Words: Kathryn Edwards  //  Photos: Abbi Draper-Scott

Wench!

Wench! open the day on the BBC Introducing Stage and instantly cut through the fog. Their brand of punk is sharp, scrappy and completely unpolished in the best way possible. Kit Bligh commands attention from behind the kit, spitting vocals while hammering the drums, and the band tear through songs with furious precision. By the end, they slam the door shut on their set with a barked “you just got WENCHED!” and the crowd leaves grinning, wide awake at last.

Waterparks

On the Main Stage, Waterparks have no interest in easing people in gently. “Stupid for You” hits and suddenly the field feels alive again. Bright hooks and playful energy ripples across the crowd, with Awsten Knight cracking jokes between songs that keep everyone on side. They switch gears with heavier cuts like “Turbulent” proving they can bring muscle as well as melody. By the time “Lowkey as Hell” arrives, whole groups are jumping, shouting and squeezing every last drop of energy out of their weekend.

Sea Girls

Sea Girls bring a shift in tone but not in momentum. Their anthemic indie rock feels tailor-made for a festival field, and the singalongs start almost immediately. “All I Want To Hear You Say” pushes people from swaying into proper movement, while “Call Me Out” sparks pits that are chaotic but good-natured. When “Do You Really Wanna Know?” rolls out, strangers are shouting the chorus shoulder to shoulder like lifelong friends. It’s a reminder of how good this band are at connecting with big audiences.

Amyl and the Sniffers

Then comes the full-throttle chaos of Amyl and the Sniffers. Amy Taylor storms the stage like she owns it, snarling her way through “Tiny Bikini” and whipping the crowd into action. The pit explodes, dust rising as bodies crash into each other, and suddenly an inflatable kangaroo is surfing across the crowd like it belongs there. Taylor never stays still, pacing and snarling, her voice cutting through the distortion with absolute conviction. When she spits “fuck Trump” and “fuck JK Rowling”, the response is a wall of noise, equal parts cheer and primal release, and the band only push harder from there.

What follows is pure festival carnage. “Some Mutts (Can’t Be Muzzled)” sends the crowd into a frenzy of sweat and smiles, while “Hertz” proves they can write hooks that stick as much as riffs that bruise. “Guided by Angels” turns into a mass chant, strangers shouting it at the sky together like their lives depend on it. By the time “Security” slams the door shut on the set, the band are drained, the crowd is wrecked, and it feels like everyone has been part of something wild, cathartic and unforgettable.

As the day closes and Reading 2025 winds down, the familiar festival melancholy creeps in. Everyone’s aching, sunburnt, and wrecked, but buzzing all the same. From Wench!’s punk wake-up call to Amyl’s closing chaos, Sunday proves that even the final day can be unforgettable. The trudge back to camp is slow, but it’s with a grin, because nothing about normal life comes close. Same time next year.

Words: Kathryn Edwards  //  Photos: Abbi Draper-Scott

Lambrini Girls

Lambrini Girls’ punk-fuelled chaos cuts through the afternoon heat like they’re personally offended by the concept of daytime performances. The crowd’s still finding its feet – half are wearing sunglasses that probably cost more than most people’s tents, while the other half look like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. But there’s something properly infectious about Lambrini Girls’ complete lack of filter that gets people paying attention despite themselves. They tear through their set with the kind of unhinged energy that suggests they’ve been mainlining caffeine since Thursday morning, with their snarling vocals and guitars sounding like they’ve been stored in a shed for six months. A lad near the barrier shouts “this is proper mental!” before attempting what can generously be described as dancing. Their whole performance feels like controlled chaos, with the emphasis very much on the chaos bit. By the time they’re done, Saturday’s got its pulse back and people are starting to remember why they’re here.

Mouth Culture

Mouth Culture slides in next with that indie-electronic blend that’s fast becoming their signature, and it’s exactly what everyone needs after whatever just happened to their eardrums. Their sound hits that perfect festival sweet spot between accessible and interesting – getting heads nodding without requiring anyone to fully engage their brain just yet. The crowd’s building nicely now, that familiar festival momentum starting to kick in as people shake off their morning demons and remember that yes, they did actually come here to see live music rather than just drink overpriced lager in a field. There’s something almost therapeutic about Mouth Culture’s performance, like musical paracetamol for the collective headache that is Saturday afternoon at Reading. A group of mates near the mixing desk attempt some sort of coordinated dance that looks like interpretive semaphore, and somehow it works perfectly with the music.

