The big review: Rock For People 2026

From this side of the English Channel, it’s tempting to think of Czechia’s long-running Rock For People as a hidden gem. That cat might be out of the bag though, given the number of people on K!’s flight from London clearly en route to the festival’s home in Hradec Králové.

Situated in Park 360, a former airfield on the outskirts of town, RFP has a distinctive visual identity. Disused hangars are repurposed as merch areas and beer halls, while the two main stages are at either end of the one-time runway, scheduled largely to avoid clashes.

Along with the festival’s titular foundation of the heavy stuff, there’s plenty more on offer, including international pop and electronic outfits, a healthy contingent of British indie bands led by Wolf Alice and Yard Act, and a whole slate of entertainment from this part of Europe, ranging from a 1920s-themed ladies’ dance collective to grimey Slovak rapper Gleb.

With a capacity of 50,000, RfP is friendly and accessible, with a well-stocked array of places to eat and drink – at prices that are incredibly affordable in comparison to the UK. And if that isn’t enough to tempt you over next year, news filters out on Saturday night that blink-182 will be one of 2027’s headliners.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves – time to dive into the five days of non-stop rock action that made up this year's party…

Leicester mob Mouth Culture reckon this is the furthest from home they’ve played. But if they were expecting a reception to match the wet Wednesday outside they’ll be pleasantly surprised. Dubbed “the baby one” by shaggy-haired vocalist Jack Voss, the Petra Svobody stage is a great place to check out rising talent. Regret 101 and stadium anthem-in-waiting Everyday prove that Mouth Culture deserve that description. “That was a lot of fun,” declares a now-topless Jack after an energetic Cherry Red Rage. He isn’t wrong.

A novelty in the most respectful sense, Bloodywood’s culture-clash of metal and hip-hop with bhangra and Indian folk music is bracingly unique. But what also sets them apart is a sense of joy and positivity, whether vocalists Raoul Kerr and Jayant Bhadula are talking about fighting depression, facing your fears or, on Tadka, how delicious South Asian cuisine is. A strong turn-out on this second stage backs up their assertion that international support has kept them going, and in return RFfP is treated to a real highlight early in proceedings.

Typically one of the site’s most leftfield zones, the ČT Art Stage is a perfect place to encounter feisty Melbourne resident Ecca Vandal. The moody bass throb of GHOSTS and the hip-swinging BLEACH bristle with attitude, all pop moves and hip-hop delivery. At the other end of the spectrum, DANCE IN DEBT is a 33-second blast of agreeable aggro punk, while the likes of CRUISING TO SELF-SOOTHE and SORRY! CRASH! bend IDLES-y noise to Ecca’s iron will. And keep an eye on multi-instrumentalist Richie Buxton, who might be appearing on a somewhat larger stage later this weekend…

Megadeth’s long goodbye makes a stop in Czechia in typically defiant fashion. Fittingly for a man who’s never found himself short of a point to prove, Dave Mustaine leads the band’s final incarnation through a slew of their belligerent bangers with very little pause for sentimentality. The frontman’s voice might sometimes struggle today, but there are no complaints about his six-string abilities, with Hangar 18 still sounding totally state of the art. A back-to-black blast of the dawn-of-thrash riffing of Mechanix and their rendition of Ride The Lightning makes for an excitingly old school one-two, while a closing Holy Wars… The Punishment Due reminds us what we’ll miss when Megadeth finally pack it in.

“I’m very into this weather,” announces Taylor Momsen as she surveys RFP from its main stage. “There’s no fucking sun, and I’m feeling it.” Fair enough – after all, it’s the darkness at the core of The Pretty Reckless which generates their most pervasive thrills. This is as true of anthemic newie For I Am Death as it is of Make Me Wanna Die, the latter’s Bond-theme drama delivered today with a mischievous glint. Taylor skips, stomps and throws shapes across every inch of the stage, but a trip to the barrier to commune with the largely female front row circa When I Wake Up puts an extra spring in her step. No sun, sure – but also no shortage of heat generated across these 75 minutes.

