Outbreak Fest returns, bigger than ever, for a barrier-free weekend of noise, bruises, emo bits and complete carnage...
The evolution of Outbreak Fest remains fascinating to behold. From humble beginnings in Sheffield’s 100-cap Broomhall Centre and Leeds’ 375-cap The Well, the UK’s biggest hardcore get-together has grown exponentially, hopped over the Pennines and, on a sunny three days at the end of June, welcomes 7,500 fans to a packed-out Bowlers Exhibition Centre in Manchester.
One thing that hasn’t changed is that Outbreak remains a festival that feels quite unlike any other anywhere in the world. From proudly tearing down (literal and figurative) barriers between artists and fans to wearing righteous politics loud and proud, there’s still so much of that energy and DIY ethos that got the project off the ground in the first place. So its all the sweeter in 2026, with Alexisonfire, Converge, Hatebreed and old pals Basement on board, to see them deliver their most jam-packed, outrageously staked iteration yet...
“What an honour to be playing before so many amazing bands,” grins guitarist Andy Anaya as Pool Kids’ set reaches its gorgeous climax. Judging by the huge crowd who have raced in to catch the heart-tugging Florida crew open Outbreak 2026, they’re certainly not just here to make up the numbers. From the understated weirdo sensuality of I Hope You’re Right, to the massive sing-along of Easier Said Than Done that sees singer Christine Goodwyne crowdsurfing, it’s a set that feels like peeling back the layers. Then, with hearts fully exposed, a raucous Talk Too Much and the gorgeous Conscious Uncoupling invite everyone to dive in and explore their uncharted depths. (SL)
“Due to some flight delays we didn’t actually get in until 9:30 this morning,” yawns Free Throw's Cory Castro, playfully. “But fuck that, let's have some fun!” With the main indoor stage’s massive front pit (affectionately dubbed by fans ‘the rage cage’, with ID required to access maximum mosh madness) already full to capacity just a couple of hours after doors, that’s exactly what’s on the cards. There’s a shedload of angst and uncertainty about The Corner’s Dilemma and Tongue Tied on record, but they’re full-on party anthems at Outbreak. And, for those partaking, Two Beers In proves to be the best six-thirty-on-Friday-evening drinking song the drinkers never knew they needed. (SL)
Somehow, it feels like Outbreak has already reached full throttle for Tigers Jaw. Suffocating temperatures and non-stop stagedives might not be the norm for the Pennsylvanian emo icons, but they don’t take long getting up to speed. The breezy likes of Between Your Band And The Other Band or Pane Vs Tank Vs Submarine are ramped up to match the deafening sing-alongs, as countless bodies hurtle across and off the stage. Even new songs from recent seventh album Lost On You are ravenously gobbled up. Opener Head Is Like A Sinking Stone, in particular, goes down a storm. The brilliantly bittersweet I Saw Water is still a powerfully poignant place to leave off, but this is more a sweaty victory lap than any place for wallowing. A roaring success. (SL)
Balance? Composure? It’s not really the night for those kinds of qualities in Manchester. But like their brethren in Tigers Jaw, Outbreak favourites Balance And Composure find themselves swept up in the tide of salty sweat and sheer exuberance. By the time Parachutes begins ringing over the PA, a stream of folk are already bailing out of the asphyxiating main room, but those who stick around are treated to a wildly impassioned performance from Doylestown’s finest. Cut Me Open and Tiny Raindrop feel even more mesmeric in the heat, while I Tore You Apart In My Head feels somehow more agonisingly intense. An exercise in hazy excellence. (SL)
Temperatures continue to climb in the BEC's massive main hall, but Joyce Manor remain the coolest dudes in attendance. Having flown in specifically for this one-off European appearance, Barry Johnson and the boys bring their own transatlantic heat and leave nothing in reserve, rocketing through Falling In Love Again, Beach Community and Heart Tattoo. Short and sweet, brand new songs I Used To Go To This Bar and I Know Where Mark Chen Lives manage to work their way under the skin even in these furnace-like conditions. But it’s the madcap final run-through of fan requests House Warning Party and Eighteen that make this one of the most unpredictably excellent sets of the weekend. Particularly when hundreds of fans storm the stage for an unhinged Catalina Fight Song. (SL)
“Your government tried to keep us out of this beautiful country,” says Brian Sella, teasing that it's visa issues that have kept The Front Bottoms away from the UK for two-and-a-half years. Safe to say, they’re making up for lost time tonight, beginning with a full run-through of 2013 classic Talon Of The Hawk. Sung back by the sweat-drenched audience in pitchy full voice, Au Revoir (Adios) is a typically wry way to kick things off, but there is a massive amount of real affection here, with even the weedy Funny You Should Ask and, particularly, Twin Size Mattress inspiring body-flinging chaos.
