Backstreet Boys and Lorde Ignite Napa: BottleRock’s Blockbuster Comeback

Mia Reynolds, 1/14/2026Summer’s first note rings out as BottleRock and festival season unite legends, rising stars, and sunlit memories—turning Napa and beyond into a heartfelt symphony of nostalgia, new beats, and the kind of magic that makes you sing with strangers and savor every chorus.

Backstreet Boys? Check. Sombr, whose “Back to Friends” won’t leave anyone’s playlist quietly? Present. As for Lorde, drifting into town with her signature New Zealand enigmatic glow, her name on the bill feels as unexpected as finding a pearl in your driveway. Between May 22 and 24, 2026, Napa isn’t just hosting a musical event; it’s uncorking a full-bodied celebration, the kind that spills over, staining memories in the best possible way.

Of course, festival taglines tend toward the poetic—and BottleRock has opted for “first taste of summer”—but this one lands with unusual weight. There’s sunlight flickering through swirls of Chardonnay, basslines ricocheting off low, golden hills, and an almost tactile sense of anticipation. Foo Fighters, Teddy Swims, LCD Soundsystem—these names, sprawled across posters and timelines, somehow thread past and present together. Maybe it’s just nostalgia flexing its muscles, but seeing Backstreet Boys headlining in 2026 is a trick of time, collapsing decades into a single, giddy heartbeat. Teenage obsessions, now seasoned with better footwear and, let’s hope, slightly finer wine.

BottleRock’s secret sauce has always been curation that refuses to sit quietly in one genre. Squint and the bill reveals Lil Wayne’s flair, Zedd’s shiny bombast, Ludacris with his half-wink, and a homegrown, chest-thumping set from Papa Roach. Maybe it’s the festival’s way of saying, “Don’t even think about boxing us in.” Alongside these, there are dollops of Mt. Joy, kaleidoscopic reggae from Slightly Stoopid, and what might well be a unicorn sighting: Rilo Kiley’s rare return. Together, they turn the whole thing into more than a weekend away—it’s an unlikely, irresistible mashup where wine country morphs into the year’s pop culture nerve center.

The so-called “undercard” doesn’t play second fiddle, either. Artists like BigXThaPlug and legends the caliber of Kool & the Gang (how often do you get to use “legendary” sincerely these days?) rub elbows with Chaka Khan and Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. Natasha Bedingfield, meanwhile, seems fated to spark the kind of wildly off-key group singalongs that leave strangers bonded by chorus.

California’s festival carousel is in full spin elsewhere, too. Coachella glimmers on the horizon, dust and dazzle as always, luring in megastars—Justin Bieber, Sabrina Carpenter, Karol G and the like—while Stagecoach delivers its own punch: Lainey Wilson, Post Malone channeling his inner cowboy, and Cody Johnson tethering tradition to today. There’s a rhythm to these annual rollouts; every spring, the state becomes a patchwork of stages, sweat, and sonic discoveries.

Punctuating this contemporary swirl, a blast from the slacker past: Pavement, those wry, off-kilter icons of the indie ‘90s, are plotting their first Cleveland Agora gig in thirty years. Time flies when you’re only half paying attention. “Cut Your Hair” and other alt-jams, gritty and literate, once told stories for an accidental generation. “Slanted and Enchanted” and “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain”—even their album titles are a bit of a wink. Now they’re being dusted off for kids who think of the ‘90s as myth, plus fans who never left. Their recent dabble—a self-aware, “experimental, tongue-in-cheek documentary and concert film”—leans into nostalgia with enough wit to keep it honest. Steven Malkmus, unofficial king of the sideways glance, is apparently open to new music, a reversal that proves even those who swear off the past can’t always resist a second act.

James Taylor, for his part, keeps touring like time’s just a loose thread. At 77, the Rock & Roll Hall of Famer has penciled in just three California dates (mark those April and May weekends now or risk regret). He’s not just dusting off old hits—the man’s orchestrating a Broadway musical, “Fire and Rain,” and nudging a batch of new songs to life. His take? The show isn’t his story, even if it’s colored by the hymns and heartbreaks he penned. Somehow, Taylor’s longevity and artistic reinvention mirror what festival season aspires to—rooted in memory, always looking forward.

All this—crowds, chords, and the collective exhale that happens just as the house lights drop—is really about how music stitches itself into everyday life. Whether someone’s gripping a chilled glass at BottleRock, stamping desert dust from boots at Coachella, or swaying beneath starlight at a James Taylor show, it’s part of the same vibrant patchwork: one giant, pulsing singalong, solos, and a thousand hearts thudding in sync.

Festival lights blaze and, right there, the opening notes catch the warm night. Funny thing: summer doesn’t wait for the calendar. It just needs the music to start.