Oversize

Oversize brings the energy up another proper level, and this is where Saturday actually starts feeling like Saturday. Their set’s got that perfect festival combination of tunes you might know and ones you absolutely should, building crowd participation without exhausting the collective energies of the crowd (need to save that for Limp Bizzy and BMTH later). The pit opens up properly for the first time today – nothing too serious yet, just enough movement to get blood flowing and remind everyone that their bodies still function after last night’s carnage. It’s the kind of performance that bridges the gap between “struggling to exist” and “ready to lose my mind”, and they nail it perfectly. A girl near the sound desk is attempting some sort of interpretive dance that looks like she’s directing traffic, but somehow it works with the music.

Enter Shikari

Enter Shikari bound onto the stage in the early evening and instantly remind everyone why they’ve been festival royalty for nearly two decades. The crowd response is immediate and massive – this isn’t just watching a band; this is celebrating with old mates who happen to be really good at making noise. Rou Reynolds and the boys open with “The Dreamer’s Hotel” and the field transforms into something approaching religious experience. The moment everyone’s been waiting for arrives when they launch into “Sorry You’re Not a Winner” – everyone absolutely loses their minds, the pit becomes a living, breathing thing, all controlled chaos and shared euphoria that spreads like wildfire through the crowd. You can practically feel the ground shaking under thousands of pairs of feet as bodies fly in all directions with the precision that only comes from years of Shikari worship. The surprise comes mid-set – a live remix of “Sssnakepit” that sends the electronic kids absolutely mental, all glitchy beats and unexpected drops that somehow work perfectly in a festival setting. But the real moment comes when Rou delivers a moving speech about Palestine, calling for a ceasefire with the kind of genuine passion that cuts through all the festival chaos and reminds everyone that music can actually matter. The crowd’s response is immediate and heartfelt – this is why Shikari have always been more than just a band. They close with “A Kiss for the Whole World”, and the resulting singalong feels like 50,000 people actually believing in something together. Some of us might be blinking back a few tears.

Bilmuri

Bilmuri arrives with the kind of metalcore energy that sorts the committed from the casual in about thirty seconds flat. Their blend of crushing breakdowns and unexpectedly catchy hooks creates this beautiful chaos in the crowd – half are trying to start proper circle pits while the other half are desperately attempting to sing along to choruses they’ve never heard before but somehow feel like they should know. It’s controlled mayhem with just enough melody to keep everyone on board, the kind of performance that makes you immediately want to go home and explore their entire back catalogue. A bloke in a bucket hat keeps shouting “this is class!” at increasingly inappropriate moments, becoming an unofficial hype man that the band clearly appreciates. By the time they’re done, even the confused have been converted, and the field has properly warmed up for what’s coming next.

Limp Bizkit

Fred Durst and co. arrive just before 8pm, and they pull one of the biggest crowds of the weekend. The field transforms into something approaching religious fervour. The genius stroke comes before they even appear – “Roll with It” blasts out while the screens show an AI-generated picture of Oasis smiling with thumbs up, captioned “Oasis when they hear Limp Bizkit”. The crowd has got the giggles before Fred Durst even shows up. Throughout the set, the screens continue the theme of AI-generated images of various celebs giving approving reactions, including Billie Eilish, Harry Styles, Travis Scott with Justin Bieber; even Oli Sykes looks chuffed. It’s utterly stupid and ridiculous, and the crowd’s eating it up. When Fred finally emerges like a prophet of nu-metal resurrection, they launch straight into “Break Stuff” and the response is seismic. The pit becomes an ocean of bodies, while the back of the field turns into the world’s largest karaoke session. Mid-set magic happens when they bring fan Brooke on stage for “Full Nelson”, and she absolutely kills it – a proper goosebump moment when someone who’s clearly been dreaming of this gets to live it in front of 50,000 people. “My Way” gets the full singalong treatment that could probably be heard in Slough, while “My Generation” proves that some songs are just built for festival fields. This is Limp Bizkit at their absolute peak powers, combining nostalgia with genuine innovation in the most brilliantly stupid way possible.

