The Devil Has The Best Tuna

Praise on Sunday

2025-10-12T17:00:00.001+01:00

Q052
From: Gesgapegiag, Quebec, Canada

Some tracks slide in smooth as melted jazz. Not Loud Sunday from Canadian artist Quentin Comdo aka Q052, no Loud Sunday barges through the walls in riot-scuffed boots, yelling truth over a tsunami of static and sirens. It’s boom bap with bruises, alt-rock with an iron jaw, and a spoken word sermon that smells faintly of hellfire, protest and burning bunting.

Unfiltered

The drums stomp like riot police in rhythm, while air horns slice through the mix like warning shots. It’s as if Eminem decided to front a Nirvana tribute band during an anti-war rally, furious, cracked, and gloriously unfiltered.

Raw Throated

“This song is about the senseless wars that are going on in the world and how society has become so tolerant of the tyrants destroying humanity,” says Q052. You can hear every ounce of disgust in his delivery, no half-arty slogans, just a raw throated report from the frontlines of conscience.

And Finally...

Q052 isn’t trying to be liked. He’s trying to be heard. And Loud Sunday makes damn sure he is, a blast of urgent noise from a vital Canadian voice that refuses to whisper.

Listen

Q052 · Loud Sunday

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Q052 - Linktree : Facebook : Twitter : Instagram

Blind Among The Flowers - BenChango

2025-10-10T17:00:00.002+01:00

BenChango
From: London, England

I initially thought BenChango was going to be a beanie-bedecked singer songwriter with a fine line in love-lorn acoustic heart-wringers, how wrong I was !! Nope BenChango (or Sir Benneth of Chango Est. 2024 to give them their full title) are an energetic London based indie rock trio without a beanie hat between them. Their new single, Blind, follow up to the excellent Scream (reviewed by my pals at Fresh on the Net here) is a raucous blend of sweet and noisy, like a syrup coated bulldog chewing a Snickers.

Angsty

Blind doesn’t just play with indie rock dynamics, it weaponises them. It’s like being serenaded by a falling chandelier: first, a shimmer of soft light; then, it's all angular shards. It's sweet and angsty, its tender and cathartic, its whisper and yell, like a game of opposites in indie rock form.

Angular

From the off, Blind jerks into gear with angular guitars sharp enough to julienne your frontal cortex and your carrots. It’s part math rock geometry lesson, part bar-fight therapy session. Every riff feels like it’s been filed down to a dangerous point, all sharp elbows, knees, and nervous energy.

Growls

The drums issue ultimatums, the bass growls in the basement like a dog who’s just read Nietzsche. And hovering over this beautiful wreckage are the vocals, delicate one second, volcanic the next , veering from porcelain to petrol bomb without warning. When BenChango whispers, you lean in; when they roar, you duck. It’s that tension, the sense that the whole thing could explode or evaporate at any moment, that makes Blind so electric.

Prowls

Lyrically, it prowls around the idea of opening your eyes to reality, even if you don't like what you see. As the band themselves say:

“It’s about the mix of anger and clarity that comes with the truth, the frustration that comes from time misspent, and the need to free yourself by opening your eyes even if you won't like what you see.”

And Finally...

In short, Blind is the sound of someone tearing down their own walls with a smile. It’s as angular as a broken mirror and just as revealing. If Fugazi and Jeff Buckley got stuck in a lift with Foals, and the only way out was to scream a confession, Blind would be playing in the background.

Listen

BenChango · Blind

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BenChango - Linktree : Facebook : Instagram

Office Politics

2025-10-09T17:00:00.017+01:00

Hadda Be
From: London, England

Many harvest moons ago I waxed lyrical about today's featured band in their former guise as Foundlings (here, here, here, and finally here). Well the London based quartet are back as a beefed up five piece and a change of name to Hadda Be with a cracking new single, New To The Office.

Mischievous

If post-punk were a stapler, New To The Office would be the one you slam against the desk just to hear the satisfying crunch. It's both functional and mischievous, with a hint of rebellion in its spring tension. Hadda Be barrel-step into the room like Elastica in a flannel shirt borrowed from a grunge ghost, smirking as if to say, “Yeah, we know you didn’t see this coming, but that’s the point.”

Urgent

Recorded as though it were smuggled out of a John Peel session’s fever dream, New To The Office has the brittle, urgent snap of a typewriter fed on black coffee and defiance. The guitars are as sharp is office politics; jagged edges catching on your eardrums like shards of post-punk glass in a puddle of post work craft beer. The bass lumbers behind them like a hungover office manager who’s just realized he’s in the wrong lift, and the drums, oh, those drums, they tick and thrum like a photocopier possessed by a vengeful spirit, spilling ink and menace in equal measure.

Nonchalant

Amber's vocals sit perched atop the chaos, a jagged wire of Justine Frischmann nonchalant cool, each line flicking off the tongue like a sarcastic Post-It note left on the forehead. There’s a sly, knowing energy here, a wink to the listener that Hadda Be aren't just here to work, they’re rearranging your musical cubicle, flipping the boss’s coffee cup, and setting the smoke alarm off for fun.

Lingering

New To The Office is the kind of song that sneaks into your brain like it has a permanent lanyard pass, scrubbing your memory of every half-decent track you’ve heard this year. By the time it’s over, you’re left with the odd, lingering sensation that your ears have just voted it their favourite indie song of the year.

And Finally...

New To The Office is totally wired Britpop meets anglicised grunge, caffeinated on post-punk in a relaunched Good Mixer. It's not rehashing Britpop its reclaiming it and renaking it Gritpop.

Listen

New to the Office by Hadda Be

Visit

Hadda Be - Linktree : Facebook : Instagram

Trust Fund

2025-10-08T17:00:00.001+01:00

Eloise Fabbri
From: Birmingham, England via Guernsey

Today's devilish offering will blow your tiny mortal minds my friends. Guernsey born Birmingham based singer Eloise Fabbri comes bearing a soul wrapped gift that will shake the very foundations of everything you thought you knew about music. Her latest track, Trust You, is like nothing you've ever heard before and, believe me, it'll have you begging for more like a protein starved gym dweller. And you can trust me on that.

Torment

Trust You sounds like music from a parallel timeline, a warped timeline where a nu-soul singer has been cloned from the DNA of Aretha Franklin, Etta James, and Amy Winehouse by a trip-hop-obsessed scientist and raised on a strict vinyl diet of Billie Holiday, scat jazz and Bristol bass. It’s equal parts late night torment and soul baring confession, with a stripped-down arrangement that feels like someone turned the lights down low to hide the scars.

Unravelling

The song opens with bare piano and a double bass that slinks around like a cat that knows it’s in charge. Fabbri’s voice drips with both defiance and doubt, every syllable balanced on the knife edge between confession and collapse. By the time it melts into a chaotic, fuzzy breakdown at the end, a mind altering unravelling of sound, you’re left in the frosty hinterland between goosebumps and group therapy.

