September 26, 2025 • 11 mins
In this CLUB WIRE episode, we recap the pulse-pounding highs of Portola Music Festival 2025—from LCD Soundsystem's epic headlining set and The Prodigy's rave revival to Peggy Gou's sunset grooves at San Francisco's Pier 80. Electronic bliss unpacked!
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Forty five thousand ravers descending on the gritty industrial expanse
of Peer eighty. Under a rare blanket of Bay Area sunshine,
Cranes loom like ancient guardians, the fog rolls in like
a mischievous guest, and the air crackles with anticipation. It's chaos,
it's euphoria, It's Portola, and it just wrapped its fourth
(00:24):
edition on September twenty first, leaving everyone buzzing with one
burning question. While this electronic odyssey return in twenty twenty six,
bigger and bolder. If you've ever felt the ground shake
under a drop from Dom Dalla or lost yourself in
the hypnotic swirl of underworld. Since you know, Portola isn't
(00:48):
just a festival, It's a statement. Founded by Danny Bell,
the self proclaimed in per mad scientist of event curation,
Portola was born into twenty twenty two as a love
letter to San Francisco's underground roots. While megafests like Coachella
Chase Pop Spectacle, Portola doubles down on electronic innovation, a
(01:11):
meticulously curated lineup blending rave pioneers with genre bending newcomers,
all set against the city's fog kissed waterfront. Bell's philosophy,
it's about creating moments that feel alive, unpredictable, like a
lab experiment gone gloriously right this year, with tickets selling
(01:33):
out in hours. Back in May, the experiment hit new
highs and a few gloriously messy lows. Let's rewind to Saturday,
September twentieth. The gates swing open at noon and the
crowd a kaleidoscope of neon outfits, hot stickers slapped on
shoulders like badges of honor, and enough energy drinks to
(01:55):
power a small city floods in. Day one kicks off
with the shimmering surrealism of Magdalena Bay On the main stage,
the La Duo, now backed by a full live band,
e a glam rock fever dream. Their synthpop edges sharp
enough to slice through the afternoon haze. It's the perfect opener, playful, immersive,
(02:19):
setting the tone for a day that builds like a
perfectly mixed track. But Portola's magic it's in the juxtapositions.
While the main stage hums with Caribou's indie electronica grooves,
think warped guitars melting into euphoric builds over on the
Crane stage, Zach Fox drops a chaotic blend of hip
(02:40):
hop and house that has the crowd erupting in laughter
and sweat soaked junks. Then comes Bob Moses, their deep
emotive house, washing over the pier like a tide, pulling
everyone into a collective trance. The Chemical Brothers follow, unleashing
a visual assault of lasers and fractals sinked to their
(03:03):
big Room bombs, proving why they've been blueprinting electronic anthems
since the nineties. Faint Cloud cheers, transitioning to Christina Aguilera's
Genie in a Bottle remix. Ah, but the real showstopper
Christina Aguilera, Yes you hear me that right, the pop
(03:24):
diva in a sea of techno titans. As the sun
dips low, Extina emerges in silver sparkles and chats, channeling
her dirty era. Backed by dancers, red smoke, and bursts
of fire. She tears through fighter Genie in a Bottle
and a medley of hits that feel tailor made for
this crowd, fierce, unapologetic, with just enough electronic remix flare
(03:47):
to bridge pop and rave fans are screaming, phones are up,
and for a moment, Peer eighty feels less like an
industrial yard and more like a glittering arena. It's a
bold booking from bell throwback Act amid the forward thinkers,
but it works, injecting pure joy into the mix. As
one attendee tweeted post set, Extina just turned forty five
(04:10):
k skeptics into superfans, pure chaos in the best way.
The night crescendos with LCD sound System headlining the main stage.
James Murphy and Crewe deliver a masterclass in sonic adventure.
Tight grooves from Dance Yourself, Clean morphing into psychedelic jams,
visuals wharping like a fever dream. I'm under strobing lights
(04:33):
the crowd, a sea of bouncing bodies under the cranes,
loses all sense of time. It's tight, it's sweaty, it's everything.
Portola promises innovation without pretension. A beat drop sound effect,
then ambient warehouse echoes. Cut to Sunday and the energy
dials up to eleven. If day one was the build,
(04:56):
day two is the drop. The warehouse stage, a cavernous
metal Beast hosts early sets from Hai and Ketamol, their
basslines bleeding into each other like a seamless B to B.
Melt One fan described it as everything everywhere, all at once,
pure sophomore year Rave chaos over on the Crane stage,
(05:20):
Kray Shawn brings early twenty ten's Internet rap nostalgia, with Gucci,
Gucci and Hello Kitty clad performers torking through the crowd,
a combustible, feel good riot that has everyone yelling along.
