What’s the worst part of attending a music festival? Apart from the predictably unpredictable British weather, of course. The food? The queues? The repetitive line-ups? Having hitherto exclusively experienced music festivals in the UK, I’d recently have been minded to answer “all of the above”. In fact, being the bitter and cynical grump that I am, I often tell people I hate everything about festivals except the bands. But, to paraphrase a one-hit-wonder from the 80s, last night a Belgian saved my life. Well, a field full of Belgians. Over two nights. About a week ago. You get the idea.

For a quarter of a century now, the Belgian municipality of Meerhout – population 10,000 – has seen that figure quadrupled every Spring by an influx of mohawks, studded jackets and obscenity-riddled T-shirts as punks flood in for Groezrock. It’s an indelibly-inked festival fixture in Punktastic’s calendar, and one about which I’ve rarely heard a bad word.

Here at PT we have a long-standing relationship with Groez, and the team never miss it. This year, I finally got to find out why – and had my faith in festivals restored in the process. The whole weekend was a journey of rediscovering everything that made me fall in love with live music, way back when every member of Rancid (and I) still had hair.

The climactic omens were less than promising as we set foot on the already-muddy site on Friday afternoon. One of the many great things about Groez, though, is that all its stages but the smallest, the ‘Watch Out!’ stage, are undercover. And as the first ice-cold Jägers of the day snaked their way down the thirsty throats of the fun-loving throng, California’s The Aggrolites emerged onto the main stage to lift both clouds and spirits with their laid-back but energetic take on ska. Sure, their organ-infused, bright and breezy upstroke-punk isn’t shattering any worlds or genre boundaries, but as the last notes of their set seeped out of the main stage tent and embraced the rapidly-filling festival, there’s a noticeable upstroke in the mood on-site too. Despite being stood in a pile of mud, wearing three layers and an increasingly-damp beanie hat, I felt surrounded by a sense of calm and communality. Groezrock had officially begun.

Barely an hour into the festival, I’d managed to lose everyone I arrived with as we scattered across the site looking to exchange euros for cardboard tokens, then cardboard tokens for food and beers. Or in my case, Long Island Iced Teas. A couple of observations here: firstly, the token system. Increasingly common at European gigs in general, and undoubtedly a boon for the festival organisers as people stagger home at the end of the weekend with 20 euros of unused cardboard souvenirs in their pockets, it nevertheless enhances the overall experience. Queues at the bars and food stands were virtually non-existent.

Those 10-minute waits at the bar as you anxiously worry about whether you’re going to lose your friends to the ever-increasing crowd gathering to watch that Biffy Clyro fella? At Groezrock, you’re away from the bar with an ice-cold beverage in less time than it actually takes to utter the phrase ‘away from the bar with an ice-cold beverage’. And secondly, that a cocktail bar and a cava bar can happily sit next to each other, supplying unashamed pansies like me with deceptively sweet, Schwarzenegger-strength drinks and/or fizz – in actual flutes, speaks to the open-mindedness and absolute lack of judgement I found to be a pivotal strand of the festival’s DNA.

Punk isn’t telling people what they can and can’t wear, drink, watch or think. It’s about people coming together, regardless of background, nationality or ethnicity, and having a fucking amazing time losing their shit to great music.

About that music, then. Firstly, whoever was in charge of scheduling last weekend deserves the Belgian equivalent of a knighthood for services to enthusiastic music fans. Four stages, a staggering number of bands, and yet barely any full-set clashes. Yes, the site’s small size and therefore the stages’ proximity to each other helps here, but this was still an impressive feat. And secondly, name me a festival in the UK where you can watch Hatebreed and Rancid tear up a main stage that, the following day, runs The Movielife into Juliette & The Licks into Mad Caddies.

Try booking that lineup on our fair isle, and watch the narrow-minded, genre-throttling bitching that ensues. The sense I got from the attendees at Groezrock was that everyone was there to share a great experience, and a blues-rock band fronted by a movie star was every bit as welcome as Jamie Jasta and his fist-pumping, dude-rag adorned crew.

Those arriving early enough to the Back to Basics stage on the first day were lucky enough to catch The Dirty Nil playing what will surely be one of the last mid-afternoon slots they’ll play for the foreseeable future. Not so much rock stars in the making as fully-fledged and waiting for everyone else to catch up, their performance was imbued with an assurance that belies their newcomer status. Starting their set by tearing into recent single (and bonafide banger) ‘No Weaknesses’, the band dominated the stage. Their chemistry is beyond reproach and Luke Bentham has the voice, moves and objectively-questionable shirts of every legendary frontman the 1970s ever produced. Bassist Dave Nardi literally attacks his instrument and the sheer noise the trio produce is quite something to witness. Not the band of the weekend, but staking a convincing claim for a future shot at the title.

The Monster Energy stage, which apparently had its lighting rig set up someone experiencing a particularly strong bout of nostalgia for the 90s rave scene, played host to a triumphant set by Four Year Strong, whose riffs and feel-good easycore sliced through the multi-coloured spotlights, united the crowd and triggered the first circle pits of the day. But – and while this might seem like a strange observation – what polite circle pits they were.