Fragile

Lyrically, Eloise wanders into the fragile caves of trust, asking whether we believe the people we love, or just the stories we tell ourselves to keep our sanity . It’s vulnerable, but never fragile; soulful without sentimentality.

Unpredictable

Trust You doesn’t chase genres, it seduces them, mixes them in a glass, and drinks them neat. It’s raw, reflective, and gloriously unpredictable. Fabbri’s not just making music; she’s rewiring the emotional circuit board of modern soul.

And Finally...

Imagine the tortured soul of Amy Winehouse fronting a trip-hop jazz trio in an episode of The Twilight Zone. That’s Trust You dangerously beautiful, defiantly human, and absolutely one of the most original songs you’ll hear this side of the 22nd century.

Listen

Eloise Fabbri · Trust You

Visit

Eloise Fabbri - Linktree : Facebook : Instagram

Face The Music

2025-10-07T17:00:00.001+01:00

TV Face
From: Lancaster, England

If your ears have been loafing too long on the sofa, Lancaster’s TV Face (first featured on the blog almost exactly two years ago, TV Times) have cooked up the sonic equivalent of a defibrillator made from barbed wire and pure, holy noise.

Serotonin

The northern trio's new track, Get What We’re Given, isn't so much a song as it is a three-minute hostage situation where your serotonin is the only thing they plan on releasing.

Tectonic

Passionate frontman Steve screams like a televangelist trying to sell you salvation, gargling gravel and yelling prophecies he found in a fortune cookie. The riffs are pure velcro, coated in so much fuzz they could double as insulation, while Brigit’s bassline sounds like two tectonic plates having a very public slanging match. Behind it all, drummer Steeny pounds away like a frustrated cage fighter with a grudge against drumskins.

Revolution

Just when the glorious racket threatens to tear a hole in reality, a wave of gang vocals rolls in, the kind of unified shouting that could kickstart the revolution, live on Channel 4, between the late-night shopping ads. It sounds like The Cramps having a meltdown on their way to the Lake District.

Unhinged

TV Face aren’t here to soundtrack dinner parties, unless your get togethers involve flipping the table, setting the curtains on fire, and declaring war on polite conversation. It’s loud, it’s unhinged, and it’s exactly what your ears have been craving.

And Finally...

Get What We're Given is music to terrify your neighbours. By the end of the track, they’ll either have called the council or slid a note under your door asking you to DJ their next barbecue.

Listen

TV FACE · GET WHAT WE'RE GIVEN

Visit

TV Face - Linktree : Website : Facebook : Twitter : Instagram

Staithe With Me Till Dawn

2025-10-06T17:00:00.002+01:00

Staithe
From: Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, England

Regular readers of the blog will know that Bridie Jackson is up there on the Devil's pedestal marked Favourite Singer. From her time with the much missed Bridie Jackson and the Arbour to her latest incarnation as half of the duo Staithe, Ms Jackson tugs at the Devil's heartstrings like no other artist.

Lyrical

Earlier in the year I reviewed the excellent Flowers (Blind Among The Flowers) album and waxed lyrical about one track in particular, Do You Think Of Me? which has just been released as a single and is available for streaming.

Hearts Breaking

Without wishing to go over old ground and regurgitate my earlier words, Do You Think Of Me? is the sound of a shattered heart held together by memory. Each line sounds like it’s been dragged backwards through a breakup and left to dry on a clothesline made of old guitar strings.

Etched

Every note lands like a kiss from the past wearing steel-toe boots. It’s the sound of someone whispering “I’m fine, honestly I'm fine” while setting fire to a teenage diary and dousing the flames with bitter tears. Every line feels like it’s been etched into Bridie's blood with a biro and a bad memory. Whoever he (or she) was they are lucky to have been in Bridie's life.

And Finally...

It won’t come as a shock that I think Do You Think Of Me? is a rare and wonderful gift from a rare and wonderful talent with a rare and wonderful voice. This is Bridie at her purest, her rawest, and her most vulnerable. Simply stunning.

Listen

Staithe · Do you think of me?

Visit

Staithe - Website : Linktree : Facebook : Instagram

Wild Thing

2025-10-04T17:00:00.001+01:00

Aster Baby and the Wild Rabbits
From: Los Angeles, United States

Los Angeles’ quartet and monickered moutful Aster Baby and the Wild Rabbits sound like they’ve been raised on a diet of moonlight, minor chords, and subtle emotional damage. Their songs don’t so much play as haunt the psyche, like a spectral mixtape left behind by a ghost with impeccable taste.

Spectral Lullaby

Fronted by the spellbinding Sarah Velez, a singer whose voice could coax tears from a tax inspector with a grudge, they make music that’s equal parts spectral lullaby and indie noir sermon. Think Mazzy Star if they’d grown up on the wrong side of Laurel Canyon with a penchant for pagan rituals and broken synths.

Bittersweet Shimmer

The quartet's latest single Sharp World glistens with the jangly, bittersweet shimmer of The Sundays, like a sunbeam sneaking through a crack in a council flat blind. It’s delicate but defiant, tiptoeing in Stevie Nicks’ slippers while quietly rearranging your emotional furniture.

And Finally...

ABatWR don’t just write songs, they cast spells and their latest is a slow-burning hex that lingers like an exes perfume on a jumper borrowed from a friend.

Listen

Visit

Aster Baby and the Wild Rabbits - Website : Facebook : Instagram

Larlin Black Label

2025-10-03T17:00:00.003+01:00

Larlin
From: Brighton, England

Limbo, the latest track from Larlin, aka Brighton-based singer-songwriter Maryann Hoar, is about that “bittersweet space between holding on and letting go.” Well if this is what emotional purgatory sounds like, fetch me a deckchair and a can of lukewarm Red Stripe, because I’m settling in for the night.

Awkward

Limbo is like a wedding bouquet made of concrete. It’s the sound of sending a “u up?” text with one hand while deleting their Spotify password with the other. A track built entirely in that awkward no-man’s-land between hope and humiliation. Imagine pacing your room at 2 a.m. in mismatched socks, wondering whether to write poetry or just eat a tub of ice cream until the feeling passes. That’s Limbo.

Honesty

Musically, it’s a Trojan horse: a whisper at the door that turns into a battering ram. A quiet-loud rollercoaster of scuzzy 90s alt-rock guitars, fuzzed-out garage grit, and the kind of brutal honesty that would make Julia Jacklin spit out her drink. If Girlpool ever started a broken hearts club in a booby trapped bar, it would probably sound like this.

Break-Up

And yes, it’s technically a break-up song, but calling it that is like calling tequila “a nice nightcap.” This one doesn’t just bruise your heart, it takes it outside, gives it a dodgy haircut, and leaves it at a bus stop in the rain.

And Finally...

With Limbo, Maryann has raised the bar, it's therapy, karaoke, and a car-crash confessional all rolled into three and a half glorious minutes. You’ll want to belt it in the shower, scream it into your pillow, and then immediately play it again. This is an emotional punch you’ll be begging to take right on the jaw, over and over again.

