A Call for Accountability: Why Jesse Lacey and Brand New Should Not Be Touring Right Now
Disclaimer: The following account reflects my personal experience and perspective. It is based on my own memories and interpretations of events. I do not claim to speak for anyone else, nor am I making definitive statements about the intentions or behavior of others involved. This is my personal story, shared in the hope of raising awareness about grooming and power dynamics in the music industry.
I am sharing my story publicly for the first time, and it’s one I’ve kept to myself for years. In 2006, I was 15 years old, a teenager at the height of adolescence, trying to navigate the complexity of identity, self-worth, and relationships. Brand New’s music defined that time for me, and like so many others, I idolized Jesse Lacey. His lyrics spoke to the vulnerability of youth, the pain of growing up, and the confusion of unrequited love. To be seen by him as someone worthy of his attention was intoxicating — it felt like a validation of my worth, my place in the world, and my identity as a young woman.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that my admiration was being manipulated. Jesse knew exactly how to make me feel seen, even special, using the power dynamic of a fan and a public figure to his advantage. His suggestive remarks, like saying he wished I were older, or making me feel like I was the one he zeroed in on during his shows, were disarming and flattering. But these moments, however innocent they seemed, were part of a larger pattern of grooming.
After my first Brand New show, my best friend (16 at the time) and I (15 at the time) approached Jesse and his tour manager, standing just outside the bus. We were clearly nervous and tried our best to act casual, though our admiration for him was palpable. We offered side hugs, but he teasingly insisted that they weren’t as good as real hugs, prompting us to hug him again, this time with full, front-to-front embraces. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but in hindsight, I now recognize that this was an early moment where boundaries were tested.
After the hug, I gave him a couple of handmade gifts, and that’s when he asked for my contact information. I remember feeling shocked and flattered, thinking that this connection might be the beginning of something meaningful. I believed that, somehow, someway, what I shared with him about his music — along with the gifts I gave him and the band — had finally achieved what I’d long hoped for: to stand out as the one who truly loved, understood, and valued his music the very most. Even his slight interest in potentially making contact with me in the future felt unbelievable.
When Jesse reached out to me, the lines between admiration and manipulation blurred in a way I didn’t even understand at the time. From that point on, my best friend and I were given VIP access to various shows and tours (an invitation given via AOL instant messages from their tour manager) and began to hang out on the tourbus regularly. (If you look at the first photo with some of our VIP passes, you can see one marked 7/18 for the Granada (GRN) in Lawrence, Kansas. My friend’s father drove us to that show just over two weeks after meeting Jesse at the 7/1 Ft. Worth show, pictured above.)
When we arrived at our second show in Kansas as VIPs, I noticed a strange shift — he wasn’t just polite like before; he was playful, teasing us in a way that felt oddly familiar, like we had some kind of established rapport. At one point, after we reacted to one of his jokes, he smirked and said something along the lines of, “If we’re gonna be friends, you’re gonna have to put up with a little teasing every now and then.” The word friends lingered in my mind. It was casual, almost offhand, but it planted something deeper — a sense that this wasn’t just an artist-fan interaction anymore. It made us feel special, like we were inching closer to the kind of connection we had always hoped for.
After we had dinner with the band and returned to our home state, Jesse initiated regular contact with me through AIM. He texted me several times a week and invited me to play games with him (World of Warcraft, Yahoo! Games — sometimes for 6–7 hours at a time). I felt like I was at the center of his world. As a 15-year-old, it felt thrilling to have someone I admired so deeply establish regular connection with me.
But the messages he sent were not those of an artist and a fan — they were the words of a man in a position of power over a vulnerable, impressionable girl. In my memory, he would often make comments like ‘I wish you weren’t 15 years old,’ which now I understand as part of a pattern of manipulation. At the time, I believed him. As I grew older and heard the courageous stories of his other victims, I recognized unsettling patterns in his behavior toward me — it became painfully clear that I had been groomed. He took advantage of my vulnerability, drawing me in with promises of love, attention, and validation — carefully ensuring I wouldn’t recognize the manipulation until it was too late.
After one show, I remember receiving a text from someone on Jesse’s team mentioning that he thought we were cute and that he and Jesse had been talking about wanting to snuggle with us both on the tour bus. While it felt playful at the time, it also left me feeling unsettled. There were other instances where Jesse made comments about my friend’s appearance, such as remarks about her chest that seemed to suggest her display of her body could lead to getting him in trouble. Comments about the irony of being with two girls as young as we were while strolling past a courthouse together. These things would often upset us, but Jesse would quickly try to smooth things over with gestures such as hugs or kissing us on our temples. This type of push-and-pull behavior became something I recognized as part of my interactions with him, where teasing or embarrassing remarks were often followed by validation or affection. It left me feeling unsure about where the boundaries truly lay in our relationship.
