Words: Kate Allvey // Photos: Paul Lyme, Penny Bennett

Call Me Amour

Glittery shirts and a whole lot of love for Call Me Amour kicks off the day, along with what must be the inaugural circle pit. It’s their first time playing any festival at all, and judging by the way ‘Bloom’ gently flowers into a chorus as pretty as its namesake, it won’t be their last. ‘Where’s The Chemistry?’ pulses with dark summer refreshment, and by emphasising the rock end of their sound, we’re fizzing from their Slam Dunk wake up call of a set.

Unpeople

Twiggy Ramirez grooves and summertime anthem energy? Yes please! Unpeople are joyful and heartfelt in their cross-genre rock appeal. ‘Going Numb’s grunge edges fade into indie screams as they take us on a voyage through their own sonic landscape through the dark recesses and sweeter rises of ‘Kangareuben’. They’re a dream of what the nineties scene could have led to had we taken different roads and a hopeful delight from start to finish. 

Cancer Bats

A shot of high-jumping adrenaline, Cancer Bats bring a invigorating and furious thunderstorm of raging punk and outside energy to the East field. It’s been two decades since they released ‘Birthing The Giant’ and they’re determined to celebrate with a set dominated by their debut; ‘Shillelagh’s prowling desert rage blasts with drum-driven intensity, led by an infinitely bouncing Liam Cormier. Their highly refined lack of polish makes for an absolute mid-afternoon kick.

Hawthorne Heights

“I’m not sure if Emo music is the right vibe, there’s blue skies everywhere,” frontman JT Woodruff apologises, but he’s wrong. Hawthorne Heights lure a packed crowd to the far corner of the field, and we sing out the melody to ‘Pens And Needles’ like our lives depended on it, barely recovered after the piercing honesty and stirring honesty of ‘We Are So Last Year’. A full wave transforms this corner into the most sincere pit of the weekend as Hawthorne Heights’ self-proclaimed “Emo throwback bangers” send us back to the happy places of our youth.

Zebrahead

Inflatable grim reapers, an onstage bar and the Team America soundtrack herald the arrival of Zebrahead, a band who have been stuck on the B-List for far too long. However, with punchy solos from the start and ska rhythms illuminating ‘We’re Not Alright’, that’s got to change. Ali Tabatabaee spits bars as crowd surfers flip forward on ‘Hello Tomorrow’ and ‘Rescue Me’ has reached full scream-it-out anthem status, the spectacle of the band obscured by the dust flung upwards by a roaring circle pit. Goldfinger join in for ‘The Perfect Crime’, a highlight of a set that’ll put Zebrahead back on the map. 

Trash Boat

“How the fuck did ten years go past so fast?” Tobi Duncan asks, and he’s determined to celebrate a decade of ‘Nothing I Write Can Change What You’ve Been Through’ ahead of their anniversary show this October. The smallest tent is packed with a fanbase fuelled by devotion, revelling in hearing a setlist that hasn’t seen the light of day in years. ‘Second Wind’s uplifting distortion gives way to the overflow of emotion that is ‘Catharsis’, and ‘Strangers’ feels like an emotional call to arms to send us back into the shocking brightness of the outside world.

Goldfinger

Can anything top ska punk in the sunshine? Goldfinger are just always reliably a good band to catch, and the way ‘Counting The Days’ echoes back across the field would melt the most icy and cynical heart. ‘Freaking Out A Bit’ wraps the jaded lyrics in brassy professionalism, and dropping in covers of NOFX and Metallica adds a jaunty humour to the afternoon. Previous years would have seen them on the corner stage in the ska-punk ghetto, but the decision to give Goldfinger room on the main stage lineup is undoubtedly an amazing move.

Boston Manor

There are two types of festival-goer: those that want the fun, and those that want the heaviness. For today’s crowd, the latter half have eschewed Goldfinger for the emotional earnestness of Boston Manor. With guitar lines like blades and an emotional urgency that demands you take notice, Boston Manor are proving to be the right choice for fans of the assertive, blunt and heavy. For those who opted to attend, ‘Laika’ acts as a reassurance that we were right to be here, as we stand strong in the packed out stage-front.

The Home Team

It’s The Home Team’s Slam Dunk debut and they’re bringing the party. ‘Brag’ grooves are a welcome respite from the heavier music with a focus on pure fun, their boyband energy extended to the most explosive and powerful rock conclusion. From the infinitely danceable ‘Overtime’ to the celebratory, grind-worthy ‘Loud’, each tune is more of a slap than the last, providing the festival feeling we’ve been craving.

Dashboard Confessional

The bustle of the day feels still as Dashboard Confessional present an oasis of semi-acoustic calm with ‘The Best Deceptions’, followed by the resonant universal truths of ‘The Sharp Hint of New Tears’. Of course, as Chris Carrabba explains, they “specialise in singing very sad songs,” but their set becomes a clearing full of joy in today’s forest of bands. 

The Menzingers

We’re hypnotically dragged across the field by the choppy strains of ‘I Don’t Wanna Be An Asshole Anymore’, the sound of The Menzingers unfiltered by sub-genre suffixes. They slide between the nihilistic optimism of ‘The Obituaries’ and the sly connection with the British crowd posed by ‘America (You’re Freaking Me Out)’, plus, of course, the Springsteen-esque realism of new song ‘Chance Encounters’ which gets its UK debut. As Greg Barnett’s roar grips our chests and sends hands aloft, we’re one again fortunate to have caught the Menzingers in their natural habitat.

President

The masked and tuxedoed politicians continue their meteoric rise with a set marked by a lengthy power cut and an absolute wave of devotion from their fanbase. ‘Fearless’ is gritty and explosive, their crashing sound growing in strength with every show, and ‘Dionysus’ smashes beyond the inevitable comparisons to Sleep Token. With unfortunately limited time onstage, they make every second count with some of the most blistering tunes of the day.