Listen

Limbo by Larlin

Visit

Larlin - Linktree : Facebook : Instagram

Baby Love

2025-10-02T17:00:00.002+01:00

Yossari Baby
From: Manchester, England

First summoned onto the Devil’s altar back in 2023 (Nice Nice Baby), Manchester trio Yossari Baby (the bratty offspring of Yossarians) return with Super Cool, a title so brazen it dares you to disagree. Luckily, the track more than earns its swagger. This isn’t just cool, it’s cryogenically frozen, shipped via an underground Berlin courier service, and defrosted straight onto the dancefloor.

Incantations

The trio have swapped the John Foxx and OMD angular electronic jolts of their earlier incantations for a death-disco sermon: hi-NRG basslines strut like nightclub bouncers on roller skates, synths sizzle like a neon crucifix dunked in vodka, and the vocals drip with the kind of deadpan allure you’d expect from someone who drinks absinthe neat and only smiles in photographs.

Gate-crashing

Super Cool is Dead or Alive (before the pop-polish chains of Stock, Aitken & Waterman) gate-crashing a secret Electric Six afterparty in an invite-only Berlin bar lit by malfunctioning strobes and Mary Shelly branded candles. It's a hip-shaking, foot-bending, mind-melting slice of addictive synth-pop that forces you to dance like you’re dodging tax inspectors on deadline day.

And Finally...

Yossari Baby aren’t just back, baby. They’ve detonated the door, ordered tequila for everyone, and set the synths to “apocalypse destructivity.”

Listen

Visit

Yossari Baby - Linktree : Twitter : Instagram

Life's What You Make It

2025-10-01T17:00:00.030+01:00

My Life As A Moth
From: London via Sweden

London based alt-pop alchemist My Life As A Moth has always had one foot in the light and the other scraping the walls of the subconscious, and her latest track Time Thief is no exception. From the moment it lands, anxiety taps at your window, scribbling strange symbols across your skull.

Growl

The track lurches into life with a mechanical growl, a guitar buzzing like it’s been electrocuted by its own fretboard before morphing into an ominous bass, heavy as a sinner's regret. Moth’s uniquely expressive voice drifts over the gloom, equal parts sultry whisper and confession from a shadowed corner, like a goth butterfly raised on Bauhaus and The Birthday Party.

Breakdown

Time Thief sounds like Gazelle Twin having a slow-motion breakdown in a derelict Starbucks. It's like someone telling you the universe owes them a caramel macchiato and cosmic justice in the same breath. The drums don’t just tick; they bruise. Each beat wrenches a second from existence, a reminder that time is tricky, slippery, malevolent.

Fevered

Lyrically, Moth balances the everyday with the astral: “I like my coffee cold / I don’t daydream when I wake up / I see the stars align.” It feels fractured, uneasy, like real life reflected in a cracked fairground mirror. The normal rules suspended on a knife-edge of cosmic dread. Every beat, every syllable, feels like it's from another dimension, a dimension not only of sound but of a fevered mind.

Jagged

As the layers pile on, fuzz, distortion, the occasional found sound, the music feels like it's bending in on itself, collapsing and stretching like a carnival funhouse designed by a slightly obsessive clockmaker. It’s jagged, looping, hypnotic: a cheese-induced nightmare with the diary-entry intimacy of someone who’s been up since 3 a.m., thinking about everything they’ve ever regretted.

Seductive

Time Thief is Moth at her alchemical peak, turning fragments of domesticity into alt-pop transmutation. It’s seductive, unsettling, and somehow gloriously ungraspable, a song that makes you check your watch while also realising you don't own one.

And Finally...

The devil's verdict? Join your local lepidopterists’ society, whack on your best headphones, leave existence behind, and let My Life As A Moth flutter in the cracks where time seeps.

Listen

Visit

My Life As A Moth - Linktree : Facebook : Twitter : Instagram

PHWOAR Dance

2025-09-30T17:00:00.002+01:00

PHWOAR
From: Birmingham, England

Birmingham duo PHWOAR return to the fray with their latest track So Much Better, a jagged, jittery indie belter that sounds like the B-52s if they'd grown up in the industrial sprawl of Birmingham, England, rather than the sun-soaked shores of Athens, Georgia.

Sonic Trebuchet

This Brummie two-piece aren’t content with just churning out jangly riffs; they’ve engineered a sonic trebuchet hurling sarcasm straight into the dopamine carnival of social media. From the first squall of guitar, you know you’re in for a brain teasing, ear popping delight.

Cheeky Venom

Helena wallops the drums like she’s testing the foundations of Hell’s boiler room, while Paul’s guitar grinds and sparks like a shopping trolley dragged across Spaghetti Junction. The vocals ricochet between them, fizzing with cheeky venom, like an over-sugared wasp trapped in a coke can.

Sardonic Wink

So Much Better is a rip-roaring head-nodding sardonic wink to anyone who’s ever rolled their eyes at the polished, algorithm-fed synthetic nonsense dominating the charts. It’s chaos with a sense of fun, sharp angles disguised as hooks, and the kind of sweaty energy that makes you remember why proper indie music can be thrilling.

And Finally...

So Much Better is satire set to stun. It's hooky enough to snag your brain, jagged enough to scrape your ears raw, and self-aware enough to wink at you while it does it. The Devil’s verdict? Put down your scroll-hole, crank this up, and feel reborn. PHWOAR, huh, what is it good for, absolutely everything.

Listen

Visit

PHWOAR - Website : Facebook : Twitter (yes Musky its still Twitter) : Instagram

Condiments to the Chef

2025-09-29T17:00:00.004+01:00

Polly
From: The Past and The Future

The deal with the devil is never what you expect it to be. It isn't a mere flash of brimstone or a contract signed in blood; it’s a track like today's track of the day to relaunch the Devil's blog from it's summer siesta.

Mysterious

Ketch_up by the mysterious Polly. (the full stop is obligatory) doesn't just drop you in a dive bar, it ushers you into a purgatorial lounge, a place thick with the smell of sulphur and cheap perfume where the ice in your glass clinks with the quiet resignation of a thousand damned souls and a horde of hunched figures drown their eternal sorrows.

Bruised Velvet

Polly's voice is the bruised velvet moan of a soul bargaining its last drop of bourbon, not a note of it unearned. It floats over a backdrop that slinks and coils like a snake on heat. It's the sound of a re-incarnated Amy Winehouse crowd-surfing a Portishead gig.

Intoxication

Ketch_up is equal parts late night drunken confession and intoxication. You don’t listen to it so much as let it pour into your ears, neat. And like the best poisons, one sip is never enough.

And Finally...

Ketch_up isn't your standard back of the cupboard condiment, it's the hero of the dish. It's not a brunch track, it's at 3AM full-on belly busting snack washed down with a huge glass of regret, when you’re one wrong thought away from texting the person you absolutely shouldn’t. It's an illicit pleasure that makes you yearn for more, less Heinz 57 more Devil 666.