Our relationship continued over the course of many shows. At one show, he told the crowd, ‘The co-founders of my Warcraft guild are here tonight’ and then dedicated ‘Moshi Moshi’ to us (which, if you know the song, is weird as hell!). After the show, he invited us to a lakehouse to swim, even going so far as to offer to drive us to Wal-mart to purchase swimsuits for us. Thankfully, we were not allowed to join for the afterparty, but Jesse still insisted on driving us back to our hotel (where we were staying with my friend’s mother) after the show, kissing us both on our foreheads before saying goodbye at the elevator.
I remember a conversation where Jesse said something that stayed with me for years. We were on the tour bus, and Jesse was playing a video game, with me and my friend on either side of him. After teasing me about something, I jokingly asked, “Why do you hate me so much?” I remember him responding something along the lines of, “I don’t hate you, the truth is I’m in love with you, but you’re just not old enough for me to marry you yet.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand what he meant, but his words left a lasting impression. In retrospect, I believed he might have been hinting at something deeper, and it made me feel as though there was a future we could have together when I was older. His words influenced how I viewed our relationship, and I carried that idea with me for a very, very long time.
However, the impact of Jesse’s actions didn’t stop with words. The emotional fallout has been long-lasting, leading to complex trauma, deep struggles with my mental health, and how I approached sex, relationships, and my body. When our contact eventually faded, I found myself spiraling. I developed multiple eating disorders, binge drank, and abused drugs — all at a time when I was still in high school. His unexpected withdrawal from my life left me questioning my worth, my ability to form meaningful relationships, and how I viewed myself as a young woman. Research shows that grooming at a young age increases vulnerability to future abuse, and that proved true in my case. The damage he caused would stay with me for years to come — leading to struggles with promiscuity, self-esteem issues, and the development of complex PTSD (something I am still in treatment for.)
What most of his defenders fail to understand are the far-reaching effects of this kind of behavior on a developing adolescent brain. Research on adolescent brain development reveals just how vulnerable teenagers are during this period, particularly when exposed to manipulation and exploitation. The adolescent brain, especially the frontal cortex, is still developing at this time. This region is responsible for decision-making, impulse control, and understanding the consequences of one’s actions. At 15, I was still in the early stages of forming critical cognitive abilities, making it much easier for someone in a position of power such as Jesse’s to manipulate my emotions and actions. Studies show that the adolescent brain is more susceptible to emotional and social cues, and during this time, young people are more likely to internalize experiences, especially those involving authority figures or people they admire. This period of brain development makes it harder to fully understand the long-term effects of these manipulative behaviors until much later in life. With this information in mind, learning that Jesse studied child psychology for three years at college was absolutely nauseating.
The secrecy around our interactions was part of the control that I felt he exerted over me. In January 2007, Jesse started pulling away — logging off AIM quickly, taking forever to text back. I chalked it up to his busy touring schedule, but by April, I got a surprise call from him in the middle of the day. At first, it felt like a normal catch-up, but then he said he had an ulterior motive, that I’d hate him for telling me, and that it would ruin my day.
He asked if I’d noticed the distance. I said yes, trying not to seem too affected, though it had been consuming me. That’s when he told me it had been intentional. Someone I’d cut ties with on a forum had accessed my private LiveJournal and emailed him everything — my most vulnerable thoughts about him, plus our AIM convo screenshots.
I remember Jesse explained the situation from his point of view by expressing something along the lines of “you’ve become a close friend, one of my best friends, actually… and although we understand our relationship, others might not without more context.” By withdrawing from regular contact with me and warning me about the dangers of our relationship becoming public, Jesse seemed to be exerting control, making it clear that our interactions weren’t about genuine care or connection but about maintaining a facade. Needless to say, I was mortified.
He said he was worried about how it might look to others. He admitted he’d even called my mother, asking her to help take the journal down—something I now recognize was likely driven by panic, though he framed it as “concern” for me. It was yet another example of him manipulating the environment around me. I was furious that someone had violated me and jeopardized the most meaningful connection of my teen years. I was supposed to see him in Ft. Worth the next week and was terrified everything had changed. He reassured me: he wasn’t mad, and he still wanted me to come.
Despite all of this, I kept attending shows and hanging out on the tourbus on later tours. He’d make comments when I spoke to his friends such as “Careful, she might take what you tell her and put it on the Internet.” Looking back, I see how he likely used access to him as both a reward and a form of control. The promise of friendship, of being special, was always just out of reach — but only if I followed his unspoken rules. His teasing and offhanded warnings — like telling his friends, “Careful, she might put this on the internet” — weren’t just jokes; they were reminders to stay loyal, to keep quiet. I wasn’t the only one. Other victims have shared how he wielded the same tactics, making it clear that refusing him or speaking up meant losing him entirely. It was a quiet threat wrapped in the illusion of care, and we all desperately wanted to pass his test.