You may, quite rightly, think life is going just fine without exposure to a mash-up of dubstep, blink-182, gabba and Drowning Pool. If so, you’re probably not part of the ridiculously huge crowd losing their absolute shit to the sound of Electric Callboy. With costume changes, confetti, cover versions and elements of some of the continent’s most 'continental' music, their set is like watching a particularly boisterous Eurovision while a metalcore band rehearse next door. The Germans’ Tekkno Train simply steamrollers its way through resistance – and the reaction here suggests that they’ll be headlining this and many other festivals before the end of the line.

Going from a triumphant Main Stage Gorillaz headlining set to Trivium’s peak-time showing in the largest tent is in enough to bring on whiplash, although the Floridians’ razor-sharp, thrash-adjacent sound can do that on its own. Matt Heafy is on tremendous form tonight, sticking his tongue out constantly and addressing the crowd in whole sentences of Czech. What a charmer! Deathless opener Pull Harder On The Strings Of Your Martyr sets the ball rolling, and it isn’t dropped once. Earlier in the day, Megadeth played a song called Let There Be Shred, and Matt and metalhead-to-the-bones co-guitarist Corey Beaulieu more than rise to the challenge. A throat-scorching ‘Iiiiin Waaaaves’ brings the first day to a mighty finale.

11.25 in the morning might not be considered the ideal time for a rising alt-metalcore band to ply their trade, but Thornhill approach the task with admirable gusto. The Australian quartet win over a slowly-growing audience thanks largely to Jacob Charlton’s occasionally Chino-esque vocal sensuality and a bass tone designed for bludgeon. Mercia and Lily & The Moon stoke up the front rows, and by the time Obsession and nerv take us into the afternoon Thornhill can congratulate themselves on a job well done.

As letlive. light the touchpaper with The Sick, Sick, 6.8 Billion and Renegade 86’, it’s immediately clear how much the post-hardcore revolutionaries have been missed. Frontman Jason Aalon Butler is a one-man wrecking crew, hurling his mic all around and attacking the drum riser during That Fear Fever, but it’s his words that hit hardest. Before a goosebump-inducing Muther, he calls for women to be celebrated and honoured, and for men to have a safe space to show vulnerability. Heartfelt rhetoric being no obstacle to showmanship, he closes the show in steeplejack mode, scaling the lighting rig with death-defying abandon.

The ferocious lungs of The Plot In You’s Landon Tewers communicate the agony and the power of his band’s emotional metalcore to the Main Stage audience. Forgotten and Spare Me leave no doubt as to the Ohio crew’s serrated brilliance, while the more melodic and introspective Closure is met by a wave of rainwear-clad crowdsurfers at the singer’s request. FEEL NOTHING might be a suitably potent closer, but don’t take its title literally: The Plot In You have all the feels at their disposal.

A man who’s seen and done it all, more than once, Social Distortion mainman Mike Ness hits Rock For People as a sharp-dressed survivor, his trainers surely the whitest on the whole site. The zero-bullshit punk’n’roll of Born To Kill brings the sunshine properly out, as the OG outlaws proceed with a set balanced between the dog-eared romance of Tonight and heroically ageless originals The Creeps and Mommy’s Little Monster. Story Of My Life and Ball And Chain show that Mike was already writing nostalgic tunes back in 1990, No Way Out and Partners In Crime reiterate that his creative impulses remain sharp as ever.

While attempting to open a portal into another plane of consciousness in a tent in Czechia, Blood Incantation channel an immediate circle pit - one which is swiftly confused by The Stargate’s first foray into Tangerine Dream-style cosmic synths. By the time the moshers are sitting down and adopting meditation poses partway through The Tablet, it seems an understanding has been reached. As the obelisk-flanked psych-deathsters levitate between blastbeat-fuelled chaos and trippy prog, the only legit response is to open your third eye and let go. Surely the most triumphant two-song, 45-minute set RfP will ever see, unless Sunn O))) get booked next year.

