Words: Kate Allvey and Rob Dand  //  Photos: Penny Bennett and Paul Lyme

Press Club

Melbourne’s Press Club are one of a handful of Australian bands at Trees this weekend, and their breezy indie-punk has an undercurrent of warmth that makes them perfect main stage material. They’re arriving at Upcote Farm at the tail end of a mammoth European run in support of album four, ‘To All The Ones That I Love’, but this is a classic festival set, drawing from all corners of their back catalogue over just seven songs. The new record’s title track translates particularly well, and a glorious few minutes of cloud cover during jubilant set closer ‘Suburbia’ managing to inspire a lung-busting singalong from pockets of the crowd. Frontwoman Natalie Foster leaps with enviable vitality across the stage monitors and down toward the barrier, a captivating presence at the spearhead of a band who have no doubt just won over a host of new fans, thousands of miles from home. [Rob Dand]

Blackgold 

Taking Slipknot’s lead, Blackgold’s masked rap-metal shakes the main stage awake. ‘One Chance’ channels Limp Bizkit with a more serious streak, acknowledging their nu metal lineage with an assertive update. The demand a lot from their fans but they give a lot back through spot on lyrics and feral bass that could tunnel through the hillside. Dropping in hip hop megamixes, they get those determined to brave the sun bouncing furiously. [Kate Allvey]

Hail the Sun

Hail the Sun are good friends with tonight’s co-headliners Coheed and Cambria, and you can hear it in their sound too. At times, the Californian quintet’s technical post-hardcore sound is so post it’s almost pre-something else, pairing notes of Circa Survive and At the Drive-In with their pals’ penchant for the theatrical. Vocalist and occasional drummer Donovan Melero operates primarily in the higher register, and he has some great mic-throwing moves that would give tonight’s other co-headliners Taking Back Sunday a run for their money, but his performance feels primal rather than choreographed. Their energetic set leans most heavily on latest full length, 2023’s ‘Divine Inner Tension’, but there’s also a partial cover of Tears for Fears’ ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ and an airing for new single ‘The Drooling Class’. Six albums into their career, it’s something of a surprise that Hail the Sun aren’t held in higher regard in the UK, but this memorable set in front of a curious (if not rapturous) Axiom crowd won’t have done their stock any harm at all. [Rob Dand]

Coilguns

Within the space of two songs, Coilguns frontman Louis Jucker has broken his microphone whilst on a foray into the crowd. His equipment is replaced, but the band also grapple with a temperamental guitar cable throughout the set. Jucker displays all the hallmarks of an eccentric and passionate character, sometimes appearing agitated by the delays, but he is always quick to smooth things over with the crew after each interruption. He repeatedly expresses his gratitude to the crowd simply for turning up, giving the mic over to the front row on more than one occasion to fill time, and unlike most other bands appearing in the Cave this weekend, demands very little from them in return.

The set itself feels gleefully loose; not quite erupting into full chaos, but entertainingly dynamic. Songs from last year’s excellent full-length ‘Odd Love’ dominate, and Jucker is keen to point out the meaning of the album’s title. He speaks about the importance of embracing our differences, and hammers the point home by warmly embracing as many people in the crowd as time will allow, before himself instigating the moshpit that accompanies their final song. All in a day’s work. [Rob Dand]

Frank Turner

Show number 3054 sees the spirit of 2000 Trees distilled into a worshipful Forest stage. Frank Turner’s been a staple of the Trees experience since its inception, but to hear his seminal ‘Live Ire and Song’ in its entirety, solo and acoustic, is something beyond special for Turner’s many fans. The power invested in every chord of ‘Better Man’ smoulders, and the goosebumps raising on our sunburnt shoulders during the title track feel more than real as we punch the air, each lyric a roared psalm. Re-presenting this album is a sublime, and one that means a huge amount to the FTHC faithful. We’ve been on a long journey with Turner and we’re proud to be here with him at his adopted home. [Kate Allvey]

Trashboat

Over on the main stage, Trashboat are keeping it heavy and current, switching between charismatic chorus and empassioned screams through ‘Be Someone’. Their new album is on their minds, and we’re delighted to hear Tobi Duncan’s “personal favourite” track, ‘Filthy Wretches’, in all its blazing ferocity. Paying tribute to the crowd sticking it out in the heat, ‘Shape’ clatters energetically, rewarding our patience. Trashboat strike such a great balance between grunge and heaviness, never succumbing to either, and making the main stage all their own. Self acceptance is their mantra and they preach it through gloriously original noise. [Kate Allvey]