Taking Back Sunday

Even vocalist Adam Lazzara is astounded by the love he received from the crowd as Taking Back Sunday weave sophistication into the setting sun over the West field. He shakes his head in disbelief as we take over vocals on their iconic ‘Cute Without The ‘E’’, but how can he be surprised when we’ve already been slamming to the slinky bass permeating ‘Miami’ and rejoicing to the crisp solos in ‘Error: Operator’? The instantly danceable emo hits Taking Back Sunday lay on us are always a winner.

Motion City Soundtrack

‘L.G. FUAD’ is like a firework going off on the Monster stage, a beacon for those of us still up for a party. Motion City Soundtrack know very well how to create fuzzy anthems, ‘My Favourite Accident’ cresting as a wave of positivity, the vibrant guitar keeping our spirits high. There’s no Patrick Stump guesting on ‘Particle Physics’, but who needs him when we’re buoyed aloft by MCS’ sweet and sour tunes to brighten the early evening?

Sublime

It’s Sublime’s first UK show, and with Jakob Nowell taking over his dad’s role on lead vocals we knew all along we were in for a historic treat. They pay homage to the past with the inflatable Lou Dogs onstage, but with an undoubtably modern reinvention; covering Fallen Idols’ ‘Prince Of Sin’ gives Nowell a chance to shine on rapid-fire vocals in a set that dips and weaves between classic South Beach skate punk, dub and stoner rock. ‘Until The Sun Explodes’ might be played extra fast but it’s just as tender, and ‘Santeria’ feels like the homecoming every MTV kid was waiting for.

Malevolence

Rowdy and with a rhythm to shake the earth, Malevolence’s Alex Taylor is ready for anything in his pseudo-bulletproof vest. ‘So Help Me God’ poses and burns, ferocious and compelling, calling forth a colossal circle pit from those who want their evening exceptionally heavy. Their set passes in an instant, the kind of half hour you can lose yourself in, each song a tribute to the power of maximum noise.

Knocked Loose

It feels inevitable that one day Knocked Loose would have festival closer status, and today they’re as glitching and complex as ever, and their sound works tremendously on a huge stage. ‘Don’t Reach For Me’ shocks and jars, a song for a band revelling in their own chaos, and silhouetted by bare lights, we’re confronted by a band who have reached the place that they wanted to be all along. The ‘real’ closers for those flitting between the heaviest bands, Knocked Loose propels themselves through endless raging bass to create a massive hardcore finale. 

Good Charlotte

The Brothers Madden and co are the star attraction at this year’s Slam Dunk with their first UK show in seven years and a setlist that’s crammed full of hits to spark waves of throwback fever. Even when they play their “emotional song”, ‘Hold On’, we’re swept up by their sound blasting into the night to the point that no one dare move to catch an early train home: we’re gripped by their retrospective, from the tightly-plotted ‘Riot Girl’ through to the galactic club energy of ‘The Chronicles of Life and Death’.

While they might be larger than life now, Good Charlotte have kept themselves firmly rooted in their teenage outsider perspective. ‘Rejects’’ dreamy harmonies keep the loner message light, and ‘Little Things’, dedicated to “every kid who ever got picked last in gym class”, slaps hard, the field a sea of glowing hands. “We’re going to turn this into a very 2001 Good Charlotte show right here,” declares Joel Madden, and reliving our teenage years is what we’re here for. We’re word perfect on ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ – and we’ll ignore the irony considering the Maddens are married to Nicole Richie and Cameron Diaz when the live version of their hit is this good – and closing out with ‘The Anthem’ is an incredibly satisfying conclusion to our months of anticipation at seeing Good Charlotte live again. Okay, we won’t have too long to wait as they’re back in the UK in November, but as the fireworks send us on our way, we’ve got absolutely no complaints about our pop-punk favourites giving it their all. 

KATE ALLVEY

Words: Ellie Odurny // Photos: Jessi Lotti, Sam Huddleston and Tim Bugbee

TRUCKFIGHTERS

Formed back in 2001, Swedish stoner rock outfit Truckfighters have steadily garnered a global fanbase as a powerhouse duo with a revolving series of drummers. They manage to embody the coolness of Californian desert rock, whilst simultaneously fizzing with energy. The set is heavy on tracks from new album ‘Masterflow’ – their first in a decade – which slot seamlessly into the realm of muzzy guitars and hefty beats that fans have grown to know and love. Spinning whilst shredding guitar behind your head is quite the talent, one which a topless Niklas “Dango” Källgren is quite happy to share as he jumps, skips and hops around on stage. Oskar “Ozo” Cedermalm drives the rhythm steadily onwards on bass, belting out bluesy powerful vocals with a rasp that is quintessentially stoner rock. There’s nothing enormously innovative or challenging about Truckfighters’ music, but as archetypes of the genres that are most prevalent at Desertfest, they do a darn good job.

HOWLING GIANT

It can’t be easy being scheduled to start at the same time as Earthless, especially at Desertfest. This could be why people aren’t quite jostling for space at the Underworld. For once, nobody is stuck behind one of the infamous pillars. This thankfully doesn’t seem to dampen the spirits of Tennessee’s Howling Giant, who announce mid-set “We’ve come all the way from Nashville, and we weren’t sure what to expect so thanks for making this great”. If you’re also not sure what to expect from a Howling Giant live show, think beefy, classic rock riffs, subtle progressive tempo changes and big soaring harmonies (even if you’re not entirely sure where they’re coming from). The mix isn’t always perfect, with the melodic treble at times lost under bellowing bass notes, but Howling Giant add a psychedelic flair to a set packed with rock’n’roll charm.

FORLORN

The Dev is once again shrouded in mystery and ritual for folk-metallers Forlorn. Shrouded so much, in fact, by the constant plumes of smoke cloaking the stage, that anyone more than a few feet away will likely only be able to catch an occasional glimpse of an eerily waving arm or the spikes of the crown adorning vocalist Megan Jenkins. Much as it would be nice to see the band in all their darkly haunting glory, it’s almost enough just hearing their mix of airy melodies waft over the bar and descend into fiendish screams, grinding metalcore riffs and grizzly bass. The lack of a focal point does mean that it’s hard to remain attentive throughout, rendering Forlorn somewhat as victims to circumstance, playing to a venue with ample daylight before the sun has fully set.