The muscular riffing and artier sensibilities of Quicksand unwittingly laid the ground for nu-metal. It's no wonder Deftones tapped up bassist Sergio Vega for a 10-year-plus stint. But for all the influence they exerted, and a CV which also includes frontman Walter Schreifels’ tenures in Youth Of Today, Gorilla Biscuits and Rival Schools, they’ve only drawn a small crowd to this purpose-built hangar. Those that are here, however, are treated to post-hardcore essentials like Dine Alone and a particularly righteous Thorn In My Side, while the affable trio onstage just seem stoked to be out here playing their ace tunes again.

Thanks to their open house attitude to collaborations, we’ve already heard BABYMETAL in Bloodywood and Electric Callboy’s sets, their ability to exist across different musical spheres lending them a certain ubiquity this weekend. No wonder they pull a headliner-sized crowd to the Main Stage, and the sheer spectacle of their carnivalesque set doesn’t disappoint. Sugar rush energy and hugely impressive choreography translate right to the back, while Su-metal has become a frontwoman of the first order. The only question is who they should work with next in their quest for music scene dominance. Blood Incantation, maybe?

Earlier today, both letlive. and Quicksand bigged up Papa Roach onstage. But don’t just listen to the cult post-hardcore heroes – once again RfP’s denizens have provided a supersized audience, and no bloody wonder. Over time, the Californians have transcended their roots to embody a platonic ideal of what big stage heavy rock looks like in the 21st Century, while loveable rogue Jacoby Shaddix is every inch the consummate showman. At the set’s close, a medley of covers dubbed “Nu-metal time machine” provides the perfect lead-in to an inevitable Last Resort – and to what’s up next on the Main Stage…

Kurt Ballou recently told K! that as a child, he was drawn to heavy music by its “destructive, chaotic boy energy.” The Converge guitarist was talking about ‘80s punk and hardcore, but that phrase inadvertently captures the reason for Limp Bizkit’s enduring appeal to later g-g-generations.

Fifty-five-year-old Fred Durst certainly still embodies those impulses, even if tonight’s outfit gives him the look of a creepy uncle trying to infiltrate a teen skate gang. How do you do, fellow kids?

Onstage, DJ Lethal’s decks are set atop a giant mocked-up ghetto blaster, while a string of smooth ‘80s hits soundtrack pauses between volleys of Bizkit tunes, like someone’s left a mixtape running in the background. But the real nostalgia here is for a slightly later period around the millennium, when this band seemed inescapable and nobody was really talking about toxic masculinity.

Fred’s lyrics, helpfully displayed karaoke-style on the stage’s back screen even when they simply read ‘Keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’’, have never really stood close examination, but it’s arguable that much of their violence speaks to the fight-or-flight response of the bullied and misunderstood as much as to the jocks flexing muscles in their direction. This dichotomy takes human form when Fred hoicks two fans onstage to perform Half Nelson. One, in red cap and Woodstock ’99 T-shirt, does his best to steal the spotlight from his idol, while the other is a sweet, shy lad who initially looks petrified. Both absolutely smash it.

But back up, back up: this isn’t an intellectual exercise, just the aggiest party of the weekend. The opening Break Stuff and My Generation hit like a bomb, the entire crowd exploding into barely-controllable frenzy. Nookie and Rollin’ (Air Raid Vehicle) are brutally effective, that signature collision of beats, rhymes and riffs ineffably striking a chord with almost everyone present.

Speaking of riffs, Wes Borland is as majestically weird as ever, dressed as... well, your guess is as good as ours. Entirely black except for a beard of gold fishscales and with a majestic plume atop his bonce, his outfit could be Aztec, Ancient Egyptian or Alien, but if his look is inscrutable, his guitar work remains the element that even Bizkit-sceptics can appreciate. Tribute is of course paid to Sam Rivers, and in his stead Richie Buxton from Ecca Vandal does a good job while keeping a low profile.