La Dispute

Opening with spoken word poetry is a bold move, but La Dispute’s desolate post-hardcore charm resonates perfectly with the idyllic Forest Stage. Their descent into howls and delicacy on guitar sparks a gentle clap through the trees, ‘Environmental Catastrophe Film’ taut and absorbing. From among the many acts claiming a ‘hardcore’ root to their sound, La Dispute stand out as the most sensitive and intelligent, their songs flowing freely across planes of emotion, enigmatic and veiled behind murmured sentiment. [Kate Allvey]

Coheed and Cambria

With an intro as dreamy as the hillside view, Coheed and Cambria glide onstage. The keenest fans caught their mini-Forest stage set this morning, but the biggest stages are where we expect to see Coheed’s space operas presented in their fullest. ‘Goodbye Sunshine’, their recent single, is unveiled in all its power rock glory, sparkling as brightly as the iconic glittery Trees sign at the top of the hill, extended out for full vocal appreciation. It’s all about the classic rock guitar for Coheed tonight, and there’s something oddly inspiring about how their complex, prog-lite sound can unite everyone from girls in Eras Tour shirts and grandparents in bucket hats alike to rapt appreciation of Claudio Sanchez’s vision. The focus on ‘The Father of Make Believe’ cements their latest album as the last necessary brick in becoming the stadium rockers they were born to be. [Kate Allvey]

Million Dead

2025 has truly been the summer of reunions – but while Oasis and Black Sabbath made most of the headlines, tonight’s show heralds the unlikely return of Million Dead, catching the attention of post-hardcore fans in the Gloucestershire area at the very least. They didn’t so much break up as self-destruct, with the band going their separate ways back in September 2005. Now, twenty years later, and owing in no small part to frontman Frank Turner’s cult-like appeal in the strange bubble of this festival, they’re back for one more hurrah. Now a five-piece, featuring both Cameron Dean and Tom Fowler on guitar (who have never actually been in the band at the same time), they emerge to feverish applause, before launching into a slightly abridged version of ‘The Rise and Fall’.

With only two full length records to their name, Turner wryly acknowledges that the setlist is likely to feature most of the songs that people want to hear, and indeed the hour-long communion includes all the expected singles as well as some B-Sides, all now with fleshed-out instrumentation courtesy of the twin-guitar attack. It’s also great to hear the band confident enough in each other’s company to enjoy some self-deprecating humour. Turner makes a few tongue-in-cheek comments about how hard it is to replicate the vocal range he had in his youth after two decades, but aside from asking the crowd to step in to replace drummer Ben Dawson’s blood-curdling scream on ‘Pornography for Cowards’, everything is delivered faithfully. The chorus of ‘Living the Dream’ soars up into the roof of the tent and the closing salvo of ‘I Am the Party’ and ‘Smiling at Strangers on Trains’ predictably has fists in the air and all hell breaking loose down in the front.

After breaking up before they could ever grace 2000 Trees the first time around, they finally made this stage their rubicon. Welcome back, Million Dead. We missed you. I think you missed us, too. [Rob Dand]

Heriot

As the torturous tyranny of the sun subsides, it’s clear that despite today’s 33-degree heat, the real Hell on Earth scenario is now unfolding inside the Cave. Bathing the tent in a sinister red and orange glow, simulating the unholy ambience of last year’s debut full-length ‘Devoured by the Mouth of Hell’, Heriot cultivate an oppressive atmosphere of their own making – and they are in no mood for winding things down. Vocalist and guitarist Debbie Gough is in a particularly demanding mood. She shreds like a demon and continuously calls for more pit action like a woman possessed by another woman who is also possessed. Their twelve song set is practically relentless in its intensity, with only the brooding ‘Opaline’ offering much in the way of relative relief. As they pull down the curtain with a riot-inducing rendition of ‘At the Fortress Gate’, just three years after opening this same stage, the appreciation in the crowd is a reminder of how confident and sharp the band have become in such a short space of time. A triumphant and commanding headline slot. [Rob Dand]

Taking Back Sunday

Exhausted children are wheeled in wagons to the main arena as we stream in for the day’s dessert, chanting along as ‘A Decade Under The Influence’ punctuates our footsteps. Adam Lazzara flings his mic, posing elegantly, as ‘What’s It Feel Like To Be A Ghost?’ grips us, the post punk whirls of ’S’Old’ spiralling into the darkening sky like a promise. Their “love song, if you will”, ‘The One’ soars a rough edge to Lazzara’s voice before hopeful synths devastate in the slowed instrumental. ‘My Blue Heaven’ pulls together everything we hoped from their set as it moves magnetically through crashing riffs and raw emotion

