A 27 year old in a knit frog hat. A man in a women’s XS cardigan. Sunglasses indoors. The contrast of a lead singer wearing a full 70s cosplay next to a guitarist dressed like early Billie Joe Armstrong and a backup singer dressed like someone out of Subway Surfers. All at one concert. All just feet away from us.
We pay attention to what artists wear while they’re on stage. It’s a natural way to search for a way to identify someone, to figure out how they stand out beyond their music. Who are they on an individual level? Milk St.’s release show at Pie Shop on 10/28 was the perfect example of this phenomenon. Four bands, and more personal styles than we could count. From the simple, timeless look of Home Remedies’ acoustic set, Public Defenders and their turtleneck/sunglasses combos, Milk St.’s Jonah Wakefield donning a frog hat for their entire career, or the mishmash of decades that was the entirety of Argo and the Violent Queens, the musicians’ looks drew us in– both literally and figuratively.
After seeing Public Servants at WRGW’s 2026 Fall Gig perform in full suits,the blog team arrived at their Pie Shop show wondering whether or not the band would be performing in formal attire yet again. When they came onstage, I found myself wondering what the total thread count between the four of them was. The dichotomy between their indie rock sounds and polite attire only added to their set. With a lead singer in a white wifebeater tank and cardigan (later exchanged for a denim jacket upon joining the crowd post-set), two guitarists in matching mock-necks, chains and sunglasses, and a drummer with what looked to be a staff tee shirt for some unknown venue, Public Servants somehow managed to outdo their full suit look. The two band members who donned indoor sunglasses managed to miraculously keep them on their faces, which was especially impressive for the lead guitarist Ben Marchessault, who moved around so much that he must have been overheating in his mock-neck sweater. The choice seemed pretty understandable, though, given the fact that he was matching gray tones with the rest of the band.
As Milk St.’s lead singer approached the stage wearing a crochet frog hat and cargo shorts, every memory from early 2020 TikTok came flooding back. I expected a light indie vibe, but I was completely proven wrong. Milk St. reminded me to never judge a band by their outfits, their snappy sounds and eclectic lyrics throwing me for a loop as I swung my head with the beat. They connected with the audience, as the lead singer shot out personal anecdotes and offered to grab drinks alongside concertgoers after their set was over (an offer which was enthusiastically accepted). While I expected something far less mature owing to the nearly cartoonish aura that Wakefield exuded, I was met with a fun combination of intimate crowd interaction and self-aware honesty that was super refreshing. Every artist on the stage had a completely different vibe, but somehow it all worked. Both the guitarist and drummer were wearing full black, making Wakefield feel like the band’s “statement piece,” for lack of a better term. He contrasted the dark colors in a way that felt completely intentional, even if the clothes they were wearing were simply what they’d brought with them from their own closets. The guitarist’s simple dress made her instrumentals the star of the show every time we looked at her, and I honestly wanted to ask the drummer where his hoodie was from post-show when we got a chance to talk to the band. At one point, Wakefield introduced a song by asking the crowd, “Who here has a complicated relationship with their dad?” In accordance with the stellar participation Milk St. had been enjoying thus far, a man next to us wearing nothing but a plain shirt and jeans called out, “I’m 35 and it’s STILL complicated!” Even the outfits and vibe of the crowd left me with questions– who was this man? How did he find himself at a small concert sharing his trauma with the headlining band? What is his relationship with his father like?
Both Public Servants and Milk St. were only a precursor to what was the ultimate mashup of artist attire. When Argo and the Violent Queens came onstage, we were completely left in awe of the variety of eras and styles that were represented. With 5 people on stage, it was to be expected that we’d see some fun clothes and unique looks. What we didn’t expect was what was practically a fashion show spanning multiple decades. The lead singer, Arav Goswami, donned a 70s-esque bellbottom jeans and sweater look, with thick, full hair that moved back and forth with his head. Levi Hebeisen and Samuel Tyson, the lead guitarist and drummer respectively, both had on grungy 90s looks, grounding the band in a decade slightly closer to our own. Each wore torn up jeans that must have been at least a few sizes too large, with the guitarist rocking spikey, punk hair to top it off. Next to Hebeisen, bassist Erl Fantilaga was wearing what I can only describe as junior-in-high-school-chic. His long hair and beanie combo gave me flashbacks to just about every alternative, guitar playing 17 year old I surrounded myself with pre-college, and I was all there for it. It felt nostalgic in a chill, curated way. He seemed to nod with the beat in a way that made him seem nonchalant upon first glance, but as they continued to play, it was evident he cared about what he was doing through his attention and movements. I have no complaints about the throwback outfits, and having some trendier clothing up on stage was the perfect contrast between down-to-Earth relatability and spunky novelty, emphasizing the larger-than-life personalities their outfits suggested.
Argo and the Violent Queens came onstage accompanied by saxophone player Emma Pivetta, who was the surprise we didn’t know we needed. In a simple black top and checkered skirt, she commanded the stage through sax solos, shy smiles, and a feminine presence that the band really benefitted from. Her short blonde curly hair bounced as she closed her eyes and fell in tune with the rest of the band, and I was eyeing her kitten heels through the entire set (I want my own pair now!). Each band member in turn seemed to personify a decade or caricature of their own, making it so that no matter where we looked on stage, there was always something new. The entire band gave off an air of knowing exactly who they were and who they wanted to be, despite what seemed to be initially disjointed aesthetics. Argo and the Violent Queens made the chaos feel deliberate, just like their fun mashup of psychedelic rock songs and unique dance moves.
Every single band’s clothing made the concert even more interesting, as each statement piece became a dynamic part of their set. Hats struggled to stay on, glasses teetered on noses, and hair flew back and forth. Most of the blog team has seen Public Servants a few times at this point, and each time they’re about to perform one of us always asks without fail, “Will they have suits on this time?” They’ve already made an image for themselves, and their clothing choices are definitely a huge part of it. I had no idea Milk St. was known for the frog hat gimmick, but upon speaking to them, Jonah Wakefield outright told us it’s a huge factor of their recognition. Despite how much fun I’ve been poking at it, and the fact that you wouldn’t catch me wearing a frog hat myself, I actually find it really cool how he embraced the gag alongside their fanbase.
Pie Shop provided us with a colorful range of artists, all of which subverted our expectations with their clothing choices and made a statement on the stage before they even touched their instruments or microphones. Clothing changes how we see people on the street, but it reaches the stage too. Whether it’s guessing what your favorite artist will wear the night you’re seeing them in concert to joking about wearing turtlenecks in 2026, clothing is an important detail that shouldn’t be overlooked when it comes to live music, and it’s part of what makes attending concerts so unique. The way an artist looks can tell us just as much as the music pumping from the speakers.