Rico Nasty follows her punk rap fury On Smack a
Bitch and Tia Tamara, igniting the stage like a Molotov cocktail.
(05:45):
The energy is Viserming Voice's Horse, then the Veterans take over.
Moby's set is a euphoric pivot, live strings, powerhouse vocals,
and reimagine cuts from play like Natural Blas, laced with
his signature political edge, its contemplative amid the frenzy, a
(06:06):
reminder that electronic music can heal as much as it hypes.
Raven Linney glides in next pr futuristic R and B
tracks like Love Me Not, adding an intimate glow to
the Peer's vastness Underworld on the Peer stage, Hypnotic doesn't
cover it pulsing organs, blood red visuals and Carl Hyde's
(06:29):
stream of consciousness lyrics pull the crowd into a trance,
ending with a heartfelt shout out to San Francisco. But
the Godfathers arrive with the Prodigy, closing the crane stage
for sixty minutes its breakbeat pandemonium. Voodoo people breathe thunderous
percussion under strobing lights. Beach balls bounce through the mosh,
(06:53):
the crowd a writhing mass of pure rave heritage. As
the Godfathers of Rave, they reign supreme, proving age is
just a number. Remember when the beats hit this hard
and don't sleep on the warehouse finale Peggy Goose hypnotic house,
relentless strobes, turning the space into a disco inferno. Dom
(07:16):
Dala caps the main stage with San Frandisco, the crowd
chanting his name like a mantra, bouncing as one under
the darkening sky. By midnight, Peer eighty is San fran
Diisco incarn a foggy, foggy paradise of sweat and scents,
transition subtle static like a glitchy scent, fade into a
(07:38):
more reflective tone. But let's talk chaos, because no great
rave happens without it. Portola's triumphs are inseparable from its
rough edges, the kind that makes stories worth telling. Cell
service nonexistent, no Wi Fi means texts vanish into the ether,
Ride hailing apps, glitch out, and regrouping with friends turns
(08:02):
into a game of Marco Polo amid forty five thousand souls.
Exits are a slog, limited shuttles, dead bikes and scooters
littering the lot, leaving folks trekking through industrial no man's land.
Seating forget it, especially I VIP, where concrete rules and
(08:22):
even pregnant attendees are left plopping on the ground. The
warehouse's thin metal walls bleed sound turning. Some sets shout
out to blood oranges, mix woes into muddy echoes, and
visually the peer's bare bones industrial vibe lacks the art
installations or shade sales of flashier fests, just cranes, concrete,
(08:46):
and your imagination. Yet here's the alchemy that chaos fuels
the triumph. Spotty service forces real connections, eye contact across
a sea of strangers, spun taneous dance circles. The lack
of seating means everyone's on their feet, feeding the relentless energy.
(09:08):
As one redditor recapped from last year and echoed this weekend,
crowd size at forty k was noticeable, but not horrific.
It built momentum, not crushed it. Add in the Despasio Tent,
James Murphy's all vinyl audiophile haven with Doby Disco and
Disco Balls, drawing lines like a cult ritual ind weigh
(09:30):
with rising stars like k Eki and Brutalismus three thousand
extend the high into the wee hours, turning logistical gripes
into badges of survival. Fans are raving literally. Tweets pour
in Portola twenty twenty five turned out more fun than expected.
New artists Endless Steps, Meta Crew of Legends, another from
(09:55):
Haai to LCD Surprise of the weekend, Pure ca Chaos,
but I do it again tomorrow. It's a testament to
Portola's secret sauce, a lineup that's not just stacked, but synergistic.
Veterans like the Prodigy and Moby pass the torch to
firebrands like Rico Nasty and Raven Liney, all under Bell's
(10:18):
curation that feels organic, not algorithmic build tension with a
rising sinf line, So the million dollar question will Portola
triumphantly crash back in twenty twenty six? As of this
recording on September twenty fourth, no official word from the organizers.
The website still glowing with twenty twenty five recaps, lost
(10:41):
and found claims, line up posters that scream his edition
flew off Shells in May headline by LCD The Prodigy,
and a moby Play anniversary set that had folks nostalgic
and hyped with sunny weather blessing. The early September slot,
a strategic shift from foggy or October's past. Attendance swelled
(11:04):
and the vibe hit escape velocity. Speculations rife in the scene.
Bell's recent billboard chat hinted at his mad scientist tweaks
for future lineups, more surprises, deeper cuts into electronics fringes.
Fans are clamoring, will Despasio return as that immaculate sound oasis?