Whether they’re offering up gigantic choruses to bind us together or keeping it tender and personal on ‘Amphetamine Smiles’, Taking Back Sunday offer us a mature and memorable finish to the day, full of heart and class, dealing out everything from lighters -up moments and fists punching the air to breakdowns for dance moves and pure emotional release. There can’t be any complaints about this one-off spectacular: “We hope all your dreams come true,” Lazzara wishes before ‘MakeDamnSure’ and he just might have fulfilled that before he even finished his sentence. [Kate Allvey]

Turner recently took the decision to walk away from the major leagues and return to his roots, releasing ‘Undefeated’ via “a global independent label setup”. Evidently, turning forty and then some between albums has prompted even more introspection from the frontman than usual, if that’s possible, and this doesn’t just come out in his choices over publishing. While Turner’s never been shy about dredging up his own past in all it’s hungover glory, his approach on ‘Undefeated’ is the same as he took right at the start of his career on tracks like ‘The Real Damage’, namely picking a metaphor that seems banal on the surface before unwinding it to expose a painful memory to the harsh light of day. Closed security barriers at ‘East Finchley’ tube station represent a separation from youthful visions of how life would turn out via wistful folkish spiralling choruses, and unopened ‘Letters’ are a rushing reminder of love lost. ‘Ceasefire’, as a counterpart to ‘Father’s Day’ but from the perspective of an older man, is probably the most innovative of these reflections, a chiming acknowledgement of age and connection across time using, of course, a beast of a central metaphor for Turner to wrestle into submission. 

Fortunately, an acknowledgement of where he came from also equates to joyfully racing punk tracks. Early single ‘Girl From the Record Shop’ is a simplistic delight with lyrical swerves aplenty, and don’t pretend you won’t be jumping along to the chorus of ‘Do One’ this summer when Turner makes one of his inevitable hundred appearances in fields across Europe. There’s a huge potential for glee in its chirping lines that’s just waiting to be grasped. The Pogues-influenced, humorous monologue ‘Never Mind The Back Problems’ will bring a smile to fans of a certain age with its anarchic take on genre hopping, but ‘No Thank You For The Music’ comes across as a tad dated. Snarking on the hipster style cartels feels rather Nathan Barley; it’s been years since we’ve been concerned with posers taking the place of ‘real musicians’, and that battle’s already been played out. Turner’s targets, along with the nefarious and shadowy music industry on ‘Show People’, feel anachronistic when he picks a specific group to snark on, especially since at this moment in time no one cares if you also went to the Cambridge Folk Festival one day and hit the pit the next. That said, this album only serves as evidence that Turner must be one of the most dangerous people in the UK to engage in casual conversation. One joke that lands wrong, or a single use of an appealing figure of speech, and you’ll find yourself immortalised in song.

Perhaps the most gratifying aspect of ‘Undefeated’ is its pervasive sense of hope; ‘International Hide And Seek Champions’ is sunshine distilled into a three minute escape plan, and the way ‘Pandemic PTSD’ transforms the growing realisation that we as a society went through profound psychiatric trauma for two years into catchy pop is gorgeously cynical. However, though the albums musical steps out of the darkness and into the light of optimism feel deliberate and natural, it also carries a quiet sense of loss.

Turner is magnificent when he’s spitting fire and fury out into a crowd, and it’s unlikely this side of his sound will be unleashed on record until there’s a new populist front in politics or the UK runs out of tattoo ink. This is to be expected; Turner  has acquired more health and stability in his personal life and isn’t the same person who ‘Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous’. If ‘Undefeated’ shows nothing else, it’s that after ten albums, the “skinny half-arsed English Country singer” has not let his well run dry, adapting and moving with his own mercurial circumstances to refine his sound.

