There’s something about London during the holidays. I’m usually not one to decorate, since I’ve always been on the move during the holidays, traveling far to see family. Never really felt the need to decorate my home if it was going to sit dormant during Christmas. Yet as I left the station at King’s Cross on Tuesday night, surrounded by lights, ornament adorned trees, and a busker singing Jingle Bells, I changed my mind. It was time to decorate. 

But the real inspiration and spirited nudge came from a social media post hinting that something festive was in store at the Home Counties gig at Scala. 

However the night began with some energetic songs from the Netherlands. Parker Fans, an electronic trio from Amsterdam kicked off the show with some punchy drum beats, groovy bass lines, and a vibrant synth that had me reminiscing about all the 80s music my mom used to play in the morning car rides to school. The frontman seemed to match the energy of the beats. I don’t think there was one second where he wasn’t jumping, dancing, or moving. His energy definitely woke the crowd up. From the balcony I could see one guy on the barrier almost mimicking the energy. I think I had seen him before, starting a mosh pit and crowd surfing at The George Tavern a few weeks prior. Seems like he hasn’t stopped moving since. 

Next up was My First Time, who took the stage, calling out all the people on the balcony to move into the pit area and join the party. I’m sorry to say I didn’t follow the call (these old lady, millennial knees can only take one mosh pit a week now, and I had already reached that quota). Regardless, from the balcony I got to see the band wind up the crowd into a frenzy with their singles like ‘Wind Up Merchant’ and ‘Much Better.’’ My First Time’s lyrics make a statement and I think the band is about to do the same in the coming years. 

A massive crowd, already warmed up, greeted Home Counties as they made their way to the stage. The evening at Scala was the final show on the band’s tour, and it was the biggest. So the anticipation of a celebration was already persistent among those of us in the crowd, and arguably the band as well. It felt somewhat of a festive homecoming and we all got to celebrate Home Counties and their newest album Humdrum.

Despite the title name, there wasn't a humdrum or humbug in sight. From love letters to pubs, guest back up dancers, and to what I think was a mosh pit conga line. I also have never seen people dance and sing so enthusiastically to a song about taxes. All in all, Home Counties celebrated one heck of a new album and inspired some Christmas cheer (or doldrums if you follow the lyrics of the song). Donning santa hats, the band debuted their first ever Christmas song ‘Better Last Year (Home Counties for Christmas).’ From the balcony I could see the entire pit area come together, lock arms, and sway together as the band played the song. I thought this was my kind of Christmas carolling experience; at a rock gig in the middle of London. 

Even as the song and gig came to an end, the band asked us all not to fret. They also announced a special Christmas show on the 17th of December at The George Tavern.

Walking back to King’s Cross I decided I was going to put up a Christmas tree, while ‘Better Last Year’ plays in the background.

Photography By: Jamie MacMillan

I remember taking off the same giant blue scarf as I walked into the Windmill for the first time last February. Last Tuesday night felt just as cold, but that gritty, melodic warmth that greets you at the door was still present. My visit back in spring had satisfied my curiosity about the lore and rumblings surrounding this haven for the underground, a reputation that’s crossed the Atlantic. So I was more than happy to make that cold walk from the tube station to the storied venue once more, this time to see Gag Reflex and Adore, two bands that match the Windmill’s gloried grittiness.

Gag Reflex, a self-described “gut punch” of a band from Dublin, opened the night with grimy, haunting tunes. They played their punchy and poetic debut single ‘Man Enough,’ ’a title also emblazoned on thongs at the merch table. The band made the most of their London debut and is absolutely one to keep an eye on.

Although the stage at the Windmill looks small,  almost out of place,  it’s one of the few stages where bands seem to make it feel larger than life. Adore followed this pattern effortlessly. They kicked off their London headliner with ‘Fragile’ from their recent EP BITER. The song electrified two women standing behind me, who sang and jumped to every word. Noticing the energy, Lara Minchin (guitar and vocals) beckoned all the women in the audience to the front. That’s when the real magic of the Windmill kicked in. As the moshers surged, bits of ceiling began to fall and the floorboards rose with every jump. I remember looking at my friend to ask if she felt the floor moving too; she nodded, and we joined in.

Adore moved us through the rest of their EP, along with some of my favorites ‘Supermum’ and ‘Postcards,’ during which my shoe briefly got caught under one of the raised floorboards. Might have a slight twisted ankle after that, but it was well worth it. The London leg of Adore’s UK headline tour solidified them into the lore of the Windmill, with hopefully more to come.

As I left the Windmill and wrapped my giant blue scarf back around my neck, I had the same epiphany I’d had in that exact spot in February. After a week of seeing two shows featuring four Irish artists, I decided it’s time for a necessary trip to Dublin, giant blue scarf in tow.

There is very little to be said about Water From Your Eyes that hasn’t been said already. I’m not going to sit here and throw out words like ‘eclectic’ or ‘left-field’ to describe their sound. If you’re reading a live gig review on our humble, independent music magazine, about a week after the gig took place, I’m going to assume you know who they are already. It should be no surprise then, that the project mainly comprising of vocalist Rachel Brown and Nate Amos, blew the fucking roof off, and boy did I love every single second of it.

The Brooklyn duo have slowly built themselves up to be perhaps the coolest outfit in indie music. With the release of their latest project It’s A Beautiful Place, they’ve quietly tiptoed closer towards the mainstream, but thankfully their pure oddness as a live act as well as their broad - sometimes abrasive - sonic ideas in recorded form keep them as a band for those in the know. It’s easily one of the best albums of this year, and them managing to fill out Village Underground shows that droves of London agree. 

With the changing of the weather in the capital comes the welcoming of rainy evenings. Packing into the subterranean venue in such weather meant plenty of wet footprints, and an annoying lack of room because of all the bulkier coats present. No worries, these will all be non-issues soon. The first of two opening acts was mui zyu. Their lo-fi, shoegaze adjacent pop mix of synths, confident guitars, and a violin (!!) was a great blend of nostalgic comfort and expansive ideas. With Cantonese roots, the Belfast-born singer employed her mother tongue in one of their songs in full, only pulling on the strings of my own roots in Hong Kong to great effect. Next up was Morgan Garrett, which was unfortunately not as compelling. Despite others taking to his supposed performance art, it felt like a poor imitation of what might have the makings for an only decent gothic hardcore sound. Really their main feature was wailing, and some guitars that came in seemingly whenever they felt like it. 

Water From Your Eyes took the stage soon after, announcing that we were “going to party rock tonight”, before launching into the guitar-heavy ‘Born 2’ from their latest project. Amos added some very welcome embellishments to his guitar parts, flashing not only his competency as an instrumentalist but also his dexterity as a musician. Folding in the first three tracks from their last album, it not only activated the crowd but also showed how different their new material is. Everything’s Crushed was great, but It’s a Beautiful Place shows a more composed and cohesive duo, and it shows when they play together on stage. 

Their unorthodox stage presence is only matched by their sincerity. Amos maintained a face of nonchalance through the whole set, while Brown’s awkward comedic timing found an incredibly welcome home here. Their esoteric ramblings that “there is no other London” was met with unanimous cheering, even if they might have offended Cincinnati in the process, and their clear statement of “fuck the fascists”, and “Free Palestine” were said to a sea of support. As if they needed to get the crowd more on their side, ‘Life Signs’ and ‘Buy My Product’ launched many into a little mosh pit by the stage. With coats in cloak room and shoes now drier, the energy inside the venue was strangely lively and cosy at the same time. 

Amos has said before on how much he respects John Frusicante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and it really shows. His talents on guitar were on full display as he continuously added little passages of improvisation; enough to take notice of, but never enough to take away from the band and the song. On the other end “It’s a Beautiful Place’, the instrumental title track, lets him and his shredding take centre stage, with Brown prefacing it saying “let Nate take you to a different planet for a sec.” Ending on ‘Blood On The Dollar” and “Playing Classics” to a rocking crowd, it’s difficult to describe their set as anything short of a triumph. The live drums and bass elevated its recorded source material, adding grit and texture, while Amos and Brown’s on stage chemistry inject the music with joy that it doesn’t even really need. Before playing their encore of ‘Track Five’, Brown asserts: “Let’s dance one more time.” If anyone reading this for whatever reason doesn’t know who Water From Your Eyes are, take this as a sign to not only listen to their albums, but to catch them whenever they play near you next, so you too can dance with them. 