As Break Stuff gets wheeled up a second time for the show’s finale, it’s clear that destructive, chaotic boy energy isn’t going away anytime soon.

On paper, The All American Rejects offer a rather sweeter trip back in time, their often-saccharine emo pop songs the stuff of early-‘00s teen flicks and high school romance. But that is not to reckon with wired, wild-eyed frontman Tyson Ritter, whose between-song banter moves along from asking if his band can get Czech citizenship (“We’re really happy to be anywhere but America right now”) to a long ramble that ends with him chanting “Titties, clowns and dicks” like a mantra. From Swing, Swing to Gives You Hell, the hits are all present, but tonight it’s the chat that leave the strongest impression.

There are several reasons for South Arcade’s seemingly-unstoppable rise, not least the supercharged bounciness of their hooky repertoire. But top of the list is surely the charismatic presence of singer Harmony Cavelle, engaging with the crowd in a way that can elude far more experienced performers. With tunes like the summery Deadmeat and the irresistibly accessible Riptide, they’ve got this alt-pop stardom thing in the bag. “We were kinda nervous coming out here today, but you guys have made it great!” insists Harmony. You couldn’t tell, and the feeling was very much mutual.

At the other end of the runway, the sensitive post-hardcore of Basement is a rather more subtle proposition. By mid-set, however, a driving Spoiled finds them hitting their stride and starting to win over those gathered for their early afternoon set. Vocalist Andrew Fisher is a gracious frontman not given to rock’n’roll shenanigans, so it’s quite something to see him take a turn down the ramp that juts into the crowd during WIRED. “My first catwalk trip,” he quips. “Finally made it!” Charming stuff indeed.

As harrowing cries ring out across the site, it can only be Gatecreeper bringing the most consistently heavy set of the week. The desert-dwelling brutalists may be more used to sand in their shoes than mud on their boots, but they stomp their presence on Park 360 with an absolute blasterclass of death metal bludgeon. When they slow the tempo, as on The Black Curtain’s almost gothic vibes, they flirt with accessibility, but they’re equally adept at D-beat ragers or the screwface filthiness of closer Flamethrower. It’s undoubtedly refreshing for such extremity to stand tall on the big stages.

With irrepressible vocalist Emma Boster flanked by the burly collective of bassist Jon Mackey and guitarists Sam Reynolds and Pedro Carillo, Dying Wish’s dynamic frontline deliver a set packed with aggro attitude and killer riffs. The extent to which the crowd are up for it can be understood by the way a board is ripped from the temporary walkway outside the tent and passed to the front where a kid uses it to literally crowdsurf. Emma’s ability to shift into a more melodic register explains why this lot are getting to tour with likes of Spiritbox, but at heart they remain a fist-pumping jolt of hardcore adrenaline.

Dinosaur Pile-Up’s sardonic reports from the frontline of Loserville make for a cheeky addition to any festival line-up. Their grunge-punk sits somewhere between Weezer’s nerdy anthems and the feel-good end of the Foos catalogue, meaning that even an audience unfamiliar with the Leeds lads – and a show of hands demonstrates that this means most of this afternoon’s crowd – can be won over in pretty short order. My Way (not that one. Or that one) and I Don’t Love Nothing And Nothing Loves Me put grins on faces and make sure people leave as converts.

Not many people get to be a tireless bastion of revolutionary fervour and musical director of Black Sabbath’s final mega-gig. Well, only one, really. Touting a grab-bag of originals, covers and instrumental Rage Against The Machine medleys, Tom Morello remains an entirely energising presence. And the apple evidently doesn’t fall too far from the tree. In the world’s most successful example of Take Your Child To Work Day, his 15-year-old son Roman weighs in with ecstatically wailing lead guitar, not least on a version of Ozzy’s Mr Crowley. You don’t have to be a multi-linguist to glean the message of ‘Smrt fašizmu’ on the back of Tom’s guitar: this man doesn’t give an inch, musically or otherwise.