KATE ALLVEY

Only one member of Ragan’s usual touring band, the Camaraderie, has made it to the UK, but by reducing his backup to Todd Beene on lap steel, we gain infinitely in terms of atmosphere and world building. There’s no distraction from the purity of Ragan’s unpretentious intention and his mighty, full voice. ‘Nothing Left To Lose’ builds slowly like an aching sunrise across lonesome plains of guitar which echo to the horizon, and ‘Bedroll Lullaby’ blooms full and lush like a tapestry of longing. Ragan checks in on us between songs to see if we haven’t been swept away by the elemental power of his growl. He speaks quickly and quietly in a thick accent, and grins broadly when he spots someone having a good time in one of his rare pauses between songs. Somehow, the vocalist is exactly how you’d expect from his music, and a complete contrast at the same time. His humble demeanour only makes the vastness of ‘Vagabond’ more shocking; it’s louder and more forceful than the studio recordings suggest, invested with a power like a prophecy from an ancient epic, and finishes with a poignant twist of regret.

“Thank you, friend,” Ragan nods graciously as if he knows each of us personally after ‘The Flame and The Flood’, a song that casts campfire shadows into the night like the dying embers glowing red. He certainly feels like we’re all close to him, taking a moment to ‘pay respects to the entire Hot Water Music family’ of which the three hundred of us are a part. This year is his band’s thirtieth anniversary, and to celebrate a full Hot Water Music UK tour coming up next month (and rumours of a new album), Ragan offers us re-fashioned versions of the punk side of his back catalogue.

‘State Of Grace’ is rich in reassurance, a heartfelt stripping away of preconception and memory sewn together lovingly with tumbling steel notes. The power of the song sends Ragan off-balance: he flings his entire body in an imaginary pit, then centres himself before each verse as if he remembers his status as punk statesman. ‘Habitual’ cracks with the sounds of country glaciers forming as Ragan throws his wail to the walls. “I’m ok,” he chants to himself on the chorus in a desperate mantra. His overwhelming fervour for his solo music returns on ‘Meet You In The Middle’ and he jolts like his lyrics are electrocuting him, weaving harmonies to create a majestic homecoming.

“Let’s get him up here… this guy is going places,” Ragan smiles before Frank Turner joins him onstage. First support Jess Guise (also known as Turner’s better half) had to cancel her appearance at the eleventh hour, giving Turner the opportunity to step in for her and test out his new material from his upcoming album, ‘Undefeated’. Turner can’t stop cracking up in laughter when he’s brought onstage; he doesn’t know the words to the song Ragan’s playing. “You never heard of Karaoke?” Ragan asks him, trying not to chuckle himself.

It seems fitting for a show that glorifies friendship in the theme of nearly every song to include an encore which makes two longstanding comrades-in-arms giggle for five minutes. Once composure is restored, the two throatiest vocalists on the ‘punk survivors’ scene rip into ‘The Boat’, and any darkness lingering at the periphery of our minds is banished by the blazing strength of the sound they rip from their chests. We’ll all make it through the night with a song like this one as the lighthouse to bring us home. As the final chord fades and dies, the much taller Turner hugs Ragan tightly to his chest and kisses the top of his head. We would all love to be able to do the same.

It’s been a decade since the Revival Tour brought the frontmen together, and Ragan’s been in all of our lives for much longer through his many musical incarnations. We’re stronger together, and capable of anything when our bellies and hearts are full of the fire Chuck Ragan lights with his show. 

KATE ALLVEY

Words: Kate Allvey. Images: Abbi Draper-Scott

Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls

Tesco pilgrimages had long been completed by Friday morning. Those of us over twenty three, all wearing ‘FTHC’ t-shirts, emerge from the Taproom bar, ready to open ourselves to the conscious positivity of our favourite ‘skinny half-arsed English country singer’s two thousand, seven hundred and ninety eighth show. Over a decade of Reading appearances has led to his presence as a welcome fixture on the main stage. However, his skill at turning the mundane into the glorious is still present in each strum of his guitar. With only half an hour to fill, Turner focuses on his new material at the expense of his anthems, but the solo jigs still bubble to the surface when an intro resonated with the memory of your personal struggle. This set proves that Turner’s fire still rages as ever, and with so many kids in the crowd his fanbase is sure to grow in the years to come.

You Me At Six

The sun beats down mercilessly, a rare moment during the weekend, but You Me At Six are so immersive that it became night during each song. In the breaks, you realise that it was still light, like the instant of confusion when you step out of a cinema. Their brand of catch and release, with claustrophobic buildups that throw open the windows to crowd-pleasing huge choruses, is just right for this moment. A man in a bright paisley shirt gives a chef’s kiss to his friends as ‘No Future? Yeah Right’ rings out, and he’s absolutely right to. As the eight-bit squealing fuzz of the intro leads into buttery soft vocals and stretching yoga bass, you ignore how much like Red Hot Chill Peppers they sound and bask in their beats. Vocalist Josh Franceschi’s vocal roll on the word ‘broke’ is stunning. Their lovely key changes bring home the glory on the bridge before we ‘go absolutely feral’ for‘Beautiful Way’.