THE SWORD

With a “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it” hiatus that lasted all of around 18 months, it has still been over ten years since Texan quartet The Sword have played on UK soil. There’s a buzz around the Roundhouse for the penultimate main space act, and an eager cheer marks their entrance. Sadly, the sound levels don’t quite pack the expected punch and the vocals, despite being tuneful, are muffled beneath slightly flat guitars. This doesn’t seem to deter the core crowd, however, who are lapping up the hazy stoner guitar refrains and drum fills with delight. As the chatter towards the edges dies down and the head-banging ramps up, it’s easy to get lost in the undeniable riffs and precise, heavy blows. What The Sword might lack in reckless abandon, they more than make up for with smooth, ballsy confidence.

CLUTCH

There’s probably not a great deal to say about headliners Clutch that hasn’t already been said already. A prolific touring band with a career that spans four decades, they’ve finessed their live show to run like a well-oiled, supercharged, sleek machine. You could focus on their unmatched stage presence; the charisma that oozes from Neil Fallon on the mic or the understated but phenomenally tight rhythm section. You could talk about how Clutch usually don’t follow a specific setlist for each tour, preferring to surprise the audience with the mix and order of songs from their extensive back catalogue. There is one moment of novelty this evening in the form of ‘Drifter Returns’; a live rework of 1999’s ‘The Drifter’.  It sounds great, but then again, it isn’t really anything new. You could mention how the smooth blues sometimes make you forget how heavy Clutch can be. Perhaps you could mention how odd it is to see the band grace the Roundhouse stage in May, as opposed to their usual slot every few years in December for what is now endearingly described as “Clutchmas”. The more memorious of you will note that the 2022 edition of said festivities featured Saturday headliners Green Lung as support. The fact that these two bands now share a headline slot indicates the meteoric rise of Green Lung over recent years, in comparison to rock giants Clutch’s calm and steady consistency in delivering a solid, warm and fuzzy show time after time after time.

Words: Ellie Odurny // Photos: Jessi Lotti, Sam Huddleston and Tim Bugbee

INSTAR SLING

Downstairs in the Underworld, things are decidedly less lively as Instar Sling launch into a relentless assault of brutal noise. Every drawn-out, downturned chord sounds like it’s been dragged through a mire and every snarled vocal is packed with venom. It’s slow, it’s dark and it’s crushingly heavy. They aren’t going to get any toes tapping or heads banging, but if you like your doom to be as bleak, sludgy and as smothering as possible, then Instar Sling are the band for you.

INHUMAN NATURE

The Roundhouse replaces the Electric Ballroom as the largest space for the weekend dates of Desertfest, so it’s a small trek up to Chalk Farm to watch Inhuman Nature in the opening slot. The London five-piece inject intensity into their set from the start, as hardcore-tinged vocals interplay with rapid thrash rhythms. Scattered over the weighty riffs and the occassional half-beat breakdowns are plenty of guitar solos that make full use of the fretboard, dishing out delightful metal squeals. The pace in general is much faster than a lot of the bands on the line-up, and even though the pit isn’t enormous or particularly ferocious, Inhuman Nature do a great job of blowing off any cobwebs from day one to hurtle into the second day of Desertfest at full velocity.

HARROWED

It’s a sprint back down the road to catch Kent trio Harrowed, who are busy trying to blow the roof off the Underworld with their raucously rapid metallic hardcore. Visceral vocals are screamed over ruthless drums and heavy-as-heck riffs. The set is full of the kind of aggression that constantly sounds like it has a purpose; always furious, never unhinged. Harrowed are ear-shatteringly loud, sure, but not just for the sake of it. There are elements of punk and death metal woven into the mix, adding texture and nuance to a technically impressive performance.

ELEPHANT TREE

It’s back to the Roundhouse again for Desertfest favourites Elephant Tree. The stoner/psych rockers bring a dreamy, groove-ridden mood to an increasingly-busy floor, as fuzzy guitars and entrancing beats wash over the crowd with ease. The tempo is slow and steady, with heads nodding along to the psychedelic, bluesy and occasionally doom-infused pulse. Not for the first time at Desertfest, the crowd sing happy birthday to bassist Peter Holland, the trailing cheers drowned out by hazy bass and laidback melodies.

PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS

Newcastle’s Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs always look like they’re having a fantastic time on stage. Their energy is infectious and it doesn’t take long for the Roundhouse crowd to work themselves into a frenzy in response. The bass thunders out into the rafters and trademark gravelly vocals power through to the very back of the room. The band have been carving out a space for themselves in the metal scene for the past 14 years and have developed an inimitable stage presence during that time. There’s no stillness to their operation; it’s a buzzing, energetic hive of activity that waxes and wanes through syncopated rhythms and churning guitars. Combining the groove of the early heavy metal scene with the driving rhythms of more upbeat stoner rock, Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs deliver a set that has everyone bouncing and thrashing along from start to finish.

GREEN LUNG

It felt like every other person in Camden today was wearing some kind of Green Lung merchendise. The now-London locals have amassed quite the fanbase over the years, and it seems like most of them are here tonight for Green Lung’s inaugural Desertfest headline set. With the gathering masses still jostling to find the best spot, vocalist Tom Templar appears, bathed in a spotlight to deliver the opening bars of ‘The Harrowing’. A fittingly flamboyant beginning to a show that is steeped in occult iconography and folk mystery. Imagery aside, the production is (almost always) slick and confident, without veering into conceited territory. The guitar solos ooze old-school metal charm, and it’s quite something to see a tambourine being played so aggressively. New track ‘Evil In This House’ is a stomping tune, lapped up by the crowd and dripping with classic heavy metal flare. The slower numbers are heavy on the bass, with the theatrical vocals lifting a doomy low-end into something altogether more dramatic. It’s not all serious though. In a scene that could have been cut from ‘This Is Spinal Tap’, a mysterious creature appears on stage, only for the horned head to flip over backwards and render the beast virtually headless. It’s swiftly tossed back into place by a visibly amused Templar who carries on regardless with a smooth professionalism that epitomises a Green Lung show. There are layers of carefully constructed sound and there are moments of mildly self-indulgent guitar trilling, but overall, they’re just a whole lot of fun. For the finale, original bassist Andrew Cave joins the band on stage for ‘Let The Devil In’, with Joseph Ghast adding some brass flounce on saxophone. It’s another string to the proverbial bow of a Green Lung gig, and the camaraderie, cohesion and talent on stage are proof of why this band’s popularity is ever-growing.

