Wychwood Festival 30/05/26

After missing it last year ( 2025, apparently ), Sarah and I were determined to get to the Wychwood Festival in this year they call 2026. ( Well, I was determined. Sarah was quite keen to go, I guess. ) After doing a couple of days last time, we could only manage the Saturday this year, which was a shame as there were bands on the other days ( Wedding Present, Everything Everything ) that I'd like to have seen... oh, well! Luckily, it was yet another beautiful Wychwoody day on the Saturday - pleasantly warm and sunny, just perfect for an outdoor gig.

After trekking down to the arena from the car park and having a quick nose around, Sarah went to join the first of many queues for the, er, comfort stations, while I caught my first band of the day on the Garden stage - the unfeasibly young and talented Underscore. They're a local band from the mean streets of Cheltenham ( not that mean, actually ) with a nice line in teen indie. Although their singer didn't have the most wide-ranging vocal abilities ( give 'em time! ) they were confident and melodic and certainly generated quite a buzz for a band playing in a tent at the ridiculously early time of 14:30 pm. 

( That's half past two to you. ) A good start to the day.

Back out in the sunshine and it was time to travel from the West to The South as the family-friendly-but-quietly-subversive purveyors of Radio 2-friendly pop took to the main stage, aka Sam's Stage. This rump version of The Beautiful South, minus original vocalists Paul Heaton & Dave Hemingway, was perfectly suited to an early afternoon festival slot. Lots of tunes that everyone knew or vaguely remembered had the people sitting in their camping chairs tapping their feet, while the more adventurous gently swayed along to songs like Perfect 10, Old Red Eyes Is Back and Rotterdam ( Or Anywhere ). It was all Very Pleasant. To be fair, although The South's material is just a little too vanilla for me, it was surprising just how many well-crafted, memorable songs and melodies they had to hand. While current male vocalist Gaz Birtles ( really! ) came across as one of your mates doing karaoke, the band's original female vocalist Briana Corrigan ( back in the fold after some time ) still has a fine voice, showcased especially well on the ballads like A Little Time. She told us she'd been concerned about playing Don't Marry Her, with its infamous original lyrics, after Wychwood authorities had said the festival was too family-friendly for swearing. As it was, she got the crowd to sing the closing line: "Don't marry her... fuck me." Luckily, security couldn't throw us all out. The South finished with a singalong Good As Gold ( Stupid As Mud ) and then presumably headed back Up North.

And, speaking of the North, next up were The Twang from... the Midlands. Well, close enough. If anything, The Twang sound more northern than Brummie as they're cut from the same ( flared ) cloth as The Happy Mondays  - loose, baggy, indie-dance anthems, and a frontman who has probably sampled the occasional chemical in his time. I saw them way back in 2012 at the good old Gloucester Guildhall with my mate Tom. We'd just chanced upon them and thought they were great fun, and I'm glad to say they're still just as entertaining. Not life-changing by any means, but a band who are emphatically Good At What They Do. And their cheeky cover of Bran Van 3000's Drinking In LA was a groove-filled delight. 

Incidentally, you can take it as read that I didn't see any of these bands' sets in their entirety. Although I'm always determined to catch every last second of a band's performance, Sarah is equally determined to make sure we have adequate food, drinks, loo breaks, etc. and she tends to win out.

Back in the tent for the dreampop stylings of Pale Blue Eyes. This band of misfits ( honestly, the least glamorous band ever ) were a shoegaze cyclone of beautiful noise. Wave after wave of guitar tones washed over the crowd as Matt Board's keening, fragile vocals told tales of strange times and places. Nods to the Velvet Underground, Cocteau Twins and The Horrors in songs like Takes Me Over and The Dreamer made for a hypnotic, rapturous sound and ensured the audience in the packed-out tent left with their ears buzzing and their brain cells vibrating.

More main stage action followed with an energetic set from The Pigeon Detectives. They're a band I only really knew for yob-indie classic I Found Out, so I was keen to see what they could do.

What they could do was put on a kick-ass show. I mean, literally  - frontman Matt Bowman jumped, bounced, high-kicked and did the splits all throughout the set, like an indie Eveready bunny. The band's Jam-meets-The Hives high energy performance was a breath of fresh air for a Wychwood main stage lineup that had been a bit laidback thus far. Matt's pointing skills were also excellent, see below:

Typically, I missed the first few songs of the set but got down the front as I Found Out was finishing and the band launched into the Ruts-like riff of I Don't Mind and then careered through more musical short, sharp shocks. A very tight, very enthusiastic, very entertaining, just...very everything kind of set.

They finished with the one-two punch of Take Her Back and I'm Not Sorry: soap opera pop-punk bangers, all teen angst, lager and flirting - from a band who are resolutely not teenagers any more, but can still party as if they were.