Magnolia Park

As the day fades and Wet Leg’s grunge indie opulence gives way to Pinkshift’s Rage Against The Machine exorcism on the Main Stage, over on the Festival Republic stage, Magnolia Park herald the start of a punk rock evening. The Florida punks’ crowd is much smaller than the masses who lounge by the main stage but infinitely more dedicated. By the time Magnolia Park drop ‘Breathing’, the size of the crowd doesn’t matter any more: the band are a fire hydrant, blasting roots refreshment over us all. They take technical difficulties in their stride (“It’s a punk show, shit is supposed to go wrong anyway,” laughs singer Joshua Roberts) before bursting into ‘Liar’, the spiritual child of the Offspring’s nineties snark. Magnolia Park’s cover of ‘Sugar We’re Goin Down’ launches into easy, relaxed, knee-bending karaoke. Their version feels more like a fly on the wall documentary than the original Fall Out Boy romcom. Magnolia Park are consummate professionals, snapping in and out of performance, their taut pop-punk energy filling us all with neon, lilac joy.

Knocked Loose

Sadly, their predecessors had summoned the rain, which had threatened all day. Hot pants are concealed beneath North Face jackets as Knocked Loose are unleashed on the stage. Never has a band been more aptly named; the fillings in our teeth and our expectations of rock at Reading are shaken and jostled. You’re either in or out of their set. Their status as the heaviest thing on the bill is either the vitamin you’ve been craving, or you’re looking on in bemusement and wandering over to the dance tent. An elderly couple sit amused on the floor, eating noodles, throughout their set. The tectonic bass and drums that sound like horsemen of the apocalypse whip the tiny but dedicated pit into a frenzy under acid yellow light. Knocked Loose are definitely a musical palate cleanser, but in the style of taking a spoonful of wasabi and thinking it’s guacamole instead of a mint sorbet.

Normandie

The boys from Stockholm compressed an entire festival’s strength into a micro space. before making the smallest tent in the arena huge with their deep underground celestial chords. Just when you appreciate the bass, your perception is sliced in half by the guitar. The empty backing vocals on the song ‘Jericho’ are accompanied by yellow balloons with smiley faces dropped on the audience. We bat them around playfully, like a cat with a toy mouse. Normandie announce that their upcoming album, ‘Dopamine’ will arrive in February, with a single released each month. “It feels like the future…” says vocalist Philip Strand with an easy grin before premiering new song ‘Blood In the Water’. It’s a moody whirlpool that emerged from a stony drop, sending ripples through the crowd, with its mixture of tissue-sensitive lyrics and gutsy bass, and a vocal rawness on the finish that betrays sincerity from the band. “Give me life, give me fire,” they sing, summarising exactly what Normandie served with the booming, vintage club tension of ‘Holy Water’. Yes, some may consider their sound formulaic, but Normandie’s equation is one that will solve any problems in your life. Especially if they’re caused by a lack of metal drops and atmospheric sampling.

Yonaka

Barely can we recover from Normandie’s set before Yonaka’s nu-wave punk speed energy slams into the night. Vocalist Teresa Jarvis is like Karen O’s bratty stepdaughter who rebelled by turning to metal and using her ethereal Kate Bush voice for evil instead of good. They’re a circus of genres, with thin guitar threads typing hip hop beats and thrashing chords. Two teens in football shirts skip merrily into the pit just before the start of standout song ‘Call Me A Saint’. The deep-water chords of the first few seconds crumble into iconoclastic rubble with the force of demented sampling and rage-spitting vocals. ‘I Want More’ is the soundtrack to a horror movie’s scene in a cannibal nightclub. However, it would also be the breakout single from that movie with its aggressive drumming and brain-cramping guitar. The crowd split into halves, ravenously calling ‘I want more’ like attack dogs. The Shakespeare’s Sister energy of ‘Ordinary’ lulls two girls to sleep in the dewy grass to the side of the stage. They dream briefly of intellectually and emotionally challenging rough punk rock.