Photography By: Josh Turner

Tonight, I am raucously sober and going to see The Orchestra (For Now), of which I have been a truly punchdrunk fan of for approximately two years now (circa their incredible set at the Lexington). However, unlike my previous encounters with this band, they are not supporting someone, but being supported themselves, by Truthpaste and Ebbb. I will admit, I had spied Truthpaste on band posters before and pigeonholed them as a joke band, an experiment for experimentation's sake, as opposed to something serious. I was very, very wrong. When they rolled on stage with their eclectic mix of rock-centric instruments I thought, "Oh damn, another BCNR clone..." and some of the opening notes to their songs made me immediately shiver with recognition: "Isn't this melody pilfered?"

But they always found a way to vary it, to carry a tune that made sense but was never predictable, a quality I find extremely invigorating in music. If I can tell how it's going to go, I'm just not paying attention. That is not my jam. Truthpaste had such an amazing attention to detail with the plicky acoustic melodies they deployed in their last few songs. I kept turning to my associate, Pink, and brandising an unwipeable smile that glowed even in the dim light of the Scala back section. They really got into a thing of their own, despite their singer sounding tonally a little too much like the rest of the BCNR cast who took up vocal duties, post-Wood.

To tell the truth, Truthpaste kicked so much ass it's a surprise their feet can still muster up the energy to jig around the stage. I loved their set, to the degree that my mind was perhaps unwilling to accept that maybe they were given third billing. Then came Ebbb, who I thought were a twosome until I saw the laptop-programming guy begin to move. All that their first two songs generated in me was a longing to get online and book Truthpaste tickets immediately.

Soon, Ebbb hit a fantastically synapse-linking groove, simultaneously Animal Collective (shitloads of reverb, layered synth and vocals) and Tom Grennan. However, despite the stadium-rock reverb, the impact wasn't always there in the quiet moments. Where a Grennan-tier singer makes you think that he's in the room with you, I felt like I wasn't in the room with Ebbb, and they were but ten metres away! Still, not everyone has to be the master of that specific type of singing. Their high points came from the more Animal Collective mush of synth and vocal and drum. The last two songs took a more crescendo heavy approach to structure, and it suits them okay, no more or less than a flatter one. My only lasting complaint is that if you have to tell people how to spell the name of your band at the end of your set, pick a better damn name. It was almost like I'd asked him in the smoking area what it was called. The cry of "And that's with three Bs" stunk of a man who has made a poor decision at some point in his life and is just trying to live with it. Aside from the name, great set from Ebbb (with three Bs!)

So then: the main event. Tuning, preparing, the  usual. But then, they leave the stage! Which is very revealing: they're at a size where they still have to prepare most of their own gear, but not too small for a big walk-on! 

They bounded on, Neil Thomson’s hair bouncing like a spaniel. His enthusiasm is appropriate as they begin curtly with an unreleased song titled ‘Neil’s Favourite’. They then begin the set proper with a hat-trick of their classic material from Plan 75 / 76 — beginning with ‘Skins’. Now, I love this song, the version of it on my computer at home (ripped from the aforementioned Lexington set) has the highest play count of any song I’ve ever listened to. So, to see it live again is always a treat, with Joe Scarisbrick limping, lilting, caressing the microphone. Two songs in, the schtick is wearing a little thin, though, and the strange movements look less like he’s genuinely emoting and more like symptoms of an as-yet undiagnosed musculoskeletal condition. These movements are really jarring, paired with a smattering of yelps he pockmarks the songs with. It’s not all that pleasant. As I said in my Plan 76 review, TO(FN) succeed when their buildups are earned, and having three cataclysmic songs batter you one after the other is either repetitive songwriting or bad setlist ordering.

The set picks up again with ‘The Administration’, which showcases some of their more subdued sections, with an excellent performance by Bao-Smith & Bickerstaff. ‘Escape From New York’ is also played excellently. Then, two new songs — and it is here I’d like to make a point about band progression in the Windmill-adjacent scene. It seems that once a band has done the dirty work of putting five to ten decent 5-minute compositions down, they are officially allowed to write a long, largely instrumental, massive rolling crescendo of a song about some vague lost love, or, as I will call it, a ‘Basketball Shoes’. It seems a rite of passage, and the melancholy lyrics of ‘Charlie’s Theme’ (absolutely no comment on how similar that is to BC,NR) get Joe to croon about growing up into a person you never wanted to be, which is followed by a fully instrumental climax. Thankfully, Joe has not yet plastered lyrics over this, and it was a highlight of the set for that exact reason. He merely stood, Frankenstein-hunched over the piano in his TEXAS TECH hoodie, playing his part, which I suppose is the best thing you can do in a band of seven.

One overarching complaint that I have about TO(FN) is that it seems that a longer the song is in rotation, the louder they play it, and the louder they play it, the more Joe screams over the top of it. A scream is deserved at the end of Wake Robin (“we’ve lost… EVERYTHING!”), but not randomly in the middle of some of their more middle-of-the-road songs. They had, at this gig, six microphones! They could have used the vocal talents of literally everybody but the drummer, yet, 95% of the time, it was Joe front and centre, to the point where I was glad when someone screamed “Captains orders trickle down” during ‘Escape From New York’ — it was a welcome reprieve from Joe.

The audience was lively and funny, one member shouting “That’s how we play the DRUMS” in a booming shout, after Charlie Hancock had lost control of a cymbal during the intro to ‘Deplore You / Farmer’s Market’. Scala’s a good venue for that sort of thing, the mix of people standing around me were fairly broad in age, although I suspect that the pit at the front was more Zoomer-intensive. They had a propensity to whoop and scream over the most quiet and technical parts of the songs, though, which was irritating.

Now, at some point, Joe tells everyone he’s going to do an encore. What exactly is the point of doing an encore if everyone knows you’re going to do one? It’s just a pointless game of musical peekaboo that I’m just not really invested in. Bickerstaff leaves his guitar on stage in front of an amp, creating feedback, before they all rush back on stage (Hancock now minus shirt) and perform ‘Wake Robin’ to absolutely torrential applause. A great finale to a pretty fantastic set. Just tell Joe to keep it down a little, you've got six microphones!

Before moving to London a few months ago, I had written a list of places I desperately wanted to visit while being a temporary resident. The list is living and keeps growing with museums, restaurants, and of course music venues. However near the top of said list is a venue that has always taken place within the top ten. 

Forgive me for a quick history lesson of the Roundhouse, one of which I gave myself a few days before my visit. Originally built in 1846, the Roundhouse has gone through many definitions over the years. Beginning as a train repair depot and known for its conical roof, it became a symbol of Camden’s industrial persona. It even got a nod from Charles Dickens in his novel “Dombey & Son.” However, through many years of changes and a war, the Roundhouse soon found itself a place for the arts, with the help of a playwright, Arnold Wesker. During the golden age of rock-n-roll, Wesker curated some of the most legendary shows at his newly renamed “Centre 42.” Acts including some of my favorites; the Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and Led Zeppelin. 

All that to say, the Roundhouse is arguably considered hallowed ground for music. 

As I walked into the venue, craning my neck to peer up into the conical dome, I got goosebumps. It’s probably one of the coolest looking venues I’ve been to and one fitting for a band like Nation of Language. 

I arrived in time to catch the opener, Westerman. Fresh off his new album release, A Jackal’s Wedding, Westerman took us through an evocative and mesmerizing journey through his new album. As he began to sing ‘Nevermind,’ a couple next to me sang every word as the rest of the audience near me fell still, listening to every word he sang. But I think his song ‘About Leaving’ hit me the most, as I have kept listening to it days after the gig. 

Westerman finished his set and the crowd shifted forward. I thought I had made the mistake of popping out to get a drink between sets. The pit had become so dense, there was no way I was making my way back to my original spot near the front of the stage. However as National of Language made their way out and started off their night, I realized another advantage of the Roundhouse. Throughout the gig, I moved along the outside of the center, getting to experience Nation of Language and their light show from different angles. The venue was meant for sound and lights. 

Nation of Language took us through their new album Dance Called Memory with addictive energy. From my view from the outer regions of the floor, it looked as if the mass of people moved as one to the lights and sound. The band was surrounded by eight giant flood lights. Frontman Ian Devaney even quipped that the “rotisserie lights made them honest”, alluding to the heat they probably gave off. As they played an older favorite of mine, ‘Weak in Your Light’, I looked up as the rotisserie lights flashed against the top of the dome, then back down to the light hitting faces in the crowd. Don’t think I saw anyone feeling weak. 

Despite their song ‘Inept Apollo’ being about feeling imposter syndrome, the “honest” truth is that Nation of Language is a band that was meant to play alongside the ghosts of rock-n-roll past at the Roundhouse. Devaney described playing his first London show (different band) at a place down the road called The Bar Fly, and how awesome it felt to now play at the Roundhouse. So much so, the band played a few extra songs during an encore. Don’t think they wanted the Roundhouse feeling to end. Neither did the crowd, who kept asking for one more song. 

