My Wife's an Angel, Morgan Garrett, Ken Mujo, Grocer
Thunderbird Hall
2856 Frankford Ave.
Philadelphia
June 6, 2026
I don't think in my wildest fantasies I could come up with a more maniacal line-up than this show, at least in the current universe of local Philly DIY. The flyer advertising the performance featured a large scorpion prominently placed at the center, working as an analogous warning for the sting you might receive at the show. The opening act, Grocer, expressed intimidation over the the bands about to follow. They had nothing to worry about and gave a killer performance with a lot of loud praise from the audience, but their instincts were understandable; they were sharing a bill with three particularly untamed groups, each of whom excels at their own type of unhinged performance art.
Ken Mujo can whip a crowd into a frenzy in less than two minutes, and all he needs is a beat-up acoustic guitar, a few pedals and a stomp box. If I were to make a single comparison to a one-man band that proceeds Mujo while carrying a similar spirit, I'd point back to Hazel Adkins. Both have an untethered quality and magnetism that is rare. The first time I saw Ken Mujo perform, I felt like I had a mental form of whiplash for days after the show. Similarly, I look back at photos and videos from this performance and it feels like we were all put under a spell. As stated, his rig was minimal; his songs featured distorted and highly rhythmic strumming using simple dissonant chord formations along with pounded single note solos. He also used an alarming arpeggiated singing style, pushed to the top of his vocal range. The bare structure his songs employ rely entirely on the strength of his improvised performance. No one could 'cover' a Ken Mujo song. He radiates an unnerving amount of energy when performing that engulfs the crowd. Within two songs, he was darting through the audience and stage diving while still playing guitar.
He then compelled the audience to participate, handing out various drums and sticks to people while his guitar mechanically looped behind him. He even handed the microphone and guitar to unwitting participants and encouraged screaming while he played with effects pedals.
Mujo gave off a wizard-like air that made it feel like he could pull pure chaos from the atmosphere. By the end of his set, the stage was an assemblage of various people from the audience and members of the other bands. My friend approached Mujo after the show and put a hand on his shoulder earnestly telling him "that was so amazing!" Ken preceded to grab them with both hands, get really close to their face and just scream.
Morgan Garrett followed up Mujo's act with a similarly sparse stage setup and an acoustic guitar — but brought a completely different kind of chaos. The audience wasn't joining in like they did during Mujo's set, but rather braced themselves to watch the spectacle. Garrett had a backing tape that accompanied his songs; his physical performance became the focus, framing him almost as an actor over a musician. He was very tall, dressed all in white with long frizzy hair while bright strobe lights surged in blinding pulses along to the prerecorded material. He jumped, bended over and grabbed his crotch like a terrifying ghoul version of David Lee Roth.
Garrett contorted his face in mock rock-star Ozzy and Kiss poses that were strangely abstracted in a way that felt almost like Kabuki theater, a Māori Haka or even the Guérewol ritual of the Wodaabe tribe, with prominent bright teeth and widening eyes. The execution came off almost like pantomime, but there was no humorous alleviation. The audience looked genuinely struck, staring at the singer and experiencing the set's titillating effects.
For the next act, the chaos swung further afield into the blue yonder of My Wife's an Angel. This time the audience was ready to get incredibly rowdy. The lead singer has a background in local wrestling from West Virginia, and specializes in using this energy to express his art. Songs were sung in character, all wild voices and unfurled emotions. The band locked air-tight grooves through the bass and drums while the guitar oscillated between alarm noises and plane crash sounds in an almost ambient manner.
That foundation let the singer, Garrett, play out his hulk-like fantasies and nightmares as he murmured repeated sections of manospheric advertisements, yelled verbal confrontations and strutted through the audience like an unchained Rottweiler. This could read as a toxic display of masculinity; that said, I noted a sizable crowd of femme, queer and trans fans smiling ear to ear, swaying and elated at the scene throughout its duration.
In the last video I got of the performance, watch closely as I follow Garrett around. Look at how he subtly reads the body language of each audience member he approaches, perfectly prodding them one by one, making sure to not cross major boundaries or make anyone too upset, but still pushing everyone around (including me, as he smiles and smacks my phone away). This is an art form and it's not easy. It's what gives folks that feeling of unhinged, wild strength that eludes many of us in our daily lives. Just like in the common language of the meme, we choose our fighter, and it's Garrett. His ballistic noise pushes us past our self-limits and lets reimagine our own strength.