Palaye Royale

Fifteen minutes before Palaye Royal appears, the huddle towards the front of the stage intensifies. Clouds of dust and dry ice float in the air, wafting burnt matches and anticipation smell. The Canadians are a solid choice to finish the day with. They look and act like the image you picture when you hear the phrase ‘rock star’. Remington Leith has the voice of Pete Wentz and Steven Tyler combined and the body of a Hot Topic mannequin. He climbs the lighting rig like a gremlin mid song to gaze down on us. They’re the nineties and the seventies at once, their grunge Hollywood energy tinged with metallic blood. ‘Black Sheep’ is elevated metal and gets Yonaka, who sneak into the crowd silently, moving their feet and grooving innocuously. Yes, the band think they’re playing a festival called ‘Readingandleeds’, which they call out repeatedly. However, when you’re a poster pullout from a vintage rock magazine made flesh you can be forgiven. Their cover of White Stripes’ ‘Seven Nation Army’ is pure filth with a guitar that sounds like murder and a deliciously dirty descent on the outro. A second cover, The Doors’ ‘People Are Strange’, is so self aware, a modern update on the sixties shaman image. There’s no stage chat, but there are some subtle clues as to their next plans in their set. Leith asks if anyone is from London, and their banner has the word ‘Wembley’ in blood red spray paint over their logo, so based on these stealthily hidden Easter eggs it’s reasonable to assume they will grace us with the capital with their presence in the near future. They finish relatively early, and leave us empty. Sure it must be 2am in the Viper Room, not pre-midnight in an ever-muddier field in the home counties?

The first day of Reading was a charcuterie board of tempting acts from across the alternative spectrum. With each brain cell lighting up with joy you also feel a sense of hope. While chirpy Sam Fender leads the crowds on the main stage, there’s so much to enjoy in the side tents. There’s also the promise of future tours and releases to sustain us. For now, freezing tents and late night chips await before the Reading mission continues.

KATE ALLVEY

He opens the night with a debut live performance of track ‘Broken Piano’, a haunting choice as the sombre lyrical tone and minimal backing seems to take the breath out of the room. We had only seconds to sit in the thick atmosphere as it came to an end before Turner and his band The Sleeping Souls kick into gear for happy-sad anthem ‘Recovery’. It’s an intimate tale of self-sabotage, turned hopeful recanting of love – it clearly hits a nerve for most, as the audience happily indulge in joyous involvement. We sing along with a determined anguish, as the tone of the guitar and the light vocal delivery give its ominous words an air of something yet to come. We’re hopefully no longer looking at a Turner who would write those words, and the reflective element of this performance is therefore a treat to behold.

After finishing the opening segment of the show, Turner begins to monologue about the importance of the album the songs had come from, ‘Tape Deck Heart’. It was the tenth anniversary of the album’s release and so the gig became a place to celebrate the record in its entirety. A smooth applause erupts from the crowd, full of fans who appreciate a live show filled to the brim with deep cuts.

‘Plain Sailing Weather’ is a blizzard of rapid and melodic guitar strums that buzz on the strings with eagerness as the light hints of drums come into the mix. The entire song continues to build until the chorus drops and each element increases with volume and ferocity. It was clear to see as Turner beamed that this is a favourite to play live as he bounces across the stage – his impressive vocal power never wavering.

The album was brought to an end with ‘The Way I Tend To Be’, the intrepid revelation of Turner’s heart met with silent admiration. Its folky backing guitar strums are played with cheery resolution, until the bridge where everything is stripped away. A spotlight lingers on Turner allowing his emotion to set in for the final lyrics.

He reminisces about leaving punk, to the dismay of those around him namely telling him that “he’s having a psychotic episode”, all but his manager Charlie who he then thanked profusely for believing in the change. His anecdote was met with laughs from all, a moment where we could all reflect on the legacy of the British act.

Turner and his band hold nothing back in final songs ‘Try This at Home’ and ‘I Still Believe’ – their power is palpable. For every tamer moment of stripped back simplicity there is an equally poignant crescendo of instrumentation. Throngs of people – friends and strangers alike – linked arms, singing and jumping around to the optimistic but grounded lyricism of Turner. It truly is moments like this where you can’t argue that there’s a better thing on earth than live music.

JESSICA MCCARRICK

The crowd was smaller, as was the lineup, but after 15 months away from the pit and even longer away from the fields, this reduced capacity Download was all we could ever have hoped for and more.

Pulling together some of the greatest British talent, not even the rain could bring us down as we threw ourselves happily into muddy mosh pits, screaming until we had no voice left at all. Leaving all the weirdness outside the gates, it wasn’t long at all until it felt as though we’d never been away. And we, among our 10,000 peers, were so happy to be home

Thank you, Download – what a triumphant return this was.

