INDIE STUMBLES, RHINESTONE QUEER COWBOYS AND A ROCK BAPTISM | THE POWER OF LEEDS FESTIVAL 2025

Twenty-six years on from its first edition at Temple Newsam, Leeds Festival has long since settled into its sprawling home at Bramham Park. Every August bank holiday the gates swing open, unleashing a tidal wave of GCSE-result celebrations, WKD hangovers. and — because it’s Leeds — a healthy dose of chaos.

This year, mercifully, no storm named Lilian tried to rip the tents from their pegs. Instead, all stages were alive and kicking, serving up a line-up that darted between cult heroes, viral stars and big-ticket headliners: Chappell Roan, Hozier, Bring Me the Horizon, and the ever-controversial Travis Scott. 

Thursday

Thursday night, Mazza L20 kicked things off with a set that felt more “warm-up act at your mate’s 18th” than big-stage moment, though the love in the crowd was undeniable. Still, Billie Clement’s DJ set beforehand seemed to grab more sweaty appreciation. Murdaside, however, knew exactly how to whip the sea of teenagers — and I mean teenagers — into a frenzy.

That’s the thing about Leeds. Reading’s sister fest has always been the mecca for school-leavers, a place to either down some 4% alcopops in joy or sink in despair. But this year the under-20s were everywhere. As a weathered 24-year-old, I felt practically ancient. Naturally, the only cure for this existential dread was a late-night pilgrimage to the campsite stages — Piccadilly Party and LS23 — where baseline, indie singalongs and a few tears set the tone before the first humid tent-sleep of the weekend.

Friday

Traditionally, a Friday at Leeds begins with a lukewarm energy drink and a pot noodle before heading straight to the arena. The clouds hung heavy, but after 2023’s Jamie Webster rain-soaked sermon, no one was blaming the weather.

Sea Girls attempted to bring the afternoon sunshine, and while frontman Henry Camamile’s vocals soared, the crowd energy… didn’t. A shaky start, a slip-up with the lyrics (“Oh fuck, I did this last time we was at Leeds”), and a premature trickle of people leaving made for a set that never quite hit its stride.

Thankfully, the Chevron Stage had salvation in the form of Leigh-Anne (yes, that Leigh-Anne from Little Mix). Draped in red, green, black and white as a nod to Palestine, she blended R&B smoothness with jazzy grooves and a politically sharp message: “Teach your kids love because the world will teach them hate.” By the time she covered Bob Marley’s ‘Could You Be Loved’, her voice and presence had made the vast 40,000-capacity stage feel like church.

Elsewhere, Skye Newman’s Festival Republic set was shoulder-to-shoulder with young fans screaming every lyric like their heartbreak was the only thing in the world. Unreleased songs were sung back word-perfect, TikTok bangers like ‘Family Matters’ pulled in crowds from outside, and by the end she looked less like “next up” and more like “already arrived.”

Suki Waterhouse strutted onstage in knee-high stilettos, fur coat and sunnies, giving pure Hollywood slink. A swaggering cover of ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ (with a rhinestoned Gucci romper reveal mid-bridge, obviously) proved she knows how to command a festival. The crowd swayed, swooned and — when she dropped her hit ‘To Love’ — sang hand-in-hand like it was midnight on the Pyramid Stage.

DJ EZ, a Leeds legend, reminded everyone why he’s basically honorary Yorkshire rave royalty. A volley of Ibiza classics later, the Chevron was bouncing — the perfect warm-up for the most hyped name of the day: The Dare.

If you didn’t see The Dare at Leeds, did you even go? Suit, tie, wild-eyed energy and a set that ricocheted from ‘Open Up’ to ‘Sex’ to ‘Perfume’ with mic swings, drum-bashing chaos and a cheeky Charli XCX snippet for the bratpack in the crowd. By the time he closed with ‘Girls’, it was clear he’d stolen the day. Leeds may have booked him for the Festival Republic tent, but it felt like a headline moment.