I’m a fairly big dude, and one of my least favourite things about shows in the UK is when Harry Hardcore and his vest-wearing, dickhead mates decide they’re going to start slam dancing. They suck everyone into their little aggro-fest like a Dyson powered by cheap lager and fragile masculinity; I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had people hide behind me, turning me into reluctant barrier and meaning that instead of watching the band, I’m watching a bunch of knuckle-dragging numbskulls ruining everyone’s vibe.

None of that at Groezrock. Not that I saw, anyway. I cannot speak highly enough of the crowds – everyone grinning, everyone picking each other up, and if you didn’t actively involve yourself in the circle pits then they just happened around you. And nowhere was this more evident than on the tiny Watch Out! Stage which, true to its name, played host to an endless stream of bands who are going to be doing some great things in the future.

The most fun set of the weekend was without a doubt from Melbourne professional stoners The Bennies. On record, their relentless party-anthems and songs about getting fucked up on literally any substance you can think of can grate after a while, but live? As people rush the stage to enthusiastically assist singer Anty in his apparently perpetual search for weed, a man in his 50s fist pumps to a song called ‘Party Machine’ while another guy dressed as a monkey crowd surfs on an inflatable crocodile. By the end of the set, it seems like everyone has crowd-surfed on that inflatable crocodile, including Anty. Glorious chaos.

Let’s talk about stage-diving. As a rule, I hate it. I’ve seen too many people at tiny venues like London’s Old Blue Last clamber up onto a stage that can barely hold the band, let alone any bonus boneheads, then throw themselves onto a crowd who at no point consented to being used as a bunk by a six-foot, vaping bellend in a snapback. But at Groezrock, the dynamic was entirely different. There seemed to be a mutual understanding: this festival is about losing yourself in music, and people are going to be throwing themselves off stages left, right, centre, and left again. ‘We’ll catch you’, the crowd agree, ‘provided you don’t act like a prick’.

This resulted in people of all ages gleefully falling onto equally happy crowds, being passed back, being picked up immediately if they fell to the ground. I have never in my life, not even at supposedly hippy love-fests like Glastonbury, experienced anything like the pervasive, embracing vibes in the crowds I saw last weekend. Any festival that’s cultivated an atmosphere this inclusive, this communal, and this safe, should be proud of itself.

It’s a good job Groez is so audience-participation friendly, because when letlive. took to the Impericon stage on Saturday to play what was without a doubt the set of the weekend, stage-diving had apparently become compulsory. The unadulterated energy Jason Aalon Butler brought to the stage immediately emanated to the back of the tent. And hearing that voice on record is one thing, but live it’s a performer in its own right. Just one of the best live bands I’ve ever seen, and their passion, performance and musicianship is everything I love about live music.

I have to give props, too, to the perpetually-fun Less Than Jake, pop-punkers Not On Tour whose riffy take on a well-trodden genre was a great way to kick off Day 2, and to Californians Bad Cop Bad Cop, whose evident shock at the gigantic crowd they pulled to the Watch Out! Stage was as delightful to behold as their energetic 90s-influenced punk rock and watertight vocal harmonies.

PUP followed shortly after, effortlessly dropping a masterclass in raw, melodic punk rock. In a lesser band’s hands, a note-perfect cover of ‘Sabotage’ might have seemed like a desperate mis-step, but here it set the crowd off just in time to go bonkers for set-closer (and album-highlight) ‘Reservoir’. PUP are a very, very good band indeed. Repping the UK on the same stage, Moose Blood seem to have found a new lease of life while recording and writing their forthcoming album. Moose Blood have always been better live than on record, but this was the best I’ve ever seen them and new single ‘Honey’ absolutely came to life in the festival setting. It’s an anthem in waiting, and they’re stars in the making.

Also representing the UK, albeit in drastically different ways, were Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes and Exeter’s Muncie Girls. If there were any doubts remaining about Carter’s return to the hardcore fold following his foray into the ‘softer’ sound of his Pure Love project, they were unequivocally dispelled by the electrifying display demonstrated on the Impericon stage. Wall of death? Try an entire tent of death. Vital, vitalising mayhem.

At the other end of the spectrum, Lande Hekt’s understated trio showed off the chops they’ve developed touring and despite professing fear to the entirely-full tent in front of them, there’s nothing on show but pitch-perfect professionalism and bloody good songs.They may be entirely at odds with the rest of the lineup on their stage, but that Groezrock unity shines through. And besides, it’s hard not to root for a band so good, and so obviously humble.

As the dust settled after Sum 41’s technically flawless headline set – Deryck Whibley is back on form and a great front man, who’s clearly memorised the Billie Joe Armstrong Guide To Holding Crowds in the Palm of Your Hand – I was left to reflect on just how much better Groezrock is than any other rock festival I’ve attended. It shares some values with the smaller, boutique UK festivals like Blissfields and the late Hevy Fest, but what made it truly special was the people.

I didn’t encounter a single one of the standard festival fraggles who so often do their best to make sure that their fun comes at the expense of yours. Just a few thousand people who love rock music, love watching rock music, and who want to share that experience with you, whoever you are.

See more of our coverage from Groezrock Festival, including exclusive sessions and live footage, here.