Words: Yasmin Brown; Images: Matt Eachus and James Bridle

Saint Agnes

Kicking off Sunday with a bang, Saint Agnes tap into the classic ‘hair of the dog’ recovery method, inspiring us all to drink away our hangovers and get immediately stuck into the final day of this pilot event. It’s hard for anyone to understand just how we reached Sunday morning so damn quickly, but Saint Agnes refuse to let us waste a second of what’s left of this opportunity as without explicitly asking, their performance demands that we lose ourselves once more in the mass of other music lovers that surround us. It’s a dramatic performance that ends with front woman Kitty A Austen smearing blood over her body while repeatedly and dramatically screaming “repent!” before aggressively smashing her guitar around, knocking over speakers and mic stands in the process. At times, this aggression feels somewhat awkward and insincere but it’s easily forgivable when their heavy rock sound so perfectly suits today’s mood, amping us up for what’s left to come. Regardless of whether Saint Agnes are your cup of tea or not, you can’t help but be left feeling fired up and ready to take on the rest of the day. 

Cassyette

While she may not have been around for long, Cassyette is undoubtedly a firecracker just waiting to explode. Taking to the packed second stage, her presence is immediately felt and it’s clear that it’s only time (and probably Covid) preventing her from being bigger than she currently is. It’s not the first time we’ve witnessed her perform this weekend – her first appearance was with the mighty Frank Carter on Friday night – but there’s something very different and a lot more electrifying about seeing Cassyette play her very own set. She’s confident and bold, and while much of the music plays from a track, it’s still an enchanting, exciting and powerful set from start to finish. Her fierce personality combined with an endlessly intriguing sound means we are very much expecting to see her name appear on every festival lineup moving forwards and we can’t wait to follow her on what will undoubtedly be a successful journey to the top.

Loathe

Like many other bands on the lineup, Loathe have found themselves in a position wherein they released a (bloody brilliant) album with no hope of performing any of those songs life for the foreseeable future. It makes sense, then, that today’s set would be mostly made up of songs from that album, ‘I Let It In And It Took Everything’, and we couldn’t be more pleased about this decision. Loathe are truly something special, and everything there is to love about them shines through in this performance. From the seamless transitions from dirty to clean vocals, and the way the melodies are sewn carefully into the heaviest aspects of the band’s music, to the obvious humility that defines each member and Loathe as a whole, there is so much to love here. It’s the closing number, however, that really stands out, as technical difficulties see fans gladly standing in to help the band finish off ‘Two-Way Mirror’. This moment forges a connection between the band and the fans in a way that a perfectly executed show could never do, the intimacy of such an experience bonding them for life. While their set may have been cut short, this is far from being the end for Loathe. Expect to see a lot more of them where that came from. 

Lonely the Brave

While it may not be their first Download Festival performance, to some it may still seem like an interesting (if not odd) choice to include them on the lineup. But while their softer, arena rock may not be what you’d expect from this metal fest, it doesn’t take too long for them to prove themselves as being entirely worthy of their Sunday afternoon slot. It’s one of the band’s first performance since appointing Jack Bennett as their front man, and the very first wherein they’ve been able to play material they’ve written and released together. The excitement from both the band and the crowd is palpable. 

Bennett seems a little anxious – not least when technical difficulties arise before ‘Backroads’ and he’s left to fill the silence, shuffling somewhat and nervously fluffing up his hair – but this aside, their performance is truly flawless. Like many others who have taken to the main stage across the weekend, guitarist Mark Trotter notes that he doesn’t “need to tell you how special this is”. And he really doesn’t. We can feel it in every note Bennett easily belts out, every riff, every beat, and in every goosebump that appears on our body. Lonely the Brave don’t rely on heavy thrashing or rapid-fire drumming, but the technical intricacy and pure emotion that is showcased here shows that they don’t need any of that to be one of the best bands on the lineup. This band has always been phenomenal, there’s no doubt about that, but with Jack Bennett at the helm, it’s only ever going to go upwards from here. 