There’s an hour-long slot scheduled, and there shouldn’t be time for much more, but Brian leads on another 25 minutes through curfew (and most of the venue simply shutting down) for another nine songs until the plug gets pulled. The abrupt finish does mean ending with Be Nice To Me rather than a promised second run-through of Twin Size Mattress, but after tonight’s raucous reception, it surely won’t be long until The Front Bottoms keep that promise with another feverish return. (SL)
Knocked Loose have been running through the UK like a wrecking crew this summer. Having already demolished Slam Dunk, as well as Glasgow’s Hampden Park in support of Metallica, you might imagine they’d begin to go off the boil. But as they step onstage at the 118-year-old Albert Hall at half-past two on Saturday morning, you genuinely have to worry for the structural safety of this Grade II listed building.
Part of that is down to the sheer number of fans squeezing in. More, it’s down to the blunt force of Oblivion’s Peak, Billy No Mates and Belleville, with the band’s neon cross reflecting back off the similar designs on this old house of worship’s stained glass windows. Largely the same set as at Slam Dunk, there are few surprises, but it only emphasises Knocked Loose’s growing dominance that this feels so much like a ‘capital-E’ Event. God Knows, Counting Worms and Deep In The Willow make for a nightmarish run to the finish line as the morning sun begins to creep into the sky outside. And Everything Is Quiet Now offers a gleefully twisted goodbye, sending every exhausted onlooker away with ears ringing into the rising dawn. A show for the ages. (SL)
With a couple of thousand attendees having only made it to bed eight hours before their stage time, and many of the rest caught up in travel chaos and queues outside, there’s not quite the jam-packed crowd that UK hardcore bright hopes Turn Of Phrase might have otherwise had in the third stage. Regardless, they overflow with gritty quality. All beaten-down charisma and wounded charm, singer Logan Grant looks like a new star in the making. And although the wider group may still be best known as a melodic spin-off from the harder, heavier Dynamite, songs as good as December and Chump Change mean they’re more than able to stand alone. (SL)
Between hangovers and heat exhaustion, the sea of ticket-holders streaming through the gates are crying out for a pick-me-up early on Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately, blanket are not that. As gorgeous as their woozy brand of shoegazey, faintly hardcore-inflected post-rock could be on a sunbeaten Saturday, you want to be listening to Sea Of Bliss lying in the grass of some festival field. Crescendos of quality do still manage to shine through, and there’s loads of local support for the Lancashire lads, but too often in these surrounds, their Feral Fever Dreams threaten to send everyone back off to sleep. (SL)
Lotta people probably recognise Reclus.É bassist as British rock legend and BBC Radio One DJ Daniel P. Carter, but as soon as they step out onto Outbreak’s massive outdoor main stage, all eyes are on vocalist Soren Bryce. Also playing later today over on the Third Stage with main band Tummyache, Texas native Soren initially looks nervous out in the blazing sunlight in front of thousands of unfamiliar faces, but as soon as the music starts, both her ethereal croon and barking attack are simply breathtaking. Perhaps it’s the close-cropped haircut, but there are glimmers of the doomed magic of The Cranberries’ late frontwoman Dolores O'Riordan in her performance. And airing a host of new material alongside brand new singles A Muted TV and Roads, it’s all just a tantalising taste of the brilliance yet to come. (SL)
Outbreak's smallest stage is rarely as rammed as it is for Still In Love. In here, they have a sound like cut glass, clear yet capable of cutting deep, with ribcage-shaking chugs and percussion like a throbbing headache. “Who's really cold?” jokes singer Nick Worthington, but when he gets to the serious business of thanking the crowd, there is a note of overwhelm and humility in his voice at how many people turned up. They'll be back in this industrial corner of Manchester in two weeks with guitarist Curtis Ward’s alma mater Bring Me The Horizon for their Count Your Blessings shows. Prepare for them to slaughter even harder. (EW)