Bilmuri’s hard-to-explain combo of juddering riffs and Ameri-pop nous is a less political deal. Where other U.S. bands on the bill have been explicit in distancing themselves from their president, Johnny Franck is merely at pains to impress on the crowd that his native Ohio is “such a fucking shithole.” Bet he doesn’t say that at a hometown show. Most valuable player onstage is multi-instrumentalist Gabi Rose, but the whole band prove adept at incorporating everything from metalcore to country into the Bilmuri sound. Jeremy McKinnon pitches in for co-write ALWAYS LET YOU DOWN, though he has pressing business on the other end of the runway…

In keeping with their monicker, A Day To Remember are dab hands at ensuring their every performance is a fun-packed source of celebration. A few dozen pumped-up fans cheer the band on from the side of the stage through a set that features a sea of blue beachballs, flying loo rolls and somebody dressed as Mario shooting shirts out into the crowd. It’s hard to count definitively, but at one point there are at least five circle pits going on. A tireless Jeremy McKinnon doles out the anthems, from the Jimmy Eat World-go-metal of I’m Made Of Wax, Larry, What Are You Made Of? to pop punk banger All Signs Point To Lauderdale. Unforgettable.

Launching into Drop Me Out, it’s immediately clear that High Vis are one of the most essential outfits on this year’s bill. With their fierce hardcore seasoned with shoegaze guitars, Britpop melodies and even, on Altitude, strident anarcho-punk, they’d succeed on sonics alone. But as vocalist Graham Sayle opens up about addiction issues and suicide attempts, his raw honesty carries its own weight, as well as lending extra poignancy to stellar tunes like the almost-ravey Mind’s A Lie and a closing Trauma Bonds. No bells, no whistles, just one of the finest – and realest – performances of the whole weekend.

Of course, if you’re gonna have bells and whistles, why not go for the biggest and loudest you can? Bring Me The Horizon’s NeX GEn tour has now been rolling so long that they already brought it to this stage in 2024, but as the most impressive spectacle in rock right now it stands up to repeat viewing.

A treat for gamers as well as rockers, the show is punctuated by contributions from malfunctioning AI avatar E.V.E. Both band members and the front rows are scanned and assessed in real time for everything up to and including levels of demonic possession, with a POV-style cam frequently following Oli Sykes. In a nicely personal touch, some of E.V.E.’s proclamations are even translated into Czech above her on the big screens.

It is, though, the songs which have allowed Bring Me to get to this level, and tonight they sound even huger than ever. From the opening DArkSide onwards, the band are in fine fettle, with none of the signs of fatigue that would be understandable so deep into an extended run. A blistering MANTRA, Happy Song’s self-fulfilling catchiness and an epic take on Shadow Moses provide first-half highlights, before BABYMETAL appear virtually yet again on Kingslayer.

Beneath the NeX GEn lore, this show carries real emotion, not least on Follow You. A career-spanning film, taking us right back to the early emo fringe days, sets hearts in overdrive and reminds us exactly how far this lot have come. But not so far – a newly-shorn Oli never sounds more Yorkshire than when you’re hearing him address a foreign crowd, presumably unaware whether being called “mardy buggers” is a good thing. For Can You Feel My Heart, he stresses that “If you don’t dance, you’re a dickhead,” rather winningly accompanying this proclamation with the old-school playground hand gesture.

For all the high-budget visuals, there’s still room for a little spontaneity. When someone in the audience throws a panda hat to Oli during the closing Throne, he sits for a while pulling the strings that make its ears flap up and down. It’s cute as hell.

A band that thought big and never stopped, Bring Me The Horizon can come back to this festival as many times as they want.