The night did have to end, but not before a quick advertisement from Aidan Noell (synthesizer, backing vocals), and Alex MacKay (bass guitar) about their bandmate Devaney’s barista skills being put to the test the following day at Rough Trade East. “He makes a mean Cortado.” 

So before staggering into my early guitar class the following morning, I made my way to Rough Trade East for the celebrity barista shift. Your bandmates were right, that was a mean cortado. 

Ever since the birth of the pipe organ - from its usage in the amphitheaters of the Roman empire, to its incorporation into the sacred practices of Western Europe - the instrument's history has been one marked by drama, power and mysticism. The great pleasure in witnessing Kali Malone perform comes from her faithful commitment to this history and the innate theatrics which it entails. 

With the release of her 2019 breakout record ‘The Sacrificial Code’, Malone established herself as one of the most exciting practitioners of contemporary drone and organ music, and has since been expanding the scope of what this means. In exploring ancient polyphonics and tuning systems - but intertwining these with an array of modern synthetic approaches - the power in Malone’s music is found in her ability to unveil new emotive possibilities. 

Although renowned for touring and recording in striking churches across Europe, for this performance we find her separated from the pipe organ which provides the foundation for much of her work. Relying upon a combination of synths, samplers and a soundboard, Malone’s movements are - at every moment - modest, precise and intentional. 

Building gradually from an initial drone sound - analogous to the tanpura in Indian classical music - Malone cycles through passages which slide between harmony and dissonance. Continuously layering varied samples resembling organ-like tones, she is never in a hurry to move on from a sonic idea - seeming always content to step back and reflect on her creation at each stage of its evolution. 

As the intensity of Malone’s composition grows - aided by the introduction of chest-shaking bass harmonies - the lighting begins to shift from its initial, notable simplicity. White beams of light flicker across the increasingly smoke-filled stage - reminiscent of distant lightning. Flashing strobes signal the arrival of the storm as Malone - now fully obscured - is still able to locate new depths to her sonic construction. The immensity of the resulting sound is totally overwhelming - conjuring both wonder and dread in equal measure. 

With the apex reached, Malone begins to steadily peel layers away again - re-revealing the harmonious beauty in her composition. The strobes fade away and are replaced by gently rotating shards of light. Although building towards the set’s conclusion, Malone is, again, careful to take her time. Ensuring that the final moments are not a mere formality but a crucial phase in the musical journey.

After over an hour of continuous playing, the close is marked by a return to the original drone layer which gradually dissipates into the antiquated surrounds of Earth. With only a brief moment's pause for reflection, the crowd rise for an almost inevitable standing ovation. Giving rightful praise to a master composer and storyteller who has so effortlessly weaved together narratives of past and present with raw emotions of awe and angst.

I first saw Pete Doherty take to the stage with The Libertines all the way back in 2002. It was at Nottingham Rock City, less than a week after their debut album Up the Bracket had been released. I’d never heard of them; I was there for The Vines, whom the NME had assured my nineteen-year-old self were the next big thing. In the queue outside there was a lot of buzz, not about The Vines, but about The Libertines, which I was very sceptical of. As it turned out, The Vines were a bit disappointing that night, with Craig Nicholls seemingly more interested in declaring war on his immediate surroundings every five minutes than actually playing any songs. The Libertines, on the other hand, were incredible.

By the time I saw them again, Pete had already been kicked out and Carl Barât had dutifully taken over full-time frontman duties. As much as I love Carl, without Pete they just weren’t the same. Pete is cut from a different cloth, a true British eccentric. A kind of timeless Rimbaudian dandy with a penchant for punk rock, French cheese, and Hancock’s Half Hour. Thankfully, during his exile he formed Babyshambles, who, thanks to Pete’s undoubtable talent as a songwriter, became a much-lauded and well-respected band in their own right.

So here we are, over twenty years later and over ten years since Babyshambles last toured together. And thankfully, they still sound just as loud, raucous, and bloody brilliant as they ever did.

The evening begins in suitably shambolic style with me nearly pissing myself outside Brixton Station while waiting for my mate, who, it turns out, is already two pints in at the pub down the road. Once reunited, and bladder emptied, we head to Brixton’s famous O₂ Academy, with its rich musical heritage, its lovely Art Deco entrance, and its astronomically expensive pints.

I politely ask a steward which queue I need to be in, and this seems to trigger some kind of psychotic break in the poor lad, who mistakenly sends us in through what appears to be the VIP entrance. Bizarrely, I find myself standing between Beatles offspring James McCartney and producer extraordinaire Stephen Street. After a few suspicious glances from important-looking people, we’re handed some fancy green wristbands. What powers might they hold? A private bar? Backstage access? A glass of Chablis with Stephen Street? We approach another steward and excitedly ask where our magical wristbands will take us. “Nowhere,” the steward scoffs, bringing us back down to earth with a bang. Oh well. An astronomically expensive pint it is, then.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that we’re not utilising the full potential of our accidentally blagged wristbands, we take our place at the back of a heaving auditorium. The band launch straight into ‘Killamangiro’, quickly followed by ‘Delivery’. Opening with two big hitters sends waves of people sprinting from the bar behind us towards the stage. It appears it’s been collectively decided that the shortest route to the front is directly through us. About a hundred beers are sloshed over us as a constant stream of fans clumsily burrow through. To be fair, almost all of them apologise. It’s the kind of polite revelry Pete would be proud of.

The set is tight and triumphant, with staples like ‘Down in Albion’ played alongside rarer delights like ‘The Man Who Came to Stay’ and the new single ‘Dandy Hooligan’. Pete is in fine form, sober, healthy, and having the time of his life. Which is a bit of a miracle, all things considered.

Of course, amidst all the jubilation, there’s an element of sadness to the evening, namely the absence of founding member Patrick Walden, who tragically died earlier this year. By rights, Walden should be a household name. He was one of the most gifted and unique guitarists of his generation. When Babyshambles first emerged through a haze of class-A drugs, cigarette smoke, and trilbies, his brutal, unorthodox fretwork perfectly complemented Pete’s savage lyricism, and helped dispel any notion that they were an inferior band to The Libertines. Signature songs like ‘Killamangiro’ and ‘Fuck Forever’ would be unrecognisable without him, and although his time in the band was short-lived, Babyshambles were never quite as spellbinding without him.

They close, of course, with ‘Fuck Forever’, which Pete dedicates to “someone who should have been here tonight.” Walden’s image appears behind the band as 5,000 people hurl themselves at each other and sing their hearts out. It’s chaotic, cathartic, and a perfect tribute. After the rest of the band have left the stage, Pete lingers for a bit. “There are still tickets left for the rest of the tour if anyone’s interested?” he calls out, sounding like a bloke flogging knock-off goods out of a van. “Leamington Spa’s gonna be fucking banging,” he adds playfully before applauding the crowd and vanishing backstage, presumably to hang out with Stephen Street and the other members of the green-wristband elite.

Photography By: Ryan Howard

I arrived at the venue late, damp, and out of breath. My own fault really (just had to schedule a class before) but please permit me to blame the rain and the Northern for an inopportune major delay. However, I was able to catch some final songs of the Dead Dads Club set after a much needed run up to the bar upstairs for a classy cup of tap water. Definitely added Dog Race and Dead Dads Club to my list to try to see again. 

In-between sets we were greeted by a montage of Johnny Cash and Perry Como. I was instantly transported to a mix between playing Fallout and my grandmother’s living room. A nostalgic and calming pre-setting to the brilliant chaos that awaited us. Jumping back to the present, I took my spot just beyond the barrier and on what I knew was the outer rim of the pit. 

SPRINTS made their way to the stage opening with ‘Something’s Gonna Happen’ off their new album All That Is Over. Looking at the faces moving within the center of the pit, they were all waiting for “it” to happen. Amid cheers at the end of the song, the sound shifted to the heavy guitar riff of ‘Descartes’ and the moshers awakened. 

Only two songs in and there were already people surfing. The band didn’t have to command participation, it was inherent. Usually there’s a distinct barrier between those who want to be in the mosh pit and those who don’t. But this was the first gig I’ve ever been to where the ENTIRE floor was moshing, including the three older ladies behind me. They were arguably the most passionate moshers of the night. I even heard them telling off two young guys for talking about the FA Cup during a slower moment in the set. “We’re not here for football, we’re here for the music.” I think those two guys joined the pit out of fear of disappointing the three ladies. 

I’m not usually one to join the mosh but I decided to have my moment (taking a safer spot next to the older ladies) during ‘Up And Comer,’ when the enigmatic punk band from Dublin, called the crowd together for a “circle of death.” Unlike the ones I had witnessed back in the States, this one felt different and I think it was a testament to what SPRINTS embodies: uplifting collectivism and community. 