Is that… Title Fight we can hear? Nope, it’s just Static Dress being cheeky devils, arriving in the Secret Band slot and playing a few chords as a rug-pull. As their band name appears on the screen, “SORRY” flashes up behind them, but judging by the number of people in their merch here today, they’ll be quickly forgiven. They're as punishing as they are heartfelt, from the sinuous Pharmacy Film to the sonic boom of Classic.Death.Pose, by route of lightning-fuelled old cut Safeword. The prevailing feeling, though, is that this is their terra firma. Vocalist Olli Appleyard – in a crop top reading ‘KILL ALL MAIN CHARACTERS’ – joins in with the crowdsurfers and points his mic at the punters below, with no barrier to separate him from them. They even throw in a spiky but wholesome cover of Higher Power's Can't Relate as a nod to the festival and some of their closest peers. “They made it fun to be myself,” says Olli. Nailed it, lads. (EW)
Love Is Noise feel like every slice of Outbreak rolled into one. They have the pounding mosh moments, the iridescent shoegazey textures, the sharp hooks, and the result is scalding yet gorgeous. From the shape-shifting beauty of Everyone Bleeds to the hulking early cut Movement, they are in great shape, bolstered by vocalist Cameron Humphrey's awesome pit moves. Pouring through all of it is a wave of emotion. “If you feel alone, look around the room. You are not alone,” he says. Amen. (EW)
Touché Amoré were drafted in as headliners when Outbreak first moved to Manchester’s BEC back in 2022 after Every Time I Die disbanded, but there’s far more anticipation for their late-afternoon set this weekend. It’s the last date of their European run celebrating classic album Stage Four, and there are tears in onlookers’ eyes long before they’ve struck the first note of Flowers And You. Keeping up their end from the speech delivered by UK charity Rise Above Cancer ahead of a classic-laden ‘greatest hits’ final run, it’s a performance of pure class. From the heartbreak of New Halloween, to the joy of Reminders and the burning catharsis of Honest Sleep, all performed here with David Haik of Pianos Become The Teeth on drums, it’s magnificent stuff. “This is the last day of our tour,” smiles frontman Jeremy Bolm, looking out at this converted car-park. “I couldn’t think of a more beautiful place to end it.” Somehow, that’s no word of a lie. (SL)
“We came here for one reason and one reason only and that is to see you shake some ass in the room,” drawls Lip Critic’s Bret Kraser. The New Yorkers’ warped electronic wizardry and knives-out heaviness make for one of the weirdest sets of the weekend, but were a band with two drummers and a hyperactive keyboardist that jerks and bends his limbs as he plays really ever going to sound vanilla? The same could be said of Bret’s stage patter. “We asked 100 merry men ‘What is your ideal vacation?’” Dealing in bright neons and dark shadows, they make themselves impossible to forget, to the point where those galloping in a circle at Bret’s request almost feel like a cult ritual. There’s always a place for weirdo shit at Outbreak, after all. (EW)
And now, here’s one to stand still and nod to. On their first visit to the UK, Greet Death know exactly what their remit is, and though their take on shoegaze has more of a thump than the usual gossamer-like variety, they know they don’t compel carnage like some other bands here. Eyeing the stage-diving platform, Logan Gaval suggests “it’s more of a sit-down-and-go-on-your-phone platform when we are playing. We would like to see at least one person walking along it with their hands in their pockets.” A sizeable number take him up on it, plodding along the stage for Motherfucker. All self-deprecation aside, their tempestuous sound still shines. (EW)
Fittingly, rain begins to spit as High Vis step up, ready to cool the army of hot bodies relentlessly throwing shapes, and to wash the tears from their Gore-Tex. Sounding at times like Oasis learning to spin-kick, and at others like Gallows had Frank Carter come up in Merseyside, they’re still one of the most singular bands in the jam-packed UK hardcore scene. One of the most important, too. “Last year I tried to stab myself through the heart with a knife,” admits frontman Graham Sayle, stressing the importance of honesty in grappling with mental health as they pile into a poignant 0151. “I don't have any idea how I'm still here, but every day I feel lucky to be alive.” By the time the stunning, climactic Trauma Bonds rolls around, there’s nary a soul in attendance not thankful he made it, too. (SL)