In 2007, Jesse went out of his way to meet up with me on two separate occasions in New York City when I was visiting with my mother and sister. Jesse not only joined my family and I for dinner one night, but galavanted around town with me one-on-one, taking me to his favorite music shops and, surprisingly, gifting me a vintage polaroid camera. I remember that as soon as my mother was out of view, he put his arm around me and continued walking with me down the streets of New York holding me closer than he ever had before. Again — I was 16 years old at the time.
The worst part is, this isn’t just my story. While I can’t speak for everyone, I know that my experience is far from unique. Many others have shared similar stories, revealing what I can only deem a disturbing pattern of behavior. Two women have bravely come forward, but for many others, the current climate of the Brand New fandom makes truth-telling extremely challenging. The feeling of being special, of being the one he chose, seemed to be simply part of his grooming process. And for those of us who were impacted, it’s a feeling that haunts us to this day.
But the story does not end there. While Jesse’s apology seemed to acknowledge some level of harm, it lacked specificity and genuine accountability for the manipulative behavior that many, including myself, experienced. He apologized for how he “hurt people, mistreated them, lied, and cheated” and blamed everything on “sex addiction,” but never once took full accountability for the damage he caused. To my knowledge, he has yet to name specific behaviors that were problematic — like the grooming, manipulation, and coercion — and he never reached out to the victims to attempt any form of restitution. Instead, he asked for forgiveness, as if his apology were a transaction — something that could clear the slate and allow him to move on with his career. But accountability is not as simple as an apology. It requires actions that are visible, specific, and measurable, not vague words about a personal struggle with addiction. And in my opinion, Jesse’s actions since his apology have only demonstrated a lack of genuine remorse.
For many of us who were directly affected by his behavior, the idea of him returning to the public eye — especially through a tour — feels like a slap in the face. His band’s music is still beloved by many, but the question has to be asked: What does it mean for an artist to profit from the very platform they used to exploit vulnerable individuals? Should an artist be allowed to return to a stage, to profit from their music, without fully reckoning with the harm they’ve caused? Should the very same power dynamics that allowed him to prey on young, impressionable fans be allowed to continue unchecked?
The answer is no. Jesse Lacey should not be allowed to tour right now.
First and foremost, there is a moral imperative at play. Jesse Lacey was a public figure who, in my opinion, used his position of power as a lead singer to exploit emotionally vulnerable young fans. His actions weren’t isolated “mistakes”; they were deliberate, calculated, and manipulative. When someone with this kind of influence abuses it, accountability isn’t optional — it’s necessary. Returning to the stage without meaningful action to atone for the harm he caused sends a dangerous message: that a vague apology is enough to erase years of abuse. This normalizes a cycle where abusers evade real consequences while victims are left questioning their worth.
Lacey’s fanbase often argues that his apology should suffice, that therapy has “fixed” him, and that he’s earned forgiveness. But he has never fully acknowledged the ways he (in my opinion) groomed young girls, nor has he directly addressed or attempted to make amends with his victims. His fans’ unquestioning support only reinforces the culture of enabling that allowed his behavior to go unchecked in the first place. In a world where artists are too often valued over the people they harm, this pattern is all too familiar.
Jesse Lacey’s return to the stage isn’t just a personal issue — it’s an ethical one. He has not earned the right to profit again from the platform he once used to manipulate and abuse. Until he takes full accountability — through visible, measurable action — there should be no place for him on tour.
To the Fans Defending Jesse Lacey: A Call for Reflection
If you continue to support Jesse Lacey despite the serious allegations against him, I urge you to step back and consider the impact of your defense. It’s natural to feel conflicted — music connects with us deeply, and Brand New’s songs were formative for many, myself included. But personal attachment to an artist doesn’t erase the harm they’ve caused.
Defending Jesse, dismissing victims’ pain, or insisting his apology is enough perpetuates a culture where abuse is excused, and survivors are silenced. This upholds the very power dynamics that allowed him to exploit vulnerable individuals.
To those who feel that people like me demanding accountability want Jesse to “burn” or have his life ruined — this was never about destruction. It’s about responsibility. No one is asking for his exile, only for an acknowledgment that goes beyond vague apologies and self-preserving statements. True accountability isn’t just admitting to “sex addiction” or “manipulation”; it’s about recognizing the full extent of harm caused and taking meaningful steps to repair it. Jesse has never done this. Defending him by claiming he’s “done his time in therapy” suggests that personal growth absolves public harm, which it does not.
For those arguing that since some victims were 18 when things became “sexual,” grooming doesn’t matter — it does. Grooming is about power, manipulation, and coercion over time. In fact, grooming is illegal in the U.S. when it involves exploiting power imbalances, especially when it targets minors or young adults in vulnerable positions. Just because someone is 18 doesn’t make them immune to predatory behavior — and the law increasingly reflects that.
