Alanis Morissette channels catharsis and coastal fire as BeachLife Festival closes with a multigenerational blend of Soul, surf, and song craft.
The final day of the BeachLife Festival unfolded like a slow-burning sunset—deeply felt, emotionally textured, and undeniably Californian. With Alanis Morissette headlining a bill that leaned into introspection, roots, and the warmth of musical heritage, day three offered a kind of communal exhale after two days of rhythm and revelry.
The day’s lead-up offered a masterclass in musical range and heritage. Lily Meola opened with a silky set of Americana-tinged pop, her voice rich and sunlit, gaining new fans with every track.
Big Head Todd and the Monsters followed with guitar-forward blues rock, their decades of road wear showing only in the depth of their groove. Frontman Todd Park Mohr’s solos rang out like sunbeams on the water.
Marcus King, in a wide-brimmed hat and soul-baring rasp, lit up the midday slot with Southern-fried solos and gospel-rooted blues that had the crowd howling. A cover of the Allman Brothers Band’s “Rambling Man” stunned even casual passersby into stillness.
Then came The Beach Boys, joined by Mark McGrath and John Stamos. Even though only Mike Love remains from the original crew, the harmonies were pitch-perfect and joyously nostalgic. “Good Vibrations” and “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” turned the sand into a sea of dancing toddlers, grandparents, and every age in between.
As the late afternoon drifted into early evening, Mt. Joy took the stage and delivered a psych-folk shimmer that drifted like incense over the grounds.
Jackson Browne—silver-haired and soul-deep—served up his sunset sermon of Laurel Canyon-era balladry. “Running on Empty” played like a benediction as he handed the torch in the final relay of the weekend to Morissette.
Alanis Morissette took to the stage just as the marine layer crept inland, the sky blushed with twilight. Draped in a flowing black jacket and barefoot on the riser, she moved with the practiced poise of someone who no longer needs to scream to be heard, but still knows exactly when to let it rip. Opening with “All I Really Want,” her signature snarl intact, she ushered the crowd into a 90-minute confession booth of anthems, hurt, and healing.
The band was tight, almost reverent, letting Morissette’s voice—elastic and primal—steer each track. “Hand In My Pocket” felt like a warm group hug, while “Uninvited” swelled into a storm of cello and guitar that left jaws slack. But it was “You Oughta Know” that detonated the beach, her growl slicing through the night like a flare. Thousands of fans, fists high, screamed it back with the cathartic glee of those who once memorized every word in their bedrooms.
By night’s end, the BeachLife Festival had traced the arc of California’s musical heart—from surf rock to scream therapy, from harmony to howl—and left its audience both soothed and stirred.