Bring Me The Horizon

Back in the day, a metal band headlining at Reading & Leeds was nothing out of the ordinary. In 2025, having three back-to-back metal acts closing out the main stage on Saturday feels really quite special. BMTH close the night with the kind of production that makes everything else look like a school assembly. The Sheffield quintet deliver a mind-blowing spectacular that justifies every headline slot they’ve ever been given. The whole thing starts with video-game style clips on the massive screens, building anticipation like a movie trailer, before a virtual Cortana-esque assistant appears to scan the audience – real dystopian sci-fi vibes that gets everyone buzzing before a note’s even been played. When they finally launch into “Darkside”, the stage erupts in flames and pyrotechnics, and the crowd response suggests this was always inevitable. “Happy Song” follows immediately, and the irony of 50,000 people screaming about depression with massive grins on their faces isn’t lost on anyone. The pit becomes a sea of bodies during the heavier moments, while the back of the field turns into one giant therapy session disguised as a singalong. Woven in between songs are impressive on-screen interactive graphics that flit between the crowd and the band (they have a BUDGET for this) and a couple of chat breaks – a memorable example of this being Oli Sykes berating the “pits at Limp Bizkit” for being “fucking wank”, and instructing us to “PUSH IT BAAAAAACK”.

The set covers their entire evolution perfectly – “Kingslayer” showcases their more recent electronic direction, getting the whole field bouncing with its massive hooks and crushing breakdowns. “Can You Feel My Heart” creates one of those perfect festival moments where strangers become temporary family, with arms around shoulders and voices hoarse but determined. Whilst they don’t play anything older than a couple of tracks from 2013’s Sempiternal, which makes sense given the direction they’re going in – they’re hardly going to whip out “Pray For Plagues” (if only…) – the tracklist still spans over 12 years of musical evolution. There really is something for (almost, bar the teenagers leaving the main stage as soon as they realised that this was, at least once, a metal band) everyone here. The encore arrives with “Throne”, and Palestinian flags fly from the stage in a moment of solidarity that mirrors Shikari’s earlier statement, proving that this festival is about more than just music. The whole field sings every word back with the kind of passion and atmosphere that is difficult to put into words. They close with fireworks, confetti, enough pyro to make those close to the front fear for the safety of their eyebrows, and the kind of euphoric chaos that makes people immediately start planning their return next year, having delivered a headline performance that perfectly balances spectacle with genuine emotion.

Saturday night winds down with that perfect festival exhaustion, the kind where your whole body aches but your brain won’t stop replaying the best moments. From early afternoon punk chaos to BMTH’s closing spectacular, the day proved that Reading’s still got the blueprint for how festivals should work. Tomorrow’s going to hurt, but tonight was worth every aching muscle and every penny spent on overpriced pints. The walk back to the campsite is a parade of weary festival-goers, all buzzing with that post-gig high that makes everything feel possible.

Words: Kathryn Edwards  //  Photos: Abbi Draper-Scott

Sofia Isella

Sofia Isella opens just before 4pm with ‘Hot Gum’, her gothic indie-pop melodies cutting through the afternoon heat like a cool breeze. There’s something refreshingly honest about her delivery that stops people mid-conversation as she moves into ‘Cacao and Cocaine’. The crowd gradually swells as word spreads during ‘Josephine’ – this isn’t just background music while you queue for chips. Then disaster strikes halfway through ‘Sex Concept’ – the power cuts out completely. Without missing a beat, Isella jumps into the crowd, continuing unplugged while roadies scramble behind her. When the power finally returns, she climbs back on stage to close with ‘The Doll People’, and the whole ordeal has somehow made the performance more intimate than any stadium show ever could.

SNAYX

SNAYX immediately shift the energy up several gears with ‘Ignorance’. Their electronic-infused sound hits like a sugar rush, all jagged synths and infectious hooks that get heads nodding. ‘Violence’ and ‘Better Days’ build the momentum before ‘Strut’ gets proper dance moves happening – which, at what was always traditionally a rock festival, feels both wrong and completely right. Mid-set, they drop ‘FAYX’ and the crowd looks confused for about thirty seconds, then completely commits to the chaos. They tear through ‘Work’ and ‘Boys in Blue’ before delivering their ace card – a cover of The Prodigy’s ‘Breathe’ that sends the field absolutely mental. They close with ‘Sink or Swim’, leaving everyone buzzing with synthetic energy.