(11:24):
Could we see more crossovers like xteen at two point
zero one, TikTok Whisper even ties Portola's Electronic Legends to
Coachella twenty twenty six buzz predicting cross pollination. Given the
sold out success and SF's unquenchable thirst for beats, I'd
bet my best subwoofer on a yes Per eighty is
(11:45):
already etched in rave lore. Why stop now,
Forty five thousand ravers descending on the gritty industrial expanse
of Peer eighty. Under a rare blanket of Bay Area sunshine,
Cranes loom like ancient guardians, the fog rolls in like
a mischievous guest, and the air crackles with anticipation. It's chaos,
it's euphoria, It's Portola, and it just wrapped its fourth
(00:24):
edition on September twenty first, leaving everyone buzzing with one
burning question. While this electronic odyssey return in twenty twenty six,
bigger and bolder. If you've ever felt the ground shake
under a drop from Dom Dalla or lost yourself in
the hypnotic swirl of underworld. Since you know, Portola isn't
(00:48):
just a festival, It's a statement. Founded by Danny Bell,
the self proclaimed in per mad scientist of event curation,
Portola was born into twenty twenty two as a love
letter to San Francisco's underground roots. While megafests like Coachella
Chase Pop Spectacle, Portola doubles down on electronic innovation, a
(01:11):
meticulously curated lineup blending rave pioneers with genre bending newcomers,
all set against the city's fog kissed waterfront. Bell's philosophy,
it's about creating moments that feel alive, unpredictable, like a
lab experiment gone gloriously right this year, with tickets selling
(01:33):
out in hours. Back in May, the experiment hit new
highs and a few gloriously messy lows. Let's rewind to Saturday,
September twentieth. The gates swing open at noon and the
crowd a kaleidoscope of neon outfits, hot stickers slapped on
shoulders like badges of honor, and enough energy drinks to
(01:55):
power a small city floods in. Day one kicks off
with the shimmering surrealism of Magdalena Bay On the main stage,
the La Duo, now backed by a full live band,
e a glam rock fever dream. Their synthpop edges sharp
enough to slice through the afternoon haze. It's the perfect opener, playful, immersive,
(02:19):
setting the tone for a day that builds like a
perfectly mixed track. But Portola's magic it's in the juxtapositions.
While the main stage hums with Caribou's indie electronica grooves,
think warped guitars melting into euphoric builds over on the
Crane stage, Zach Fox drops a chaotic blend of hip
(02:40):
hop and house that has the crowd erupting in laughter
and sweat soaked junks. Then comes Bob Moses, their deep
emotive house, washing over the pier like a tide, pulling
everyone into a collective trance. The Chemical Brothers follow, unleashing
a visual assault of lasers and fractals sinked to their
(03:03):
big Room bombs, proving why they've been blueprinting electronic anthems
since the nineties. Faint Cloud cheers, transitioning to Christina Aguilera's
Genie in a Bottle remix. Ah, but the real showstopper
Christina Aguilera, Yes you hear me that right, the pop
(03:24):
diva in a sea of techno titans. As the sun
dips low, Extina emerges in silver sparkles and chats, channeling
her dirty era. Backed by dancers, red smoke, and bursts
of fire. She tears through fighter Genie in a Bottle
and a medley of hits that feel tailor made for
this crowd, fierce, unapologetic, with just enough electronic remix flare
(03:47):
to bridge pop and rave fans are screaming, phones are up,
and for a moment, Peer eighty feels less like an
industrial yard and more like a glittering arena. It's a
bold booking from bell throwback Act amid the forward thinkers,
but it works, injecting pure joy into the mix. As
one attendee tweeted post set, Extina just turned forty five
(04:10):
k skeptics into superfans, pure chaos in the best way.
The night crescendos with LCD sound System headlining the main stage.
James Murphy and Crewe deliver a masterclass in sonic adventure.
Tight grooves from Dance Yourself, Clean morphing into psychedelic jams,
visuals wharping like a fever dream. I'm under strobing lights
(04:33):
the crowd, a sea of bouncing bodies under the cranes,
loses all sense of time. It's tight, it's sweaty, it's everything.
Portola promises innovation without pretension. A beat drop sound effect,
then ambient warehouse echoes. Cut to Sunday and the energy
dials up to eleven. If day one was the build,
(04:56):
day two is the drop. The warehouse stage, a cavernous
metal Beast hosts early sets from Hai and Ketamol, their
basslines bleeding into each other like a seamless B to B.
Melt One fan described it as everything everywhere, all at once,
pure sophomore year Rave chaos over on the Crane stage,
(05:20):
Kray Shawn brings early twenty ten's Internet rap nostalgia, with Gucci,
Gucci and Hello Kitty clad performers torking through the crowd,
a combustible, feel good riot that has everyone yelling along.
Rico Nasty follows her punk rap fury On Smack a
Bitch and Tia Tamara, igniting the stage like a Molotov cocktail.