Listen

Polly. · Ketch_up

Visit

Polly. - Instagram : FFM.Bio

Strange Days

2025-07-10T17:00:00.005+01:00

Oli Harris
From: Cambridge, England

Now that the wellies are reacquainted with the loft, the glitter’s out of your tear ducts, and serotonin’s being handed out by the teaspoon, there’s only one real cure for the post-Glasto blues: tunes. Big, beautiful, heart-rattling tunes.

Teenage Yearning

Enter It’s So Strange, the latest from Oli Harris, one of the Devil’s anointed few from this year’s Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition (Calmer Chameleon). It’s summer love and teenage yearning, bottled at the Syd Barrett Memorial Perfume Counter and labelled "Handle With Inner Teen". It’s barbed wire candyfloss, spun on a carousel of kaleidoscopic wooze. Think People Are Strange if it was ditched by its pill-popping paramour and forced to write love letters on cereal boxes.

Casual Melancholy

It's So Strange is as laid-back as a stoned flamingo in a paddling pool. Oli croons with the kind of casual melancholy that suggests he’s flicked through your diary and highlighted the most fragile bits in invisible ink.

Wide-Eyed

The video, all Subterranean Homesick placards and pierrot period Bowie costume, proves Oli's no wide-eyed pretender. But this isn't pastiche. he’s not playing dress-up in his heroes’ hand-me-downs. He’s composting them. Fermenting them. Letting them bubble and ooze into something entirely his own.

And Finally...

He might not have made the Glastonbury stages this year. But if this lad’s not serenading the sunset slot by 2027, I’ll gnaw off my Devil’s horns and livestream it on TikTok.

Listen

Visit

Oli Harris - Linktree : Website : Facebook : Instagram

Glastonbury 2025 Retrospective - Sunday 29th June - Part 2

2025-07-07T16:57:00.003+01:00

And Now The End Is Near!

And so we limp, stagger, and power-nap our way into the final furlong of Glastonbury 25, sun-kissed, footsore, and clinging tightly to the Cortney Dixon badge elegantly caught mid-flight at her BBC Introducing set. We've reached the last act in this four-day opera of dust, dehydration, and decibel-induced hearing loss and the time to wave goodbye is fast approaching.

Four days of musical mayhem, tennis ball hippo chucking, impromptu bracelet bartering, hill clambering and campsite diplomacy. And now, here we are, staring down the festival’s final curtain like it owes us a favour.

So many miles have been walked my Fitbit’s having a bit of a fit. Gallons of Vimto have been sunk. The long drops have been, quite wisely, given a wide berth. It’s hard to believe it’ll be two whole years before we get to do this all over again, but let’s not spiral into despair just yet. Existential dread is tomorrow’s problem. We’ve already been screamed at (gloriously) by Lambrini Girls, danced ourselves daft with Gemma Rogers, and been left in awe by Pulp. Now it’s time to soak up whatever Sunday afternoon throws at us. One last singalong, one last stumble, one last slice of something fried and possibly vegan.

The end may be nigh, but lets party like it’s 2027.

1. Mermaid Chunky - Lonely Hearts Club

First up, just a short stumble from BBC Introducing, we found ourselves lured by the irresistible sonic oddity bubbling out of The Lonely Hearts Club stage. And there, in full technicolour glory, stood Mermaid Chunky, aka Freya Tate and Moina Moin.

If you’ve been paying attention (and if not you really should), you’ll know the Stroud duo first graced these hallowed blog pages last year with the gloriously unhinged earworm Gemini Girls, an earworm that sounds like it was written inside a kaleidoscope during a sugar crash. (Gemini Girls Go Round The Outside)

Fast-forward to Glasto Sunday, and the pair were out in force, unleashing a set that felt like the inside of a children’s TV presenter’s subconscious after too many nights in the Theatre and Circus fields. Psychedelic visuals? Tick. Flute solos that morphed into bird calls? Tick. Gravity defying headwear that could double as a minor architectural landmark? Of course. Dancing animals, spoken-word incantations, glitched-out vocal loops, and a recorder solo that may or may not have triggered a new weather system. You couldn't, daren't, take your eyes off them for a minute. This was as much a visual as a musical performance, a feast for ears and eyes alike.

Imagine Florence and the Machine, if Florence
was the girl from The Magic Roundabout and the Machine a vocoder possessed by a voodoo spirit. Add the ghost of Delia Derbyshire doing interpretive dance with a wind machine on the road to Ozville and you’re edging close to the mysterious majesty of Mermaid Chunky live.

To the heartbreak of this little Devil, the gloriously contagious Gemini Girls was missing in action, recently bumped from the set. I pleaded. They declined. Fair dos — it wasn’t needed. The rest of the show felt like being wrapped in a psychedelic picnic blanket and launched into a cosmic school play directed by David Lynch. Who needs the familiar when you can be whisked away on a reality-defying musical trip? The Sunday afternoon crowd, sunbaked and running dangerously low on electrolytes, were roused like a cult at a harvest festival, shaking off the collective weariness in a swirl of punk-funk-dance-pop, confusion, and euphoria. Mermaid Chunky hotwire early noughties disco discontent to today's algorithmic angst, like LCD Soundsystem trapped inside an unopened bag of Tangfastics, off their heads on Haribo Starmix and Sherbert Dib Dabs.

I’ve seen a lot of things at Glastonbury. I’ve seen
grown men cry during sets by artists they pretend not to like. I’ve seen someone attempt to grill halloumi on a solar charger. I’ve witnessed secret sets by artists unrecognised by their own family. But Mermaid Chunky live at GlastonburyFestival on a sunny Sundsy Afternoon? That was something else entirely, who needs drugs, heatstroke and Mermaid Chunky are the most powerful substances known to man.

Strange, sublime, and joyously unhinged — this is a performance that’s earned permanent residency in the weird corner of my memory palace.

Long may their glorious oddness reign.

chaperone (Peach Remix) by Mermaid Chunky

2. Red Rum Club - Left Field

I first crossed Glastonbury paths with fellow Scousers Red Rum Club at the BBC Introducing stage way back on Glastonbury Sunday 2019. It only seems like yesterday, probably because my backpack still smells faintly of that year’s sun cream and hope. Back then, I described them as “The Coral, frosted by David Tennant’s cool brother,” and frankly, I stand by it. So when I saw they’d graduated to a prime slot on Left Field’s Sunday night lineup, how could I not reacquaint myself with my Bootle brethren?

Since that first Glasto encounter, the band have risen like a phoenix that’s swapped its ashes for aftershave and leather jackets. A string of belting albums, a growing army of fans, and now a large Left Field crowd ready to worship at the altar of big hooks and brass swagger.