While that headline show is a tough act to follow, RFP continues into the small hours. Three Days Grace, Gaerea and something called Noisy Pots are all playing presumably very different sets across the site, but the smart ticket is Brighton band VOWER, whose grown-up alternative metal is moody, atmospheric and very, very good. With a pedigree including members of Black Peaks and Palm Reader alongside YouTube-famous guitarist Rabea Massaad, the quintet bring back memories of Brit outsiders earthtone9, ending the festival’s third day on a classy high.

If you draw a triangle on a world map, its points on Venezuela, France and New Zealand, its centre would be… well, nowhere near Czechia. Nonetheless, the unusually international Calva Louise, originally from those three countries, sure seem right at home in Hradec Králové this lunchtime. Singer Jess Allanic is dressed like a Romantasy heroine, but – in a reverse of Dying Wish’s Emma Boster – is capable of summoning savage vocals, the effect akin to being reminded of the feral darkness that characterised fairy tales in their original form. A magical start to the day.

Another trio but hailing from arguably less exotic climes, Grade 2’s attitude to their native Isle Of Wight is perhaps best captured by song title Graveyard Island. Not that there’s much gloom in their unpretentious punk ramalama, mind. Standing In The Downpour, Tired Of It and Fast Pace are punchy street anthems in the tradition that runs from Cock Sparrer through Rancid to The Chisel - a continuum that speaks to stages anywhere. As a cover of the Ramones classic cover of Bobby Freeman's classic Do You Wanna Dance? receives a heartily affirmative reply, these islanders make friends with plenty of Czechia’s rowdiest.

“I feel like Moses parting the Red Sea,” declares Kid Kapichi frontman Jack Wilson, taking personal credit for the fact the sun is shining. It’s in keeping with the dry humour and lairy satire the Hastings lads bring to the Main Stage, served up with alt-punk power to spare. Whether or not the Czech audience understands when Jack starts bantering about custard creams, they certainly click with Intervention (sounding like a South Coast QOTSA today), 999 and anti-Brexit banger Can EU Hear Me?. It’s great to see this sometimes underrated band make their pitch for the big leagues.

“Security, give me a number,” requests Dani Winter-Bates ahead of Black Flame. “Five? OK, I want five hundred people to crowdsurf over the barrier and give me a high five…” Headcounts are not available, but trust that apocalyptic scenes ensue as Bury Tomorrow’s big room metalcore gets a hero’s reception. Their well-tuned stage presence is kinetic and involving, while – when not demanding chaos – Dani issues an ardent call for the celebration of diversity. A better world is possible, and Bury Tomorrow have the heart and heft to nudge us a little closer.

For Don Broco, the best possible world is a ruddy great party, and that’s what they aim to bring to the Main Stage this afternoon. Irrepressible frontman Rob Damiani leads the band through a set that encompasses their multi-hued catalogue, calling in on metalcore, alt-pop, hip hop and whatever you’d call the ridiculous grooves of Gumshield and Bruce Willis. The fun moment when Rob makes heavy weather of climbing off the stage only to notice the steps on his way back rather encapsulates this lot’s haphazard appeal, while Hype Man closes the set with joyous energy.

An immediately euphoric response to opener Fearless indicates that PRESIDENT’s manifesto is as sure a vote-winner in Czechia as it is at home. Assuming that creepy rubber mask hides a vocalist with prior standing in the rock world, this has been a startlingly effective way to launch a career’s second or third act. But with originals like RAGE and DOOM LOOP getting even bigger reactions than their cover of Deftones’ Change (In The House Of Flies), this crowd is too busy opening their hearts to worry about secret identities. Interestingly, this won’t be the only president we’ll see over the weekend…

A venomous proposition indeed, Brighton electro-punks SNAYX excel at converting curious crowds into wild abandon. Even better live than on record, a stomping Sink Or Swim sees things starting to kick off, but it’s Braincells, coming on like SOFT PLAY infected with the rave energy of The Prodigy, that takes the show to the next level. Sci-fi synths lend Boys In Blue a trippier feel than you’d expect from an anti-copper rager, while Go With You sees vocalist Charlie Herridge in the crowd, demanding the entire circle pit runs at him. The only downside is that some of these tunes remain unreleased – c’mon SNAYX, spit out an album already!