Words: Ellie Odurny // Photos: Jessi Lotti, Sam Huddleston and Tim Bugbee

CAPRICORNS

Friday’s largest gig space is the Electric Ballroom, which is where instrumental quartet Capricorns have reunited for their first live show since disbanding in 2008. There’s no sign of rustiness, however, as they deliver an accomplished mix of doom-laden, math-rock-tinged tracks to an appreciative audience. An impressive twin guitar stance and synchronised head-banging exudes confidence, with rumbling bass and solid drums driving the rhythm through the doomy, fuzzy riffs. The earlier tracks are linked with a distorted spoken word recording, which fades out as the intensity grows and the pace quickens into a heavy, almost frantic beat. There are mellow moments too, gradually building to a big booming sound, peppered with drumrolls and guitar licks. The tuning might not always have been 100%, but for a band that haven’t performed in nearly two decades, Capricorns still sound cohesive and powerful.

WITCHSORROW

Underneath the World’s End Pub, a bell tolls, heralding the arrival of doom metal trio Witchsorrow to The Underworld’s stage. With the floor in darkness and the stage bathed in a dull red light, the tempo is slow and the mood is gloomy. Hanging onto every resounding bass note for a moment longer than is strictly comfortable, there’s something strangely mesmerising about the macabre dirge. The set is interspersed with skilful shredding and plentiful use of effects pedal, which seem to pull the crowd out of their state of hypnosis momentarily. Feet begin to tap and heads begin to nod, faces still fixed towards the stage, spellbound by Witchsorrow’s brand of dark magic.

GNOME

Back around the corner, things look decidedly cheerier, as a very busy Electric Ballroom is populated with a sea of pointy red hats for Belgian rockers Gnome. For a band that look rather silly and draw a crowd of similarly whimsical fans, their sound is altogether more serious. With three albums released since their inception just over ten years ago, Gnome blend elements of sludge, doom and stoner rock into a sound that’s far grittier than their image would suggest. They sound tight from the off, with a meaty bassline providing the foundation for rock ’n’ roll grooves and strong vocals. A small but fairly raucous pit opens up, hats and hands flying in the air as everyone grins at one another, crowd and band alike. With deft picking and some enormous riffs, Gnome bounce between heavy, thundering beats and more experimental proggier rhythms with ease.

CWFEN

Pronounced “Coven” for those not-in-the-know, Cwfen hail from Glasgow. As the name would suggest, they lean heavily into witchy folklore-inspired genre of doomgaze. The set moves through 2025’s debut album ‘Sorrows’ with purpose, confidence and a real sense of a strong narrative. There are nods to the gothic romanticism of the darkwave, but with an eerier edge and a heavier beat. Ethereal vocals soar gently over the slowly-swaying crowd, punctuated by blackened screams that add to the atmospheric ambience in the room. The pulse quickens and harmonies add to the depth of sound, with a few perfectly-timed crashing cymbals building to a crescendo that is simultaneously both dark and uplifting.

HERMANO

There are some bands for whom this year’s Desertfest is one of their first gigs. Not so, for the members of Hermano. A stoner rock supergroup of sorts, the band came about when members of Kyuss, Supafuzz, Afghan Whigs and Disengage/Earshot joined producer and bassist Dandy Brown to make an album at the turn of the millennium. Since then, Hermano have played and recorded together, when their schedules have aligned, to produce a sound that epitomises the heavy, bluesy groove of the Desert Rock scene. They play to the packed room with an ease that comes from years of experience, and a swagger that portrays their talent without a need for grandiose gestures. It’s not often that a vocalist takes a quiet step back to put the spotlight on the rest of the band, but subtle moves like this from John Garcia cement a sense of cohesion in the band. There are no egos in tonight’s performance, just suave vocals, a commanding stage presence, big riffs and a pounding rhythm section driving proceedings ever forward. It’s a rare treat to catch Hermano live and even more so in the UK, and it’s clear from the sea of captivated faces in the Electric Ballroom tonight that the fans are delighted to be here.

HÄLLAS

Swedish quintet Hällas stand out from the majority of the attendees at Desertfest today. Clad in sequins and capes, their “Adventure Rock” output matches their outfits; dripping in 70s psychedelia and theatrical storytelling. There’s a lightness to their performance, with intricate guitar work and distinctly proggy keys lifting the emotive vocals.  The tempo changes and an overall more dreamlike vibe provides a welcome respite from the relentless chugging of  the heavier bands on the bill. That’s not to say Hällas don’t have weight. There are chunky riffs and rolling drums aplenty, but there’s a delicacy to their sound that adds to the intrigue. The final set at the Underworld today is indeed an adventure, packed with a variety of rhythms, sonic complexity and a whole lot of pizazz.

MEATDRIPPER

Closing out the Friday night, the delightfully-named Meatdripper are shrouded in smoke on the tiny stage in the corner of the Dev, Deserfest’s smallest venue. The psych-sludge quartet from Birmingham can only be seen by a handful of people, but they can be heard throughout the entire pub and onto the street outside. Huge levels of vocal distortion produce an otherworldly sneer, cutting through the mucky bass and fancy fretwork but never overpowering it. It’s sludge with an edge, teetering on the melodic side of pure doom with treble trills over the growling bassline. An excellent conclusion to the first day of Desertfest, Meatdripper supplied a solid set worthy of bigger stages, which they will no doubt be inhabiting in the not-too-distant future.

