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But on the 22nd of June 2025, the gates opened and the Milton Keynes bowl was quickly flooded with people eager to experience the stacked bill. It was here, it was happening, it was Forever Now.
Sister to America’s Cruel World Festival and named after The Psychedelic Furs’ album, the inaugural Forever Now Festival promised a homage to the alternative fringe of 80s excess, a celebration of the withstanding power of the post-punk and new wave vanguard that emerged from the late-70s. On all fronts, they delivered; and Music Is To Blame was there for every second of the fun. Of course, it was impossible for us to catch everyone, but we tried our very best.
The night before the festival I went to a midnight horror movie double bill, The Lost Boys seeing me through the early hours of the morning. My brain was in exactly the right place to drown itself in a day of doom, gloom and unbridled excitement. The day began in a dusty haze stood by “The Other Stage” the sun beating on to the dry ground as Theatre of Hate burst on to the stage. Kirk Brandon’s ever theatrical, booming voice cutting the metaphorical ceremonial ribbon that opened the festival. The band’s upbeat darkness and soaring saxophone launched the crowd into uncontainable excitement. Hit song ‘Do You Believe in the Westworld?’ echoed through the vast lot, the driving bassline rallying their audience; a perfectly macabre-tinged start to the day. One of the festival’s main issues was simply how good the lineup was versus how little time there is in a day. The clashes did not stop MITB! We raced to catch contemporaries and friends of Theatre of Hate, UK Decay. Running through the site to the “Forever Now Stage” we were met with an utterly infectious stage presence, a beaming smile on the face of each member of the band as they delved into their iconic catalogue of songs. Frontman Steve “Abbo” Abbott continuously joked about the age of their music - “this song is the b-side of this release from 1924” he would say to the amusement of the crowd. Both bands were an incredible start to the day, (sort-of) hometown heroes whose messages of dystopia and corruption echo through to today.
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Next up, as we lounged around by the scarily speedy ferris wheel eating our classic festival lunch of burgers and hot dogs we took in Berlin. Immediately, Terri Nunn’s vocals were breathtaking, soaring over the bowl and hitting hard. The swelling synth beat through the clouds that had begun to gather, a danceable display of new wave excellence. Now of course Berlin is known for their gigantic hit ‘Take My Breath Away’, the song (as expected) went down an absolute treat. Nunn on the shoulders of a security guard brought the song to her doting audience, emphasising that it was every part their song too. She spoke to the crowd saying “the UK was the first country to give us a number one record. A band never forgets that.” The band’s newer music also hit hard, with the sexy romp ‘Animal’ driving the crowd wild!
As the rain began to slowly drip down in the unpleasant way summer rain always does, it could not stop Chameleons. The set was dripping in beautifully dark guitar tones that made the weather feel like stage effects, the crowd was submerged in the world of the music. As their celebrated hit ‘Swamp Thing’ says “The storm comes / Or is it just another shower?”. One could only sit back and sink into the dense layers of sound. The audience, a sea of Chameleons merchandise, energetically gave back to the band, fists in the air screaming every word. On The Other Stage, The Motels performed their first ever UK show since 1980, reintroducing themselves the country stronger than ever, the rain clearing as Martha Davis’s captivating eyes moved across the crowd.
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As the opening notes of ‘President Gas’ rang out, I had never ran faster. The captivating pull of The Psychedelic Furs knows no bounds, and they know this. Frontman Richard Butler flaunting across the stage to the jangle of the guitars, his voice is entirely ageless - a picture-perfect copy of the recordings stamped into vinyl. His brother, bass guitarist Tim Butler shares this stage-stalking sensibility, moving to his audience, singing to them and encouraging them to sing back. His sunglassed stare burning into the crowd, who lapped up every second. Admittedly, as soon as the opening twinkles of ‘Love My Way’ hit, I burst into tears. As my friends were making their way back from the tantalising force of She Wants Revenge, I stood by myself surrounded by so many people who felt just as strongly as I did about this band. As I danced with people I had just met, all of us screaming; “I follow / where my mind goes”.
Johnny Marr was set to take the stage next. We stood and speculated on what he might play. What unfolded over the next hour-or-so was more than we could have imagined in the best way possible. A perfect mix of solo work, side projects, Smiths classics and even some Iggy Pop!
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Marr had the audience wrapped around his finger, screaming in elation as each song began. Highlights include hearing the famous echoed twang of guitar that opens ‘How Soon Is Now?’ reverberating through the dry air; tears falling once again from sheer excitement. These are songs I never thought I would hear live, but there I stood screaming along. This energy of unbridled joy seemed to burst from everyone in the crowd. Marr - as expected - shone. His playing is masterful in every way leaving the audience with mouths agape and hearts racing. On The Other Stage The Happy Mondays brought ferocious fun. So much fun that they ended up refusing to leave the stage, hanging on until they couldn’t any more.
The Forever Now Stage was slowly but surely adorned with spray painted amps with various symbols as well as the word ‘idol’. The anticipation for the icon that is Billy Idol was palpable. His disciples lined the front row with bleach-blonde spiked hair. His band took the stage one by one in the mini neon cityscape they had created. Finally the man himself burst onto stage, his energy igniting the audience. Throughout the set there were about five different outfit changes, each providing an opportunity for him to take his shirt off on stage - much to the crowd's delight. His signature snarl and balled fist accompanied hits like ‘Eyes Without a Face’ and ‘Rebel Yell’. There was also some new material peppered in such as the pop-punky ‘77’ which features the genre’s princess Avril Lavigne. Billy Idol is entirely his own entity; a punk rock prince, an unflinching performer who shows absolutely no signs of stopping.