And to those who call survivors “attention-seeking” for still speaking out — consider how long it takes to process trauma, especially when the abuser is protected by fame and fan loyalty. Many victims don’t pursue legal action due to retraumatization and the slim chances of justice. But accountability isn’t just about the courts — it’s about how we, as a society, respond to harm. Dismissing survivors because there was no trial is just another way to silence them.
If you truly believe Jesse has changed, ask yourself: why has he never directly addressed the people he harmed? Why, in 20 years, has he done nothing to make things right? And why are you more comfortable questioning his victims than questioning him?
I’m not asking you to stop listening to Brand New. I’m asking you to reflect on what it means to support someone who has taken no real steps toward accountability to the people he harmed. At the end of the day, this isn’t just about music — it’s about people. And with a nationwide arena tour on the books, it’s time for those of us who have been harmed to have our voices heard. To the fans who continue to defend and plan to support this tour, I urge you to reflect on what real accountability looks like, and whether your defense of him is inadvertently silencing the victims who continue to bear the weight of his actions.
Update 1: On Blaming My Mother
To the people attempting to shift the blame onto my mother: do better.
Jesse Lacey was a grown man with fame, power, and a well-documented pattern of manipulation. My mother was a parent doing her best with the information she had. He, on the other hand, cultivated parasocial connections and used his position to gain access to underage fans — including me. That you would rather scrutinize a parent doing what she thought was supportive, than hold an adult man accountable for grooming a child, says more about you than it does about her.
He didn’t just groom me — he groomed my entire environment. That included my mother, who was not immune to the charm and calculated trust-building he used on everyone around him. Blaming her is not only misogynistic and victim-blaming — it’s exactly the kind of distraction abusers count on. You are playing right into his hands.
Update 2: On the Timing of My Speaking Out
For those saying it’s “convenient” that I waited until Jesse Lacey announced a tour — you clearly have no understanding of trauma, or how hard it is to speak publicly about abuse by someone adored by thousands. I began processing what happened in 2017 when the initial allegations surfaced. I spent years in therapy, unpacking the extent of the manipulation. In 2020, I contacted multiple major publications with my story. I was ignored.
So no — it’s not convenient. It’s painful, terrifying, and exhausting. Seeing him step back into the public eye as if nothing had happened — without real accountability — compelled me to speak out. Staying silent would’ve made me complicit. If you think survivors time their pain for convenience or attention, I invite you to reflect on what kind of person that makes you.
Update 3: Grooming IS a Crime.
I’ve seen people comment, “No crimes were committed.” Let’s clear that up: grooming is illegal. In many states, it falls under laws related to child exploitation, the corruption of minors, and the use of telecommunications to seduce or entice a minor. And even when it’s not specifically labeled “grooming,” the behaviors involved — manipulating a minor into a sexual or emotional relationship — are prosecutable.
In my story, I believe that Jesse began emotionally manipulating me when I was still a teenager. He was in his twenties, likely aware of the age gap, and likely aware of the power dynamic. I believe that he built trust, flattered me, pushed boundaries, and escalated slowly — so slowly I didn’t recognize it for what it was until much later. He made me feel special. (That’s textbook grooming.)
Other survivors shared even clearer examples.
Update 4: “Nothing Sexual Happened”
To those saying “nothing sexual happened” — you’re wrong, and that statement is dangerous. When a 23-year-old man asks a 15-year-old girl to send him nude photos, something sexual happened. When he pressures a 17-year-old for explicit images, something sexual happened. That’s not flirtation. That’s the solicitation of child pornography.
Nicole Elizabeth Garey shared that she was 15 when he asked her for nudes. She complied. Emily Driskill shared that she was 17 when he pressured her for explicit photos, and later experienced sexual coercion during physical encounters. Make it make sense.
Update 5: Where Jesse and His Enablers Can Go From Here
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what accountability could look like — not just for Jesse, but for the people who protected him, dismissed me, and helped maintain the silence.
What I want is not punishment for punishment’s sake. I want restorative justice. I want truth-telling. I want repair.
That means Jesse acknowledging what he did without minimizing or distorting it. It means his enablers reflecting on how they contributed to the harm — whether through disbelief, deflection, or complicity — and taking active steps to ensure they don’t repeat it.
Restorative justice means centering survivors. It means creating space for healing, honesty, and growth. It means recognizing that abuse thrives in silence and isolation, and that change only happens when we’re willing to look at our roles, even when it’s uncomfortable.
I’m not here to destroy anyone. I’m here because I believe people can change — but only if they’re willing to do the hard work. Only if they truly see the harm that’s been done.
This isn’t about canceling. It’s about accountability, transparency, and transformation.
