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...

Wychwood Festival 2024 ( Sunday )

 

Our second day at Wychwood 2024 saw us up bright and early and back at Cheltenham Racecourse for 11:00 am to see the undeniable star of the weekend, in his own words "TV celebrity... and meme", the amazing Hacker T Dog!

Our kids grew up watching Hacker's antics on CBBC, so we remember the character fondly, and now he's gained popularity through the "Normal men" video clip / meme from 2016 showing Hacker and presenter Lauren Layfield cracking up whilst attempting a continuity link. Hacker's creator / puppeteer Phil Fletcher now takes his manic mutt on tour, singing, DJ-ing and, of course, chanting out "We're just normal men" as often as humanly or canine-ly possible. Aided and abetted by actual DJ Katie Thistleton, Hacker got the early morning Wychwood crowd festival-ready by singing old kids' TV themes, telling daft jokes and generally larking about it. It was great, great fun.

And after the show Phil came down from the stage to meet the fans and take selfies. He gave everybody his time and was very gracious and friendly, and we chatted with Katie who was also lovely. Here's an overjoyed Sarah meeting Hacker and Phil. The nominal Sunday headliners were Dad-rock bores Ocean Colour Scene but, for sheer entertainment value and rock 'n' roll spirit, Hacker beat them hands ( or paws ) down.

"Y'alright cockers!"

The first music act of the day we saw was local lad Crispin ( no surname required ) who produced a family-friendly, ballad-heavy type of pop. Inoffensive and tuneful but forgettable.

We went for another wander and took in the sights of the festival. It was a much hotter day than Saturday but we found a few places we could duck inside and chill out.

In the early afternoon we watched Thrill Collins, an acoustic covers band who do revved-up, comedy takes on big pop and rock tunes. They went down a treat with the festival crowd and were obviously good at what they do... but, when they started playing Hotel bloody California we had to move on.

Next on the agenda were The Futureheads, indie rockers best known for their cover of Kate Bush's immortal Hounds Of Love. I went down the front to catch half of their set and was impressed with their propulsive guitar pop, and wished I'd seen more of them. A bloke next to me said "They're a bit bloody good, aren't they?" - and they were. They, of course, finished with Hounds and it was a delight.

Spot the festival chick!

Over on the Garden Stage I caught one of the youngest bands of the weekend and certainly the loudest:

Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard ( you'd think one bird of prey would be enough )

This Welsh alt-metal ( probably? ) four-piece were incredibly loud and heavy, throwing all kinds of bludgeoning riffs, tempos and time-changes into their pummelling set. Frontman Tom Rees is engagingly odd, like Tom Verlaine fed a diet of raw meat and cocaine, and the whole band are incredibly accomplished for such spring chickens... sorry, buzzards. Definitely a band to watch out for.

Sarah had been looking round the stalls while I was watching Buzzard x3 ( and having my ear drums destroyed ), and then we got back together to see indie pop legends The Lightning Seeds on the main stage.

Ian Broudie and co. were, to my mind anyway, far more deserving of the headliner slot than OCS. The Liverpudlians' gorgeous melodies and hooky hooks were perfect for a warm early Summer evening in a field. Pop banger after pop banger rocketed over the crowd: Change, Sugar Coated Iceberg and Sense were all kinds of jangly goodness and induced mass outbreaks of positive vibes and jollification. ( I'm not sure if that's a real word, but it's certainly a Lightning Seeds album title. ) "Oh, lucky you" indeed.

After a gorgeous Life Of Riley, the inevitable Three Lions roared into life, with Broudie asking the crowd if they thought "it" ( ie a win for England in the Euros ) was possible this year. Of course, most people seemed to think it was possible and bellowed along to the "It's coming home" chant. And, also of course, it turned out later that it didn't come home. Never mind - the Lightning Seeds' optimism, no matter how misplaced, is always a welcome thing in these troubled times.

We literally caught two of Seasick Steve's songs. Although I can appreciate his hobo blues / rock, it really isn't my cup of tea, nor Sarah's. He went down a storm with those who do like it, though. Which was nice. But, anyway, we had an appointment at the Garden Stage with some ( not so ) new soul rebels:

Apart from Hacker ( who relentlessly bigged-up the below act during his set ), my main reason for attending Wychwood on the Sunday was to see the legendary Dexy's ( without the Midnight Runners nowadays lol )

The only time I'd seen Dexy's previously was way back in 2013 at the Gloucester Guildhall. This had been my first gig back after my cancer treatment and it was a very special, emotional experience. I wasn't sure how this gig and this Dexy's lineup would compare. ( Of course, Dexy's in the 21st century basically comprises of  Kevin Rowland and any musician he hasn't fallen out with. )

We got into the Garden Stage tent fairly early and grabbed a decent spot near the front. Sarah had been surprised that a band of Dexy's status were playing on the smaller stage, but I personally couldn't imagine them on the main stage. The theatricality and uniqueness of the Dexy's performance needs to be seen up close.

