Hurray or the Riff Raff
Space Ballroom
Hamden, Conn.
July 25, 2025
Partway through a set at Space Ballroom that called for the dissolution of America, decried AI machine-made music, and included a recitation of a poem by a killed Palestinian writer, Hurray for the Riff Raff had a clear message for their audience: “Test your drugs, remember Narcan/ There’s a war on the people, what don’t you understand?”
The sold-out show, which took place Friday night, included about 90 minutes of love songs — for your friends, for your lovers, for someone you don’t know — against the backdrop of the end of times.
Somehow, it was hopeful.
Hurray for the Riff Raff was founded in New Orleans in 2007 by frontperson Alynda Segarra. Segarra grew up in the Bronx, raised by their aunt and uncle, and frequented institutions in New York’s punk and queer scenes. Their bio states that they were “baptized in the anti-war movement,” and at 17, they began hopping freight trains across the country, spending some time in California before settling in New Orleans.
On Friday night, for the Hamden stop of the band’s ongoing tour, Segarra was joined by guitarist Parker Grogan, bassist Nnamdi Ogbonnaya, drummer Marcus Drake, and Sen Morimoto on keys and saxophone. After a stripped, lyrical set from opener Greg Mendez, the Riff Raff came out swinging — with the anthemic, momentous Americana number “Alibi”, which began with both the strumming of Segarra’s acoustic guitar and the riffing of Grogan’s electric, and with a plea to a drug-addicted friend: “You don’t have to die if you don’t want to die.” Immediately, the crowd began to dance.
The energy continued, drums crashing and Segarra belting, as the band moved through the tracks of their most recent album, The Past Is Still Alive, which was released last year. The songs were nomadic in nature, featuring a cast of one-off characters — Miss Jonathan in her fishnet tights, Sky Redhawk on his cousin’s Minnesota farm looking for the elusive buffalo, and Eileen, whose allure had Segarra singing, “I must be living twice.”
Segarra threw their head back and forth. Band members wiped sweat off their foreheads.
As the band neared halfway through their set, things began slowing down. “Colossus of Roads”, a moving inflection point in the night about falling in love as the world changes, featured the lines “Say goodbye to America/ I wanna see it dissolve” — garnering a few whoops from the audience — and “No one will remember us like I will remember us.” Segarra’s fingers moved against the strings of their guitar, as the band flooded a constant, gentle stream of backing instrumental.
The song that Segarra introduced as “a love song for the apocalypse” was the ballad “The World Is Dangerous.” Segarra asked the Space Ballroom crew to light up the disco ball hanging from the ceiling, and couples in the audience wrapped their arms around each other’s waists, swaying to gentle strumming, a belated snare, reminding me of a middle school dance. In a sweet way, not a traumatic one.
“You’re not the person you thought you’d be/ But I still love you,” Segarra sang, not tentatively but not with the same assuredness that characterized their other songs. Their eyes were closed, like they had been for so much of the night’s set. “It’s been a lonely year/ Everyone left but I’m still right here.” And after a lulling, cascading duet between Morimoto on keys and Grogan, “Oh, I still love you/ Everything’s crumbling/ Just know that I do.”
Hurray for the Riff Raff didn’t shy away from the political, and they happily served as a voice for outsiders — or, the riff raff.
“We go shoplifting when it’s time to eat,” Segarra sang, bearing their teeth, during the energetic “Snake Plant.” And on “Vetiver”: “I wish I could sanctify my mind/ Why am I so fucking heavy all the time?”
“Precious Cargo” was a song written from the perspective of a migrant crossing the border and being detained by ICE. After returning on stage for the encore, the band finished with “Pa’lante,” a call to action that featured every instrument on stage crashing together to form an all-consuming makeshift symphony.
“It would be weird if I didn’t mention that we live in hell,” Segarra said when they introduced the song. “I’m terrified every day. But being terrified doesn’t mean you can’t be brave.”
Halfway through the song, Segarra picked up a piece of paper and began reading a poem by the late Palestinian writer Refaat Alareer, who was killed in December 2023 during an air strike as part of Israel’s invasion of the Gaza Strip: “If I die, you must live to tell my story.” Then, the instruments came crashing down again.
Despite Segarra’s clear frustration with the world around us, I found their songs to be full of boundless love and optimism — faith in the fact that we have each other, conviction that we should be committed to one another, and sincere solace in the act of falling in love, even when you’re scared you’ll lose it.
In “Buffalo,” a song about hoping something good might actually last, Segarra sang, “This year tried to kill us, baby/ Well good luck, you can’t catch me/ And I’ll jump off this cliff with you/ If that means we will survive.” Then, a soaring drum solo, flooded in light.
During their set, centered so wholly around humanity, Segarra said to the audience, “I was reading that there are AI bands now. Spotify makes a shit ton of money off of them.” The crowd booed. “I just want to say, thank you for supporting human beings.” Then, the crowd cheered.
“We make art, we make poetry. We don’t need AI for that,” Segarra said. “Real life over everything.”