After an afternoon of baking sun, it's drizzling as PUP arrive. With vocalist Stefan Babcock promising less talk and more action, the Ontario punks rip through a clutch of songs with quintessential bounce and acerbic charm. Together, they and their fans squeeze as much joy out of sadness and self-deprecation as possible, punching the air for Free At Last, dancing through the dorky Totally Fine and finishing with the rapturous If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You, I Will. Altogether, it’s a gigantic display of togetherness and fun, offering a lighter touch to the day. (EW)
There’s a warmth and a sense of love in the air when Higher Power arrive to pack out the second stage. Bolstered by some truly filthy guitar tones, they’re on dagger-sharp form (save for a slightly too quiet mic). Today, they show off just how many big, juicy tunes they’ve got, from Shedding Skin and Low Season and sprinkle in some new cuts for fun, such as the frenetic Count The Miles. After all, Outbreak is written in their DNA, and they feel like its heroes as a result. (EW)
Kadeem France's cheeks must be getting sore from that irrepressible grin on his face. “This is our favourite festival to play, ever,” he says. There's a glowing streak of joy even when things get to volcanic proportions as they do on Dance On My Skin and Heavy Is The Head… There's something divine about watching Loathe spread their wings like this at the golden hour, amplified by the blossoming beauty of Gifted Every Strength and the waltzing Is it Really You?. There's even a proper moment when Kadeem lifts his arms to the blue grey sky and rain spatters as if he commanded it. To top it all off, they enact proper mayhem with a stage invasion to closer Gored. It has been wonderful to see then play such a high up slot and they have made magic with it. (EW)
“It’s very cool to play a cover of a band that’s about to come on,” grins Tony Wolski as The Armed get ready to pile into Converge’s Homewrecker. “It's a very normal thing to do.” Of course, The Armed are no normal band: a point hammered home by the arrival of Converge frontman Jacob Bannon. Describing a set as ‘chaotic’ at Outbreak is sort of like singling out a variety of fish for being ‘wet’. But even by this event’s unhinged standards, the Detroit geniuses feel off the rails. Between the sound of Punch’s Meghan O'Neil howling through Night City Aliens and also covering her own band’s Worth More Than Your Opinion, to the cataclysmic end of BIG SHELL, with mics and instruments handed over to the stage-invading audience, it’s pandemonium. Thrillingly so. (SL)
This was always bound to be the pinnacle of the weekend. Alexisonfire playing Crisis in full is a mouth-watering booking on paper as is, but live, it throws into relief just why that album has become what it has. The simple reason is because it’s wall-to-wall bangers, from rugged opener Drunks, Lovers, Sinners and Saints to the screeching highs of Rough Hands. Though they stick faithfully to the track order, there’s extra electricity for the biggest hitters, particularly the turbulent Boiled Frogs, while This Could Be Anywhere In The World is both oddly appropriate to play in a grey industrial corner of Manchester and as beautiful as hopelessness has ever sounded. It concludes with a speedy run through of some bonus hits, from a divine Sweet Dreams of Otherness, and not even a premature ending thanks to a crowd injury can dilute the triumph of Young Cardinals. Happy birthday, Crisis. How beautiful you are. (EW)
“She rules,” smiles Walter Schreifels as a fan makes it past security to the top level of Outbreak’s big indoor stage, dancing alongside Quicksand. “I want more people to come up here and, uh, just be here.” Competing with Alexisonfire outside and England v Panama on the big screen over on the third stage, it does feel like the New York post-hardcore legends have been done a bit dirty, but they’re determined to have a good time regardless, running through bangers like Cool Guy from imminent fifth album Bring On The Psychics and an excellent cover of The Smiths’ How Soon Is Now?. Already five minutes over time, Walter promises to help load gear off the stage if they can play another ear-catching fresh cut, Supercollider. And, true to his word, he’s lugging cases as soon as it’s done. Superb. (SL)