“Rock music is a horny vampire,” warns the voiceover before Creeper enter the stage, and yes, if you’re here for the “Horny Vampire Music”, as Creeper term their sound, then you’re bound to have a good time. However, with every statuesque pose from frontman Will Gould, revelations strike us. The ‘Sanguivore’ duet of albums were intended to fit together like gothic Jenga blocks, their separation only necessitated by time and recording limits. Live, the positioning of their tracks forms one hypnotic narrative of lurid gore and dark worship, and in the barely six months since ‘Sanguivore II’, they’ve already wormed their way into our bloodstream like a virus and taken root in our playlists. A flick of Gould’s wrist and we’re commanded into song for ‘Blood Magick (It’s A Ritual)’, the crisp darkness he evokes as he intones each chorus line intoxicating. Lovely post punk chimes illuminate a previously unheard growl on ‘Lovers Led Astray’ before the pounding, infernal vigour of ‘Headstones’ ignites a rabid circle pit – something this venue doesn’t see very often.

The more we hear, the quicker we’re inducted into the sweeping vision that Creeper have been building all along. It’s a journey we never knew were on, powered by whatever crystal idol Davey Havok sold his soul to in the noughties, and now we’re fully invested. The waltzing melodrama of ‘The Ballad Of Spook and Mercy’ provides a murder ballad on the largest scale, and the meaning bluesy burlesque of ‘Razorwire’ offers a compelling interlude in our tale, power and blues through Hannah Greenwood’s vocal cabaret flirtation. The theatrics of ‘The Crimson Bride’ grab you by the shoulders and shake you into belting out the unifying choruses before each pale cherry blossom note of ‘Love and Pain’ drifts down from above, the eruption of longing sending a dormant mirrorball spinning into life.

We love the drama and world-building, but we’re powered by the absolute shred Creeper can chuck out. Without the softening that studio production can offer, ‘Prey For The Night’ explodes with intense static and the play-within-a-play that is ‘Chapel Gates’ betrays a punk energy that reveals their rough grit away from the costumes and the polish that Creeper apply to their sound. ‘Parasite’ hits the metal motherlode that we were anticipating, a full anthem for the slamming crowd. Respite comes when they give us an intimate take on ‘More Than Death’, laden with wisdom and devotion from beyond the veil. It’s beautiful and wrenching in equal measure, a dramatic monologue from a rock opera waiting to be written. We take the verses and run with them, making each one our own.

A cracked grin from Gould is our reward for giving our all on ‘Further Than Forever’, the soundtrack to a rock opera waiting to be written and the perfect final act for a band who walk the tightrope above musical theatre grandiosity with their sound. Even the intro is enough to see a surfer absolutely flung across the room, seemingly weightless. The climax in the form of ‘Cry To Heaven’ is the epic payoff we knew it would be: we might be flagging by the time it appears, but the soaring chorus is enough to reignite us for one last bounce. Their secrets revealed, we feel closer to Creeper than ever before, and for a dark, splendid hour-and-a-bit, nothing else matters except their the cinematic whirlpool of the Sangui-tour and the grip it has on us.

KATE ALLVEY

It’s for this reason that the depth of Supersonic 2026’s lineup is so ineffable. This year’s performers exist not within genre but within some hazy universe of their own making. Acceptance is a central pillar of Supersonic and this extends to the music, however arcane; Thorn Wych’s experiments with homemade instruments, Lucifer Sky’s brutal soundscapes of noise, etc. Folk remains ever-present too, as ØXN and Milkweed draw two of the weekend’s most attentive audiences.

Similarly evident is Supersonic’s penchant for the type of heavy music that thrives within counter-cultural spaces. “Supersonic recommends wearing earplugs to all shows” says a sign near the bar at the festival’s main venue, The Crossing. As the weekend progresses, one thing is clear. This is extremely sage advice.

Words: Ben Williams  //  Photos: Supersonic – Joe Singh, Robert Barrett & Sam Frank Wood

Saturday

Greet

Greet consists of little more than harmonium and voice. Masterminded by Yorkshire’s Matthew Broadley, it is in principle a minimalistic project. The result, however, is akin to the maximalism of the undulating Yorkshire Dales. Alongside a free-standing setup of harmonium and microphone, Broadley plays the instrument like a pair of bellows, breathing life into each fiery pulse of the harmonium’s stoic chords. These dense textures neatly sit underneath Broadley’s voice, at once both gentle and valiant. Crafted as folk songs, the compositions themselves have more in common with the sombre ambience of genres like doom metal and drone, as instrument and voice blend into the room, becoming one with the building itself.

Bong II

Original Bong members Dawn Terry and Mike Smith reunite alongside Smote’s Daniel Foggin to present the inaugural performance of Bong II, an exciting continuation of the longstanding drone metal project. It begins with a roaring eight minutes of noise, with Foggin, back to audience and guitar pointed firmly towards amplifier, handling his instrument like an ancient relic. Smith’s drums, once they eventually begin, build to a pummelling of seismic crunches that produce visible wobbles from the precariously placed surrounding microphones. Terry meanwhile adds melodic depth through both bass and vocals. The latter is far from lyrical, and instead adds an additional texture to the already multi-layered performance. Between the three musicians is a remarkable telepathy too, as tempos are pushed, pulled and twisted across a 45-minute display of rib-cage rattling vibration.

Traidora

Traidora are an anti-fascist queer punk band led by Eva Leblanc, a Venezuelan-born trans-woman currently living in the UK. Performing tonight alongside Charley (guitar) and Maeve (drums) as a three-piece, although the exact personnel of musicians vary between performances, the scale of the occasion has not escaped Traidora. “You can usually see us in the basement of a stinky-ass pub” says Charley. The band however remain unbothered by the venue’s size as they power through a 30-minute performance of gnashing punk energy. Leblanc’s conversational tone between songs adds context to Traidora, a project that celebrates queerness in a way that aligns to Supersonic Festival’s continued support of queercore music. It’s a rapid half-an-hour of effervescence that viscerally entertains as much as it culturally matters, perhaps now more than ever.

