Photo of Glen Phillips of Toad the Wet Sprocket by Matt Lynch
Some concerts feel like time travel, but the Chesterfield stop for Toad the Wet Sprocket, Sixpence None the Richer, and The Jayhawks was more like stumbling into your favorite ‘90s coffeehouse—if that coffeehouse had a killer sound system and several thousand regulars. Nobody here was pretending to be cooler than they were in 1998; the bands didn’t modernize, they marinated—letting their jangly guitars, honeyed harmonies, and the comfort of choruses they could sing without a glance of a phone. By the time “Kiss Me” floated through the humid Missouri air, it was clear: these weren’t nostalgia acts cashing in—they were old friends reminding you why you kept their number all these years.
First on the ticket, Sixpence None the Richer took the stage with the quiet confidence of a band that knows why you’re here. Formed in Texas in the ’90s and forever tethered to their one of a kind 1997 hit “Kiss Me”, the group could have coasted on nostalgia. Instead, Leigh Nash’s crystal voice proved as pure and unshaken as it was when it soundtracked countless teen movie montages. Although I’m familiar, by the time their cover of Crowded Houses “Don’t Dream It’s Over” rang out, I realized I was likely the youngest person at The Factory that night, a lone nineteen-year-old in a sea of swaying fifty- and sixty-somethings. When “There She Goes” floated into the humid Missouri night, the crowd lit up like prom night, and for a few minutes, I was happily adopted into their class reunion.
The Jayhawks took the stage second with the ease of a band that’s been perfecting their craft since the mid-’80s, their blend of country-rock and jangly pop feeling both road-worn and sharp. Frontman Gary Louris’s weathered vocals carried a kind of lived-in sincerity that made songs like “Blue” and “Waiting for the Sun” land with quiet force. Their harmonies—tight, unshowy, and unmistakably Midwestern—anchored a set that proved why the band has long been a touchstone for alt-country, even if they’ve never chased the spotlight.
Toad The Wet Sprocket took the stage last as the headlining act with chemistry you can only fan from decades of playing. Formed in Santa Barbara in 1986 and named after a Monty Python sketch, the band found mainstream success in the ’90s with bittersweet rock hits like “Fall Down” or “Walk on the Ocean”. In Chesterfield, they delivered those songs with a polished warmth that made them feel familiar but refreshed. Glen Phillips’s voice carrying the same clarity that put them on the map. The set mixed radio staples with deeper cuts, all anchored by a relaxed stage presence that made The Factory feel more like a living room—if your living room happened to have 3,000 people singing along. | Matt Lynch
