Reading Festival 2025 didn’t just close out summer; it detonated it. Beneath a sky pulsing with pyro and pink cowboy hats, through dust clouds and black shirts, the weekend blurred genre lines and rewrote expectations. From Chappell Roan’s fairy-tale-pop coronation to Bring Me The Horizon’s ascension as British rock megastars, the crowd became a living organism, moshing, sobbing, screaming, and swaying in unison.
It was a weekend of contradictions: glitter and grit, intimacy and excess, nostalgia and next-gen noise. And somewhere in the distortion and delirium, legacy was being rewritten in real time.
Friday:
Friday kicks off with a surge of early birds already settled in, many having trickled onto the site since Wednesday’s soft arrivals. Now, day one proper begins for the festival that bookends Britain’s summer of sound. As always, a sea of teenagers floods the fields, wide-eyed and raring to go. The train station and shuttle buses are manic from morning, and Reading town itself hums with the chaos of takeover. There’s a buzz in the air, palpable, electric, as crowds continue to descend on Richfield Avenue, ready to turn anticipation into eruption.
Merseyside alt-rock outfit Red Rum Club kicked off Friday’s entertainment, getting the crowd on their feet with ease. The first band to truly strike a chord across the weekend, they cantered through their set in style. And while they played 'Vanilla,' their live performance proved anything but, brimming with swagger, brass, and sun-soaked charisma.
A special mention must go to Alessi Rose, who strutted onto the main stage in a striking blue outfit and heels, acoustic guitar in hand, framed by a glowing red cross beneath the altar-like rig. Though early in the day, the kind of slot that often gets swallowed by tent setups and sleepy arrivals, Alessi drew a crowd that felt electric, intentional, and entirely hers.
Just last year, she was tucked into the BBC Introducing stage, a promising newcomer with a handful of tracks and a glimmer of buzz. Fast-forward to now, and she’s commanding the main stage with poise and presence, her vocals cutting through the early afternoon haze like a revelation. The set though short, was a statement: Alessi Rose is rising, fast.
Twenty years after their first appearance, indie rockers Bloc Party returned to the main stage for their ‘Icons’ slot. Leaning heavily on older classics, the set still ventured into newer territory. Introducing the next track, frontman Kele Okereke remarked the song was about true love; “except it wasn’t really true” - before launching into 'Blue'. Later, 'This Modern Love' was dedicated to those receiving their exam results, with Okereke urging the crowd to “look out for each other.” Perhaps not the biggest party on the block this bank holiday weekend, but a warm, steady set, perfectly pitched for the chilled-out crowd.
There’s something about a cloudless sky and the shimmer of late afternoon sun that feels tailor-made for a band like Wallows. Hailing from Los Angeles, their brand of modern rock and nostalgia landed perfectly on a day that begged for open-air anthems and crowd-fuelled catharsis.
From the moment they stepped on stage, Wallows leaned into connection. “How we feeling?” Dylan Minette called out, grinning as if he already knew the answer. “It’s good to be back,” he added, promising to take us all back with some of the songs, a sentiment that felt less like a throwaway line and more like a mission statement.
Despite brief technical hiccups, sound dips, and a video feed that blinked out, the band never lost momentum. Minette stepped down to the crowd during 'OK,' singing shoulder-to-shoulder with fans who knew every word. Raw, unfiltered, and exactly the kind of moment that turns a good set into a memorable one.
Braeden Lemasters took a beat to introduce his favourite track, 'Quarterback,' while Minette swapped guitar for drums, showcasing the band’s fluidity and chemistry. That sort of switch-up, playful, and deeply collaborative, is what makes Wallows feel more alive than most.
There’s a special kind of energy when a band feels genuinely thrilled to be on stage. Wallows didn’t just play, they celebrated. And under the blazing sun, with blue skies stretching overhead, the moment felt like the perfect match: a band built for open-air joy, and a crowd ready to meet them there.
Soft Play ignite the Chevron Stage with raw energy and political fire as Isaac Holman and Laurie Vincent returned to Reading Festival with the type of ferocity that makes you forget they’ve done this before. Their set was a collision of sound, sweat, and statement.