Sunday

Guttersnipe

Leeds’ Guttersnipe is a curious prospect. The duo, consisting of Urocerus Gigas (guitar/keyboard) and Tipula Confusa (drums), face each other on stage as they unleash a cocktail of noise rock, their flailing profiles partly obscured by their equally flailing hair. Tipula Confusa’s drumming style is jazzy, sticks falling into a mic’d up drum kit that is itself heavily distorted. It adds an industrial edge that blends well with Urocerus Gigas’ frenetic guitar playing. What’s most remarkable about Guttersnipe however is the duo’s ability to conjure a variety of sounds, seemingly from thin air. The music at times slows to a grungy sludge, and at others accelerates to something of chiptune free-for-all. With both members singing into microphones that are fed through enough processing units to make their between-song stage patter sound like the clangers (to their own admission), the duo’s endearing chemistry only adds to the thrill of each noisy digression.

Monoxide Brothers

The pleasingly DIY Monoxide Brothers – made up of Emily Doyle and Sophie Hack – stand before their setup of electronics with a sense of pride. It looks like a collection of findings that an EDM-obsessed magpie has gathered. This motley assemblage is the powerhouse behind Monoxide Brothers’ surprisingly catchy but nonetheless heavy electro-leanings. Above this sits Hack’s vocals. Her lyrics traverse songs about trans rights and female body autonomy, consistently delivered with a sly and cutting matter-of-fact sardonicism. Doyle’s supporting role is one of controlled chaos, as she battles, mostly successfully, to keep each looped electronic pulse under control. They’re backed by a tapestry of live coded visuals courtesy of collaborator Rose Davies. Protean shapes of psychedelia create colourful swirls as code sprawls across the screen, adding a techno-futuristic flair.

Microplastics

Microplastics’ debut performance is one of Supersonic 2026’s most hotly discussed bookings. Jennifer Walton, 96 back and aya are each known predominantly as solo artists. Now united, they unleash a whirlpool that intersects black metal, hardcore and techno with seldom paralleled creativity. With 96 back’s frantic electronics remaining centre stage throughout, the remaining two members swap sides and instruments (guitar and drums) during what aya calls “switcheroo time”. It offers ample opportunity for some friendly bickering about which ear aya is slightly deaf in (the right apparently) and why Walton’s glasses are falling apart (aya accidentally punched her in the face earlier this evening). Following an incendiary opening run, ‘Kick Stupid’ brings a moodier energy that’s haunted by the ghosts of stoner rock, while a cover of ‘It Eats Itself’ from Walton’s debut album ‘Daughters’ is aptly melancholy. It all sums to a breathtaking premiere as the trio deliver the performance of the weekend.

Ameretat

Formed by S and K but performing as a five-piece, Ameretat are a punk band who seriously know how to riff. They’re also likely the fastest band to perform at Supersonic 2026, but much is hidden amongst the velocity. With both core members contributing vocals – each deploying vastly contrasting registers (Blood Brothers, anyone?) – S and K are a complementary pairing. Both can roar like they’ve eaten barbed wire for breakfast too. They are also children of the Iranian diaspora, and the sounds of Iranian music permeate Ameretat’s sound palette. Away from the music lies the reality of the band’s friends and family, living in Iran during what has in the past few months become an increasingly unsafe environment. The band retell a harrowing story of the fatality of a loved one, while imploring everyone: “Don’t talk over people when they’re telling you their experiences.” It’s one of several moments of Supersonic 2026 where the bleak realities that exist outside the festival’s perimeter are acknowledged with candid honestly.

Prostitute

“I’ve come to dance”, deadpans Prostitute frontman Moe. “So, let’s dance.” He means it too. As Detroit’s Prostitute bully their way through the experimental post-punk of their debut album ‘Attempted Martyr’, Moe’s body is transformed into a vessel through which every musical impulse the band produce is electrically passed. The band are tight, fearfully quick in dexterity and aloof in presentation. The music is aggressive too, but having come here to dance, there’s also a spritely energy to Prostitute’s toe-tappers. Between songs, Moe pauses. Staring at the audience and saying nothing, his eye contact is eerily intense. This is post-punk at its most volatile; frighteningly unpredictable. Throughout a lean 45-minutes, he consumes multiple bottles of water. This presumably provides the strength required to lift his keyboard over his shoulder as he departs the stage in what looks like a bid to become something of a post-punk Rick Wakeman. Far from ostentatious, it’s a striking image and a fitting ending to Supersonic 2026; few could draw the festival to a close quite this brazenly.

As Supersonic Festival’s Artistic Director Lisa Meyer says: “We are living through dark, volatile times shaped by war, violence, and the erosion of freedoms, alongside the ongoing struggle for bodily autonomy, trans rights, and basic dignity. These realities are not separate from this space. They are part of why coming together like this really matters.” Supersonic Festival is therefore both a meditation on and an escape from a hostile planet. It remains one of the only true independent festivals. Local artists run workshops throughout the day, a local brewery keeps the bar stocked, and a core audience of independent music-lovers keep the festival alive. It is for these reasons that an overwhelming sense of possibility emanates. Supersonic is unafraid to confront difficult topics. But in doing so, one leaves with more hope than when they arrived.

BEN WILLIAMS

As a set, tonight is short but intense, which is for the best: any longer than forty-five minutes and we’d be a collective puddle of mush on the sticky floor, but it’s also the perfect length to showcase ‘Talk About It’. “It’s a little different from what we’ve done before,” warns Sid Ryan. The split between issues of “love, loss, grief, ambition, [and] hitting trouble’, which dominate their latest release, serves to show how much they’ve opened up and turned their troubles into a strengthened sound. Opener ‘Standing In The Downpour’ immediately grabs us by the collar for a good shaking in its purer and more immediate live incarnation. ‘Cut Throat’”s bass-binding is knotted in wire-sharp guitar, before the band slip in to the thrashing blast of ‘Midnight Ferry’. 

