(Credit: Kirsty McLachlan)
Sun 17 August 2025 11:43, UK
Some days are proof that time isn’t real. Proof that sheer universes can be traversed in a single arc of the sun. Proof that you can wake up in a shoddy tent with a pounding head one person, and end the day in the same shoddy tent, transformed entirely.
My second day at Green Man went a little like that.
The morning was hot and sticky, but festival goers were no less enthusiastic, all glitter and sequins and sunburnt shoulders. We set off exploring: an anime movie at the Cinedrome, holistic medicines in the massage corner, a pungent Bloody Mary that shocked me back into being.
At the Far Out stage, we caught our first act of the day: Rocket, a Los Angeles rock outfit performing off the back of four shows in support of Smashing Pumpkins. Frontwoman Alithea Tuttle let her vocals soar over the punk-infused sonic wall wielded by her bandmates. Their image, all fiery red and grainy animation, fit the sound perfectly.
The festival, with 25,000 attendees, is one of impressive magnitude. A large portion of those behind the sell-out tickets are families – in the day and into the ruddy sunsets, kids run wild with massive headphones over their ears. We joined a few for pond gazing, saw a few more climb up trees, swing up and down the Green Man sign, and spin circus props around each other beneath one of the many cosy tents. We walked through all the joy, lapping it in.
MJ Lenderman is a subdued dude. Check out the sunglasses he surely hasn’t taken off in weeks, or the way he plays his guitar, body arched backwards in a diagonal, like nobody could take time away from him. He’s known to say little: maybe an appreciative smile here, an introduction to his band there. On the Mountain Stage, though, he came alive.
(Credit: Kirsty McLachlan)
One fateful day in Spain earlier this summer, my cheeks burning under the blaze of a full moon, I made a grave mistake: I chose Chappell Roan over MJ Lenderman. Her sugary-sweet bop-pop mocked my poor decision-making skills, as friends later flocked in and gushed of a secret magic in the twang of a North Carolina guitar. I have never quite forgiven myself.
Until now. For an extended 90 minutes, MJ Lenderman and the Wind held me in the palm of their hands.
Reacting to each other with lightning speed, the band twirled effortlessly through hits like ‘Riptorn’, during which his fiddle player, Xandy Chelmis, elicited a huge roar from the pit of sweating fans around me every time he took to that magical melody.
“The lads,” Lenderman chuckled at them, later calling out two for wearing the same T-shirt. Later, when he played what surely was the festival highlight, ‘She’s Leaving You’, he called out a performer, Theo Church, who had offered a rendition up earlier in the day. “Thanks, but I hope we can do it better than you,” he smirked. Sorry, Theo. Nobody can beat MJ Lenderman. He’s leagues above the rest.
All good things must end, I suppose. Barrelling quickly to the Rising Stage with that gorgeous cut-out backdrop that presents the countryside like a Renaissance painting, we caught a few songs of Westside Cowboy. The four-piece have gone from strength to strength; despite admitting that they “forgot their acoustic guitar,” the set was as energetic as I’ve come to expect from a band who are the very definition of “on the rise”.
A quick paella break, slopping sticky rice into our mouths under the cool shade of a tree, and we were off again, collecting layers from our tent after swapping niceties with the burly security guards, fast becoming our friends. Caroline, a London-based eight-piece whose latest project received a glowing 4.5 stars from Far Out, were 15 minutes into their set and had yet to play a thing.
In the only painful moment of the festival so far, one of the members promised the agitated crowd in the Walled Garden, “We can’t hear anything, but we’re going to be good.” I couldn’t stick around for the glitch-fest that ensued, but the spatchcocked body of their sound does lend itself well to playing in the dark. Looking back over my shoulder, the crowd at least appeared quickly enraptured.
(Credit: Nic Eberl)
It’s no longer a proudly guarded secret that CMAT is one of the best performers in recent history. She’s hilarious, she’s quick-witted, she can make anything sound beautiful, and any crowd member, young or old, rediscover their penchant for fun. The Irish lass must now up herself every time, to ensure the lead into her third studio album, Euro-Country, is a success.
That she did. Appearing in all red, CMAT dazzled, pulling laughs from the crowd with her consistent Welsh bit, “We love you we do!”.
She referenced a clip of Tom Jones from 2009 dancing an awkward two-step at Glastonbury, she exchanged socks with the BSL interpreter Donna (off-stage, of course), and had on-stage banter with her bandmate’s mum, who was dead centre at the front of the crowd. Oh CMAT, how we love you.
To keep things fresh after a long festival season that included a super set at Glastonbury, CMAT included two new live songs: a cover of the Welsh national anthem, which saw the ‘Take a Sexy Picture of Me’ singer wrap herself in the Welsh flag. After, she played a powerful, biting new song for the very first time from her new album, less than two weeks from release. What a treat.
I split with my friend Angharad to speed over to English Teacher alongside a healthy dose of other multitaskers who promised themselves 20 minutes of real music with instruments before traipsing back to the Mountain Stage, looking for a reason to stay. English Teacher are technically sound. Lily Fontaine’s voice has rounded out into a warm, inviting bellow.
“This is a love song,” Fontaine said, introducing ‘Blister My Paint’. She continued, “Usually, I have someone to sing it to. But I don’t… so I’ll sing it to you.” Tears glinted in her eye. “Best festival in the world,” she repeated, quiet, firm.
(Credit: Kirsty McLachlan)
I think, however, that they got the pacing wrong. That all-important first half was a little slow, though magnificent, so a sequence of yawns dominoed around me. Kids would come for a song, stay for half, and leg it out of there. I soon followed suit, ready to slay the techno monster lying in wait on the other side of the hill.
I followed a mysterious, almighty thump. Twos and threes trickled out of the nuclear, neon cloud behind them, usually holding up a particularly frail frame. The Mountain Stage thrummed with people. Security guards did their best at shepherding a herd that had nowhere else to go but out and into bodies on bodies.
Underworld tore through a heavy, druggy set thick with laser shows, green strobes, and fiscal graphics. I found myself between a family and a group of teens experiencing euphoria for the first time, and I felt oddly at home there.
I had attended a live performance of Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting only a week ago, and had fallen back in love with those grandiose bars known around the world: Born Slippy. Karl Hyde called out a friend, Graham, who put him through college in Cardiff, just down the road. “Without him, we wouldn’t have this,” he yelled. In came those Waldorf Microwave synths. Arms in the air. Fluorescent jellyfish bobbing on sticks. Joy. Real happiness.
All of a sudden, another night in my tent didn’t seem so bad after all.
Related Topics