“Some days I feel like losing myself in song,” says Jacob Bannon as Converge come up to speed. “I think that’s something you can all you relate to. I need this today.” Firing into the furious, rarely-played Conduit from 1998’s When Forever Comes Crashing album, it’s really Outbreak who should be saying thanks. With two new albums this year – February’s Love Is Not Enough and June’s Hum Of Hurt – the Salem icons could be forgiven for keeping focus on the here and now. Indeed recent releases like Amon Amok and Doom In Bloom are incredible in the flesh. But surrounding them with classics Dark Horse and The Broken Vow only adds to their impact. Energy levels might be low as Outbreak reaches the midnight hour, but there’s always gas left in the tank when it comes to the incredible Concubine. An untouchable way to end an almost perfect day of heavy sounds. (SL)
Morning has only just turned to afternoon, but within seconds of Crowquill's first guitar screeches, punters are bounding around in a circle. Something about these bruisers is making them feral, and for good reason, when their eye-wateringly discordant Converge-inspired noise feels like a chemical burn. Combined with the disorienting flash of the lights above, and it's a truly multidimensional assault. The stark thing is that this would never have happen if vocalist Liam Turton had taken his own life like he says he was planning to around the time of last year's festival. “Please talk to each other,” he implores. After a magnificent stage invasion finishes the whole thing off, this is a brutal lesson on why there is always a reason to stay alive. (EW)
“Ah shit, would you look at that Outbreak,” grins Gridiron's Matthew Karll, maniacally. “It’s time for Lights Out!” Most of those filing into the venue might be feeling a little tender on Sunday, but the American rap-core upstarts serve up a late breakfast of knuckle sandwiches for everyone who dares step into the Indoor Stage. That’s quite a few folk, too, with far more in attendance than were still standing by the end of Converge 13 hours earlier. “I need, eh, four million stage dives!” big Matt continues, ambitiously, as they rock on through Army Of None and into an appropriately weighty Tombstone. It’s mindless stuff. Enjoyably so. (SL)
“We heard the Outbreak crowd is louder than a football crowd!” says Ecca Vandal as she graces the stage come lunchtime. At first, she’s greeted with curiosity more than cacophony, but as she grooves through her early songs with some rather stylish dance moves, girls rush up for a dance party on stage. Cruising To Self Soothe, which more people recognise, marks a new ignition point that gets more people on her side. With a blend of daring fluidity and Outbreak-friendly punk grit, Ecca’s made an awesome booking, and it also helps that she has a formidable air of cool that feels entirely hers. (EW)
“It’s nice that it’s a bit cooler today,” remarks NOTHING mainman Nicky Palermo. “The sun sucks.” It feels like an on-brand declaration given that they have never made music for sunny days. The ghostly opener purple strings is more befitting of the overcast weather, made all the more haunting by the wavering in his voice caused by his recently diagnosed essential tremors. So, too, is the squall of cannibal world, the wailing riffs of toothless coal and the emotional tidal wave of April Ha Ha. Immersive enough to drift away to on a weary Sunday, but jagged enough to keep the you on your toes, they’re a class act, as ever. (EW)
With their old school white-on-black logo superimposed over a backdrop of runny baked beans, the uninitiated might think that Ingrown are some sort of tongue-in-cheek piss-takers. With what’s probably the biggest crowd on the Third Stage all weekend, though, the Idaho maniacs are not here to fuck around, emphasising the death metal backbone running through Watch Your Back, Cold Steel and Hard Time. A skinheaded ball of pure rage, frontman Ross Hansen could be a hardcore caricature, but he’s absolutely pivotal this afternoon, relentlessly stoking the fire and refusing to let anyone chill. Tough stuff, in the tastiest possible way. (SL)