From the jump, the tent was packed and pulsing. Holman’s signature snarl and Vincent’s relentless riffs whipped the crowd into a frenzy, with chants echoing between bursts of strobe and smoke. “Want to see a vape cloud?” Holman teased, and the crowd obliged, a haze of vapour rising like a signal flare.
But this wasn’t just chaos for chaos’ sake. The show was laced with political intent: Palestinian flags waved from the crowd and draped over the amp stack, while stark black-and-white visuals flickered across the screens, amplifying the urgency. The show was a protest wrapped in punk, visceral, unflinching, and impossible to ignore.
Midway through, Kate Nash made a surprise appearance for their collaborative track 'Slushy.' "I don't even like slushies,” she joked, but the chemistry was undeniable. Nash’s presence added a playful contrast to the band’s usual grit, without softening the impact.
Soft Play were, without question, the liveliest act of the day, not just loud, but loud with purpose. Their set was a reminder that punk isn’t dead, it’s just evolved: sharper, smarter, and still ready to scream.
The crowd swelled like a tidal wave as The Kooks took the stage, their arrival sparking a collective roar that felt almost generational. Where do they come from? From Brighton, sure, but also from a time when indie hooks ruled the airwaves and festival fields were drenched in denim and youth. Their set was a storm of classics, each one met with euphoric sing-alongs from fans who, in many cases, hadn’t even been born when these tracks first dropped.
But the nostalgia trip wasn’t the only surprise in store. Midway through the set, frontman Luke Pritchard paused to announce they were “filming a movie” and introduced a guest with theatrical flair: “The incredible, the unbelievable… Tazzie Young!” Enter Rebel Wilson, yes, that Rebel Wilson, decked in black and white, fizzing with chaotic charm. Launching into a raucous cover of Coolio’s 'Gangsta’s Paradise', with Pritchard chiming in. Bizarre, brilliant, and somehow exactly what the moment needed. Finishing up, she sprayed champagne across the stage and declared, “Let’s get drunk!”
The set closed with Pritchard on bent knees, arms outstretched in gratitude, soaking in the adoration of a crowd that had just witnessed something unforgettable, part indie revival, part fever dream.
On the Festival Republic stage, Heartworms, the militaristic, gothic post-punk project led by JoJo Orme, delivered one of the most electric sets of the weekend. Clad entirely in black, the band looked like they’d marched straight out of a dystopian dream, bringing with them a sonic arsenal that was both brutal and hypnotic.
Tracks like 'Retributions Of An Awful Life' and 'Jacked' hit with visceral force, each one laced with Orme’s signature blend of icy precision and emotional volatility. Her presence was magnetic, part drill sergeant, part dark priestess, commanding the stage with a kind of disciplined chaos that felt both theatrical and deeply personal.
The set was a warning shot. Heartworms are rising fast, and this may well be one of those 'I was there' moments. The kind you’ll brag about when they’re headlining bigger stages and reshaping the post-punk landscape.
Without a doubt, the jewel in the crown for Friday was a gothic fairy-tale in full bloom. As orchestral music swelled and spinning screens flickered to life, Chappell Roan emerged from the shadows of a fantasy-gothic turquoise castle, part Disney villain lair, part pop royalty throne. Her entrance was pure theatre: cloaked in a witchy ensemble of black lace and deep purple, she looked magnificent. The crowd, already packed shoulder to shoulder as far as the eye could see, erupted.
Roan is still in the early throes of her career, but you wouldn’t know it from the scale of her performance. She’s not just captivating audiences, she’s commanding them. From the moment she launched into songs like 'Femininomenon' and 'Naked In Manhattan,' her otherworldly vocals wrapped around the crowd like a spell. Every note felt like a declaration: she’s here, she’s rising, and she’s not backing down.
The stage itself was a dark, visceral dream. Spinning screens, gothic turrets, and a backdrop that looked torn from a haunted storybook set the tone. At one point, Roan dropped to the floor while her guitarist shredded above her, a tableau of raw emotion and rock-star bravado.
Her setlist was a great mix with a blistering rendition of Heart’s 'Barracuda' that had Gen Z fans headbanging with wide-eyed glee. The crowd chanted along to tunes like the shimmering “Red Wine Supernova” and 'Pink Pony Club.'
As the set began to come to an end, she paused to dedicate a song to her ex, “who is in the crowd tonight,” she added with a sly grin, sending a ripple of gasps and laughter through the audience. Another of many moments where Roan blurred the line between performer and provocateur, turning heartbreak into spectacle.