SPRINTS frontwoman, Karla Chubb, put it beautifully during the show, “The world needs art and music.” Despite whatever darkness or problems that tend to exist in our world, humans need connection and access to art. Apparently we need mosh pits as well. A community can be built around throwing yourselves against each other, but it does help when you are led by a band like SPRINTS. So when given the opportunity, throw yourself into the music and get to moshing.

Chubb even joined the crowd a few times as testament to the band’s ethos. Finishing the night, surfing the crowd, all the while asking to be taken to the bar where the band was to finish the night with pints and a DJ set. 

Pitchfork’s London takeover has always promised discovery, but this year it finally felt like the festival found its shape. Big, ambitious centrepiece shows sat comfortably alongside intimate sets in small rooms, and the whole week moved with a confidence it has sometimes lacked. There was the sheer absurd joy of King Gizzard with a full orchestra at the Royal Albert Hall. There was the meditative bliss of Nala Sinephro transforming the Royal Festival Hall into a flotation chamber of sound. There were the sweaty, delirious bursts of energy ricocheting through Dalston during the Saturday takeover. Throughout the week, the smallest moments kept reminding you that this festival works best when it trusts people to follow their curiosity.

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard at the Royal Albert Hall

The Royal Albert Hall has hosted more than a century of spectacle, but I sincerely doubt it has ever seen a cyborg fisherman, a pair of powdered French courtiers and an army of gator tees in the same evening. The crowd pouring through the doors looked like they had escaped from different time periods and different planets at once. It felt fitting for King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, a band who thrive on chaos, lore, colour and the feeling that something unpredictable might happen at any moment.

From the first notes of Phantom Island, the show unfolded like a fever dream. Everything felt drenched in this rich, cinematic intensity that came directly from the Covent Garden Sinfonia, who brought a swelling orchestral weight to the band’s usual freewheeling thunder. The strings climbed and crashed against the band’s riffs with a kind of highbrow theatricality that made even their heaviest moments feel grand.

When the orchestra left the stage, things loosened up. Gaia burst out like a runaway freight train, all grit, endurance and forward motion. Stu Mackenzie introduced drummer Michael Cavanagh as if he were an unknown session musician, which earned a warm collective laugh from fans who absolutely know better. Joey Walker fist-bumped people (Eliot) leaning into the aisles. You could sense this shared joy between band and audience, a feeling of everyone in the room participating in the same wonderful thing.

With the number of albums these guys have produced, they should be exhausted by now. Instead they sounded alive, restless and curious, still tugging at the seams of their own mythology.

Nala Sinephro at Royal Festival Hall

Where Gizzard were maximalist, Nala Sinephro offered something spacious and spiritual. Her performance at the Royal Festival Hall felt weightless, almost like stepping into another atmosphere. The band she brought with her only strengthened that sensation. Yussef Dayes on drums creating patterns that rolled and blossomed. James Mollinson weaving sax lines that were soft at one moment and piercing the next. Dwayne Kilvington leaning over the keys with total focus.

Sinephro’s harp glowed under the stage lights, each pluck sending a ripple through the hall. Alongside the harp, her Prophet ’08 modular synth created a gentle halo behind the improvisations. The entire performance moved in two long arcs that rose and shifted like waves. There were moments where the room felt as if it was collectively holding its breath. Other moments expanded into full colour. It was beautiful, hypnotic and quietly daring.

Oklou At Roundhouse

For the leather jacket wearing, bleached blonde hair audience of London, the Friday at Roundhouse provided the perfect curated lineup. With two stages set up, the evening had the benefit of variety and diversity, though ultimately consisted of some of the best in the emergent genre of 2000s synth-dominated club pop fused with R&B. On the main stage first was Malibu, the ambient project from French producer Barbara Braccini. Fresh off of releasing her debut full-length record, the room breathed in the same rhythm as her synths swelled and changed, forcing the audience to live at its pace. 

Erika de Cassier, the R&B starlet hailing from Copenhagen, was soon on, with a white blanket projecting various visuals washing over her and her drummer. The use of live drums as well as live synth drum pads added to the experience immensely, with each hit feeling infinitely more commanding. De Cassier glided through songs from various projects, all the while exuding the ineffable sensuality that the genre requires effortlessly, entrancing the crowd.

Appropriately, for the headline act, the stage team put up a bigger white sheet as the French pop singer Oklou took the stage. She was fresh from appearing on NPR’s Tiny Desk, performing stripped down covers of her normally synth-heavy dance pop. The multi-instrumentalist began with delicate melodies played with a recorder, before launching into crowd pleasing favourites from choke enough like ‘ict’ and ‘thank you for recording’. Despite it being just a duo on stage, they commanded the energy up and down at their whim, with bolder songs like ‘take me by the hand’ or ‘harvest sky’ commanding us to dance to its heavier bass drumbeats. During the latter, Oklou brought out collaborator underscores as well, to a rapturous crowd. Even with the minimal set up, Oklou was able to conjure moments of maximalist zeal as well, at one point donning a mirrorball-helment contraption, meaning the entire room was spotlit with her glow. The show only demonstrated why she’s one of the fastest risers in music today.

Dalston Takeover

Saturday’s Dalston Takeover has always been a highlight, but this year it felt genuinely curated rather than just scattered. The streets around Kingsland Road hummed from the early afternoon. Venues turned over quickly. Crowds rotated between experimental sets, noisy rock, club-leaning electronics and intimate newcomers who might be headlining in a few years.

Throughout the day you could hop from tiny rooms to big ones, from full live bands to laptops and loop pedals, from chaotic pop to sideways punk. It was the most convincing proof that Pitchfork still understands the importance of showcasing smaller artists who are pushing things forward.

Underscores at EartH Hall

One of the most vivid sets of the entire week came from Underscores at EartH Hall. April Harper Grey walked onto a stage exploding with saturated colour. The LED wall behind her flickered with pixelated glitches, rapid lyric bursts and sugar-rush visuals that matched her sound perfectly. It felt like stepping into a high voltage arcade.

Grey ripped through Wallsocket material, weaving in fan favourites like ‘Girls Like Us’ and ‘Old Money Bitch.’ A ddr machine sat in the corner of the stage, a reminder of the playful chaos her project thrives on. A new track, ‘Do It,’ hit with the force of something designed to melt through speakers. The crowd might have been smaller than her typical festival audience, but they were loud, committed and more than willing to throw themselves around at her command. It was hyperpop with teeth. High energy, high emotion and completely infectious.

Indigo De Souza upstairs at EartH

Immediately after Underscores, Indigo De Souza shifted the mood into something more reflective. The room upstairs glowed purple. People settled into a different headspace. De Souza’s voice curled around the rafters with a soft ache, the kind that can silence a room without needing to raise the volume. It was a reminder that Pitchfork’s programming works best when artists are allowed to contrast, collide and create unexpected emotional arcs in the same building.

What really came through across the week was how naturally everything flowed. Big shows landed with impact, smaller ones had real intention behind them, and the city felt alive with it. Pitchfork London has delivered solid lineups for years, but this one had a clarity that made the whole thing easy to enjoy without overthinking it. No grand reinvention, just a genuinely strong run of gigs that made the week feel worthwhile.

Pitchfork Music Festival London 2025 proved that the magazine responsible for giving your favourite album a slightly insulting 6.7 can still throw a festival that fully celebrates artistic risk and range. This year they struck the balance perfectly. New and older artists sharing the same bill, all of them treated with equal care.

“I like to bribe my audience” Arooj Aftab jokes as she apologises for a hangover and offers her audience shots of whisky, “it’s my first time here and I don’t know if I’ll be invited back”. A laugh comes back from the all-seated room, half directed at Aftab’s self-effacement and half surely at the notion that her first visit to Tokyo will be her last.

For an artist who has received a Grammy nomination every year since her haunting, smoke filled single ‘Mohabbat’ won the award for Best Global Music Performance in 2021, a first booking in Tokyo feels like a low stakes milestone to hit. The audience, which is relaxed and polite, seems to reflect this. But Aftab and her band show their intent with a set that infuses the intimate plucked violins and arpeggiated guitars of her records with warm grooves, jazz rhythms and guitar parts that wouldn’t sound out of place in a Tinariwen set.

On record, Aftab’s music is notable for its minimalist approach to instrumentation. Her voice, full of wistful longing, finds itself spilling into the cracks left by sparse arrangements of bar room piano, dreamy harp and ripples of finger-picked folk. Tonight, songs like ‘Suroor’ give way to indulgent double bass while ‘Whisky’ and ‘Baghon Main’ hold a bubbling groove before closing out with crisp guitar solos. 