A storm of controversy has surrounded End It since the ‘Banana Man’ controversy earlier this month where frontman Akil Godsey goaded a crowd in Toronto into ripping the fancy dress off one attention-grabbing audience member’s back. Having apparently quashed that weird beef by hugging it out with another banana-clad fan at Jera On Air earlier this week, Akil is keen to get the focus back on the music. He even goes as far as eating a couple of errant spin-kicks from stage-divers without missing a beat as he leans right into the crowd to stoke the sing-along on a concussive New Wage Slavery and more soulful Could You Love Me?. It’s wildly enjoyable. Even Akil doesn’t want it to end, leading an a cappella rendition of Billy Joel’s Only The Good Die Young as the roadies begin stripping the stage. Joyous. (SL)
Want to know how to do hardcore right? Pull up to a Fiddlehead show. The Boston supergroup’s seemingly biannual Outbreak appearance is an explosion of passion on both sides of the mosh platform, with people crowding around and punching the sky throughout Grief Motif and Million Times while Patrick Flynn leans down and delivers his lines within spitting distance of them. He’s in a bright green football shirt today, but one of his stories finds him kicking back at a commenter who said he looked like he’d turned up to play having come straight from work: “I’m a working man, I’m a school teacher and I’m proud of it,” he declares. It’s joyful to witness, and must be even more so for those down the front who are throwing themselves into the eye of the storm. (EW)
“Who here likes pop punk?” asks Austin Sparkman.
Mumbles of approval, and more than a few groans.
“Well, who likes Oi!?”
A much louder cheer.
“Yeah, when you grow up, you realise that Oi! is just pop-punk for adults?”
Haywire’s frontman is in brilliant, shit-stirring form, whether that means jovially winding up the more po-faced fans or openly challenging the UK government with calls for a crowd to turn up at the Old Bailey to protest the trial of the Filton 25. It’s truly great stuff, helped no end by the sound of Boston Boot Boys, Poser Disposer and Like A Train. The crowd respond in kind, going duly over the top. Haywire, indeed. (SL)
Everybody listening to La Dispute’s post-hardcore poetry early on Sunday evening is rapt. As vocalist Jordan Dreyer shifts from foot to foot with an anxious hyperactivity, they stir emotions like nobody else, vaulting through the churning Man With Hands And Ankles Bound and the lung-squeezing tragedy of King Park. The real breathtaking moment there is not the quintessential shout-along of ‘Can I still get into heaven if I kill myself?’ but the way the audience fill in the gap for ‘Three days later, a mother had to bury her son.’ There’s an immediate resonance to La Dispute’s debut here, but it’s resonating with Jordan just as much. “The world here makes more sense than the world outside,” he says, decrying the xenophobia, transphobia and violence of the climate beyond the car park. (EW)
A decade since the last time they raised hell on these shores, Trash Talk go off like a bomb. Burning out of the speakers, Kicking And Screaming, Manifest Destination and Uncivil Disobedience feel like they’ve been distilled by the time away, now packing even more vitriol and incendiary substance than they did before. And even more than that, frontman Lee Spielman has some serious steam to blow off. He repeatedly wades into the audience to command the violence, at one point leading an army of moshers out past the safety barrier to raise some hell at the back of the room, only to end up in the middle of a multi-man scrap with confused security as they try to stop him returning to the stage. The climactic Lepers To Feed The Lepers comes with a promise that this is the beginning of a new era for Trash Talk. It’s going to be fun to see what hell they have left to unleash. (SL)