(05:45):
The energy is Viserming Voice's Horse, then the Veterans take over.
Moby's set is a euphoric pivot, live strings, powerhouse vocals,
and reimagine cuts from play like Natural Blas, laced with
his signature political edge, its contemplative amid the frenzy, a
(06:06):
reminder that electronic music can heal as much as it hypes.
Raven Linney glides in next pr futuristic R and B
tracks like Love Me Not, adding an intimate glow to
the Peer's vastness Underworld on the Peer stage, Hypnotic doesn't
cover it pulsing organs, blood red visuals and Carl Hyde's
(06:29):
stream of consciousness lyrics pull the crowd into a trance,
ending with a heartfelt shout out to San Francisco. But
the Godfathers arrive with the Prodigy, closing the crane stage
for sixty minutes its breakbeat pandemonium. Voodoo people breathe thunderous
percussion under strobing lights. Beach balls bounce through the mosh,
(06:53):
the crowd a writhing mass of pure rave heritage. As
the Godfathers of Rave, they reign supreme, proving age is
just a number. Remember when the beats hit this hard
and don't sleep on the warehouse finale Peggy Goose hypnotic house,
relentless strobes, turning the space into a disco inferno. Dom
(07:16):
Dala caps the main stage with San Frandisco, the crowd
chanting his name like a mantra, bouncing as one under
the darkening sky. By midnight, Peer eighty is San fran
Diisco incarn a foggy, foggy paradise of sweat and scents,
transition subtle static like a glitchy scent, fade into a
(07:38):
more reflective tone. But let's talk chaos, because no great
rave happens without it. Portola's triumphs are inseparable from its
rough edges, the kind that makes stories worth telling. Cell
service nonexistent, no Wi Fi means texts vanish into the ether,
Ride hailing apps, glitch out, and regrouping with friends turns
(08:02):
into a game of Marco Polo amid forty five thousand souls.
Exits are a slog, limited shuttles, dead bikes and scooters
littering the lot, leaving folks trekking through industrial no man's land.
Seating forget it, especially I VIP, where concrete rules and
(08:22):
even pregnant attendees are left plopping on the ground. The
warehouse's thin metal walls bleed sound turning. Some sets shout
out to blood oranges, mix woes into muddy echoes, and
visually the peer's bare bones industrial vibe lacks the art
installations or shade sales of flashier fests, just cranes, concrete,
(08:46):
and your imagination. Yet here's the alchemy that chaos fuels
the triumph. Spotty service forces real connections, eye contact across
a sea of strangers, spun taneous dance circles. The lack
of seating means everyone's on their feet, feeding the relentless energy.
(09:08):
As one redditor recapped from last year and echoed this weekend,
crowd size at forty k was noticeable, but not horrific.
It built momentum, not crushed it. Add in the Despasio Tent,
James Murphy's all vinyl audiophile haven with Doby Disco and
Disco Balls, drawing lines like a cult ritual ind weigh
(09:30):
with rising stars like k Eki and Brutalismus three thousand
extend the high into the wee hours, turning logistical gripes
into badges of survival. Fans are raving literally. Tweets pour
in Portola twenty twenty five turned out more fun than expected.
New artists Endless Steps, Meta Crew of Legends, another from
(09:55):
Haai to LCD Surprise of the weekend, Pure ca Chaos,
but I do it again tomorrow. It's a testament to
Portola's secret sauce, a lineup that's not just stacked, but synergistic.
Veterans like the Prodigy and Moby pass the torch to
firebrands like Rico Nasty and Raven Liney, all under Bell's
(10:18):
curation that feels organic, not algorithmic build tension with a
rising sinf line, So the million dollar question will Portola
triumphantly crash back in twenty twenty six? As of this
recording on September twenty fourth, no official word from the organizers.
The website still glowing with twenty twenty five recaps, lost
(10:41):
and found claims, line up posters that scream his edition
flew off Shells in May headline by LCD The Prodigy,
and a moby Play anniversary set that had folks nostalgic
and hyped with sunny weather blessing. The early September slot,
a strategic shift from foggy or October's past. Attendance swelled
(11:04):
and the vibe hit escape velocity. Speculations rife in the scene.
Bell's recent billboard chat hinted at his mad scientist tweaks
for future lineups, more surprises, deeper cuts into electronics fringes.
Fans are clamoring, will Despasio return as that immaculate sound oasis?
(11:24):
Could we see more crossovers like xteen at two point
zero one, TikTok Whisper even ties Portola's Electronic Legends to
Coachella twenty twenty six buzz predicting cross pollination. Given the
sold out success and SF's unquenchable thirst for beats, I'd
bet my best subwoofer on a yes Per eighty is
(11:45):
already etched in rave lore. Why stop now,
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