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As soon as Billy Idol left the stage I raced to catch the end of The Damned - another example of the festival’s heartbreaking clashes. The abrasive thrash of ‘Neat Neat Neat’ thundered through the ever dusty air as we ran. But wait, the band were billed to be playing ‘The Black Album’ in its entirety; ‘Neat Neat Neat’ is not on ‘The Black Album’. In their cheeky defiance they were attempting an encore. The band were soon cut off, still playing as their sound was cut and replaced with Linkin Park’s ‘One Step Closer’, Chester Bennington ironically screaming “shut up” over a band stubbornly defending their territory. “Brave of them to try out some covers” a man in the audience said to me as we both stood there both confused and entirely amused. Evergreen in their punk spirit, they eventually left the stage, but not without a lot of swearing I am told.
The butterfly effect of a few sets ago was being felt. A mix up out of the band’s control caused The Jesus and Mary Chain to only have a small amount of time to perform. Despite the setbacks the set was mesmerising, the drone of the whirring guitars that were turned up to 110 danced around the dry field, coating the crowd in an oozing melancholic euphoria. Classic songs such as ‘Just Like Honey’ and ‘April Skies’ were a treat to see brought to life - even if for just a moment. The dalliance into the atmospheric was a perfect evening treat. Over on The Forever Now Stage The The brought out Johnny Marr for the first time since 1990 to perform ‘The Beaten Generation’ and ‘Dogs of Lust’, much to the surprise and wild reaction of the audience.
Next came one of those achingly difficult-to-decide-between clashes we at the festival had become accustomed to by now. My plan was to catch all of Death Cult and then still have enough time for Kraftwerk, but alas the ghost of tech issues past had caught up to us and both bands started at the same time. I stood in the dust waiting for Death Cult as Echo and the Bunnymen’s ‘The Killing Moon’ drifted out of the loudspeakers. The crowd sang along in a way that said “we’re saving our energy”. Before the band were officially to take the stage, Ian Astbury, the ever charismatic frontman, came out with a hammer and began tapping at the mic saying “we’re just getting things ready for you”, a tinge of farce in his voice. When the band took to the stage they were electric, Astbury’s shuffling and shaking dance moves a familiar presence to the crowd, who immediately joined him in dancing. Shaking his tambourine like a shaman, you could not break your gaze from him at all. Often the band would stop completely as Astbury would talk about Kraftwerk; “‘Trans-Europe Express’…. Let’s just stop and listen for a second”. Astbury is an all round entertainer, whether it be through his dancing, his immense voice or his penchant for comedy the show was a riot. He seemed to tease the post-punk generation, randomly yelling “A new royal family / The wild nobility” and without missing a beat the whole audience screamed “WE ARE THE FAMILY”. Adam Ant’s rallying cry so deeply ingrained in everyone, much to Astbury’s amusement. It was funny but in a way it also proved the point of the festival, gathering a community with such a rich history and allowing them to revel in it. Playing songs such as ‘Resurrection Joe’, ‘Gods Zoo’ and ‘Moya’ the band laid bare the history of their iterations, allowing for their fans - whether from the beginning or from last week- to soak themselves in their catalogue. Astbury continuously threw his tambourines into the crowd, and by and by those lucky percussionists were creating a choir of their own below the stage. Guitarist Billy Duffy was a force to watch too, his skill impeccable. Death Cult’s performance proved that within the music there was a strong community, with its own traditions and its own jokes, its own long and winding history. Astbury was extremely grateful for the love given to him, bowing and taking it in during his final moments on stage.
After The Other Stage saw its lights go down for the final time, I sprinted to Kraftwerk, there was still time to catch the end of their set. What I ran to was an overwhelmingly fantastic scene. The four robotic members stood behind a line of futuristic synths wearing LED suits. Lights flashing in all directions. It looked like something straight out of Tron in the best way. I stopped still in my tracks and took it all in, it's hard to describe the feeling but by this point in the day, after being face to face with so much of the music that has carried so much weight in my life, seeing Kraftwerk was beyond anything I could have fathomed. I stood there wide eyed as the bleeps and bloops echoed around me, the chill of the evening wind accompanied the hordes of dancers around me and I was overcome with emotion. I was seeing the 8th wonder of the world with my own two eyes. As the robotic voice echoed “Musique non-stop” the pulsating rhythm overtook the whole arena. Each member took their leave, leaving only Ralf Hütter, the last remaining member, to take his final bow. Receiving riotous applause from the crowd he left the stage and the music stopped. The crowd lingered, stunned at what they had just witnessed, hanging on to the fleeting moment, then they began to file out.
The inaugural Forever Now Festival, despite a few issues that could not be helped, was an immense success. It was a day of celebration, a day to submerge yourself in the world of the post-punk generation many of its attendees grew up in, and a chance for many younger generations to experience its peak firsthand. It's no secret that the sheer spectacle of it all was emotional for many different reasons. I was constantly overwhelmed by my own emotions, drawn out by the purveyors of twisted pop, the synth tyrants of yesteryear; the bands that never went away, that kept the spark alive. The festival championed a period of time with such a lasting impact on popular music culture; as The Motels’ Martha Davis calls it - “the never-go-away-ties”.
Eylem Boz
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