Aftab’s supporting cast help to make the night, indeed one of the loudest rounds of the evening’s applause go towards Ichiko Aoba who joins the stage to sing two mesmerising sopranos on ‘Baghon Main’ and ‘Last Night’. But it is Aftab’s spellbinding presence that holds the room. With subtle hand gestures she tames the exuberance of her bandmates and in doing so gives her rich voice the space to fall over the music like whisky hitting the rocks.

Self-effacement is clearly part of the act, too. Early in the set Aftab promises the audience “some songs that are fun and some that are depressing” and introduces the encore opener ‘Aey na balam’ as coming from an album “no one gave a shit about”. But it is the song that “everyone knows” that Aftab closes the set with. As she begins to sing ‘Mohabbat’ with a wistful longing, the curtains behind her open to reveal a sky view of one of Tokyo’s trendiest districts. The effect is to imagine a city removing the question of ‘if’ and replacing it with ‘when’ it will welcome this remarkable artist back. 

Photography By: cherry chill will

How I became acquainted with the band lilo was somewhat by accident. However, being somewhat of a romantic when it comes to moments in life, I’d argue that it was not an accident but rather a moment of destiny. 

Last February I made a music pilgrimage to London, in search of mosh pits and sweaty ceilings. I found both things every night of the seven I spent in the city. I became a true believer in the hype around the independent music scene in London. So much so, it led me into an existential crisis on the flight back to the US. I even debated rushing towards the closing door as the plane prepared to take off. But I decided to be an adult about it. 

In that moment of intense life contemplation and feeling a wave of anxiety, exhaustion impending, I turned to music. I turned on a new playlist I made of all the bands I saw during my trip. I ventured to click “smart shuffle” and a song called ‘Crash the Car’ by lilo started to play. Fate (Spotify) knew at that moment, that song is what I needed. I might have even put it on repeat during the flight home. 

‘Crash the Car’ followed me through returning home, quitting my job the following week, selling most of my possessions, saying goodbye to friends and family, and ultimately returning to London to pursue music. It’ll be the song I will remember most about this point in my life. Funny how songs do that, right?

In return for its immense support, I followed ‘Crash the Car’ to The Lexington last Thursday night to finally see it played live. Personally the moment felt like everything came full circle. But I also argue the band might have been feeling something similar, it was the last show of their tour after all.

However before lilo, the night began with sets from Bekah Bossard and Oscar Browne. Bossard presented the audience with her punchy new single called ‘American Dream’ and overall amazing presence and lyricism. Browne brought out similar striking lyricism coupled with folky overtones and unique instrumentation. Definitely became instant fans of both. 

Finally, walking out to what I think was ‘Party Rock Anthem’ by LMFAO (fun shift from the folky introspection), lilo took their places after a quick dance. The band opened with ‘Crash the Car’ and I thanked the Spotify gods at that moment. 

lilo is one of those bands that creates an atmosphere where you feel like you’re surrounded by your closest friends, having a chat about life. A feeling that grounds you and makes you live in the moment. From my spot in the crowd, I rarely saw people on their phones or having side conversations. We were all present in the moment together. From the cheers of “lillllooooooo”, the shout out to the moms in the crowd before the band played ‘Simply Put’, laughing at glue-on-nails getting stuck in guitar strings, and to the cheers for “it’s DIY baby.”

It didn’t feel like a gig, it felt like a much needed hang out. 

As it was the bands’ last show on tour, it seemed like it was a time to celebrate all the ups and downs of what they described as being “DIY.” Before playing their amazing cover of Emmylou Harris’ ‘Boulder to Birmingham’, the band joked that doing the cover seemed to be some sort of curse, as they missed their Birmingham, UK show a few days prior. Regardless, as someone who has spent a great deal of time in Alabama Birmingham, curse or no curse, I think yall did it justice. But I digress. 

At the final verse of their last song, ‘Closing Time’, everyone was just as present as they were in the beginning. There was maybe even some hesitation against the night ending as the crowd cheered, yet unmoving while the band took a few bows. Despite the messiness a DIY tour or show may bring, the world needs more of it and bands like lilo.

Regardless of your opinion on Spotify, if you luckily get bestowed a song like ‘Crash the Car’ through “smart shuffle” and change your entire life, make sure you return the good karma and go see lilo live. 

Photography By: Lily Doidge

“Who’s ready to get spooky?” asked Etta Marcus, dressed as a sacrificial lamb surrounded by a blood-splattered band. The South Londoner, whose musical influences include Nirvana and PJ Harvey, was certainly in her element as she wrapped up her UK tour on the night before Halloween and, aptly, the night before releasing her haunting EP Devour. 

Hoxton Hall is one of London’s few surviving Victorian saloon-style music halls, and was a suitably eerie setting with its creaky floorboards, velvet curtains and wrought iron balconies that gave the room an imposing sense of height. Though Marcus had no trouble filling the space as she launched straight into “Girls Are God’s Machines”, an angsty, guitar-driven rumination on the misogynistic expectations imposed upon women to “stay inside and baby-make”. 

Other tracks from Marcus’s new record were equally impressive live – “Slaughterhouse” showcased her capacity for both soft and powerful vocals, while “Teenage Messiah” proved a perfect way to close the night: with its fuzzy electric guitars, lush vocals and brooding lyrics, she commanded the crowd’s attention until the very end. 

Devour adds a darker, grittier dimension to Marcus’s discography, but its five tracks slotted in seamlessly with cuts from her 2024 album The Death Of Summer & Other Promises, which leaned more into dream pop – from the wistful balladry of “Skin Parade” to “Girls That Play”, a heartening ode to the women in her life. Her darkly ethereal debut single “Hide & Seek” also made the setlist, much to the delight of the loyal fans in the audience. 

While the night demonstrated Marcus’s refusal to be confined to any particular genre, it also highlighted the consistency in her songwriting: raw, cinematic and confessional. Wearing her heart on her sleeve as she sang of loss, womanhood and relationships, the sacrifical lamb was a fitting costume choice: Marcus gave the night her all, and was devoured by an adoring crowd in return.

In the heart of Cardiff, music would take precedent over three days filled with talented acts that span an array of genres, offering the opportunity of musical discovery in every corner. From anxiety rockers Squid to the forever cool and danceable Babymorocco, every musical need was catered for amongst a diverse range of venues across the city. The chance for unearthing new talent and nurturing fanfare became an endless experience, with the festival previously showcasing acts such as Micachu and The Shapes, Little Comets and Cate Le Bon, new stars following their footsteps made their way to centre stage across a weekend that boasted a new British canon of musical stars.

Bedroom pop artist Angharad found herself transported to a live setting in the shape of Boho Club. She flaunted off her vocal capabilities in a set standing out for her layered vocals in particular, showing off her chops whilst bringing forth an ethereal vigour to her set. New tracks introduced during the set that take a more transgressive, faster pace as well as complex rhythms is a promising sign for this Welsh singer who is already progressing within her well curated electronic pop to open her scope to new sonic possibilities as genres.

The Northampton rockers Thistle carry a multitude of influences that compile of their rock sound, built from shoegaze guitars, sultry vocals, and fast paced drums. A standout performance amongst a festival plentiful with grunge rock from the likes of Ain’t and Green Star, the band made sure to deliver a memorable show with the drummer acting as the ultimate lynchpin of their amalgamated sound.

Amongst the wave of Shoegaze revivalists sits Whitelands, garnering appreciation through forefathers such as Slowdive. A late night slot at Clwb Ifor Bach offered new tracks that will surely be featured on their forthcoming 2026 release, as well as beloved favourites from their sophomore effort like ‘Born In Understanding’. A much enthused crowd who seemed familiar with the band’s output, with those coming in blindly leaving the set as new fans of the shoegaze outfit.

Saturday would welcome Pollyfromthedirt, arriving on the Tiny Rebel stage as a masked mystery, offering humorous quips between songs and a wealth of introspection within them. With his forthcoming debut arriving before the end of the year, this set was the perfect peak behind the curtain to the sonic landscapes that will be present within the project. Tackling side by side with live electronics and even gracing the audience with an acoustic guitar, closing out on ‘There’s no such thing as England’, a broken folk track that laments on disillusion in the face of love. This is an artist that is at the helm of something special and completely his.

Slate would go on to perform an acoustic version of their set at St John Church, varying from the loud shrieks and cathartic energy brought on by their performance the preceding night, holding resonance over an observant crowd as the slower tempo, reinterpreted tracks proved of their range in sound and strength in vision. Taking the drums out of their track ‘St Agatha’ for a melancholic, enchanting, revised version charged by the vocals of Jack Shephard had the audience at their mercy. The Cardiff act stand at the forefront of the scene, bound for summer festival stages in the near future.

