Her physical performance is beautifully unhinged, a display of pure fearlessness that electrifies everyone she comes near. Selflessly bouncing across the stage with relentless energy, falling over speakers, weaving between band members, dropping into splits and launching into handstands with the fearless precision of her gymnastic past.
She spirals around the stage like a downed live wire, any concern for a past injury or concussion close-call taking a back seat as she leaps straight off into the crowd at venues, landing hard on concrete floors and somehow navigating through the pit further without a care in this world.
But it's the contrast that makes one take notice. Just when her chaotic energy reaches its peak, she'll bring you back down with a voice that shifts effortlessly from a raw yell to a soft doo-wop croon, keeping you off balance.
And this year, she revealed yet another facet of her artistry, writing her first play, a nuanced tale of dragons and heroines that seems pretty far removed from her rock persona at venues, but it's driven by that same restless creative energy pointing in an array of directions that draws her to find new outlets for expression.
Her seemingly uncontrolled energy on stage simply is her channeling her creativity outward. I like to think that anyway.
So, there's something both dangerous and intoxicating about her presence. She seems to exist in that thrilling space between control and chaos and sweetness and roughness, making every moment feel unpredictable and alive. When I first photographed the Knee-Hi's in '22 and caught an image of her serenely playing while kneeling on stage, it was the first time I raised a fist in the air in triumph, realizing I had captured a perfect image for the first time. Whaddaya know, I could actually do what I'd imagined would happen one day, except it happened sooner and at that moment. Made possible thanks to her.
That was then, and this...this will always be Alice.