Arguably, HALSEY has the toughest job of any artist here. OK, so she’s not technically the least rocky Rock For People headliner this year, but it’s hard to imagine Damon Albarn giving two hoots whether Gorillaz fit in here. In comparison, Halsey is quick to assure the audience that we’re in for one of the heaviest sets she’s ever put together, as if steeling herself for a challenge.

Later, she’ll tell us how much she enjoyed Bring Me The Horizon’s set the night before, though one imagines she might have been a little concerned about how to follow it, particularly with some familiar elements – a stained-glass backdrop, a cameraman following a singer round to project close-ups on the big screens – also part of her slightly lower-budget staging.

The truth is, though, that the success of this incredibly impressive pop show rests almost entirely on HALSEY's charisma and energy, neither of which are lacking in the slightest. Making full use of the stage’s primary focus, a staircase leading to an archway, she has an unerring way with an iconic image, whether it involves a flaming torch, a bloodied nose or – in a move slightly reminiscent of Spinal Tap’s Smell The Glove – a chain round her neck.

In terms of heaviness, there is plenty here to back up her intentions. The opening I am not a woman, I‘m a god carries the trace elements of its Nine Inch Nails production, while Experiment On Me is delivered with an intensity bordering on possession. The Lighthouse swings with a similar bluesy fervour to The Pretty Reckless, while the excellent backing band often crank things up in a way that can edge into metal territory, particularly on Colors.

But while a sense that Halsey is proving herself might lend the show an extra edge, everything here sounds great, including the wronged-woman classic You should be sad and the massive singalong to an acoustic Without Me. Mid-set, she maintains that “By the time you walk out of here tonight, you won’t be confused (why I’m here)”. And indeed, by powerful closer Lonely Is The Muse, everything – even circle pits to country songs – makes a weird sort of sense.

It’s a big night for fans of archways, as Within Temptation appear to have a chunk of viaduct onstage behind them. Similarly towering is the band’s epic opener We Go To War, introducing a fine witching hour set from the Dutch institution. An awesome In The Middle Of The Night shows their metal mettle, while Paradise (What About Us?) raises fists to the darkened sky. By the time oldies Ice Queen and Mother Earth bring the night to a close, RFP has drifted into a melodic reverie. Sweet dreams everyone!

Sunday at RFP is all about a legendary outfit who came up through the late ‘70s London music scene… but for The Molotovs, that band is The Jam. Mathew Cartlidge’s vocal style and guitar stance make him a ringer for the young Paul Weller, but for the blonde hair he shares with bass-toting sister Issey. Theirs is a slightly uncanny image, Village Of The Damned by way of Carnaby Street – the Modwich Cuckoos, anyone? Sadly, they appear to have spent more time learning how to look cool,onstage than sussing how to engage with an early-doors festival crowd, though Issey does at least wield her bass like a gun at one point, in possibly unconscious tribute to tonight’s headliners…

If Loathe’s warm take on modern metal is somewhat out of sync with the rest of today’s Main Stage offerings, their RFP debut is a tantalising glimpse of a band surely on the cusp of greatness. Ambient interludes and mellow vibes merge seamlessly into a remarkably sensual version of metalcore, with likeable frontman Kadeem France capable of tenderness, fervor and occasionally absolute savagery. Throw in hints of doom, melodic keyboards and even a brief Slayer interpolation, and it’s clear that Loathe have blossomed into one of the UK’s most exciting bands.

In their day, Queensrÿche looked like a surefire bet to take the throne should Maiden ever relinquish it. With no such vacancy forthcoming, the American progsters instead ended up reliable warhorses, their spiritual home the European metal festival circuit. In truth, while vintage opener Queen Of The Reich still sounds massive, a fairly static performance perhaps shows why they never quite cracked the major leagues. Mind you, by the time they get to cerebral banger Eyes Of A Stranger and 1990’s marginally more alternative Empire, we get a glimpse of what might have been – and a reminder of why they were once such a hot ticket.