Travis Scott – Payday Without the Party. Let’s be real: if you’re being paid headliner money, act like it. Instead, Scott gave Leeds a half-hearted set that fizzled out half an hour early. Quiet vocals, awkward pacing, zero connection — it felt like he was already thinking about the afterparty jet back across the Atlantic. Sure, there were fireworks, but it was more Bonfire Night-in-August than headliner magic.

Leeds Festival thrives on chaos, youth, and those blink-and-you-miss-it moments that end up being the real headlines. And while Travis Scott may have been the official Friday closer, the true magic was found in the tents, the unexpected cover songs, and the artists who played like their lives depended on it. So despite the mess at the end of the night – Friday day was gorgeous. 

Saturday

As Saturday morning swung by, the difference was obvious the second I stepped into the arena: Saturday had immaculate vibes written all over it. Gone were the Travis Scott hoodies. In their place? A sea of pink, rhinestones, cowboy boots and hats. The Chappell effect had arrived.

Soft Play were my opening act of choice — and if anyone knows how to kickstart a Saturday, it’s Laurie and Isaac. The duo tore into the Chevron Stage like old friends who’ve grown louder, angrier and sharper with age. Behind them, bold statements blared: “Israel is committing genocide, our government is complicit.” Another: “Fuck the BBC for the lack of reporting.” But what hit just as hard was the balance of brutality and tenderness in their set. They made us mosh, they made us howl, they made us cry.

By the time they closed with ‘The Hunter’, the Chevron was rammed — a packed furnace at 4:30 in the afternoon. New mums, grizzled 20-somethings who spent their teen years worshipping the pair, kids losing shoes in the pit, everyone thriving in that glorious mess. When they demanded a mosh pit “for the girls who need a safe space,” it felt like a rallying cry for the whole weekend.

Next up: The Kooks. Honestly, you can’t go wrong with them in a mid-afternoon UK festival slot. They’re practically woven into the fabric of our summers at this point. The main stage was teeming as Luke Pritchard strolled out, immediately clocking the thousands of cowboy hats in the crowd: “Is something happening here later?” he smirked, nodding at the pink tide that was Chappell’s army in waiting.

Here’s the thing: maybe it was the daylight, maybe it was the sobering lack of cider sloshed down my shirt, but Luke’s vocals sounded better than ever — ageing like a fine Rioja, as is his perm. Credit, too, to Alex on guitar. His solos were electric, the kind of showboating indie doesn’t usually indulge in, but here it felt earned. They signed off with a message — “we need peace and love in our times” — before running straight through ‘Junk of the Heart (Happy)’ into ‘Naïve‘, and it was pure festival serotonin.

And then — the main event. Chappell Roan, the reason Leeds looked like a Dolly Parton fever dream. The “It Girl” of right now, sashaying onto the main stage for her first ever UK festival appearance and immediately gushing: “You shock me, I’m so grateful.”

The crowd was like nothing I’d ever seen at Leeds. Toddlers on shoulders, middle-aged fans shrieking alongside teens in pink sequins. Queer joy radiating everywhere. And when Pink Pony Club hit? The cameras caught a little girl, maybe seven, sobbing uncontrollably on screen. It summed up Chappell’s rare gift: taking subjects like queer identity, feminism, and mental breakdowns, and alchemising them into joyous, era-defining pop anthems. She wasn’t just singing to the crowd; she was giving them permission to exist louder, prouder, freer.

Honestly, Chappell could have (and should have) headlined. But instead, Leeds handed the closing slot to Hozier. And listen — following the queer pop spectacle with mournful Irish balladry was always going to feel like a tonal whiplash. Still, Hozier’s fans got what they came for: a cathedral of voices under a Yorkshire sky.

Between songs, he used his platform to speak on America’s civil rights movement, women’s reproductive rights, queer rights, union rights — and the urgent need for safety and justice in the Middle East. “I encourage you to use your democratic voices,” he said. “Do anything you can to support a meaningful ceasefire and political solution.”

