GUILFEST 2025 | LEGENDS, LOUDNESS AND A LOT OF LOVE

FESTIVAL REVIEW | GUILFEST 2025 by Kevin O’Sullivan

There’s something beautifully chaotic about a festival where everything feels a little too good to be true. Then you look around – sunburnt shoulders, kids on shoulders, a guy in a kilt yelling about ska — and you realise it’s all actually happening. GuilFest 2025 didn’t play it safe. It played it like it meant it. Full tilt. No brakes.

Set across a sun-baked (and then briefly storm-soaked) Stoke Park, Guildford’s long-standing, community-rooted festival once again proved why it keeps coming back stronger. Forget your slick corporate line-ups and soulless arenas – this is what festivals are supposed to feel like.

SATURDAY – THE PAST, PRESENT & A FEW SURPRISES

Opening Words, Open Hearts

Before a single chord was struck, the Mayor of Guildford – who, it turns out, used to bash the drums in a local pub band – gave an opening speech that hit harder than you’d expect. No gimmicks. No fluff. Just pure love for the town, its people, and the power of music. He gave a heartfelt nod to Music Giving Hope, the festival’s charity partner supporting mental health through music — not a box-tick, but a reminder that music matters beyond the stage.

Rock Choir With GnR Swagger

If you thought a community choir couldn’t open a festival properly, think again. Rock Choir took Sweet Child o’ Mine and somehow made it feel bigger, warmer, and stranger in all the right ways. It was uplifting, a bit bonkers, and totally right for this crowd.

Then the nostalgia cannon fired up.

Rollers, Sayers, and Stereo MCs

Bay City Rollers brought tartan and screams. Leo Sayer beamed like your uncle at a wedding and sounded cleaner than half the Spotify Top 40. Sleeper reminded us they were always sharper than the Britpop boys. Odyssey got everyone two-stepping in the heat.

Soul II Soul dropped Back to Life like it was 1990 and everyone just got paid. Still slick. Still effortless. Jazzie B had the crowd in his back pocket.

Stereo MC’s followed and cranked it again – beats layered thick and vocals cutting through. One of those acts that never really stop moving, even between verses.

Then out walked Cassa Jackson, fresh off support slots with JLS and the O2 circuit. Confident, controlled and already writing choruses you’d expect on daytime radio. She played a tight set just after Stereo MCs, a rising pop act on a retro-leaning stage — bold move, but she made it hers.

The Jacksons – Groove, Legacy, and a 57-Deep Crew

Then it happened.

The Jacksons didn’t just headline. They arrived. Not in a flashy “don’t-look-at-us” sort of way — but with a 57-person entourage of family and friends, all part of the show before the band even stepped onstage. There’s something different about watching legacy unfold in real time. The synchronised steps. The harmonies passed down like gospel. Can You Feel It shook the field. Blame It on the Boogie made the bar staff dance.

And while only a couple of original members remain, the fire’s still there. The moves, the soul, the sense you’re witnessing something just a little bit historic.

SUNDAY – STORMS, STAGE DIVES & SCOTTISH SUN

If Saturday glowed, Sunday hit harder.

Trojan Beats to Beans on Toast – Wake-Up and Words

Guildford’s own ska wake-up call – Trojan Beats – opened the main stage with sharp horns and even sharper suits. The dancing started early. And it didn’t stop.

Beans on Toast brought his usual brew of wit, warmth, and razor-edge lyrics. One moment you’re laughing about overpriced coffee, the next you’re suddenly aware of your entire life crumbling. That’s his superpower.

Then the gearshift. Big brass. Even bigger beats.

Dutty Moonshine, Amy’s Band, Monique Togara

Dutty Moonshine Big Band came in like a wrecking ball laced with jazz and basslines. Their blend of swing, grime, and straight-up rave energy was completely unhinged – in the best possible way. Catch them on tour later this year. Trust.

The Original Amy Winehouse Band pulled the crowd in tight. Not just with the music – though Back to Black hit hard – but with the stories between songs. Real love. Real loss. Total class.

Monique Togara, local, fresh, and fearless, owned her slot like she’s done it 100 times. She hasn’t – but she will. One to watch.

Elvis + Nirvana = Elvana, KT Tunstall and Razorlight

There’s no version of Elvana that makes sense on paper. But on stage? It’s untouchable chaos. Elvis jumpsuit. Nirvana riffs. Confusion meets euphoria.

Then comes KT Tunstall, practically glowing as she shouted, “I’m the only Scottish person who’s ever brought out the sun!” – and it was true. Her one-woman loop station wizardry still stuns, and when Suddenly I See dropped, it was like the field lifted a few inches off the ground.

Razorlight closed with the kind of swagger that comes from being through the wringer and surviving it. Borrell still struts like it’s 2005, and every song hit. Golden Touch sent people back to a time before social media ruined everything. America still has that ache. Tight, loud, alive.

SECOND STAGE SUNDAY – CHAOS, CLASS & RAIN SO HARD IT FELT PERSONAL

While the main stage brought the names, the GLive Second Stage straight-up delivered the grit.

Voodoo Radio, a father-and-daughter punk pair from Cumbria, exploded on arrival. Loud, loose, wired like a bare cable. People who didn’t know them were fans by the third song.

Then the Sex Pissed Dolls lit the field up. Pyro, platform boots, divebombs into the pit – absolute carnage in the best sense. No one held back. Not them. Not the crowd. Then, as if on cue, the skies split open the second they finished, like the weather had been holding its breath the whole time. Torrential. But kind of perfect.

Fuzzbox Kollective followed – full punk flamboyance led by Firouzeh Razavi, introduced by her husband Bez, who strolled out with a grin and said nothing. He didn’t need to.

The Skids then turned things into a punk sermon. Richard Jobson spun, stomped, shouted, and said, “I’m f***ed after two songs” before launching into The Saints Are Coming. When that riff hit, the place exploded. U2 fans. Punk lifers. Kids on shoulders. Everyone singing like they meant it.

Dub Pistols, The Primitives & Altered Images – Home Stretch

Dub Pistols didn’t play a set — they launched a party riot. If someone wasn’t dancing, they were probably passed out. Crowd-surfing. Horns. Beat drops. Zero chill. They lifted the park off its foundations.

The Primitives gave us a sugar-rush version of Crash, the whole crowd singing every word like they were back in a teenage bedroom. And Altered Images closed the second stage on a high — Happy Birthday in a field of drenched, euphoric, half-sober revellers felt oddly poignant.

SO WHAT MAKES GUILFEST DIFFERENT?

It’s not about shiny production or influencer guestlists. GuilFest is about connection. Local punks on the same stage as pop icons. Street food beside the literary tent. Tribute acts and comedy and art and yoga and mosh pits — all stitched into the same weirdly wonderful patchwork.

It’s messy. It’s real. It’s exactly what a festival should be.

People come here and meet their old schoolmates. Their future best friends. Their kid’s first band crush. And when it ends, no one talks about the queues or the weather. They talk about that one set… that song… that moment.

And this year? There were a lot of those.