Red Rum Club’s set was a triumph of Teardrop Explodes meets Icicle Works trumpet lead pop and singalong indie bangers with proper hips. Fran Doran, still looking like a Tennant sibling the BBC forgot to cast in Doctor Who, leads from the front with the charisma of a frontman born to se feather boas to flamingos. The crowd, packed tighter than a Greatie Market queue on half-price tracksuit day, laps up every note.

And let’s talk about that trumpet, not a gimmick, but a golden thread woven through their sound like a mariachi spell. It’s the band’s own recipe secret sauce, lifting their sound above your standard jangly fare. They’ve got that Liverpool thing passed down by generations, the Mersey salted sea-shanty soul, the melodic muscle, the knowing wink that says, “Yeah, we’re dead good, aren’t we?”

Imagine the Django Unchained theme reworked by a gang of Echo and the Bunnymen fans in Cuban heels and you’re on the right gallop. Red Rum Club don’t just play, they start the parade. Tonight the lads from Liverpool galloped straight into the winners’ enclosure.

3. Divorce - BBC Introducing

Calling this a BBC Introducing set feels like a technicality. Divorce didn’t so much introduce themselves as glide in wearing heartbreak like a designer coat, then calmly dismantle the crowd one gorgeously bruised song at a time.

Pulling heavily from their acclaimed debut Drive to Goldenhammer, the band delivered a set that was part indie shimmer, part country ache, and all spine. There’s something distinctly Glastonbury Sunday about their sound — swaggering, woozy, and gloriously uplifting in its noisy sadness.

The Nottingham quartet share a similar aural postcode to Westside
Cowboy, who opened our Sunday ears earlier in the day — a shared taste for post-punk textures and country twang, filtered through a warped indie lens. But where Westside Cowboy occasionally swing the emotional sledgehammer, Divorce prefer a clean incision, sharper, subtler, and no less effective.

Tiger Cohen-Towell’s voice is a thing of ragged
beauty: part deadpan drawl, part emotional gut-punch. She can switch from sighing detachment to open wound in the space of a line. At times, it felt like Karen Carpenter fronting Mazzy Star after listening to one too many Nirvana B-sides. Their tribute to the aforementioned Ms Carpenter, Karen, was the set’s emotional knockout. Less ballad, more spine-prickling requiem wrapped in fuzz and feeling. Like a fan letter written in tear-soaked mascara, then set alight by a scream-scented candle flame. Utterly beautiful.

Divorce don’t ask for attention. They claim it — elegantly, emotionally, and on their own perfectly peculiar terms. No legal paperwork required. Just guitars, catharsis, and a quietly stunned crowd.

Drive To Goldenhammer by Divorce

4. Kate Nash - BBC Introducing

The Sunday line-up at BBC Introducing was a full-on smorgasboard of rising talent, but the rumour mill had one last sugar cube to drop, one final delicious dessert course: a (Not So) Secret Set that had Kate Nash’s name scrawled all over it in defiant silver flecked black eyeliner. For once, the whisper network had got it right.

Kate. Bloody. Nash.

Bounding onto the stage like she’d just headbutted her way out of a major label contract, she brought with her a band, a mission, and a full tank of righteous joy. Kate didn’t just turn-up to perform she came to conquer and burst the pomposity of any music industry executives or wizard bothering TERFs who might be passing.

Fresh from setting fire to Left Field with a set full of punk soul, radical kindness and DIY thunder, Nash swapped the pulpit for something a little more bijou the tucked-away shadows of BBC Introducing. Where her Left Field performance was a raging cauldron of fire and brimstone tonight Kate and her band just wanted to have fun.

But this wasn’t a wind-down, no way, it was
more of a victory lap with verve, joy and the odd flash of anger. The set throbbed with underground electricity, raw and gloriously unpolished. No gimmicks. No nonsense. Just blood, guts, and pop hooks with bite. GERM, her scorching anthem for the trans community and against exclusionary feminism, landed like a line in the sand, a razor-edged manifesto wrapped in bile and love. Her voice cracked not from fatigue, but from sheer feeling. If you weren’t punching the air like a prizefighter with an oxygen grudge, you’d clearly taken a wrong turn somewhere.

And just when it seemed the curtain might fall,
Nash stood alone, no band, no fanfare, and lead the crowd in a rousing rendition of Nothing Compares 2 U. The crowd, stunned into hush at first responded not with cheers but with lung busting accompaniment. Nash and the crowd were as one, but this wasn’t karaoke, it was elegy. This was a homage, a tribute to Sinéad O’Connor another woman, like Kate too powerful, too principled, too much for the industry to file neatly away.

Nash let us carry the chorus. My eyes glistened. As the final note melted into the dusk, Glastonbury 2025 closed not with fireworks, but with something far rarer: grace.

Forget secret sets — this was a sacred set and a perfect way to end Glastonbury 2025, it couldn't have been scripted better if Richard Curtis himself had been writing it.

GLASTONBURY 2025 - DONE & DUSTED

Well, that’s it, my friends, no more Glastonbury for 24 long months. The tents are packed, the dust's (mostly) washed off, and the cows are reclaiming their turf. But fret not. While the flags may be folded and the cider puddles drying, this Devil isn’t clocking off any time soon.

I’ll still be here, snuffling through the backrooms, Bandcamps, and barely-lit basement gigs to bring you the finest emerging talent and golden sounds the musical underground has to offer.

Glastonbury might be over for another two years but the Devil’s work is never done.

Glastonbury 2025 Retrospective - Sunday 29th June 2025 - Part One

2025-07-06T17:00:00.004+01:00

Sunday already? Say it ain't so, Joe.

It’s the final day of Glastonbury 2025, and with no festival next year, this year the end hits especially hard, feels especially cruel. The last day has crept up like a stealth ninja after an invisibility spell. So far, everything’s been suspiciously perfect: sunshine on tap, food that didn’t require a second mortgage, the company of good friends, and performances already halfway to legendary status.

Why does it always vanish so fast? Twelve months of giddy anticipation, colour-coded spreadsheets, and desperate finger-crossing for fine weather, then, poof, it’s disappeared like your last bit of phone battery. One minute you're in a field dancing and screaming with joy, the next you're home, blinking at a suspiciously sentient pile of laundry, scrolling through 3,000 blurred photos of people-who-might-be-you watching bands-you-can’t-quite-place.

But chin up, Glasto warriors. Dry those post-festival tears (or at least wipe them on your novelty poncho), because here's the Devil’s penultimate dispatch from the frontlines.

1. Westside Cowboy - Woodsies

What better way to start the final Glasto day for 24 months than with this year's Emerging Talent Competition winners, Westside Cowboy performing in front of their biggest crowd to date. The three amigos arrived early to bag prime positions at the front, as ETC judges we were keen to this year's victors claim their prize and, boy, did they prove worthy winners.

