and the day feels too perfect, almost suspiciously so. I wander around the windy city, taking it all in before making my way to the Aragon Theatre. This venue is strange in all the right ways—a massive, old-world beauty with towering arches that add to the mystique but also block half the stage. Bodies are already swarming in, filling every crevice.
My nerves are shot. This isn’t the biggest band I’ve photographed, not by a long shot, but IDLES might be the band I love the most. Or maybe the one I connect with on the deepest, most primal level. Either way, my heart’s pounding as I find my spot in the photo pit, shaking like a junkie waiting for their fix.
Fog machines start pumping out clouds, swallowing the stage in an ethereal haze. The anticipation is electric. I’m in the eye of the storm, camera ready, waiting for it to break.
And then, like the flip of a switch, it hits. The room fills with “IDEA 01”, its haunting refrain “these are the things you lost in the fire” echoing through the venue. A beautiful, eerie calm before the gut-punch of “Colossus”, which builds like an avalanche—slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. The droning beat shakes the walls, and then—BOOM—a wall of sound takes your legs out from under you. This isn’t just music. It’s an assault, and it’s glorious.
IDLES own the stage, and I mean own it. Frontman Joe Talbot convulses across the platform like a man possessed, spitting into the mic one moment, grinning at the crowd the next. The man’s a paradox—fury and love all rolled into one. Lee Kiernan is a hurricane of hair, never still for a second, and at one point, the guy hurls himself into the crowd, guitar still wailing as he surfs above a sea of ecstatic fans. Meanwhile, Mark Bowen, resplendent in a magenta dress that shows off his killer quads, holds down the fort with a mischievous and intense grin. Adam Devonshire is the stoic anchor at the back, laying down basslines while shooting knowing looks at Joe. And Jon Beavis? The guy’s a metronome, locked in tight, providing the heartbeat for the evening.
These guys are locked in. There’s no hesitation, no moment of weakness. They hit the gas and never let up. It’s the most intense, joyous, and cathartic live show I’ve been to this year, and I’m not saying that as a fan—I’m saying that as someone whose job it is to photograph and review concerts. This was perfection, pure and simple.One of the most striking things about IDLES is their ability to bring people together. This wasn’t just a punk show—it was a melting pot of humanity. There were punks, sure, but also metalheads, Swifties, and fans of Chappell Roan, all screaming the same lyrics back at Joe. Where else do you see that? Where else do you find such a beautiful collision of subcultures, unified by the primal scream of a band that refuses to cater to just one scene? Only at an IDLES show.
IDLES isn’t just a band—they’re a movement. They’re a call to arms for love, empathy, and unapologetic authenticity. Tonight at the Aragon, they proved that they don’t just perform for a crowd—they create something, something bigger than themselves, something bigger than all of us.
As I packed up my gear and looked around, I saw the faces of people who, like me, had come here for more than just a concert. We came for a release, a connection, a moment of catharsis in a world that’s often too loud and too harsh. And that’s what we got. IDLES brings people together, makes space for everyone—except assholes.
As I walked out of the Aragon and into the warm Chicago night, I knew I’d just witnessed something rare, something special. IDLES doesn’t just remind us to love—they demand it. And in that demand, they’ve created a space where we can all scream, cry, and—most importantly—heal together.
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