By ch dean | june 13, 2025
In a Midwest bar pulsing with sweat, survival, and sound, three queer punk acts remind us what it means to scream against the storm.
I first saw Caught Dead at a basement show in Cincinnati a few months ago—packed into a space thick with sweat and feedback—and I’ve been hooked ever since. Their sound is punishing in all the right ways, anchored by guttural vocals, muddy bass lines, and guitar riffs that loop in my head long after the amps have cooled.
Caught Dead isn’t just heavy sonically—they’re heavy politically, too. Most of their songs confront the horror and heartbreak of the genocide we’ve collectively witnessed for over 600 days in Gaza. While Palestinian resistance has endured since 1948, the last two years have ripped the mask off global apathy. Caught Dead refuses to let that silence stand. Their music doesn’t just rage—it remembers, mourns, and fights.
Their message, paired with their unrelenting sound and stripped-down look, makes them one of my favorite local bands—and one of the most necessary.
Next up were Rodeo Boys, a four-piece powerhouse fronted by the magnetic Tiff (they/them), whose stage presence oozes grit and charm. Rodeo Boys sound like the lovechild of dive-bar classic rock and queercore rebellion—PBR-drinking, pickup-truck-driving, good ole boy music flipped on its head with a sharp queer twist.
Their set felt like stumbling into a dusty roadside bar in the middle of nowhere and finding it taken over by punks in denim and eyeliner. It’s that contradiction—rough-edged and tender, rowdy and radical—that makes Rodeo Boys so enjoyable, and frankly, so necessary. Tiff’s vocals growl and wail with abandon, while the band behind them drives the tempo like a dirt bike ripping through a pride parade.
In a scene often dominated by coastal acts and curated aesthetics, Rodeo Boys are unapologetically Midwest, unapologetically queer, and absolutely unforgettable.
Then came Laura Jane Grace, and the room cracked wide open.
The first time I saw Grace was in Louisville, KY in 2022—just her, an acoustic guitar, and a room full of people hanging onto every word. Since then, I’ve seen her four more times, and somehow, each show feels more urgent, more alive, more necessary than the last.
Touring with a full band since 2023, she’s found new energy in old songs and fire in new ones. The current lineup—featuring Mikey Erg on drums, King Mike bassist from Screaming Females, and Grace’s spouse Paris Campbell Grace lending vocals—breathes fresh life into the music while keeping its soul intact. Together, they’re tight, loud, and emotionally feral in all the right ways.
There’s something undeniably healing about screaming “God’s Dick” at the top of your lungs, surrounded by fellow trans and queer folks who know exactly why that moment matters. Personally, I blare that song on repeat a few times a week—it’s not just a track, it’s a coping mechanism. And then there’s the band’s newest single, “Wearing Black”—a razor-sharp protest anthem about hating cops, remembering that pride was a riot, and welcoming every form of queer expression under the sun.
This wasn’t just another punk show. It was a night of survival, community, and catharsis. In a world that feels increasingly hostile, Laura Jane Grace & Band offered us something rare: loud, unflinching joy—and a reminder that we’re still here, still fighting, and still singing.
And we will be—no matter how much tear gas chokes us out.
Casey Habetler Dean is a freelance photojournalist for Majestic Music Magazine. See more of their work here