Although Snail Mail are more of a curveball booking for a festival rooted in hardcore, the logic is sound. If Soccer Mommy or Alex G can slot right in, why couldn’t she? Although her emotive indie and glassy guitar tones are a balm at an hour where the energy is starting to flag, the turnout is some way beneath what might be expected from someone third from the top of the Main Stage. The Hatebreed clash inside the main building hasn’t helped, least of all when their stage has reached capacity, so it’s difficult to judge. For the fans in the know, they’re still having a lovely time at least. (EW)
Absurdly stacked as the line-up is for Outbreak 2026, the mighty Hatebreed find themselves one slot below the top on the festival’s de facto second stage. Jamey Jasta doesn’t appear to mind, though, stepping into the madness with a beaming grin and not letting it drop for the duration. “The best bands in hardcore have come out in the last 15 to 20 years, but especially the last five,” he declares. “Its a beautiful thing to see.” After their set, the validity of that statement is up for debate. Drawing almost exclusively from 1996’s Under The Knife, 1997’s Satisfaction Is The Death Of Desire and 2002’s Perseverance, it’s a bruising trip down memory lane, the most unabashedly violent reception of the weekend reserved for Smash Your Enemies and Prepare For War. Inevitably, it gets so wild for colossal closer I Will Be Heard that security have to step in, but at the end of the day Jamey gets his wish that, “Everybody leaves with no voice, but a smile on their face.” Magnificent madness. (SL)
Leafing through the history books, it looks like Trapped Under Ice’s second-from-top billing is only their 10th show as a band since the last time they were last at the festival back in 2023. This gig is very different to that, however. For one thing, where they appeared with crack stand-in Derrick Daniel on drums last time out, here they return with Turnstile frontman Brendan Yates behind the kit. It means there’s a far bigger crowd, but also a fair few rubberneckers watering down the intensity. Frontman Justice Tripp’s focus has more fully shifted to his other band Angel Du$t, too, with some of that band’s indie-inflected swagger spilling over to his performance this afternoon. But when they launch into Born To Die and Reality Unfolds, TUI are still one of the hardest outfits you’ll ever witness. Talking up the new Angel Du$t back in February, Justice teased that there could be new TUI music on the way. On this evidence, they’re more than ready. Killer. (SL)
At their best, on Sunday evening, Suicidal Tendencies are absolutely untouchable. At the other end of their undulating performance, too often momentum is buried by mainman Mike Muir’s rambling monologues. And he doesn’t even have the self-awareness to deliver one in the middle of Institutionalised, opting instead to leave that bonkers classic out of the set altogether. With The Dillinger Escape Plan's Ben Weinman constantly spinning off amps or striding out over the crowd with his guitar, however, and Tye (son-of-Robert) Trujillo beefing up the grooves, there’s just too much firepower for them to fail. Join The Army and Freedumb are even more relevant than when they were first written. War Within My Head and Cyco Vision remain mind-breaking classics. And Pledge Your Allegiance sees a level of body-flinging carnage that threatens to tear the house down. Business as usual for ST, then. And business is good. (SL)
The sun’s setting on Outbreak, literally and figuratively, with Basement, a band who have been raised by this festival. Finally performing with new songs under their belt, the freewheeling WIRED and the squealing grunge of Deadweight already feel like classics, not least because people are singing the riffs. There’s even two fans slow dancing on the platform to Broken By Design, which makes vocalist Andrew Fisher dissolve into laughter mid-chorus. Speaking of which, Covet appears surprisingly early and sprints away with the crown for the loudest sing-along of the weekend, but nobody takes it as an opportunity to get an earlier tram. Whole, Spoiled and Crickets Throw Their Voice are a fever dream filled with joy and enthusiasm. Andrew couldn’t have said it better as he concludes: “Don't ever let anyone tell you it's just a band or it's just a song.” This has been a divine conclusion, ensuring everyone trudges to the exits with their hearts full and their days made. (EW)
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