It was earnest, political, powerful — but ultimately, melancholic. Closing with ‘Take Me To Church’ was spectacular, but it left Saturday night on a solemn note. Nothing we haven’t seen before (Billie Eilish pulled the same trick two years ago), but after Chappell’s glitter-drenched joy, it felt like a comedown.

Sunday

If Friday was about awkward indie stumbles and Saturday belonged to rhinestoned queer cowboys, then Sunday was Leeds’ rock baptism. Bramham Park turned black: fishnets, Doc Martens, smudged eyeliner and inverted pentagrams everywhere you looked. Sheffield’s pop-metal giants Bring Me The Horizon were waiting to close the festival, and the crowd dressed like they were heading straight into hell’s biggest afterparty.

First up at the Chevron, though? Example. Yes, Example. At Leeds Fest. In 2025. It felt like stumbling back into 2011 — and honestly, no complaints. ‘Kickstarts’ and ‘Changed the Way You Kiss Me’ had the field bouncing like it was GCSE results week again, only this time we’re all older and significantly worse at recovering. He sounded sharper than he did at Glasto, and while the nostalgia was strong, it was the sheer energy that set the tone for one last party.

Pale Waves followed, pulling my inner emo out of retirement with full force. Heather Baron-Gracie commanded the stage with razor-edged confidence, her voice slicing clean through the chevron crowd. I was surprised to see them booked here rather than the main stage, but it worked — and it worked hard. Their ‘Zombie’ cover (The Cranberries) felt heavy with relevance, their queer anthem ‘She’s My Religion’ came complete with a couple of fans getting engaged mid-song, and ‘Jealousy’ sent the audience into euphoria. Honestly? That was the busiest I’d seen the Chevron all weekend.

Bakar, on the other hand… less said the better. Strutting on stage over ten minutes late, his mic cranked way too high, vocals slurred and strained like a bad pub karaoke night. Leeds is forgiving, but not that forgiving. His set got cut short, leaving out ‘Hell N Back’ — his biggest hit. The irony was painful.

Over at the Reload stage, Omar+ offered some much-needed palate-cleansing techno. A young DJ with serious momentum, his set was sleek, pulsating, and went down like an espresso shot before the guitars roared back.

Then came the nostalgia grenade: Limp Bizkit. Fred Durst stormed on like it was still the 90s, red cap intact, and the crowd erupted. Behind them, memes flickered across the screen — Justin Bieber and Travis Scott’s faces when they “hear Limp Bizkit.” Leeds loves a joke at its own expense. ‘My Generation’ ripped open a pit, ‘Rollin’’ sent beer flying, and by the time ‘Break Stuff’ hit, it was absolute carnage. Nearly three decades in and they’re still masters at orchestrating chaos.

And finally — Bring Me The Horizon. A band born for this slot, and one who had been owed it since that bizarre “co-headline” shuffle a few years back. This time, there was no compromise. Oli Sykes stalked the stage like a demonic general, pyro bursting skyward, the crowd whipped into endless circle pits that bled into one another like a living organism. Screens framed the set like a crazy, real life video game, every riff and scream syncing with the visuals until you felt like you were inside their warped digital universe. Finishing the set off with the words on the big screen ‘BMTH just rocked my world,’ they really did.

So, Leeds 2025 ended in flames — literally and figuratively. Three days of contradictions: empty campsites but packed-out tents, underwhelming headliners and surprise scene-stealers, TikTok stars out-screaming indie veterans, and a new queer generation claiming their place front and centre.

It wasn’t the busiest Leeds I’ve ever seen, but it was one of the strangest, and maybe one of the most exciting. Because that’s Leeds Festival’s power — it shapeshifts with its audience. One year it’s Stormzy, the next it’s Chappell Roan in pink cowboy hats, the next it’s Oli Sykes commanding an army in black.

Messy, political, chaotic, brilliant — Leeds remains the bank holiday where Britain’s youth comes to scream, cry, dance, and lose a shoe in the pit. And long may it stay that way.