They start confidently with a scream of
Westiiiiiide Coowwwbooooy” from drummer Paddy Murphy ahead of debut single, and one of the best songs this Devil has encountered in 2025, I’ve Never Met Anyone I Thought I Could Really Love (Until I Met You). With three of the band swapping lead singing duties and a drummer with a decent voice (like a popular 1960s beat combo from the other end of the M62) this Manchester quartet are overflowing with talent.

They've called their sound Britainicana which severely undersells their music. Yes there are moments of quiet sensitivity and breathtaking beauty that are close relatives of alt-folk and alt-country but this is combined with blasts of ear bothering walls of noise that recall The Pixies, The Jesus and Mary Chain and The Breeders. It's a unique combination that sounds fresh, unique and exciting.

I've seen a lot of bands and artists at this year's
Glastonbury and this Manchester quartet were the most jaw dropping act I've seen. Their application for legendary status was cemented with an acapella ending with the four band members singing the final track In The Morning acapella. It's a brave band who can end their first set on a major Glastonbury stage with an acapella song but they pull it off. A perfect ending to a magnificent performance that will live long in the memory of everyone privileged enough to be there.

I've Never Met Anyone I Thought I Could Really Love (Until I Met You) by Westside Cowboy

2. Gurriers - Woodsies

Dublin based post-punk band Irish Gurriers took
to the stage to the sweet croon of Frankie Valli’s Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, it was like a prophecy from an Irish mystic, because once they exploded into life, you couldn’t look away if you tried.

For the next 60 minutes, Gurriers delivered a full-throttle lesson in noise, fury and ferocious intent. Imagine Idles if they’d grown up chain-smoking in Ballymun, with sharper elbows and even less interest in playing nice. This was a relentless, politically-charged blitz — anti-imperialist, anti-far-right, anti-apathy — with frontman Charlie McCarthy lurching, leaping and barking like a man possessed.

One minute they’re slamming into a mosh-ready anthem skewering American imperialism, the next they’re howling bloody fury at Ireland’s rising hard-right, spitting bile and truth in equal measure — and before you’ve caught your breath, they’re tearing the roof clean off with a thunderous, throat-shredding cry for “a free fucking Palestine.” It’s not performance, it’s a detonation. There’s no filter, no pause, and absolutely no punches pulled. Just unvarnished, bone-rattling rage duct-taped to distortion pedals and fired straight into the crowd like a molotov of noise and defiance. This isn’t protest music. This is resistance with a backbeat.

Brash, blistering, and unapologetically confrontational Gurriers didn’t just play a set. They detonated a punk bomb.

Come and See by Gurriers

3. Cortney Dixon - BBC Introducing

After the snarling post-punk ruckus of Gurriers had rattled every tooth in my skull, it was a brisk hobble over Glastonbury’s increasingly concrete terrain to the BBC Introducing Stage for a change of pace—and what a payoff.

Kicking off a mini run of Glastonbury Emerging Talent acts was one of this year’s longlisted stars, sassy South Shields singer Cortney Dixon. Cortney was first featured on the blog earlier this year (Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition 2025 Longlist #7). and even then, we suspected she was a glitterbomb waiting to go off, and she didnt disappoint.

Bounding onto the stage like a glam-rock pinball in an '80s-esque curly perm, Cortney wasted zero time in stamping her black lace-up boots all over the early afternoon crowd with a set that was as short as it was dazzling. There was no easing in—just instant ignition, like someone had hurled a glitter grenade into the BBC Introducing tent. What followed was a compelling and electric blend of Yeah Yeah Yeahs rawness and 1970s Blondie cool, blaring over the PA like the soundtrack to a neon roller disco on fire. It was indie pop laced with swagger, wit, melody, and more hooks than a pirate convention during sales season. Cortney strutted and shredded through each track with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how good she is—and wants to make sure you do too.

The highlight? An absolute firecracker of a tune with the gloriously unfiltered title If You Love Somebody Don’t Fuck It Up. Part anthem, part threat, part cathartic scream into the void, it’s the kind of track that doesn’t just get stuck in your head—it moves in, raids the fridge, paints the walls hot pink, and starts reorganising your emotional furniture. Equal parts infectious and ferocious, it had the crowd shouting along like they’d been waiting all year for that exact chorus. It’s not just a song—it’s a statement, and one that proves Cortney Dixon knows exactly how to hit the sweet spot between vulnerability and venom.

There’s a fierce theatricality to Cortney’s deliver,
equal parts sparkle and snarl, which makes you wonder why she isn’t already headlining tents the size of small planets. The charisma is effortless, the songwriting tight as your pre-prepared lunch in your nan’s tupperware, and the vibe? Pure pop with teeth bared and lipstick smeared, like a glitter-drenched street brawl between Wolf Alice and St. Vincent.

Cortney doesn’t just perform, she commands the stage, making every twitch, every riff, every knowing smirk feel like part of some larger indie-pop revolution. If BBC Introducing is about flagging future festival royalty, then bow down now because Queen Cortney’s coronation is only a matter of time. If you’ve got even a passing affection for fuzzy indie gems, show some Cortney love and get her songs in your ears and on your radar before the rest of the world catches up. Trust me this one’s not emerging for long.

Cortney Dixon · If You Love Somebody, Don't Fuck It Up

4. Mali Hâf - BBC Introducing

Following Cortney Dixon’s glittery indie-pop stomp, the vibe took a swerve into something altogether more spectral, more spellbinding. Next up on the BBC Introducing Stage was one of this year’s Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition finalists, the utterly mesmerising, Celtic-pop shapeshifter known as Mali Hâf.

Mali didn’t walk onto the stage so much as glide—graceful, otherworldly, like Björk’s moonlit shadow slipping out for a secret full moon rave in the forest. One moment the stage was empty, the next it was humming with presence. Dressed head-to-toe in a bespoke, bewitching ensemble crafted by Welsh fashion conjurers Rosie Evans and Joseph Thomas of Haus of Androgyny, Mali looked less like a pop performer and more like the high priestess of a glittering, avant-garde ceremony. It was couture meets cauldron, a spellbinding collision of folklore and fashion that instantly set her apart from anything Glastonbury had seen for many a year. She looked like she’d stepped sideways out of a portal between an Eisteddfod and a Berlin art gallery, clutching a synth in one hand and a bag of runes in the other.

What followed was less a gig and more an incantation, tantalising, spellbinding swirl of interpretative dance, mystical folk, and avant-pop theatre, her performance felt like catching a glimpse of a shooting star and realising it’s staring back. Mali skipped, twirled and glided across the stage like a Kate Bush-influenced woodland sprite who’s just discovered electropop and isn’t afraid to use it.

Mali's voice? Ethereal but anchored. Her presence? Absolutely magnetic. She doesn’t just sing, she inhabits her songs, delivering them with the kind of immersive emotional storytelling that makes most artists look like karaoke enthusiasts.