Not only was there great music; there was a serene atmosphere. Fans hugged, sang, and swayed in unison, a sea of pink cowboy hats moving as one. Roan’s performance ascended a regular set, becoming a coronation. A new artist, yes, but one already rewriting the rules of pop spectacle. If this is the beginning, the storm she’s bringing is only just gathering.
Mannequin Pussy closed out the Festival Republic stage with a mix of relief and fire, grateful, as vocalist Marisa Dabice noted, not to be clashing with Chappell Roan’s main stage spectacle. That stroke of scheduling luck meant the crowd was thick and fully tuned in, ready for the Philly punks to unleash.
There were sound issues early on, a few crackles, a moment of imbalance, but nothing that could scupper their momentum. If anything, it added to the rawness. Dabice powered through with roaring vocals and wild energy, flanked by a band that played like they were shaking off chains. It wasn’t polished, but it was potent.
The set was a reminder of why Mannequin Pussy continues to carve space in the punk scene: emotionally charged, unapologetically loud, and fiercely present. No gimmicks, no distractions, just a band laying it all out, and a crowd that met them halfway.
Concluding day one of the bank holiday spectacle, Irish songwriter Hozier stepped into a purple haze, suited and solemn, as if summoned by dusk itself. The crowd was smaller and quieter than the act before, not subdued, but reverent. After a day of chaos and catharsis, this felt like communion: a chance to wind down, to reflect, to feel.
His set unfolded like a slow-burning sermon, with rich and firm vocals that seemed to rise up and hang in the air. Midway through, Hozier paused for a four-minute speech that cut through the festival noise with piercing clarity. He called for peace, safety, and security and challenged the definitions of terrorism with his. “Safety and security for everybody in the Middle East,” he said, “means seeing a Palestine free from occupation, free from cycles of genocide and violence”. Provoking a moment of stillness, of conviction, not shouted, but spoken with the quiet power that defines his artistry.
As the final notes rang out, golden fireworks bloomed overhead, casting light on a crowd that had just been reminded of music’s ability to soothe, provoke, and unite. Hozier didn’t just close the night, he sanctified it.
Saturday:
Day two begins bleary-eyed and a little subdued, as word spreads that US-based band The House of Protection have cancelled their Reading Festival appearance. In a heartfelt message to fans, they shared feeling “devastated” and “deeply sorry,” citing the loss of crucial funding. Hearing that a band can no longer afford to play a show offers a sobering glimpse into the fragile economics of touring, a reminder that even passion and preparation can be derailed by financial strain.
The music kicked off with a jolt of pure punk adrenaline as Lambrini Girls stormed the main stage, smashing it to life in the early slot like they’d been waiting all year to blow the doors off. Phoebe Lunny and Selin Macieira strutted down the catwalk with riotous confidence, turning the runway into a battleground of rage, and unapologetic attitude.
Their set was a blistering sprint through tracks like 'Big Dick Energy,' 'Company Culture,' and 'No Homo', each one delivered with snarling vocals and a ferocity that felt both cathartic and confrontational. The duo didn’t just play; they performed like they were exorcising something, channeling chaos into clarity.
Behind them, the screens blazed with “Free Palestine,” continuing the wave of political messaging that had surged through the festival since Friday. Not just a backdrop, but a statement, a refusal to separate art from activism.
Pal Waves delivered one of the weekend’s most unexpected triumphs, a hidden gem that shimmered with flair and raw talent. Performing beneath a chandelier and flanked by statues, their set felt more like a surreal dream sequence than a standard festival slot. The standout moment came with a haunting cover of The Cranberries’ 'Zombie,' a rendition that pulsed with urgency and reverence, sending chills through the crowd. In a weekend packed with spectacle, Pal Waves carved out something intimate, strange, and unforgettable
Enter Shikari’s set was a masterclass in emotional whiplash, equal parts rave and resistance. Regulars to the festival circuit and particularly Reading, the band faced a youthful crowd buzzing with anticipation. But any doubts about their relevance were obliterated within minutes.
Frontman Rou Reynolds, ever the kinetic force, dropped into the crowd mid-set, blurring the line between performer and participant. The dust was thick, mosh pits kicked it skyward, coating sweat-slicked limbs and festival gear in a haze that felt almost apocalyptic. And yet, the energy was euphoric.