The hits punctuate Grade 2’s quick-fire set – and, of course, ‘Graveyard Island’ is a battery of storming energy, always dominated by force of attitude, which drags our phones up – but the fact that ‘Hangin’ On To You’, which only came out weeks ago, is already sparking a massive fan reaction is a sign that we’ve embraced their new direction. It’s a ray of sunlight that splits the ceiling when the intro drops, with each line a promise like the anonymous hand that grabs you up from the floor when you fall in the pit. Title track ‘Talk About It’ feels like a middle finger to anything that atomises, celebrating the growing community they’ve gathered around themselves. 

For the first time, Grade 2 feel like an independent force. Sure, there are echoes of Pennywise on ‘Better Today’ via their gruff vulnerability, and yes, we’re always aware that Rancid’s Matt Freeman is inspiration behind each complex note of Ryan’s bass. Of course, ‘Pubwatch’ carries a whole lot of wholesome Oi in each bellowed gang vocal, and we love these guys for being the smoothie that results from dropping all our favourite punk ingredients into a blender. But, just when we think we’ve got them figured out, they drop in a cover in the form of ‘Do You Wanna Dance?’, and we’re struck by how much originality and, above all, joy they can bring to a song we all know. They’ve slowly built on their origins to an endpoint where they’re true to themselves, and it shines through on every new track. ‘Wasteland’ opens up a packed pit and conjures a dark groove to send us slamming.

Grade Two are a blunt instrument in the punk scene, but such an effective one. Moving on with ‘Talk About It’ has resulted in a freshness seeping into their music and a personal touch which extends to more than just those enamoured of the street punk sound. Fast and energising, and unlikely to play to such a tiny room again in London, we’re lucky to have caught them before they explode. 

Kate Allvey

Delta Sleep arrive first and waste no time making a case for themselves. The Brighton math-rockers bring a kind of unhurried technical confidence that makes every track feel crowded and cascading in the best possible sense, jazz and alt influence bleeding into one another with an ease that makes the whole thing feel inevitable rather than effortful. The energy is quieter than Oversize’s; more focused, the kind of performance where the music does all the talking and the talking is very good. The crowd eat up every minute of it and by the time they’re done, a room that arrived strangers to them has been thoroughly won over.

And now, Hot Mulligan. ‘Moving to Bed Bug Island’ opens with deceptive calm, the kind of measured intro that lulls you into thinking you might get a minute to breathe before the whole thing detonates. You don’t. ‘And a Big Load’ follows and the Roundhouse barely knows what to do with itself, and from there the room is in freefall in the best possible way. Tades Sanville occupies a very specific Venn diagram overlap between genuinely funny and genuinely devastating, working the crowd between songs with the ease of someone who has been doing this in rooms this size long enough to know exactly when to land a punchline and when to let a song do the heavy lifting. The banter never outstays its welcome because the songs never let it.

A Weezer cover in ‘Island in the Sun’ arrives early and lands with a warmth that briefly turns the Roundhouse into a living room. Then ‘Monica Lewinskibidi’ and ‘How Do You Know It’s Not Armadillo Shells?’ (fan favourite and highlight of the set) instantly make the queuing all worth it. It’s a far cry from playing support slots to a couple of hundred people only a handful of years ago. ‘I Don’t Think It’s the Right Time for Emojis’ is barely three weeks old, a B-side broadside against religious hypocrisy that Tades has described with characteristic bluntness, and yet a startling number of this crowd already know every word. It’s just that kind of fanbase. ‘Featuring Mark Hoppus’ and ‘John “The Rock” Cena, Can You Smell What the Undertaker’ bulldozes through the mid-set with Hot Mulligan’s signature trick of disguising genuinely devastating emotional content inside song titles that sound like they were named by a sleep-deprived teenager on a group chat. ‘Drink Milk and Run’ and ‘Feal Like Crab’ keep the room in a state of near-constant motion, and ‘Gans Media Retro Games’ and ‘Stickers of Brian’ carry the main set toward its close with taut, hard-won momentum.

We’re transported back to the fever dream that was March 2020 with two tracks from ‘You’ll Be Fine’ for the encore. ’BCKYRD’ and ‘*Equip Sunglasses*’ close it out with the kind of volume that makes the Roundhouse’s famous circular walls feel like they’re leaning in.

Hot Mulligan are, and have been for a while, one of the best live bands doing it, and it feels like they are now, at last, getting their flowers.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

Reliably on point as ever, The Bouncing Souls’ new song ‘As One’ channels street punk on the bass, alongside their ever-present focus, a community strength cut with a darker edge. There’ll never be a time when we don’t welcome the sight of Greg Attonito swaggering his way through ‘True Believers’, chorus aflame and beers raised in salute. ‘Gone’ gives us the first anthem moment that we crave, with each singalong-second heartfelt. Calling this tour a Winter Circus feels a tad reductive after the moment of honesty that The Bouncing Souls conjure.

Of course, we’re here for the mini-festival atmosphere that Less Than Jake conjure at every show. It’s almost like a quality guarantee that could be stamped on every ticket: we know exactly what we’re going to get, and it’s going to satisfy our urges for healthy nostalgia and a time to dance like we’re in a field circa 2004. Red lights glint off thrown glasses as we’re swept into ‘History Of A Boring Town’ as Chris DeMakes conducts our singalong, and we’re in full voice from the second the drop hits. “It’s too fuckin’ easy to play here! You just go crazy for the first note,” the frontman laughs, and he’s right too. We’d still be bouncing off the walls if they read their shopping lists for ninety minutes, but their little touches of drama – the blasts of smoke, the synchronised jumps, the inflatable mascots, the masked rabble-rousers that leap onstage – fuel a show that reaches beyond the standard look back at the greatest hits. As Roger Lima takes over vocals for ‘Lie To Me’, a burst of magnificent optimism sends a crowd-surfer flipping and extending ropes of connection into the audience. No one needs to be told to create a “unity pit” for ‘Last One Out Of Liberty City’, and our shouts can’t be repressed as we’re flung into ‘All My Best Friends Are Metalheads’. Phones rise and shoes are lost from feet as even the security guards are bemused at the sight of folk in their fifties skanking like no tomorrow, while remaining word-perfect and in total sync with DeMakes. 