The band came out onto the stage and started playing the old Bee Gees standard, To Love Somebody, and then "good old Kevin" appeared and instantly commanded the attention of the crowd. The choice of opening song may have seemed strange, considering how much of a back catalogue the band has to draw on, but they've always been astute in their choice of covers, and Kevin absolutely owned this song. Looking quite thin these days, but immaculate in his multi-coloured zoot suit, his voice was however still a thing of beauty, the deep, rich tones and soulful high notes as powerful as ever.

The band then barrelled into first album classic Tell Me When My Light Turns Green, the horn section blasting out the immaculate riff to the delight of the long-time fans. Midway through the set, Dexy's dropped a couple of "the hits" - Geno and Jackie Wilson Said - and everybody by this point was dancing and singing and strutting their funky stuff ( technical term ). The last time I saw the band, they'd played Geno in a Calypso style, which had been fun, but this was a return to the original arrangement and it had that down 'n' dirty Stax oomph to it, and was just outstanding.

Lengthy takes on Until I Believe In My Soul ( yay! ) and the more recent Free saw Kevin indulging his more soul-searching, theatrical side as he recalled the bad old '80s days of punishing his body to believe in his soul, and his yearning to be free of relationships, of band members, of whatever else had plagued him. The set sometimes felt like a confessional or a therapy session for a ( formerly? ) troubled artist, and often these longeurs stretched on almost to the point where they became tiresome. Almost, but not quite, as Kevin injected self-deprecating humour and the band injected raw soul power into these songs just when needed. And then the fiddle-player limbered up and it was time for Eileen to come out to play. Come On Eileen had been noticeable by its absence last time but, in 2024, it seems that Kevin has come to terms with the monster hit single that defined the band for so many casual observers, and has brought it back in all its foot-stomping glory. He also seems to have come to terms with past mistakes and spoke briefly, but movingly, about Al Archer, the former bandmate who had done so much to build the Dexy's sound but had fallen foul of Rowland's "new soul vision" in one of the turbulent lineup changes.

They finished with a stunning version of This Is What She's Like, the epic attempt to define feelings for that special someone, an attempt that will always fail because love is too huge a thing for a mere song to quantify. But Kevin always tries. He believes the Italian's have a word for it. Like a thunderbolt or something...

As you can guess, I was absolutely knocked out by this performance. Dexy's have meant so much to me over the years and I was so happy that they still had that Celtic Soul magic, and their singer was still the unique, passionate, occasionally frustrating, always stylish, frontman who has been pouring his soul out for so many years for our entertainment. Cheers, Kev!

After this, we went for yet another mooch around the arena and caught the tail end of an uninspiring set by headliners Ocean Colour Scene. We could hear them, being all bombastic and obvious, and decided we weren't going to investigate too closely. They finished with The Day We Caught The Train, but we weren't going to take a train ( or a car ) out of Wychwood that quickly, because we were heading for the late night Silent Disco..

I'd never really understood the concept or appeal of silent discos previously, but we'd seen this after-hours ritual taking place last year and thought it looked like fun. The set up is this: two DJs play two completely different sets and the punters are given noise-cancelling headphones, which can be tuned into Red or Blue channels for either DJ. You can flip from one to the other at will, so if you're thinking the dancers freaking out to the Blue channel are having more fun than your Red cohorts, you can join in with them. Of course, you can also take the headphones off and watch people seemingly dancing and singing tunelessly to no music, which is worth a chuckle. 

As it was, the Blue DJ was playing a lot of house, jungle and trance ( which I mostly went for ) and Red was laying down a lot more pop-orientated stuff ( which Sarah mostly went for ), but we mixed and matched as we went along. After two days on our feet, watching bands, you'd think we'd be too knackered for all this, but we found extra strength ( somehow! ) and danced our feet off until 01:00 am - party animals! It was a great laugh and we'll definitely have to do it again.

After a walk through an eerily deserted festival site to find a hideous chemical toilet ( ugh! ), we headed for home, worn out but happy. Same time again next year, Wychwood? ( I think so. )