The allure of a “pop-up” tour from the Midwest Princess herself was one that attracted droves of fans — in pinks and blues and reds — from across the States to the grassy knolls of Brookside at the Rose Bowl. It’s a rare feat that an artist has such a pull, only recently repeated by that of Oasis, whose draw was more than a decade in the making.
Trixie Mattel, the adored drag queen DJ, perhaps said it best during her set at Saturday’s installment of the “Visions of Damsels & Other Dangerous Things” tour.
“Give it up for the only woman who can get all these f— gay people out in a field!”
Naturally, The Times was also ensnared by the hysteria of Roan’s arrival in Pasadena. In 2023, we were early to chronicle the would-be star’s arrival on the scene — there was no glitz or glam; she’s photographed in lavender parachute pants that cuff right above a pair of tainted white sneakers.
“I was so close to giving up. If I wasn’t going to do music, then I would probably just go back home and be an aesthetician and a drag queen,” Roan said at the time.
Thankfully, she didn’t.
On Saturday, she’d perform to over 40,000 feverish fans in Pasadena.
Nine hours till Chappell Roan …
The sun is beating down in Pasadena, leaving the Rose Bowl parking lot hot to the touch. From some distance, you can already begin to make out the umbrellas of fans waiting outside the Brookside’s gate for some hours — perhaps, even pondering their choice. Closer to the entrance, not a single bit of asphalt is left uncovered; beach towels adorn the ground, and tapestries are draped over security gates to create makeshift tents.
Regina was lucky enough to plant her flag and claim the well-sought title of being first in line, arriving around 6 a.m. after a quick trip up from Long Beach.
Regina hides underneath her umbrella. She was first in line for Saturday’s show.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
“I’ve done a couple of different festivals … I camped at Coachella for three days, at like 7 a.m.,” she says, with a smile. “I didn’t think I was going to be the first one, I’m not gonna lie.”
“I feel like I’m just an exception and nobody should follow my example,” she adds, laughing.
Her ensemble is packed away, and she’s hiding beneath the shade of a personal umbrella, which she props up with her hands. There’s a red tint to her skin, suggesting she may not have avoided the sun altogether.
“It’s my first time seeing her, and I was manifesting for her to have a show … I’m very happy I got the opportunity to do this,” she says.
Next to the lines are bins of free water, just one of the ways organizers sought to prevent ever-looming heat exhaustion. Beyond them, a cooling bus and watering station.
Just past a center concourse of food vendors — serving up “danger dogs” wrapped in bacon — is a merchandise bar. It’s situated inside a characteristically pink trailer, and has already garnered a line of eager fans. Sellers shuffle out sweatshirts and tees at a blistering pace before raising yellow survey flags into the air to call upon the next guest.
Seven hours till …
“The humidity sucks, and we’ve been bitten by mosquitoes,” says Kiki, who drove in on Friday from Tucson. The seven-hour drive was stretched when they doubled back at the California border after gazing upon the state’s abhorrent gas prices.
She and Jackie are dressed in clown outfits, a somewhat signature approach of those taking on a Roan concert. They take pride in the costumes, despite finding out last-minute that this show’s theme was “mermaid.”
Jackie and Kiki put on their best clown outfits for the show.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
“Amazon. Spirit Halloween. Amazon,” they say, recalling where they’d made last-minute arrangements. “We knew we were coming, but we were like, ‘Oh, it’s months away, we’re fine.’ Then three days before, you’re like, ‘Oh… we have to go to Chappell Roan and we don’t have any outfits.’”
Just moments earlier, another general admission line opened up.
“Please do not run; they’re all going to the same place,” an event staffer pleaded, falling on deaf ears. “Do not run!”
A wave of fans trot across the parking lot, some dashing, some maintaining a brisk pace. The line fills within 30 seconds, crawling back to match the length of those that had sat there for hours already.
The mob begins to move around 3 p.m. as security waves fans to enter. Those in line fret while clutching onto their belongings and snatching towels from the ground. It’s still one and a half hours from the listed “doors open” time of 4:30 p.m., which was quickly tossed out the window.
A glide past security, and the asphalt quickly turns into the paved concrete surrounding the Rose Bowl Stadium. A flurry of fans press onward toward Brookside, while some stop off at the venue’s restrooms, much more suited to modern standards than those in the lot.
Still, a buildup bulges outside of the golf course, as security holds fans at the entrance. They’re feverish, as staff once again pleads, “Do not run; please walk,” before giving the go-ahead. When the call comes in, fans sprint ahead, likely in an effort to claim a spot amongst the barriers that surround the stage Roan will grace in seven hours’ time.
When the dust settles, a small, pink rectangular building with veranda posts appears at the venue’s west end, a disco ball hanging on its porch. Its proprietors wear bedazzled cowboy hats, which cast a shadow on their all-white uniforms. Carved into their uniforms and the store’s façade is “eBay” — the secondhand e-commerce company collaborated with Roan to curate an array of trinkets and garments suited for the show.
Inside, western shirts of blacks and reds hang from the walls, which are befittingly pink. All the clothing on offer looks like it was stolen from Roan’s very own wardrobe. Tucked away are three mermaid-horses, which are to scale with their coin-operated kiddie ride cousins of the ’60s and ’70s.
Five hours till …
Roan’s concerts have quickly become synonymous with ambitious themes, turning her performances into eye-catching events with vocals to back them. Naturally, this is reflected in the crowd, full of attendees whose outfits more often could suit a catwalk as well as the GA section.
Chephrena and Geneva are no exception to the rule — the former has painted herself head-to-toe in aquamarine blue, with red contacts to match. Shells and gemstones hang from her neck and are peppered across a brown, netted cover-up. There’s perhaps no one more on theme at the event.