Naima Bock found herself placed at St Johns Church for her set, as God intended. Performing with long-time collaborator, the duo performed a set of songs spanning Naima’s discography, ranging from tracks like ‘Feed My Release’ from her recent album, to performing ‘Campervan’ from her debut album. A stripped back version of her live show set up still holds fortitude with two instruments and searing vocals bursting through the church. Tears were witnessed ahead from moved audience members at the sheer emotional force that Naima Bock’s discography offers. Folk music in a church; you can’t really go wrong, not when it’s in the hands of Naima Bock.

How does one go about creating a rock music that is both sweet and reverberating at the same time? This seems like Ladylike’s mission statement, and a successful one at that, in a set that was both loud and tender. The lead vocalist’s lyricism on the track ‘Horse’s Mouth’ should be enough to get you behind and into the world of the Brighton quartet, with a cathartic outro built to have you thrashing to.

An action packed weekend boasting of new talent and seasoned voices, what Huw Stephens has created alongside promoter Jon Rostron is a necessary outlet for showcasing musical acts in collaboration in housing them within small venues that carry the magic as well as sticky floors as all best small venues do. Eighteen years on, its legacy stands firmly strong.

Nestled above a buzzy North London pub, The Camden Assembly has seen a number of indie legends grace its small stage over the years – The Strokes, The Libertines and Bloc Party to name a few. For the penultimate stop on her UK tour, it also proved to be the perfect setting for Ellur, a Yorkshire-based indie artist, as the crowded room brimmed with catharsis and connection from start to finish. 

The opening ‘Missing Kid’ set a suitably upbeat tone for the night, with tinges of bittersweet nostalgia uplifted by an irresistible guitar-driven groove. “This sinking feeling, I know it so well,” she confessed in the chorus. Though these sinking feelings were channeled into soaring energy levels – a sentiment that echoed throughout the set with tracks like ‘Boys’, a lively pop anthem ruminating on the tired notion that ‘boys will be boys’. 

Ellur’s infectious enthusiasm kept the crowd moving all night, whether jumping with her to the soaring synths on ‘Anywhere’ or swaying along to the wistful ballad ‘The World Is Not An Oyster’. While her discography varies in pace and genre, experimenting with everything from folk-pop to indie-rock, the cohesion comes from her consistently earnest lyricism. ‘Alive’, a deeper cut about falling in love, planted Ellur’s heart firmly on her sleeve, while ‘Yellow Light’, in which she admits that she will “act like a dick and then blame it on [her] northern blood”, proved to be a catchy crowd favourite. 

This honesty lended itself particularly well to Ellur’s ability to connect with a crowd. Her stage presence was undeniably strong, dancing without inhibition and addressing us in between songs with a charming blend of humour and sincerity. Towards the end of the evening, she instructed us to raise our arms, breathe deeply and dance freely alongside her before launching into her latest release ‘Disintegrate’, a dynamic track which throws the pressures of people-pleasing out of the window. 

Ellur’s hit single ‘God Help Me Now’ was the last of the set to be performed with her full band, packed with the candor, relatability and genuine emotion that came to define the night. She remained onstage with just her acoustic guitar for two final songs – the melancholy ‘Mourning Song’ and ‘Knowing’, a beautifully aching unreleased number – while a sea of phone lights sprung up in the crowd, as if to affirm Ellur’s status as a bright rising star on the indie scene.

Since moving to London, most of the gigs I’ve ventured to have required a bit of a trek. So when the opportunity arose to go to one at The Dome in Tufnell Park, I was relieved. Finally a show I could walk to. No overcrowded Tube, no navigating late-night transfers. More time for pre-show pints, too. After a few at the Boston Arms next door, my friend and I walked over to The Dome’s doors. No rush.

Equally relieved by the short journey, I was even more excited because the gig in question was for London-based band bar italia.

We arrived in time to catch the opening act, Xmal, a seated two-piece guitar outfit that mesmerized the room with a melancholic, pensive set. A minute or so after they exited the stage, the trance they cast was abruptly broken. ‘Mambo No. Five’ by Lou Bega began to play over the speaker. The shift in energy was immediate and the crowd pressed closer to the front barriers, buzzing with anticipation. It was a signal that it was about to begin. During the break, my friend and I had been talking with two diehard Bar Italia fans.”Fans since the beginning,” they declared. But before we could even say “bar italia” they were quickly lost in the sea of bodies. Later on during the set, I caught a glimpse of them towards the front, dancing and headbanging.

When Bar Italia finally took the stage, they did so without a word. Then with a sudden crash, they opened their night with ‘Fundraiser,’ the euphoric single off their fresh album Some Like it Hot.

The crowd gave into that euphoria and began to move, some even singing along. I don’t even think there was a moment throughout the set where the crowd wasn’t dancing. Even with the band taking us through the highs and lows (sonically) of their new album, the crowd refused to stop moving. The crowd got even more electric when older tracks such as ‘punkt’ and ‘Missus Morality’ from Bar Italia’s 2023 album Tracey Denim, found their way into the set. The latter getting a majority of the crowd around me singing along. 

Bar Italia closed their set with one of their new rippers, ‘Cowbella.’ The final thrash of the night for the crowd. Just as they opened, they closed their set with a few words, or at least from what I remember. Because I only seem to remember the parting words of the two long-time Bar Italia fans humbly bragging “there is a mystery to them, and that’s why I love them.”

Read more about Bar Italia’s Some Like it Hot.

Photography By: Simon Mercer

Introduced by Nadine Shah and Moonchild Snelly (both of whom rejoin the main artist on stage for their features on the album tracks), Self Esteem - the creative project of Rebecca Lucy Taylor - steps onto stage in South London in a nun-like habit, a pretty perfect replica of the costumes worn in the TV adaptation of the dystopian novel The Handmaid’s Tale. The adulation of the crowd is immediate, crackling. 

She opens with I Do and I Don’t Care, centre-stage in a line of similarly-habited troupe of 8 singer-dancers, writhing and jerking like women possessed. It’s like watching a contemporary theatre’s vision of The Crucible, with the O2 Academy Brixton suitably hushed until the opening track hits its key proclamation - “This really is all there is / We’re not chasing happiness anymore girls, we’re chasing nothing”. The roar is genuinely deafening. 

After a critically lauded run as Sally Bowles in the West End’s Cabaret, Taylor returned to the studio to produce A Complicated Woman, her third album. The album, and the show, continue in her project to be more than ‘just’ a pop star. Self Esteem has always been a multi-faceted operation, steered at the helm by the unapologetic persona her stage name suggests. 

The set and staging is steeped in her lore - there’s a cardboard cut out of an Eddie Redmayne press-shot, captured stepping into a taxi by the paparazzi holding the Prioritise Pleasure vinyl and a Pret coffee - lurking by the stage door. Under the pilgrim's cap, she’s wearing a cropped football jersey with the number 69, referencing her track by the same name during which a screen projects the song’s litany of sexual positions in large red cursive (6. Reverse Cowgirl). Her boppy, radio-friendly hit Cheers to Me turns the stucco-ed venue into something like a cruise ship disco, with multicoloured lighting and car dealership inflatables swaying maniacal fixed grins side to side. 

The songs from her previous album that make the set - ‘You Forever’, ‘I’m Fine’, ‘Fucking Wizardry’, are ones which reference her stint as one half of the mediocre indie-pop duo Slow Club in the 2010s, a period Taylor has repeatedly denounced as unfulfilling and limiting. “You need to be braver”, she yells on ‘You Forever’ “cos I did this all without you.” It’s a satisfying meta-narrative about creative control that clearly has her fans hooked.

And tonight, it is difficult not to feel that I’m watching a master at work - the joy with which she embodies the world she’s built is infectious, laughing euphorically in between choreography, kissing the faces of her co-performers, shaking her finger at the sky to punctuate the Lies lyric “no-one’s as bored of this as me” - she looks indomitable as she towers over the pit of photo dudes during the chorus of Mother “I am not your mother, I am not your Mum”. There’s moments I let out a small cackle of glee - this is one of them.

She goes a long way to make sure her crowd knows this is a group project. She introduces her 8 singer-dancers and 2 musicians by name (including her ‘token male’ drummer), some of whom have been with her since the very beginning. The school changing room aesthetic of the set is difficult to parse at first - some slightly thrown-together choreography on a circle of plastic chairs invites GCSE drama comparisons, but once the wooden benches and sports bra / football shirt combos come out, I’m won over by the nostalgia of it. And the near-constant presence of a backing choir - which feels a bit grating on the album - makes more sense live, in a show designed to feel like a group of girl mates singing at each other for the joy of it in the classroom at lunchtime.