Our last chance to dodge into the tent, and we caught the most danceable act of the day, Adult DVD - and isn't that a cracking name for a band? This frighteningly young and talented band kicked out the jams with some Underworld-style dance anthems, welded to some Shaun Ryder-esque vocals and some surprisingly rockin' guitar sounds. Although they looked more like the kind of tykes who would have been shoplifting Adult DVDs from Blockbuster back in the day, the dance-punk outfit pumped out some insanely catchy choons, such as the oddly-named Bill Murray, and turned the tent into one big sweaty mess of dancing punters. Absolute top-shelf, wrapped in plastic, feet-moving fun. ( I've used the word "some" a lot in this paragraph but I'm proud of it - you hear? Proud. )

Into the home stretch now ( well, this was a racecourse after all ) and some Welsh pop-punk from probably the loudest band of the day, Feeder. 

Feeder are a band I never paid too much attention to in their heyday, only really knowing their biggest hit, Buck Rogers - you know, the one about a car that goes "it's got leather seats, it's got a CD player" -  just as retro as the Adult DVD concept, yeah? I'd kind of thought of them as Green Day wannabees and not much more. I was interested to see if I'd been wrong. Uh, yeah actually. ( Not for the first time, it has to be said. ) Although - guess what? - I missed the start of the set and so missed the aforementioned Buck Rogers, we made our way towards the stage as the set was kicking into gear and were rewarded with a powerful, punchy set by the Welsh guitar wizards.

I realised I actually knew more of their songs than I'd thought, and the ones I didn't know instantly worked their magic with catchy hooks and tasty guitar riffs. The propulsive Come Back Around could give Foo Fighters a run for their money, while Just The Way I'm Feeling was a slower indie-ballad which almost strayed into the dreaded Stereophonics area but just pulled back from the brink. Singer / guitarist Grant Nicholas was a quietly confident frontman who mostly let his guitar do the talking, while bassist Taka Hirose was easily the coolest dude in the field that day. Seven Days In The Sun was a perfect, Summery brat-punk anthem ( reminiscent of Ash at their poppiest ) while they finished with a shout-along Just A Day, with its lovely "Doo do-doo doo!" refrain . I've had to re-evaluate Feeder after this gig and will need to seek out more of their music - perfect for blasting out of the car in this hot weather.

The sun was now starting to set over Wychwood and it was time for the headliners: Kaiser Chiefs!

The Kaisers were my main draw for booking the Saturday at the festival. They're not a band I've followed closely, but they've always maintained a high standard in indie-pop anthems ( and that's another word that's cropped up a lot in this review ) and I knew they'd be perfect festival headliner material.

Nattily-dressed and shaking a tambourine / his arse, singer Ricky Wilson bounded onto the stage and proceeded to own it, baby. Although occasionally verging on cheesy ( he was, after all, a host on The Voice ), Wilson was a force of nature as he jumped around the stage, perched himself on top of monitors, and generally did a lot of "shouting and pointing" to adopt Jarvis Cocker's description of his own stagecraft. He made sure each and every one of us felt a part of the Kaiser experience. 

Kicking off with the previously unknown to me Factory Gates, the Kaisers soon began wheeling out the big guns: Every Day I Love You Less and Less, Heat Dies Down and Modern Way were Blur-inspired Britpop Mk II pop explosions - all hooks, melodies and mob-handed backing vocals. Continuing their chameleonic early 2000s take on Britpop, Na Na Na Na Naaa was a convincing recalibration of Supergrass' greatest hits, with a totally gnarly '70s guitar solo, while Never Miss A Beat strung some Suede-like guitar sounds over a Bash Street Kids manifesto: "What do you want for tea? I want crisps." Wedding-disco perennial, Ruby, sounded far tougher and gutsier when played live and was, of course, the cue for a mass singalong.

Many of their songs explore the lurid night time antics of a northern city, presumably Leeds, and the paranoid likes of I Predict A Riot and The Angry Mob almost prefigured the appalling scenes of right wing thuggery that exploded across the country a few weeks later. Scarily relevant to our fractured times.

After a breathless encore rush through The Ramones classic Blitzkrieg Bop ( oh, yes! ), the Kaisers finished their energetic, energising set with a huge, shout-along Oh My God! - guitars set to 11 and Ricky screaming his way through the Cheltenham evening air, even dropping some extreeemely long vocal sounds and an American accent (!) as he did so. Massively entertaining, crowd-pleasing fun.

And that was it for Wychwood in this year that may well be called 2026. We'd hoped to go to the silent disco after the headline set, but we were too cream-crackered, plus we were travelling up to North Yorkshire on the Monday, so it seemed best to get at least a modicum of rest inbetween. We'll definitely have to go again next year, especially as the first headliner for 2027 had been announced by a plane flying over the festival, trailing a banner which said "Don't you want me, baby? See you in 2027." And if you can't figure out who that band could be, shame on you...

Happy 18th Birthday, Jasper!

 This handsome boy is 18 today! Happy birthday, Jasper, aka Jester.

We love you, you big ball of fluff and attitude! Have a purr-fect day.