The set’s twin peaks? First, the vibrant Welsh-language anthem Llais—a joyous explosion of identity, empowerment and glorious self-expression. Inspired by the likes of Chappell Roan and Marina, Mali described it as her personal reclamation spell: a sonic middle finger to hard times and a celebration of voice, visibility and unashamed joy. It was the kind of track that makes you want to throw glitter at the patriarchy. Then came Esgusodion (Excuses), her entry to the Emerging Talent Competition, delivered with a grin and a sharp-edged wit. A pointed takedown of the endless excuses that fill our lives—political, romantic, and everything in between—it’s the sort of track that makes you dance and reflect, preferably at the same time. Playful defiance never sounded so good.

There was something spiritual about Mali’s set.
Not in the incense-and-incantations sense (though she wouldn’t rule that out), but in the way it made you feel—elevated, moved, seen. For those lucky enough to witness her at Glastonbury 2025, it felt like the kind of performance you tell people about in ten years’ time, with that smug “I was there” look on your face.

Mali Hâf isn’t emerging, she’s already arrived and the world better be ready, because the spell she’s casting is potent, unapologetic, and impossible to shake. It’s a face painted revolution that lingers like morning mist on the moor, seeps into your bones, and hums with the quiet power of something older than pop, deeper than legend.

Tune in Tomorrow for the Devil's Final Missive from Glasto 25 : Sunday Part Two.

Glastonbury 2025 Retrospective- Saturday 28th June 2025

2025-07-05T17:00:00.003+01:00

THE CREAM OF THE SATURDAY CROP

It's the weekend two days of blissful, blistering, blessed sun and fingers are crossed for more of the same. Glastonbury in the sunshine is a different experience to Glastonbury in the rain and mud. Thankfully, like the past couple of years, this Glastonbury Saturday dawned bright and blessedly sans precipitation. So with wood well and truly touched I set off to sample the festival's smorgasbord of sonic (and edible) delights.

First up on today’s crammed carousel of carousing and croissants: is a London singer well known to loyal blog lurkers. She's followed in quick succession by a controversial vegan punk poet, a battle-hardened Left Field veteran, a Scottish siren with a voice like velvet shrapnel, Aussie punk agitators rewriting the rulebook, and, because Glasto loves a throwback, some bona fide Britpop royalty.

So without further waffle, let’s plunge into the Devil’s delights, a couple of curveballs and all the Saturday Glastonbury goodness your ears can handle.

Saturday Highlights

1 Gemma Rogers - Croissant Neuf

Gemma Rogers is a perennial favourite on the
Devil’s blog, racking up an impressive ten appearances since first gracing our ears back in 2018 (New Music To Delight Your Ears - Gemma Rogers). At this point, she probably has a strong case for a restraining order. I sadly missed her Strummerville set a couple of years ago thanks to an unholy trinity of blisters, dehydration and heatstroke—so finally catching her live this time felt like manna from heaven, if heaven came with a glittery megaphone and a ska-infused guitar riff.

She didn’t disappoint. Bounding around the Croissant Neuf stage like an Olympic finalist with restless leg syndrome, Gemma delivered an energetic, charismatic set packed with contagious indie bangers and politically punchy punk.

There was the teeth rattling guitar rumble and Squeeze-esque charm of The Great Escape, the ska-flecked groove and sharp social commentary of New World Order, the lyrically dextrous, jauntily visceral Death Becomes Her, and the latest single Molly 1989, a snappy two-minute takedown of a toxic relationship. She rounded things off with a crowd-pleasing, rum-soaked singalong to My Idea of Fun.

A fantastic, fizzing start to the weekend—and a reminder that when Gemma’s on stage, fun and rum, is never in short supply.

2. Bob Vylan - West Holts

Wow. What more is there to say about Bob Vylan at West Holts? Controversy? Check. Blistering beats? Absolutely. Provocative punk attitude, political fire (with a small p), righteous anger, and even a surprise and emotional appearance from frontman Pascal’s daughter (not even worth a mention in the acres of ill-informed news coverage). This set had it all and more besides.

Whether or not it was wise for Pascal to lead a chant of “Death to the IDF” has already been vigorously debated across media platforms and comment sections alike. But one thing is clear: it has kept the ongoing genocide in Gaza in the headlines. In that sense, Bob Vylan will likely see that as job done.

Unfortunately, the largely confected uproar has
overshadowed the songs themselves, which were some of the most vital of the weekend. An emotional Dream Bigger (where he was joined by his daughter) stood out: a fiercely passionate, passionately fierce anthem encouraging working-class youth to chase dreams society tells them not to have. He’s a Man, with its digs at Sunday roasts, gammon, drugs, and that unholy trinity (Clarkson, May and Hammond), is a savage, witty takedown of toxic laddishness and the gammontariat, who have spent the last week in a frothing state of puce outrage. It was blistering grime punk, with the emphasis firmly on punk.

The post-festival backlash from the self-appointed morality police, more scandalised by a chant than by the deaths of tens of thousands of men, women and children, has sucked the oxygen from what should have been a celebration of a defiant, grime-inflected punk performance for the ages. Everyone who was there will remember it, long after the bloodthirsty pearl-clutchers have moved on to their next target.

Vylan may be the latest in a long line of villains to the commentariat, but to the large crowd at West Holts, he was every inch the establishment bothering punk hero.

Humble As The Sun by Bob Vylan

4. Amyl and the Sniffers - The Other Stage

My first encounter with Amyl and the Sniffers at Glastonbury was six years ago, back in 2019, on the much-missed Williams Green stage. Seriously, Emily, it's time to bring it back. A pile of rusty cars is not a worthy replacement for the festival’s most vital proving ground. So seeing them six years later, swaggering across the expanse of the Other Stage like they were reclaiming a looted Aussie artefact, was a bit of a culture shock.

It was a hot, dusty, blistering Glasto Saturday when Amyl and the Sniffers lit the 90-second fuse of Some Mutts (Can’t Be Muzzled), and then blew the place apart. Rumour had it Amy Taylor was holed up with a virus before the show, but you wouldn’t have known it. She was a blur of hair and havoc, stage-humping, rabble-rousing, and scream-belting like her immune system ran on pure visceral energy.

It was everything you want from a punk band at Glastonbury: raw, relentless, wired with fury and fun. No gimmicks. Just blistering, unapologetic rock that had the crowd losing their minds and some of the clothes in the mid-afternoon heat.

Cartoon Darkness by Amyl and the Sniffers

5. Patchwork - The Pyramid Stage

Yes, quelle surprise, Patchwork were Pulp. You’d have to be wearing your wellies on your head not to have twigged that. But still—when Jarvis finally strutted onto the stage like some bespectacled messiah of the mildly disgruntled, it felt less like a twist and more like a national restoration.

What can I say about Pulp at Glastonbury that hasn’t already been typed in all caps, punctuated with tears and exclamation marks? Nothing, frankly. No hot take, no edgy angle. Just reverence.

Common People was the moment. Jarvis. Pulp. The Red Arrows. That early evening sunshine draped over the crowd like a warm pint blanket. And that iconic opener—“She came from Greece / She had a thirst for knowledge”, hit harder than a midnight faceplant in the KidzField after too much cider.

