By Indi Tejeda – May 26, 2026
I’ve attended concerts since I was nine, across tiny clubs, stadiums, and pop-up shows in countless cities. I know the highs and lows, the forgettable and unforgettable moments. At this year’s Kilby Block Party, working for Craft Lake City, I encountered more firsts than I expected. Each one challenged me to rethink what truly makes a music festival memorable.
Craft Lake City, a local nonprofit dedicated to supporting Utah artists, makers, and creative entrepreneurs, had me moving throughout the festival grounds all weekend. That meant I spent less time viewing Kilby as a ticket holder and more time observing it as a living ecosystem. What stood out to me wasn’t any one headliner or viral moment. It was how intentionally every moving piece seemed to fit together.
Inside the Gates
One of those firsts was getting access to VIP tickets, lounges, and lines. But what surprised me most was how little the difference actually mattered. Kilby is still a relatively young festival, only about seven years old, yet it already feels remarkably confident in its identity.
The VIP experience was great, but the same attention to detail extended well beyond those gates. Whether you were standing at a barricade or sitting in a shaded corner between sets, there was a sense that the festival had been designed by people who understand what it feels like to spend twelve hours chasing music.
The People Behind Kilby Block Party
Getting a closer look at what goes into running something like this shifted my perspective in the best way. Festivals often feel larger than life, but behind that illusion are hundreds of small decisions made by people who genuinely care. At Kilby, that care was visible everywhere. It stopped feeling like an event being managed and started feeling like a community being stewarded.That idea followed me through the rest of the weekend.
This was also my first time attending a festival alone, which seemed significant until I actually got there. Festivals are often framed as communal experiences, but there’s a difference between being surrounded by people and feeling connected to them. What surprised me about Kilby was how quickly that distinction disappeared. Familiar faces kept appearing throughout the weekend, and conversations with strangers rarely stayed that way for long. It truly felt like a creative village, the kind that Salt Lake City’s arts community has spent years building. Everywhere I turned, someone knew someone, supported someone’s work, or was excited to introduce you to the next person you should meet.
For all the discussions about Salt Lake City’s growing creative community, this is where it feels most visible. Not in attendance numbers or festival lineups, but in the ease with which people make room for one another. The culture surrounding the music feels just as important as the music itself. Nobody seemed interested in proving how long they’d listened to a band or how obscure their taste was. People were there because they loved music and wanted to share that excitement with everyone around them.
The Best Sets Were the Ones I Didn’t Expect
The lineup itself reinforced that feeling. I came into the weekend as a diehard fan of Japanese Breakfast, Alex G, and Modest Mouse—artists I’ve grown alongside for years. Yet some of my favorite moments came from artists I knew almost nothing about beforehand.
Between Friends delivered the kind of performance that makes discovery feel exciting again, while Clap Your Hands Say Yeah reminded me how rewarding it can be to finally spend time with a band that’s been sitting on the edge of your radar for years.
Equally memorable were local bands and performers like Pattiegonia and Bad Luck Brigade, who showcased just how much depth the local scene brings to the festival. The best festival performances create a connection that extends beyond familiarity, and Kilby’s lineup was full of those moments.
What Makes Kilby Memorable
Like any festival, Kilby came with the occasional crowded stage transition and moments where sound carried farther than intended. But those things felt less like shortcomings and more like reminders of the scale of what was happening around me. Thousands of people had shown up for the same reason, all moving between stages, chasing sets, and trying to hold onto as much of the weekend as possible.
Because that’s what Kilby Block Party ultimately excels at creating. Not just a lineup, and not just a festival, but a temporary community built around collective enthusiasm. The music brings people through the gates, but it’s the shared experience of discovery, conversation, and connection that keeps them there.
The thing that makes Kilby memorable isn’t any single set or headline act: it’s the community that forms around them.
For someone who has spent most of their life going to concerts, that feeling doesn’t come around often. Kilby made it feel inevitable.