If you close your eyes and listen hard enough, there’s a faint, restless hum rising from Napa Valley these days—a signal that festival season is ghosting in. This year, BottleRock is stretching its wings wider than ever, promising a lineup that—truth be told—reads a bit like a fantasy someone accidentally willed into existence during a sun-dazed afternoon.Backstreet Boys? Check. Sombr, whose “Back to Friends” won’t leave anyone’s playlist quietly? Present. As for Lorde, drifting into town with her signature New Zealand enigmatic glow, her name on the bill feels as unexpected as finding a pearl in your driveway. Between May 22 and 24, 2026, Napa isn’t just hosting a musical event; it’s uncorking a full-bodied celebration, the kind that spills over, staining memories in the best possible way.Of course, festival taglines tend toward the poetic—and BottleRock has opted for “first taste of summer”—but this one lands with unusual weight. There’s sunlight flickering through swirls of Chardonnay, basslines ricocheting off low, golden hills, and an almost tactile sense of anticipation. Foo Fighters, Teddy Swims, LCD Soundsystem—these names, sprawled across posters and timelines, somehow thread past and present together. Maybe it’s just nostalgia flexing its muscles, but seeing Backstreet Boys headlining in 2026 is a trick of time, collapsing decades into a single, giddy heartbeat. Teenage obsessions, now seasoned with better footwear and, let’s hope, slightly finer wine.BottleRock’s secret sauce has always been curation that refuses to sit quietly in one genre. Squint and the bill reveals Lil Wayne’s flair, Zedd’s shiny bombast, Ludacris with his half-wink, and a homegrown, chest-thumping set from Papa Roach. Maybe it’s the festival’s way of saying, “Don’t even think about boxing us in.” Alongside these, there are dollops of Mt. Joy, kaleidoscopic reggae from Slightly Stoopid, and what might well be a unicorn sighting: Rilo Kiley’s rare return. Together, they turn the whole thing into more than a weekend away—it’s an unlikely, irresistible mashup where wine country morphs into the year’s pop culture nerve center.The so-called “undercard” doesn’t play second fiddle, either. Artists like BigXThaPlug and legends the caliber of Kool & the Gang (how often do you get to use “legendary” sincerely these days?) rub elbows with Chaka Khan and Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. Natasha Bedingfield, meanwhile, seems fated to spark the kind of wildly off-key group singalongs that leave strangers bonded by chorus.California’s festival carousel is in full spin elsewhere, too. Coachella glimmers on the horizon, dust and dazzle as always, luring in megastars—Justin Bieber, Sabrina Carpenter, Karol G and the like—while Stagecoach delivers its own punch: Lainey Wilson, Post Malone channeling his inner cowboy, and Cody Johnson tethering tradition to today. There’s a rhythm to these annual rollouts; every spring, the state becomes a patchwork of stages, sweat, and sonic discoveries.Punctuating this contemporary swirl, a blast from the slacker past: Pavement, those wry, off-kilter icons of the indie ‘90s, are plotting their first Cleveland Agora gig in thirty years. Time flies when you’re only half paying attention. “Cut Your Hair” and other alt-jams, gritty and literate, once told stories for an accidental generation. “Slanted and Enchanted” and “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain”—even their album titles are a bit of a wink. Now they’re being dusted off for kids who think of the ‘90s as myth, plus fans who never left. Their recent dabble—a self-aware, “experimental, tongue-in-cheek documentary and concert film”—leans into nostalgia with enough wit to keep it honest. Steven Malkmus, unofficial king of the sideways glance, is apparently open to new music, a reversal that proves even those who swear off the past can’t always resist a second act.James Taylor, for his part, keeps touring like time’s just a loose thread. At 77, the Rock & Roll Hall of Famer has penciled in just three California dates (mark those April and May weekends now or risk regret). He’s not just dusting off old hits—the man’s orchestrating a Broadway musical, “Fire and Rain,” and nudging a batch of new songs to life. His take? The show isn’t his story, even if it’s colored by the hymns and heartbreaks he penned. Somehow, Taylor’s longevity and artistic reinvention mirror what festival season aspires to—rooted in memory, always looking forward.All this—crowds, chords, and the collective exhale that happens just as the house lights drop—is really about how music stitches itself into everyday life. Whether someone’s gripping a chilled glass at BottleRock, stamping desert dust from boots at Coachella, or swaying beneath starlight at a James Taylor show, it’s part of the same vibrant patchwork: one giant, pulsing singalong, solos, and a thousand hearts thudding in sync.Festival lights blaze and, right there, the opening notes catch the warm night. Funny thing: summer doesn’t wait for the calendar. It just needs the music to start.