If there’s a sense that certain sections of the festival’s attendees are keeping their powder dry for tonight’s main attraction, the diehards down the front for Knocked Loose definitely didn’t get the memo. The noise is duly brought with such devastating force that it can kick you to the floor even if you’re nowhere near the pit. The Kentucky crew set out to devastate, whether through the feral fury of Piece By Piece or the irresistible head nod hardcore of Hive Mind. God knows what anyone turning up early for Saxon, up next on this stage, made of this.

Making music to soundtrack swoony seduction surely comes rather low on Knocked Loose’s list of priorities, so Sleep Theory prove something of a palate cleanser. Weighty grooves might not be in short supply initially, but the Memphis quartet soon do a 180 from a hammering take on Paralyzed into more soulful material. Vocalist Cullen Moore plays up his loverman persona by playfully chatting up the audience, making for an R&B-inflected experience packed with charm and positivity.

With a version of Curtis Mayfield’s evergreen Move On Up serving as an intro tape, rising Germans Vianova tout a similar vein of cheerful confidence to Sleep Theory. Having to compete initially with a pop-up heavy metal drum troupe just outside the hangar doesn’t break their stride, while vocalist Alexander Kerski’s rather fluffy hat shows they fear no ridicule. Electronics and a cavernous drum sound fuel an approach that could sometimes be described as jaunty djent, as the band do their very best to make metalcore fun again.

On the big screens, we’re led through the foggy London streets familiar from the first two Iron Maiden album covers, moving past key locations both real and imaginary, from The Ruskin Arms to Acacia Avenue. No, these visuals don’t even try to compete with the cutting-edge creativity of Bring Me The Horizon’s production, but they do provide a perfect scene-setter for a remarkable journey into Maiden’s imperial ‘80s (and slightly beyond, but only once).

As the action moves from The Big Smoke to the Paris-set Murders In The Rue Morgue, the six men onstage immediately lock into the near-magical standard that rivetheads have come to expect. This early part of the show, focused on Di’Anno-era ragers, is almost preposterously exciting. If Wrathchild, Killers and Phantom Of The Opera weren’t enough to blow your mind, the fact that the actual Czech President, Petr Pavel, is watching from the top of the VIP Area surely must.

If these early cuts are vivid with the spirit of Maiden’s first flush of youth, the men playing them appear undaunted by the passage of time. Bruce Dickinson’s voice is still a marvel, while Janick Gers remains lithe and unable to resist planting his feet on any object he passes. Dave Murray and Adrian Smith’s guitar skills are never in doubt, the latter’s individuality coming through in his Keith Richards-esque garb. Steve Harris is steadfast as ever, the absolute lynchpin of both sound and attitude. Meanwhile, at a comparatively youthful 63, new boy Simon Dawson can’t compete with the outrageous charisma of predecessor Nicko McBrain – so instead gets on with a flawless performance on the drums.

Aside from the obvious bankers like The Trooper, 2 Minutes To Midnight and Run To The Hills, this setlist is packed with lesser-spotted treats, notably Infinite Dreams and the title-track from 1988’s majestic Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son. Throw in a resurrected and absolutely wonderful Rime Of The Ancient Mariner alongside the more frequently-aired Powerslave and Hallowed Be Thy Name, and that’s a lot of epic prog for your buck.

Of course, they couldn’t play on an airfield without Aces High making an appearance, kickstarting an encore that includes 1992’s M.R. James-goes-metal anthem Fear Of The Dark and ends with Maiden’s best pop tune Wasted Years, a song which only gains poignancy as time goes by.

Fifty years in, and Iron Maiden are still at the top of their game. That we can get to experience this feels like a genuine privilege, and an absolutely incredible end to another splendid five days at Rock For People.

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