It’s always tricky for a band with such a long history to balance the old and the new – the anniversary retrospective hits with the newer numbers – but Less Than Jake seem to walk that tightrope with precision. Yes, most of the crowd are drawn by songs like ‘Johnny Quest Thinks We’re Sellouts’, its massive tension rising into a drop that crashes like a tidal wave with a note of longing on the fade out, or ‘The Science Of Selling Yourself Short’, a song that drags you back to a time when you could have been sincerely speaking those lyrics. However, while the newer songs peppering the set might not have the instant recognition of their hits, a track like ‘Walking Pipebomb’ is infused with their original energy like a teabag in hot water, the pressure cooker tempo radiating through tightly clicking rhythms. Meanwhile, ‘Sunny Side’ offers a gentler openness that finds something inspiring within the trumpet whirls that build as the song unfolds. DeMakes’ solo take on ‘The Brightest Bulb Has Burned Out’ is lush. Our emotion fills in the gaps left by the full band, and it’s our overwhelming singing that makes ‘Look What Happened’ so memorable live. We’re rapt until the last second when a glossy ‘Gainesville Rock City’ keeps us dancing until the howled finale. 

The healthy niche that Less Than Jake have carved for themselves, as purveyors of consistently party-oriented tunes cut with cynicism that fulfil our need for nostalgia without cliche, has proven to be a welcome part of every millennial punk’s year. They’re obviously a polished ska-punk machine by now, but it’s the community they’ve built around themselves which makes tonight shine, and the joy you see beaming from every corner of the venue elevates the band above many of their contemporaries. This Winter Circus is welcome to roll back into town any time. 

Kate Allvey

The night starts with Drug Church, whose blend of punky, post-hardcore-y, alt rock-y goodness shows they’re determined to earn their place on this bill. Frontman Patrick Kindlon has already declared to every crowd on this run that it’s the opening band’s job to set the tone, and set it they do. ‘Fun’s Over’ hits the O2’s cavernous space with a force that has no right to feel this intimate, and ‘Weed Pin’ sends the first wave of bodies over the barricade. Kindlon holds court between songs with the cadence of a man who has been given a pulpit and is absolutely going to use it. Drug Church give us neither the headliner’s sensuality nor the main support’s anarchic energy, but what they bring instead is something pricklier and more relentless. ‘Myopic’ and ‘Grubby’ deliver in ways that feel both urgent and oddly wise, and by the time they’re done, several thousand people who arrived as strangers to Drug Church are leaving as converts.

Denzel Curry takes to the stage wearing a balaclava-like snood and barely stops moving for the entirety of his set. Frankly, it’s a masterclass in how to occupy an arena stage as a solo rapper. The crowd naturally divides into two separate, invisible groups: Group A, ‘who the f*ck is this’, and Group B, ‘he’s an odd choice to support Deftones, but I’m having a fantastic time’. ’RICKY’ hits like a thunderclap and ‘GOATED’ follows with rhymes and confidence that match the song’s self-billing. DJ Poshtronaut adds crucial texture beside him as the pair bounce off each other in ways that keep the crowd perpetually on their toes. Curry’s ability to hold a crowd that’s ostensibly here for alt-metal is remarkable in and of itself, but a shout-out to Rage Against The Machine’s Zack De La Rocha before an absolutely scorching cover of ‘Bulls on Parade’ settles the question of whether he belongs on this bill (he does). Next, Deftones. Here we go!

‘Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)’ opens with the kind of slow-burn grandeur that renders the O2’s size irrelevant. Suddenly, this is the most intimate room in London, and Chino Moreno’s voice is doing things to the atmosphere that the projections and light rigs can only dream of. Speaking of which: the visuals form a striking backdrop of short looping clips that cycle behind the band, pulsing and breathing with the music. It is in fact so striking, it’s hard to look away, making it surprisingly easy to forget the people on stage creating all this noise, forcing the crowd to periodically correct the subject of their attention.

Chino is a man of remarkably few words, with “welcome”, ”thank you” and “you feeling good over there?”, being about the limit. The Deftones live experience offers an almost cult-like quality, a sense that the music is the sermon and additional commentary would only dilute it. ‘locked club’ and ‘Rocket Skates’ keep the temperature climbing, and ‘Diamond Eyes’ sends the first properly delirious surge through the crowd. The newer ‘Private Music’ cuts sit comfortably alongside the catalogue, as ‘ecdysis’ unfurls with that familiar gauzy menace, and ‘infinite source’ holds its own in a setlist that includes ‘Digital Bath’ and ‘Change (In the House of Flies)’ — no small feat.

Then, mid-intro to ‘my mind is a mountain’, Chino stops. Something’s happened in the crowd that appears to be a medical emergency. Chino handles it with quiet authority, waiting it out, watching, and only when the situation is resolved does the band ease back in. It briefly strips the theatre away from a gig and reminds you that these things happen in rooms full of people. They recover without missing a step. ‘Sextape’ drifts past like a fever dream, ‘Genesis’ rattles the chest cavity, and ‘milk of the madonna’ – bleeding into a ‘souvenir’ outro – feels like being slowly lowered into warm water, closing the main set with a kind of aching grace that leaves the room briefly speechless.

There’s something lovely happening tonight, as teenagers who’ve clearly arrived via TikTok’s recent and apparently insatiable appetite for Deftones stand beside the parents who’ve been listening to ‘Around the Fur’ since 1997. When ‘Cherry Waves’ opens the encore, the volume from the floor gets suspiciously, magnificently louder, and you can tell exactly which songs those newer fans came for. Nobody begrudges them for it. Mostly. ‘7 Words’ ends it all with the fury the night earned. Moreno screams, Carpenter’s guitar does something prehistoric to the air, and then it’s over. They walk off and leave the lights to do the talking. It’s more than enough.

Deftones return to the UK to headline All Points East presents Outbreak in August, and if tonight is anything to go by, whoever’s lucky enough to be in that field better be ready.

KATHRYN EDWARDS

Photo: Clemente Ruiz