But Shikari didn’t just bring the party, they brought the politics. Reynolds paused the set to deliver a searing speech on Gaza, echoing his long-standing advocacy for Palestinian freedom. He spoke of atrocities, displacement, and the moral imperative to speak out, quoting Rabbi Tarfon: “It is not the duty of you alone to heal this world, but you must not refrain from trying.”
The crowd, thick with dust and emotion, stood still. Phones lowered. Eyes locked for a moment of solemn clarity in a weekend of sonic chaos. Enter Shikari proved once again that they’re not just festival staples, they’re cultural agitators, capable of turning a field of revelers into a chorus of conscience.
Limp Bizkit quite simply obliterated Reading. From the moment Fred Durst and Co burst onto the stage beneath an AI-generated meme of the Gallagher brothers grinning like a proud family member, the tone was set: this was going to be absurd, aggressive, and unforgettable.
The crowd? A sea of red caps, fists raised, ready for war. 'Break Stuff ' hit like a riot anthem, mosh pits erupted with feral energy, limbs flying, dust clouds rising, turning performance to battleground.
Wes Borland, ever the visual wildcard, was dressed to the nines, part punk, part Day of the Dead. His guitar work sliced through the chaos with surgical precision, while Durst whipped the crowd into putty with every quip, smirk, and perfectly timed pause.
The setlist was stacked: 'My Way,' 'My Generation,' 'Take a Look Around,' and a mesmerising cover of 'Behind Blue Eyes' that had the crowd swaying in collective nostalgia. AI-generated cameos of Billie Eilish and Dave Mustaine (amongst others) flashed across the screens, adding surreal comedy to the sonic carnage.
Then came the moment that cemented this set in Reading lore: a fan was pulled onstage to duet 'Full Nelson' with Durst. Her vocals were fierce, her presence magnetic, feeling like a generational handoff in real time.
And all this before the headline band is on. Limp Bizkit are a band that generally lands the special guest slot, but it's clear they could headline Reading or any other festival without question. Comedy, chaos, and musical genius collided in a set that indoctrinated new fans and reminded the old guard exactly why Limp Bizkit still matters.
Fred Durst remains a ringmaster of nu-metal absurdity, and on this night, he was untouchable.
Bring Me The Horizon were, without question, the band of the weekend, delivering a set that felt like pure cinema. Host Eve kicked things off, her introduction sweeping across the crowd as the camera rolled, capturing the electric anticipation. Then came the sensory overload: laser-bright lights, a gaming-style intro video, and confetti that burst like blood spray or pink hearts, painting the air with surreal beauty.
Classic tracks ignited the field, each one scattered with pyro and strobes, blurring the line between sci-fi spectacle and raw emotional catharsis. “Do you wanna start a cult with me?” Oli Sykes yelled before launching into ‘Mantra’, a fitting anthem for a band that’s long since reached cult status. A fan was pulled onstage for ‘Antivist,’ adding a chaotic intimacy to a show that felt like a celebration of everything BMTH stands for. When ‘Lost’ and ‘Can You Feel My Heart’ hit, the atmosphere turned spine-chilling, proof that beneath the spectacle, this band still knows how to cut deep.
Sunday:
The final day and the festival felt like it had outgrown its own blueprint. Vikkstar’s set on the Jägermeister Stage saw a crowd surge so intense, giving the feeling the internet had spilled into real life. Social media kids and diehards, and curious wanderers collided with overwhelming security and forced temporary shutdowns. A digital fandom manifesting physically, loud and uncontainable.
Melbourne rockers Radio Free Alice jolted the crowd awake with a blistering set that fused raw energy and lyrical bite. Their performance featured standout tracks like 'Empty Words', a riff-driven anthem, and 'Look What You’ve Done', a visceral, emotionally charged piece. With each song, the band carved out a sonic space that felt both urgent and unflinchingly personal, leaving the audience wide-eyed and fully immersed.
Cork-based indie rockers Cliffords tore through their set with the kind of emotional grit and melodic punch that’s quickly becoming their signature. The four-piece leaned into fan favorites, unleashing My Favourite Monster and Sleeping With Ghosts. Their sound is jagged and tender, and with each track, Cliffords proved why they’re one of Ireland’s most compelling new voices in alt-rock.