There are some moments where it leans a little personality cult-ish, but this is (I think?) just about offset by the times she easily steps out of the spotlight - for Moonchild Sanelly’s powerful verse on ‘In Plain Sight’, Taylor disappears into formation and the shadows with the rest of her dancers, and in one of the few (perhaps too few) quieter, palette-cleansing moments of the show - ‘What Now’ - she is indistinguishable in an inwards-facing huddle of performers. 

It feels messier and more playful than her previous tour, which was certainly slicker and a little more reserved. Her performance is, as you might expect, more theatrical - which sometimes fails the bleak source material of her lyricism. ‘The Deep Blue Okay’, a stand-out album track about the relentless drudgery of maintaining sanity, is swallowed by the frenzy. But this doesn’t detract from the fact that Self Esteem is an approach to pop music and performance that feels truly different. ‘The Curse’ is the set at its most moving - she gazes on grinning as her talented cast trade remarkable vocal runs before uniting the group on the bridge “I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t fucking work” - and it just does. 

SON Estrella Galicia are back at it again, putting rising stars on local stages in conjunction with beer, pizza and general good vibes. This time, they’re showing off a new generation of local talent with their second instalment of Soundhood Hackney. The event was first launched last year, expanding SON Estrella Galicia’s micro-festival concept beyond the walls of a single venue. The inaugural event was their biggest yet, taking place across Paper Dress Vintage and Two Palms, with a stacked line-up which included Gia Ford, DITZ, and Cosmorat. Now, they’ve broadened the scope of the event by making use of three of East London’s finest grassroots venues: The Sebright Arms, Paper Dress Vintage, and Oslo.

The journey begins at The Sebright Arms with Yawners, a Madrid based alt-rock trio fronted by singer and guitarist Elena Nieto. The band maintained a sensibility reminiscent of 90s slacker rock with their clean, college rock riffs, seemingly having shed their teen angst while equally allowing for a sense of wistfulness and slight trepidation to drip through every note. Like a less tumultuous Dinosaur Jr., Nieto’s vocals were plaintive, almost nostalgic, as they pierced through the lightly overdriven guitar and pounding drums without ever overwhelming them. Yawners were an excellent way to start the evening; they were fast, a little heavy, and a glimpse into Madrid’s local talent – a breath of fresh air that carried throughout the evening.

The festivities continued with a ‘Beer and Beats’ Tasting event hosted at Paper Dress Vintage. Upon arrival, guests were given a choice between a standard Estrella Galicia and a 1906 Black Coupage dark lager. Throughout the tasting, a SON Estrella Galicia speaker discussed the similarities in creative processes between music and beer before leading a game of musical bingo, in which the winner was given a branded SON Estrella Galicia T-shirt, tote bag, and lanyard. 

Next up at Paper Dress were Amor Líquido, a Madrid-based four-piece that positively oozes 70s-inspired art-punk and rebellious vigour. The band exploded onto the stage with upbeat and punchy riffs that immediately whipped the crowd into a frenzy of movement. Their third song had barely even begun when a mosh pit opened up, much to the delight of the crowd, who immediately hurled themselves into it. The guitar tone was trashy in the best way, vocalist Sara Puertas’ singing veered into rapping, while the bass tone cut through everything. The band’s playing was undeniably reminiscent of The Clash, but combined with their sheer youthful exuberance, it works fantastically to create a punchy, upbeat wall of sound that is almost the antithesis of London’s current zeitgeist of more deliberate, self-serious post punk.

At one point, Puertas called out the band’s Spanish fans, many of whom had made their way down to London to witness them play in a brand new city. The band also played a cover of Jet’s ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl?’ in Spanish, continuing to enamour the crowd with their jubilance. By the time they finish their half hour set, the pit has formed into a surprisingly well-managed circle. Based on the reaction of the audience, Amor Líquido were an easy highlight.

Headlining the Paper Dress stage were Liverpool-based quartet Courting, who arrived with swathes of their own fans in tow. The crowd had been thoroughly warmed up by Amor Líquido, and the atmosphere was electric. When Courting took the stage, their fans were bellowing their own lyrics back at them and at least a third of the room had transformed into a pit by the time they started their fourth song. The band are all competent musicians and have been around the scene for a number of years, which makes it all the more disappointing when the singer starts to use autotune, much to the detriment of their entire sound.  Pulling material from their three LPs, Courting’s are reminiscent of The Killers and at points Neon Trees, though they were ultimately at their strongest when they shed these influences and played in a more pop-punk style. The band’s standout member was rhythm guitarist Joshua Cope, who also spent the set making use of a synth and cowbell. The band finished their set to a thunderous applause from the audience, even returning for an encore upon the crowd’s request. 

The night was hardly over yet. Across the road at Oslo, Dublin-based quintet Gurriers had begun their propulsive headline set. Excitement was rife in anticipation for the band, who recently released their new single ‘Erasure’, following the success of their debut album Come And See which dropped last year. Their erratic, progressive post-punk sound illuminated the room with an explosive presence that surged across the packed crowd, making for a performance to remember. As the event dwindled to its end, DreamWife closed things out with a DJ set at the Sebright Arms. 

SON Estrella Galicia has once again managed to put on a hell of a show, helping lesser-known bands play with their more established contemporaries and even inviting show-stealing Spanish artists to London’s humble grassroots venues. If you like pizza, beer and local tunes, this may well be the place for you. SON Estrella Galicia will be making another return to the Sebright Arms in November.

Since their debut UK/EU tour in 2023, Aussie quintet Floodlights have quickly grown out of their label as ‘pub rockers’, as they set off on their biggest European headline tour to date. Following a successful string of shows across England and Wales, Floodlights return to London to cap off the tour's UK leg, this time with a brand new repertoire of songs.

The crowd politely watches on whilst Floodlights burst into familiar favourite ‘Wide Open Land’, seemingly shattering any sense of restraint. People are dancing now. Ash Kehoe introduces her harmonica ability which is promptly greeted by a roar of cheers and whistles, a unique element that helps create their Australian ‘bush rock’ vibe. Their sound further grows as Sarah Hellyer’s trumpet layers over the chorus. With all five members playing a distinct instrument it's clear to see why this band has captured the attention of many: raw talent.

The entire performance is intensified by Village Underground's bright bulb lighting, a performance of its own right. The band's anthemic number ‘Buoyont’ suits the giant pulsating bulbs facing the audience. Frontman Louie Parsons is almost framed as a godlike figure during this track, his silhouette planted firmly on centre stage as the audience repeats his lyrics back in unity.

As Floodlights take the time to acknowledge their support for Palestine and the lack of care from both the UK and Australian governments, they jump into ‘Lessons Learnt’, a fitting following number. “Lessons learnt, lessons forgotten, how can history repeat so often?” Parsons’ brash vocals relay the anger he and the band feel towards the current state of the world, the song feeling like an argument happening in real time.

Throughout the entirety of the track it feels like Floodlights are figuratively shaking hands with the audience. The repeated “hoofs” that Parsons sings act as a call to arms against these political issues, uniting the band and audience together.

After offering their thank yous to an active yet respectful crowd, Floodlights are encouraged to return for an encore. Following a small delay they land on ‘Painting of my Time’, capping off a brilliant performance and giving everyone one last chance to mosh.

This won’t be their last trip to the UK. When Floodlights return, don't walk but run to go see them.

Travelling to We Out Here always has the feeling of a pilgrimage, as the exponents of a scene - decades in the making - converge together to pay their respects to its pioneers and those continuing to push the culture forward. 

Curated by Gilles Peterson, the scene We Out Here represents is not one that can be narrowly defined, and in fact its magic is found in its inherent diversity and genre-defying approach. Yet, broadly speaking, We Out Here is a celebration of music of black origin and UK club culture in its many guises. Featuring jazz, soul, hip hop, house, afro, latin, electronica and more, this really is a festival where you can choose your own path. Whether that be nerding out on the UK jazz underground, crossing some big names off your “seen live” list, committing to a four-day-long rave, or, perhaps advisedly, attempting all of these simultaneously. 

The diversity in music is matched well with diversity in staging and curation - an area that has been continually tweaked and improved as the festival has grown in size and scope. The majority of the live music is split between three stages with each - regardless of size - being able to simultaneously create an atmosphere of intimacy and occasion. Where, even at the main stage, which hosted headline performances from Noname, Loyle Carner and Kokoroko, you never feel too far away from the action. 

In particular this was felt at Nala Sinephro’s Friday afternoon set, which was undoubtedly one of the musical pinnacles of the weekend. Sinephro’s unique brand of ambient inspired jazz music is often hard to make work in a festival context - especially on the larger stages. But an attentive crowd combined with a perfectly balanced soundsystem created a genuinely immersive experience. 