Love from Mum, Dad, Sophie & James xxx

Recent gigs: The Undercover Hippy, Ez Dickens & Kim Cypher

 Well, recent-ish, and continuing the theme of free and / or unexpected gigs - the best ones, as we know. ( With a side order of cultural appropriation and middle-class guilt. Who could refuse? )

Gig number one ( 25/04 ) ticked all the boxes by being free, unexpected and also bloody good fun. I'd been to the Fresh Art Fair at Cheltenham racecourse ( didn't buy anything because I would have had to sell at least one kidney to afford anything there ) and then took a walk through the lovely Pittville Park into Cheltenham town. I of course headed straight for HMV and was pleased to hear a band playing in there as I walked through the Regent Arcade. This turned out to be ace saxophonist Kim Cypher and her band laying down some cool jazz 'n' blues to a very appreciative audience of shoppers. They played some old familiar tunes ( and some not so ), including a ska version of Dave Brubeck's Take Five, probably inspired by The Skatalites. It was all very laid back and groovy and the band were excellent.

The other attraction was their accompanying dancers who were very stylishly cutting a rug on the rug-less HMV floor.

They were encouraging people to join in the festivities and the lovely Sandy ( in pink above ) even dragged me up on the impromptu dancefloor despite my protestations that I can't actually dance. I mean, why not? Sandy and her husband ( Billy? I think? ) were such a friendly, outgoing couple and it was great to chat briefly with them after the show. Kim Cypher ( such a cool name! ) and her band were playing the Cheltenham Jazz Festival that weekend and were drumming up support for their performance. Unfortunately, I couldn't make it, but it was a pleasure to see them play amongst the DVDs on a Saturday afternoon - a jazzy, summery delight in late Spring.

Gig number two ( 26/04 - yes, the next night ) was in the People's Republic of Stroud - the Prince Albert pub in Rodborough to be precise. This was again a free gig - perfect! Our good friend Caz ( hugely talented trombone player of Dub Catalyst fame ) had recently played gigs with both of that night's artistes so had blagged some complimentary tickets. Cheers Caz!

First up was some high-energy reggae / ska / hip-hop from the diminutive Ez Dickens. This was a very Stroud-y type of gig for the Stroud audience - old hippies, serious drinkers, students and white people with dreadlocks. The last, with its casual cultural appropriation, is always a bugbear of mine: dreads are so tied in with Jamaican / Rastafarian culture that it seems wrong to me for middle class Stroudies to be sporting them. And, to be honest, watching pale-skinned singers toasting in a faux West Indies patois is also slightly unsettling. That said, Ez and her band were very good at what they do i.e. getting the crowd dancing. They're a very tight, very focused unit with some almighty grooves and a cracking guitarist who's a dead ringer for Jason Momoa. Ez herself is a tightly-wound ball of energy and a natural-born performer. They went down a storm and the tiny pub was packed with happily skanking punters by the end of the set. Although slightly lacking in memorable choruses / hooks, their music was a danceable treat for the feet ( and the ears! ) and I'd definitely catch them again.

( To be honest, if you're talking cultural appropriation, Kim Cypher and her band were also doing a white take on an urban Black music, although this has become an accepted genre - food for thought. )

Then it was headliner time and The Undercover Hippy broke cover. Again, a bunch of white people playing Jamaican music, this time a more laidback, commercial pop-reggae, at times veering towards the dreaded Ed Sheeran end of the musical spectrum. Main man Billy Rowan is apparently a former Drum 'n' Bass DJ who picked up a backing band about 10 years ago and hit the festival circuit.

He started the gig with some strange "mobile phone call interrupting the gig" shenanigans but then got down to actually playing the songs. Well, mostly. After three or four of his Police-meets-UB40 skanking tunes, he stopped the gig dead to talk passionately about the appalling situation in Gaza and about the band's support for a young musician out there. This was all very worthy and I certainly can't argue with the sentiments, but it completely lost the momentum of the gig. Reggae has always been a very political music and Rowan is clearly committed to the cause, but I just think he could have integrated the polemic and the music a bit more seamlessly. The song We Are Not Numbers ( about the people of Palestine ) was very moving and had a definite Punk edge to it... but really the music spoke more eloquently than the speeches.

As the gig went on, the music began to feel subservient to the message as Rowan again stopped the gig for more talk. If anything, this reminded me of seeing Anarchist Punk bands back in the day, where you felt like you were being lectured to and there would be homework set at the end of the gig. ( And, considering some things Caz told us about the experience of supporting The Undercover Hippy at previous gigs, a lot of this rang quite hollow. ) The middle-class guilt factor was in full force here.

At the end of the set, Rowan pulled it out of the bag and brought out a couple of more successful, upbeat songs which had people filling the pub again, after the longeurs of the gig had sent a few people back to the bar. I think this music would make more sense in a late afternoon festival slot, where you could tap your toes in the sunshine, drink cider, and wait for the headliners...

So, a pretty decent gig but I definitely preferred the less self-conscious support band to the main act. And I never did find out why he's called The Undercover Hippy...

Springtime scenes