Waterparks delivered a set that fused fresh material and beloved classics, proving that even after a break from live shows, they’ve lost none of their edge. Awsten Knight and the crew were visibly buzzing, grinning, bantering, and showering fans with gratitude between tracks. 'Real Super Dark' ignited the mosh pit into a frenzy as the crowd roared back every lyric. Despite the hiatus, there was no ring rust, just a band fully in sync, feeding off the chaos and joy of a crowd that clearly missed them. The performance felt both intimate and explosive, a reminder of why Waterparks continue to thrive in the live arena.
Suki Waterhouse drifted onto a stage scattered with oversized beach balls that shimmered like children's bubbles, setting a surreal tone before a single note rang out. Draped in a flowing pink robe, she embodied a kind of untamed grace, a free spirit channeling vulnerability and charm. Her set moved between the melancholic shimmer of 'Supersad' and the sultry confidence of 'Good Looking', all underscored by a psychedelic video backdrop that pulsed and warped like a dream. Midway through, she paused to pay homage to Oasis, recalling a recent show she’d attended “the best”, she declared, before launching into a heartfelt cover of 'Don’t Look Back In Anger', her voice threading nostalgia through the haze.
Amyl and the Sniffers stormed onto the Reading stage with strutting attitude and a retro-punk swagger that felt like stepping into a time-warped riot. Frontwoman Amy Taylor radiated high-voltage energy, visibly elated to be there, rallying the crowd with a cheeky grin: “Hope the serotonin’s holding you up, no excuse not to get rowdy!” The band tore through their set with raw ferocity, teasing their upcoming Ally Pally show with the confidence of headliners-in-waiting. They launched into blistering tracks, 'Security', 'Chewing Gum,' 'Tiny Bikini' and 'Jerkin'. Amy got political, speaking up, speaking out, and proving they’re more than just a party band. A late-set slap of chaos jolted the crowd awake, especially with the debut of “U Should Not Be Doing That,” a track that snarled with defiance. As the night peaked, Amy offered a moment of grit and grace: “Life’s tough no matter who you are,” she said, dedicating a song to anyone hanging on. If this set was any indication, their next Reading appearance won’t be anywhere but the top of the bill.
London-based indie folk artist Matilda Mann lit up the stage with a set that felt like a warm breeze through a restless crowd. Her hushed vocals and delicate guitar work stirred something deep, coaxing arms into the air and turning the tent into a sea of swaying silhouettes. With each song, Mann wove vulnerability and charm into the atmosphere, transforming the space into a living, breathing moment of connection, intimate yet electric, like a shared secret passed between strangers.
British hip hop collective D-Block Europe set Reading ablaze with a performance that radiated fire and feeling. As the night deepened, their signature blend of melodic rap and raw emotion pulsed through the crowd, igniting a chorus of voices singing every lyric back at them. With grins stretched wide and energy bouncing off the stage, the duo soaked in the chaos, shouting out to Reading, “you lot are crazy!” as thousands echoed their words in a euphoric frenzy. It was more than a set; it was a shared eruption of sound, swagger, and connection.
Hollywood’s own The Dare unleashed a riotous dance-punk spectacle that felt like a neon-lit house party gone gloriously off the rails. Their set was a sensory overload, blazing lights, towering amps, and bass so heavy it rattled the tent poles. With swagger and sweat, Harrison Smith tore through his catalogue before detonating into 'Girls,' a humongous closer that fused chaos, charm, and pure catharsis. The Dare turned their slot into a full-throttle celebration of sound, movement, and unapologetic joy.
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Sunday:
The final day and the festival felt like it had outgrown its own blueprint. Vikkstar’s set on the Jägermeister Stage saw a crowd surge so intense, giving the feeling the internet had spilled into real life. Social media kids and diehards, and curious wanderers collided with overwhelming security and forced temporary shutdowns. A digital fandom manifesting physically, loud and uncontainable.
Leigh-Anne packed the Chevron tent with seismic reports of 40,000 bodies pulsing to jungle-infused pop and R&B swagger.