Predominantly improvising for the hour-long set, but with references to her records ‘Space 1.8’ and ‘Endlessness’, Sinephro masterfully guided her band through moments of serenity and intensity. Gradually building from gentle harp and synth harmonies into ecstatic, almost free jazz segments featuring James Mollison on saxophone and Morgan Simpson on drums. As the set built to its final, dramatic conclusion, the few thousand-strong crowd were left in stunned silence, desperately waiting to show their appreciation for what had unfolded before them. 

Less well-known or perhaps more left-field acts were programmed on the much smaller “Lush Life” stage which was nestled in a beautiful tree-lined corner of the festival site, surrounded by some of the lushest grass the festival had to offer. On many occasions we found ourselves splayed out here, eating food and listening to the cocktail of music which was on offer. From Nídia & Valentina with their unique brand of syncopated and raw contemporary dance music, to the cosmic, electronic jazz of super-group Flock, the music here always felt innovative and exciting - making it the perfect spot for new musical discoveries. 

The highlight here, though, was veteran Finnish composer and synth wizard Jimi Tenor, whose inimitable fusion of jazz-funk, soul, analogue house and afrobeats was totally thrilling to witness. Performing fully solo - armed with a flute, saxophone, an array of synths and his distinctive voice - Tenor delighted the

crowd with his unassuming charm and old-school approach. Moving from luscious, soundtrack-like compositions, to bonkers spaced-out fusion, to pure drum-machine-led beats, Tenor succeeded in whipping the relatively small crowd into a genuine frenzy. 

Amazingly enough, the live music portion of this festival probably only occupied about half of our time, as the rest was spent exploring the incredible line-up of DJs. In fact, it was here where the programming and staging was at its most impressive. Spread across nine stages in total, the options for your late night party or daytime boogie were exhaustive - and occasionally overwhelming. However, with a little bit of 

pre-planning and some occasional serendipity, we almost always found a dancefloor vibe that agreed with what we were craving at any given moment. 

Across the weekend we made it to seven of the nine stages, with each delivering memorable dance-floor moments. Yet, a few spots certainly stood out for their attention to detail and flawless line-ups. 

The first of these to mention is Colleen ‘Cosmo’ Murphy’s “Love Dancin’” tent, which has always been a staple at We Out Here, but this year it felt as though they raised the bar again. Equipped with a proper wooden sprung dance-floor, a loud surround-sound system and a huge disco ball, it shines as an example of what is possible when you simply get the basics spot on. There were no frills here and yet it was arguably the best place to let loose on the dancefloor for hours on end. 

This sentiment was most felt during the Friday night “Touching Bass” take-over, where, although we had planned to explore numerous spots that night, we were never quite able to drag ourselves away from the warm embrace of “Love Dancin’”. With stellar sets from Leanne Wright, Erol & Alex Rita, Stefan Ringer & Blvck Spvde, and a mind-blowing live set from broken-beat and house producer D’Monk, the 4am cut-off was upon us in no time, leaving us in disbelief that the night had flown by so quickly. 

Another honourable mention has to go to the “Lemon Lounge”, which, although being the smallest DJ stage at the festival, certainly packed a punch with its killer bass-heavy, surround system. Every time we popped our heads into this tiny, circular, lemon-laden oasis we were drawn into whatever was unfolding inside. Whether that be the dancehall and reggae tunes dished out by selectors such as Donna Leake and Vandorta, or the bouncy UKG, bassline and house blasted by DJs like Tasha and Chunky. The undeniable pinnacle here, however, was Roska’s closing set on the Sunday night, where the UK Funky legend had the entire tent jumping in pure unbridled ecstasy, as the crowd threw the last of their energy into every rewind and every drop. 

Perhaps the only fair critique that can be made of the programming at this year’s We Out Here, is at the lack of space given to DJs and selectors not playing four-to-the-floor or electronic dance music styles. Although the likes of Coco Maria, Cami Layé Okún and Poly Ritmo brought some excellent lower-tempo, late-night, latin and jazz flare, it was a shame to see them relegated to the “Roller Rink” stage which in comparison to the other stages felt like somewhat of an afterthought. The yearly success of reggae soundsystem Channel One’s “Bowl Stage” takeover shows that the audience for these slowed-down grooves is certainly there, so it feels essential that these more eclectic, selector-based sets get properly platformed.

This aside, however, We Out Here is a truly special festival which feels like a genuine collaboration between all those who make this scene what it is. By bringing together new talent with established legends, Peterson and his team are certainly securing its future for years to come. As such, this is not a festival where you come away feeling nostalgic, but instead one in which you come away inspired and excited by what is yet to come.

If you didn’t find yourself holding onto your friend for dear life as you navigated your way out of a tent and into a mudslide, you probably did End of The Road wrong this year. The British summertime was not gentle on this weekend of magic, wonder and connection but the music made sure to conquer any feelings of anguish and cold, as a stacked line-up of musicians, comedians and artists rounded up the end of the summer for a large range of festival goers. 

Getdown Services packed out the Folly on night one, for the eager starters who arrived on Thursday. ‘Shout if you’re from London’ which would receive some cheers. ‘Now everyone point and say fuck you’. Moments like this immortalise the ethos and energy of the duo with their fun and observational lyrics packed with whit and relaxed delivery, Lifting the spirits of an eager crowd, the performance was a seamless way to start off the festival’s proceedings.

As well as a place to hide from the rain, The Big Top hosted a wide range of acts, from one of London’s hottest bands Man/Woman/Chainsaw, to LA’s rock trio Cryogeyser, and the peculiar and enigmatic John Maus headlining on the Sunday. DAME AREA’s set was an act of pure endurance with an hour of industrial dance punk to shake you to your core. The Spanish duo with their racing synths, lyrics screamed in Spanish, and thundering bass in abundance was impactful enough for them to be invited to do second secret set, proving to be a thunderous highlight of dynamism and grit leading a legion of head bashers and shakers. Post-dubstep act Blawan took to the stage on Sunday, in turn becoming a lesson in masterful layers and building with his complete control of the crowd with the switching of tempos and energies that showcased the range within his discography, touching on techno, garage and industrial. An early slot for something you’d perhaps want to be in the thick of night moving to, but the darkness of the big top matched with the strobe show to go with the set was enough to make you forget about the light of day. Hearing different beats and patterns filter through was a delight at each turn, as one of the more singular electronic acts of the weekend ended up working the centre of the crowd into a frenzy. 

The Boat stage hosted some of the more experimental acts on the bill, with Saturday being stacked back-to-back with some of the most interesting musicians working today. RIP Magic came through with a moody vocal laced with grit, helmed by the synthesist of London’s very own Sorry. London’s underground finest, Black Fondu, found his way to The Boat stage in a nonstop performance that had elements of grime, experimental, industrial and dance music, moving to the beat of his own productions, working the crowd up to his energy level in an eclectic set. Kassie Krut, one of the most anticipated performances of the festival, did not disappoint. A mystery online still remained a mystery in person, but now there were three faces to that mystery, with songs that weren’t online being performed only elevating the mystique the band are shrouded in. Expect drum patterns that sound like syncopated placing back of dishes, ethereal vocals and dreamy synth sounds laden with some dub inspired sonics. ‘Reckless’ is a good song to introduce someone into their sonic landscape as they spell out the band’s name in such a way that you must move along to it. 

Mount Kimbie were built for summer festivals. British gratitude with the endless thank yous after each song, the band would close on an early track ‘Made to Stray’, ‘You Look Certain’. A set filled with tracks from ‘The Sunset Violent’ and prior works, the sun would be limited in its appearance this weekend and did not make a show during the set, nevertheless, the music ushered that sense of warmth in. 

American rockers Horse Jumper of Love were taking it slow and steady at the The Folly, with a set that would build in tempo as the show went on. Euphoric tracks like ‘Orange Peeler’ and ‘Gates of Heaven’ bringing through a tenderness. The set was ultimately the band honing in on their slowcore rock sound that has expanded by each record. The lead guitarist was moodily striking down on his guitar as the audience finds themselves in a slow, mutual sway, summarising the general tone of their performance as one of comfort and dissociation.

It was Father John Misty wrapping up with proceedings at The Woods stage on Sunday night, showcasing his extensive discography to one of the largest crowds of the entire festival. From members of the audience not familiar to large, long-time fans enjoyed the final large set of the festival that hosted an indie folk akin to red wine; better, with age. Not too far down the road, a romance was being established by Black Country, New Road, charming the audience with their newly adopted chamber rock/folk sound in a busy year that has seen their scope grow larger and their musical horizon enter a new foray with a successful outcome.