Chephrena’s red eyes and blue body paint were the epitome of Roan’s mermaid theme.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
“She helped me through some really, really, really tough times and inspires me beyond anything,” Chephrena says of Roan. “I actually built her giant butterfly wings last year for my Halloween costume … They are now the headboard to my bed!”
“I love that she’s outspoken and she’s not afraid to be exactly who she is,” Geneva adds. “Even though we’re the same age group, she’s like a role model.”
Three hours till …
The crowd lets out a roar that echoes over Brookside’s fairway slopes.
“Should we f— do it or what?” Trixie Mattel says, beckoning at the crowd from behind the deck. “I already smell marijuana.”
She’s situated center stage, with two sculpted men in Speedos along with her, one on each side. They’re hilariously wearing massive Trixie Mattel bobbleheads while thrusting around, covered in sweat.
“Isn’t my body so sexy?” she jokes. “Yes, people walking over here, hurry up! There’s a party, hurry up!”
Trixie Mattel is center stage with bobblehead dancers on either side.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
She’s providing as much comedy as she is talent from the table, and fits perfectly as one of Roan’s openers — it’s like a match made in heaven: two peas in a pod, a perfect fit.
“The power of musical theater compels you!” she adds. “We are really out here in a field, b—.”
On the outskirts of the masses, an aunt and her niece share a laugh before sitting down to split a funnel cake.
“I had the ticket on my phone and you could barely see the name on the flyer,” says Kim, the aunt whose hair hides beneath a pink afro wig. “I said to her [Marita, her niece], ‘I got tickets to this wacky thing. Would you just come with me? I don’t know who else to invite.’ She was so sweet.”
“She’s like, ‘I can’t really figure out what it is,’ and I say, ‘There’s a name at the top.’ She’s looking at it and she goes, ‘No … no!’”
“We’ve been Chappell fans for a while,” Marita adds. “I’m so excited … and I knew tickets were like a million and eight dollars.”
“I told her not to worry, they were only a million and seven!” Kim jokes.
Marita and Kim were fan-favorites.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
The two didn’t travel far, coming from Sunland, and arrived comfortably early. That is, until Kim forgot her purse and they had to leave the line to go get it. A passerby on a bike with a backseat was kind enough to offer them a ride back, and they made it in by 4:30 p.m.
“Look around … it’s going to make me cry,” Kim says. “This is what our world needs in such ugly times. It’s just nice to take a break from all that and live in this vibration right here, right now, where you can be an old lady with a pink wig and people think you’re funny and fun.”
“It’s just about how beautiful this is.”
Not long after, Hemlocke Springs takes the stage. She’s spent the past few months opening for both Conan Gray and Roan, but has a long-standing friendship with Roan. According to a recent interview with Vogue, Roan was one of the first people to reach out about Springs’ song “girlfriend” in 2023.
“Chappell is such a wonderful person; very girl’s girl, very protective of me from our first call, such a presence,” she said. “I’m like, ‘I need to adopt this mindset of trying to help as much as I can.’ That was very nice of her to do.”
One hour till …
Legs are aching, and the crowd is sprawling back around a quarter-mile from the stage. Some fans are slipping in between those still sitting on the grass, savoring their rest before Roan starts up her set.
A giant pink pony statue was present.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
Others are making their last-minute trips to the bar and shuffling to food stalls for a quick nosh.
In the mess, a duo in pink and silver sparkling cowboy hats is passing out pink bandanas for Roan’s “Pink Pony Club” to be the “best section” during the performance. Just behind them, two girls hold White Claws in one hand, pizza on white paper plates in the other.
The stage lights turn green, smoke rises and the speakers blare out a theme with sinister horns. It’s a scene reminiscent of that of Prince Phillip’s final battle with dragon Maleficent, leaving the crowd in awe.
On broadcast screens, green cat eyes appear before quickly fading away.
An old book emerges, sat on a twisting willow branch, as a frail, glowing yellow hand reaches in to turn its pages. The manuscript reveals a gothic, green castle, with decadent arches, spires and buttresses — the very castle on the stage.
The Midwest Princess arrives
It’s difficult to detail what exactly Roan does best — she’s already proved to be one of the decade’s enthralling artists, defining her image through bold, extravagant costumes and hypnotic pop tunes.
One look at the crowd at one of her shows could pinpoint it. They’re mesmerized — many in tears — as they swing back and forth, jump up and down, and celebrate the collective experience of seeing her live.
“At a Chappell Roan show, Chappell Roan is the show,” The Times’ review of Friday’s performance outlines.
Chappell Roan glows on stage at Saturday’s performance.
(Julius Miller / Los Angeles Times)
There is perhaps no other pop star on this planet who commands an audience like her, and her meteoric rise was both a product and consequence of that.
“I wasn’t going to do a U.S. tour till the very last minute … this job is so awesome, thanks for making it awesome,” she says during a brief intermission. She continues, alluding to strains she faced while dealing with fame, having asked, “If this is taking so much away from me, what is this for?”
“I started doing shows again and it all made sense that it was to … bring queer people joy … there’s so many things in the world that are so ‘f— you,’ and then there’s this. I hope you know that when you are here, you are safe, and I want you here … you can be whoever you are tonight. You are cherished for everything that you are.”
The snarls of a horse and hoof beats swirl into the performance’s closing song, “Pink Pony Club,” written by Roan about a young queer woman’s experience at a West Hollywood gay club.
She signs off, and fans leave the venue, just as quickly as they rushed in. The Brookside lies trampled, and the parking lot slowly empties.
This story originally appeared on LA Times