Melbourne rockers Radio Free Alice jolted the crowd awake with a blistering set that fused raw energy and lyrical bite. Their performance featured standout tracks like 'Empty Words', a riff-driven anthem, and 'Look What You’ve Done', a visceral, emotionally charged piece. With each song, the band carved out a sonic space that felt both urgent and unflinchingly personal, leaving the audience wide-eyed and fully immersed.
Cork-based indie rockers Cliffords tore through their set with the kind of emotional grit and melodic punch that’s quickly becoming their signature. The four-piece leaned into fan favorites, unleashing My Favourite Monster and Sleeping With Ghosts. Their sound is jagged and tender, and with each track, Cliffords proved why they’re one of Ireland’s most compelling new voices in alt-rock.
Waterparks delivered a set that fused fresh material and beloved classics, proving that even after a break from live shows, they’ve lost none of their edge. Awsten Knight and the crew were visibly buzzing, grinning, bantering, and showering fans with gratitude between tracks. 'Real Super Dark' ignited the mosh pit into a frenzy as the crowd roared back every lyric. Despite the hiatus, there was no ring rust, just a band fully in sync, feeding off the chaos and joy of a crowd that clearly missed them. The performance felt both intimate and explosive, a reminder of why Waterparks continue to thrive in the live arena.
Suki Waterhouse drifted onto a stage scattered with oversized beach balls that shimmered like children's bubbles, setting a surreal tone before a single note rang out. Draped in a flowing pink robe, she embodied a kind of untamed grace, a free spirit channeling vulnerability and charm. Her set moved between the melancholic shimmer of 'Supersad' and the sultry confidence of 'Good Looking', all underscored by a psychedelic video backdrop that pulsed and warped like a dream. Midway through, she paused to pay homage to Oasis, recalling a recent show she’d attended “the best”, she declared, before launching into a heartfelt cover of 'Don’t Look Back In Anger', her voice threading nostalgia through the haze.
Amyl and the Sniffers stormed onto the Reading stage with strutting attitude and a retro-punk swagger that felt like stepping into a time-warped riot. Frontwoman Amy Taylor radiated high-voltage energy, visibly elated to be there, rallying the crowd with a cheeky grin: “Hope the serotonin’s holding you up, no excuse not to get rowdy!” The band tore through their set with raw ferocity, teasing their upcoming Ally Pally show with the confidence of headliners-in-waiting. They launched into blistering tracks, 'Security', 'Chewing Gum,' 'Tiny Bikini' and 'Jerkin'. Amy got political, speaking up, speaking out, and proving they’re more than just a party band. A late-set slap of chaos jolted the crowd awake, especially with the debut of “U Should Not Be Doing That,” a track that snarled with defiance. As the night peaked, Amy offered a moment of grit and grace: “Life’s tough no matter who you are,” she said, dedicating a song to anyone hanging on. If this set was any indication, their next Reading appearance won’t be anywhere but the top of the bill.
London-based indie folk artist Matilda Mann lit up the stage with a set that felt like a warm breeze through a restless crowd. Her hushed vocals and delicate guitar work stirred something deep, coaxing arms into the air and turning the tent into a sea of swaying silhouettes. With each song, Mann wove vulnerability and charm into the atmosphere, transforming the space into a living, breathing moment of connection, intimate yet electric, like a shared secret passed between strangers.
British hip hop collective D-Block Europe set Reading ablaze with a performance that radiated fire and feeling. As the night deepened, their signature blend of melodic rap and raw emotion pulsed through the crowd, igniting a chorus of voices singing every lyric back at them. With grins stretched wide and energy bouncing off the stage, the duo soaked in the chaos, shouting out to Reading, “you lot are crazy!” as thousands echoed their words in a euphoric frenzy. It was more than a set; it was a shared eruption of sound, swagger, and connection.
Hollywood’s own The Dare unleashed a riotous dance-punk spectacle that felt like a neon-lit house party gone gloriously off the rails. Their set was a sensory overload, blazing lights, towering amps, and bass so heavy it rattled the tent poles. With swagger and sweat, Harrison Smith tore through his catalogue before detonating into 'Girls,' a humongous closer that fused chaos, charm, and pure catharsis. The Dare turned their slot into a full-throttle celebration of sound, movement, and unapologetic joy.
Rhys Tagg
Images: Sarah Louise Bennett, Chloe Newman, Luke Dyson, Becca Scarlett Weaver