Jamie Lenman

Download and Jamie Lenman go waaaay back, and it’s clear from the moment he steps on stage that this is exactly where he belongs, chatting away and reeling through his nine song setlist with total ease. While extremely talented in his own right – and it’s never more clear than it is right now with him standing in front of us – Lenman thrives off giving others a platform, and chooses to open his set with a surprise appearance from Saturday performers Wargasm. It’s an electric way to open his set and goes down a treat with the crowd (although Lenman does later accuse them of being polite cricket spectators…), leading seamlessly into hits such as ‘Popeye’ and ‘All of England is a City’ which receive a similarly excitable reception. With final shout outs to Lonely the Brave (yes!) and Saint Agnes (also yes!), Lenman soon closes his set with a Reuben cover, a little disappointing perhaps for those hoping for more original Lenman content, but smart in that it undeniably left us wanting more. Luckily our wish is Lenman’s demand as not only is Lenman heading off on his headline tour in July, but he’ll be right back here at Donington Park next year. And we’ll be damned if we’re not right back here with him. 

Trash Boat

Could there be a more appropriate way to return to the stage than blasting ‘The Boys Are Back In Town’ by Thin Lizzy? No, we don’t think so either and neither, it seems, do Trash Boat, as this is exactly how they choose to introduce themselves today. It’s not long into their ferocious set before front man Tobi Duncan reiterates the sentiment of the weekend, stating with a certain level of disbelief, “I cannot tell you how at home I feel right now”. And for the hundredth time this weekend, we could not agree more. Sprinkled with some of the band’s newer, heavier material, Trash boat predominantly pull from their older catalogue and are met with sheer excitement and delight throughout. While the older stuff receives the greatest reception, however, the band showcase just how much they’ve grown musically since their inception, and by the end of the set, we couldn’t be more ready to step into this new era of Trash Boat that is now almost within reach. As is now more than expected, bodies fly in all directions, voices break through the force with which fans scream the lyrics, and again, we can all agree when Duncan tells us this is all he wants to do for the rest of his life. The longer, 50-minute set means we’re also treated to a cover of Linkin Park’s ‘Given Up’, much to everyone’s delight, and at this point, any tears you’ve been holding back will surely fall as we all remember Chester Benington and the monumental impact he and his bandmates had on the music industry. Undeniably one of the best sets of the weekend, we cannot wait to see what’s on the horizon for this incredible band.  

Skindred

Ah, Skindred – our favourite reggae / metal band. Actually, they may well be the only reggae / metal band, but even if the industry were saturated with such a combination, we’re still absolutely convinced that they would still be our favourites. How could they not be? The sun is finally shining and it really does feel like Benji Webbe and co have personally plucked the clouds from the sky and pulled down the rays to warm our souls just as much as their music does. This outrageous set arguably receives one of the best crowd reactions of the weekend and it’s easy to see why when Webbe, complete with sequin jacket, commands the stage so easily, bringing joy to all in attendance while still acknowledging the reason we’re all here today. He’s funny and charismatic which only further highlights the talent he and his bandmates have brought to the stage today and you simply cannot help but love them. Throw in a token AC/DC cover and a tiny child in giant headphones being carried across the stage and Skindred really have given us everything we could have asked for as we near the end of our weekend. The bittersweet feeling may be sinking in, but the bitter is held off just a little bit longer with this magnificent performance – one we’ll remember long after we leave the hallowed grounds of Download Festival. 

Frank Turner & the Sleeping Souls

You may be asking yourself how a folk rock singer like Frank Turner got along at a heavy rock and metal festival, and we get it, we weren’t really sure how this one would pan out, either. As it turns out, though, Frank Turner is loved by almost everyone, regardless of their usual taste. It’s Sunday evening now and there’s just one band to go after this; people should be tired and grumpy and ready to sleep in their own bed but somehow, the incredible Frank T has provided us with our final wind and this set is, to put it simply, fucking phenomenal. Take one short look around and as he bounces up and down with his acoustic guitar, all you will see is a sea of toothy grins as fans struggle to keep their composure. It doesn’t matter that there hasn’t been another acoustic guitar in sight all weekend, because as Frank says, somehow all competition between bands has gone out of the window, and the same seems to be the case for fans, too. Who cares that this performance isn’t even close to being metal because we’re alive and we’re here and we’re having the absolute most fun we could possibly having anywhere in the world. As he makes his way through each song, he’s met with fans singing back every word, and as the sun shines on the screens and a conga line that spans the width of the tent forms, Turner mirrors this sentiment through gratitude to us and to his band (who he introduces individually by name), and to the music industry in general. As he closes off the set with ‘Four Simple Words’, those previously on the outskirts disappear into the pit with the understanding that this could be their last real chance to dance in a long time, and it really is the perfect way to close off the second stage.