I first stumbled into the world of Model/Actriz by accident. It was a few years back at Sound & Fury Fest, and I was assigned to shoot them. I didn’t know their name, didn’t know the music, didn’t know what I was about to walk into. I just knew I had a lens in my hand and a job to do.
What I got instead was a conversion.
Right out the gate, they hit the stage with a mix of post-punk, industrial noise-rock, and pure unfiltered gay energy. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission. The kind that vogues and spits and bleeds. Cole Haden—Model/Actriz’s frontman and spiritual conjurer—was bouncing across the stage like a punk rock ballerina. Limbs flying, chest heaving, eyes wild. And then, mid-set, he leapt into the crowd and performed most of the set among us, singing to our faces, brushing against shoulders, dissolving the barrier between performer and observer in a way I hadn’t seen since… ever.
That show stuck with me. And like all things that feel a little too intense to be real, I wondered if I’d built it up in my head over time.
Cut to last night at the Roxy Theatre on Sunset Boulevard—the kind of venue where ghosts of glam rock still hang in the rafters. Built in 1973, The Roxy is holy ground. The Clash played here. Patti Smith. Prince. X. So when a band like Model/Actriz steps into that lineage, it’s more than a gig—it’s a rite.
The show was sold out—the floor packed with punk kids, art freaks, goth queers, and a few aging industry types who looked more confused than anything.
Opening the night was Dove Armitage, the solo project of Quincy Larsen, known from L.A. bands like Sextile, Cat Scan, and Kevin. As Dove Armitage, Larsen delivers a shadowy blend of dark electronic pop and post-punk, heavy on atmosphere and unfiltered emotion. She’s a one-woman force—handling guitar, synth, and vocals—shifting between moody minimalism and lush, glitchy textures.
Her 2023 EP Concernless was a standout, full of raw vulnerability and industrial pop hooks that feel like they’re stitched together with broken glass. Tracks like “Brittle” and “Glass in Me” sound like they were made to echo off the walls of a dim, foggy venue like the Roxy. Onstage, she brought that energy to life. The first half of her set was solo and stark—just her silhouette and synths glowing in a wash of red light. Eventually, a guitarist joined her to add some punch, but the vibe stayed ghostly, like something halfway between a séance and a shoegaze ritual.
Her set was fantastic—but I’ll be honest, I ducked out halfway through to smoke a joint and mentally prepare myself. Because I knew what was coming. And I knew I had to be ready.
The last time I saw Model/Actriz was at The Echo. I was still drinking back then, so the night is a haze of strobes, sweat, and whiskey. I remember liking it—but it didn’t hit me the way Sound & Fury did. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the venue. But last night… last night was something else entirely.
When Model/Actriz took the stage, the crowd erupted like we were being baptized by noise.
Cole walked out draped in a hoodie, sunglasses, and a tiny little handbag that looked like it could hold exactly one chapstick and a threatening note. He stood motionless for a moment, just surveying the crowd, then launched into the first track with the intensity of someone trying to summon a storm. The band—Jack Wetmore on guitar, Aaron Shapiro on bass, and Ruben Radlauer on drums—was razor sharp, churning out angular riffs and thumping industrial beats that felt like getting punched by a rhythm section. They’re tight in the way that only comes from endless practice—or trauma bonding.
By the third song, Cole had shed the hoodie, thrown himself into the crowd, and was weaving through people like a sweaty, shirtless snake charmer. His mic cable arched above him like a lifeline, held up by dozens of arms as he made his way to the back bar, screaming into faces and making accidental lovers out of everyone he passed.
It wasn’t a performance. It was a possession.
There’s a strange kind of intimacy in a Model/Actriz show. It’s not romantic, but it’s not not romantic either. It’s physical. Spiritual. Erotic. Violent. Sacred. Cole doesn’t just look at you—he sees you. And then he climbs you. Or bites your lip with his eyes. Or screams inches from your mouth and dares you not to flinch.
Watching him from behind my camera, chasing him through the crowd, I felt like I was shooting a queer exorcism set to a dance-punk soundtrack. Every click of the shutter felt like it was trying to keep up with something ancient and new at the same time.
By the time the band hit their final stretch, Cole was back in the pit. Then, in one last act of unhinged grace, he climbed the wall separating the floor from the VIP section, straddling it like some glittering gargoyle of glam-punk, singing the last song perched above us all, bathing in the lights, and letting everyone take in his final moment of glory.
People around me were literally gasping. It was performance as worship, and we were all parishioners.
Their 2023 debut Dogsbody turned heads, but it’s their latest record, **Pirouette** (2025), that truly cements them as one of the most vital bands in underground music right now. Where Dogsbody felt like a scream into the void, Pirouette feels like controlled combustion. It’s still packed with raw emotion and jagged energy, but there’s a new elegance in the way they structure chaos.
related:Model/Actriz- Pirouette: Bend Bodies/Break Brains/New Album
Cole Haden’s vocals are more dynamic than ever—equal parts vulnerability and venom. Tracks like *“Cinderella”* and *“Doves”* are haunting, sensual, and violent in all the right ways. It’s a record that breathes, shudders, and erupts—and solidifies Model/Actriz as more than a live phenomenon. They’re now fully realized on record too.
They’ve been compared to Daughters, Gilla Band, early Liars—and sure, you can hear echoes of that. But Model/Actriz is doing something those bands never quite dared. They’re infusing brutal noise rock with queerness, beauty, and vulnerability in a way that doesn’t feel like a costume or an aesthetic. It feels like survival.
They’re not just a band. They’re a threat to genre.
After the show, people lingered on the sidewalk in front of the Roxy and Rainbow like they didn’t want it to end. Everyone was debriefing—telling strangers what Cole did to them, how close he got, how raw the whole thing felt. I overheard someone say, “I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or fuck or start a riot.” That about sums it up.
Model/Actriz isn’t just a band you watch. They’re a band that happens to you.
Words and Photos: Taylor Wong