Soft Play

When Soft Play (fka Slaves) bound onto the stage with ‘Mirror Muscles’ (originally a Baby Dave song and their first time using it as a show opener), it’s immediately clear that “Slaves” are well and truly no more – this feels like a completely different beast. ‘Isaac Is Typing…’ explodes next and the pit opens instantly, a writhing mass of sweaty festival-goers who’ve been waiting all day for something to properly lose their minds to. They tear through ‘Bin Juice Disaster’ and ‘Act Violently’ with manic energy before ‘Fuck the Hi-Hat’ sends the field into proper chaos. A mid-set surprise arrives when Kate Nash joins them for ‘Slushy’ – its live debut – before she crowdsurfs during ‘Punk’s Dead’ like it’s 2006 all over again. The energy never drops through ‘Girl Fight’, ‘Everything and Nothing’, and ‘Beauty Quest’, before they close with ‘The Hunter’ to a field that looks like it’s been put through a washing machine cycle.

Heartworms

Heartworms emerges as the sun starts to dip, opening with ‘Just to Ask a Dance’ and bringing a sound perfectly suited to the golden hour. She draws a crowd that’s still energised from Soft Play and ready for something they can sing along to, her backing musicians providing the perfect foundation for her indie/gothic/punky rock sensibilities. ‘Retributions of an Awful Life’ hits the sweet spot during the golden hour, while ‘May I Comply’ and ‘Consistent Dedication’ showcase the kind of effortless charisma that makes festival crowds fall in love instantly. ‘Beat Poem’ gets the entire field swaying as one before ‘Extraordinary Wings’ soars into the evening air. She closes with ‘Jacked’, and the collective singalong feels like the moment Friday night truly begins.

Mannequin Pussy

MP storm the stage with ‘Sometimes’ and remind everyone that punk is very much alive. ‘Everything’ launches immediately after with controlled fury that makes the crowd response violent and immediate. ‘Loud Bark’ gets dedicated to the matriarchs before ‘I Got Heaven’ channels pure, brilliant chaos through the pit. Mid-set technical difficulties threaten to derail ‘OK? OK! OK? OK!’ but Marisa Dabice fills the gap with a primal scream interlude that’s somehow more intense than any song could be. Once sorted, they tear through ‘Of Her’, ‘Aching’, and ‘Perfect’ with the authority of someone who’s spent years perfecting the art of channeling rage into something beautiful. They close with ‘Pigs Is Pigs’ and ‘Romantic’, leaving the audience simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated.

High Vis

High Vis grace us with their presence next, and deliver exactly what their name promises, opening with ‘0151’ – high visibility, high energy, and high impact. Their post-punk revival cuts through the evening air during ‘Talk for Hours’ and ‘Trauma Bonds’, all angular guitars and driving rhythms that get feet moving whether you want them to or not. The crowd has found its second wind by now, and ‘Walking Wires’ turns the pit into a writhing mass of bodies moving to the relentless beat. There’s something almost ritualistic about their performance, and they close with ‘Fever’ to a field of raised fists and hoarse voices, each song building until the whole thing feels like a communal release of the week’s frustrations.

The Chats

Finally, The Chats – they roll up just after 10pm like the party everyone’s been waiting for. Their pub rock simplicity is deceptive – these songs are crafted with surgical precision to make people lose their absolute minds. They open with a track that sounds like it was recorded in a garage and mixed on a boombox, and somehow it’s exactly what 50,000 people needed to hear. The pit becomes a sea of chaos, with crowd surfers appearing like salmon swimming upstream. Their no-nonsense approach to rock and roll cuts through any remaining pretence, and by the time they launch into ‘Pub Feed’, the entire field is bouncing as one. They close the night with the kind of euphoric chaos that makes people remember why they love live music, leaving everyone buzzing with the kind of energy that’ll carry them through to Saturday.

As the dust settles on Friday night, there’s that familiar festival feeling – throat raw, ears ringing, feet aching, but already planning tomorrow’s assault on the stages. The diverse lineup proved that Reading’s still got it, serving up everything from intimate indie moments to full-blown rock and roll chaos. Roll on Saturday.