July 18, 2025 – I ain’t new to the wicked shit, but this was my first time steppin’ into the crypt with Diggy Graves. This marauder summoned the Fam like a necromancer with Faygo in his veins and a machete behind his mask.
Photos + Article by @a.j.kinney
The Foundry inside the Fillmore Philly was sold-out, packed wall-to-wall with wide-eyed ninjas and mask wearing disciples. The vibes? Electric. Eerie. Unholy in the best possible way. Diggy hit the stage like a ghost kicked outta Hell for being too rowdy, that signature Jason mask glinting under the lights like a cursed relic. It ain’t just for show; it’s his armor, his myth, his trademark silence before the lyrical slaughter.
🎤 Opening Fire: Resentvul Lives Up to the Hype
Before the graveyard gates flew open, opening act Resentvul stormed in like a damn tornado of rage and redemption. From his crushing intro on “Red Rum” to the snarling defiance of “Save Me,” he absolutely unhinged the crowd. Real talk? I’d throw down money to see a headline set from him any night of the week. Resenvul set the tone: hard, dark, and wild.
🪦 Diggy Graves: Sermon from the Shadows
Once that first note of “Mask Up” hit, it was like a collective possession took hold. Diggy spit verses with surgical precision, dancing between horrorcore and heartfelt without missing a beat. The Jason mask loomed large, a reminder that what’s hidden is sometimes more powerful than what’s shown.
Here’s a peek at the grave-diggin’ setlist highlights:
- “Mask Up” – The curtain-raiser. A beat that thuds like a coffin slam.
- “Blood on the Canvas” – Vivid, vicious, and visual.
- “Witching Hour” – Had the venue feeling like a séance, not a show.
- “Summon the Fam” – Call it the anthem of the evening—every juggalo in the house screamed along.
- “The Hidden One” – A raw cut about identity and the demons we wear.
- “Midnight Revelations” – A perfect closer, like a bomb set off in slow motion.
👑 Fan Moment of the Night
Midway through the mayhem, Diggy pulled a young female fan from the crowd—diggy tatted, wide-eyed, and ready. He handed her the mic during “Summon the Fam,” and wouldn’t you know it? She didn’t just know the lyrics—she owned them. Word-for-word. The crowd went nuclear. In that moment, she wasn’t a fan, she was Fam. That’s the kind of real shit that separates Diggy from the imitators.
💀 The Mannequin Incident
You know you’re at a Juggalo-adjacent show when a dead-eyed stage mannequin gets launched like a spirit bomb. Dressed as a fallen ninja, the dummy hit the crowd and went on a joyride crowd-surfing laps like a possessed carnival prop, arms flailing, paint peeling, and the crowd loving every second. Only Diggy would chuck a fake corpse into a sea of screaming fans and somehow make it feel like communion.
🎭 Final Thoughts from a Lifelong Ninja
I’ve moshed in mud pits at The Gathering. I’ve been Faygo’d at sunset and scream-rapped under blood moons. But this was different. Diggy Graves resurrects something in you. The Jason mask, the mannequins, the blood-soaked rhymes… they’re more than gimmicks. They’re gospel for the damned.
So yeah, I’m late to the Diggy train but now I’m ridin’ front row with a machete in my heart and “Midnight Revelations” echoing in my skull. Next time he rolls through, I’m bringing three things: a fresh face of paint, a bottle of Faygo, and zero doubts. 🩸🎭