Those moaning that “Glasto isn’t what it used to be” clearly weren’t in that field at 7:10pm on Saturday 28th June, when those keyboard notes rang out and the Red Arrows soared overhead like they'd been booked by Cocker himself.

Pulp should’ve been Saturday night headliners. Neil Young should’ve been Sunday’s legend. And Rod Stewart? He should’ve gone sailing, with his good friend Nigel and a packet of throat losenges.

Photos? None. I gave the photographer (me) the evening off to live in the moment. Besides, you all know what Jarvis Cocker looks like anyway.

Some Saturday Surprises

1. Billy Bragg & Rianne Downey at Left Field

I didn’t have Billy Bragg or Rianne Downey on my Saturday Clashfinder list, but that’s the beauty of Glastonbury it has a habit of gloriously ambushing you when you least expect it.

Wandering aimlessly past the Left Field tent, a little time to kill before my next appointment with noise, I heard the unmistakable voice of Mr Bragg drifting through the air. No Pasarán, no less. It was as if the Pied Piper himself had taken hold of me. One song. But what a song. What a performance. The Bard of Barking had me spellbound, fired up, fired on, and ready to man the barricades.

Just as I was about to peel away, Billy introduced a guest, Scottish singer Rianne Downey. I’d heard the name, sure, but never properly heard her. Then she sang Paper Wings, and from the very first note I was pinned to the spot. That voice, oh what a voice, rich, soulful, soaked in something timeless. It felt like Rianne was channelling the entire lineage of great soul singers in one spine-tingling moment.

It was beautiful. Haunting. Uplifting. One of those rare festival moments that you don’t plan for—but never forget. Thank the Glasto gods I took that detour to Left Field.

2. A Worthy Farm Veggie Cheese Toastie

Hunger pangs were beginning to gnaw away at me and thirst was edging me into full-blown delirium, threatening to drown out the glorious racket rippling across the fields. The limp Quorn ham sandwich and the solitary packet of backpack-mangled crisps I’d packed for emergencies? About as appealing as warm tent water—which, frankly, still had the edge over my half-empty bottle of diluted, sun-baked Vimto.

So off I wandered, stomach growling, mouth drier than a camel’s sock, hope evaporating fast. And then—hallelujah! Fate, or perhaps just festival fortune, threw me a lifeline. “Worthy Toasties” shimmered into view like a mirage. And miracle of miracles: no queue. Not a single soul.

Memories of last year’s toastie triumph still fresh, I went straight in for “The Veggie One,” and paired it with a blissfully cold can of Oasis (the drink, not the Gallagher-powered variety). Crispy, gooey, salty joy. Sweet, summer fruit refreshment. Glasto magic, served in sandwich form and a ring-pull can.

Tune in tomorrow for Glasto 25 : Sunday Part One.

Glastonbury 2025 Retrospective - Friday 27 June 2025 : Part 2

2025-07-03T17:00:00.005+01:00

GLASTONBURY FESTIVAL: EVEN BIGGER ON THE INSIDE

On yesterday's feet bothering trip around the Friday fields of Glastonbury 2025 we covered a lot of sacred ground and met the three amigos, some battle-scarred Britpop veterans, a trio of post-punk minimalists and a soulful siren. Today we've got more miles to march and more highlights to consider including Scottish Britpop revivalists, a couple of punk agitators and Genre-defying rock-rap chameleons

So without further ado let's slip into our wandering boots and rock...

Friday Highlights (Part 2)

1. The Meffs - Left Field

Essex’s feistiest export since Jamie Oliver discovered red hot chili flakes, The Meffs body- slammed into Left Field like a runaway bin lorry full of pogo sticks.

Armed with barbed-wire riffs and thunderclap
drums, this no-nonsense two-piece reminded everyone that punk’s not dead, it’s still the sound of rebellion, opposition, and activism. Standouts in a set stacked with explosive gems included the topical Broken Britain, Broken Brains, and a feral, floor-shaking, full throttle cover of The Prodigy’s Breathe, with Bimini joining them on stage like a punk-rock whirlwind to take on vocam duties. The sizeable, enthusiastic crowd moshed like they’d just been told it was their last chance before the government bans joy.

The Left Fields' motto is Recharge your Activism, well those present to experience The Meffs' sonic blitzkrieg may need to visit the nearby Vodafone Charging Tent because while their activism may be recharged their aching weary limbs will need a boost from all the pogoing and body slamming.

If punk is a flare in the dark, The Meffs lit up Glasto with a set that scorched, sparked, and refused to go quietly.

Broken Britain PT.I EP by The Meffs

2. Franz Ferdinand Performing Take Me Out with Dr Who (aka Peter Capaldi)

After a morning spent furiously stomping around the Festival fields from The Park to the Pyramid, from BBC Introducing to Left Field it was time for a well earned rest. Before heading to see Franz Ferdinand command the Other Stage.

So your roving Devilish reporter found a comfortable armchair (yes my friends an honest to goodness comfortable armchair at Glastonbury!!). I confess to getting so comfortable I missed the start of the Ferdinands but fret not for I was positioned in listening distance of the Other Stage and therefore was able to both enjoy the rare comforts of a cushioned seat, padded back support and the sound of the Scottish Britpop revivalists. A small, unexpected and utterly precious Glastonbury moment.

But comfort at Glastonbury even on the warmest, driest days is a fleeting pleasure. Having replenished my energy levels to a respectable 50% (give or take a flapjack), I finally shuffled over to the Other Stage, just as Franz Ferdinand, guitars glinting like golden axes in the afternoon sun, hit their high-kicking, sweet-licking, indie-banger-purveying stride with Holiday.

And just when you thought, “Well, that’s the
peak nothing's gonna top that,” they went full Glasto and pulled out a Capaldi. Not a Lewis but a Peter. Yes, Doctor Who himself. On stage. At Glastonbury. Belting out Take Me Out with Franz Ferdinand. A fever dream brought on by too many Kombuchas? Possibly. But after one firm eye-rub and a reality check, there he still was and the massive Friday crowd, myself included, was bouncing like a field full of space hoppers on souped-up pogo sticks.

I'm sure Franz Ferdinand looked and sounded amazing on the BBC's live feed but trust me it was much bigger on the inside.

3. Lambrini Girls - BBC Introducing

One of the undisputed highlights of Glastonbury 2024, Lambrini Girls, (included in last year's Retrospective here) returned this time on the BBC Introducing Stage. Could they reach the dizzying heights of last year's cacophonous whirlwind of belligerence and anger? Dear reader they didn't just reach those heights they scaled new heights like banshee mountaineers armed with nothing but instruments, attitude, and righteous rage.

Fire. Fury. Queer politics. TERFs (in general and one wizard-bothering TERF in particular), spineless politicians, and the frothing cesspit of Masculine Toxicity, no target was left unscorched. This was punk as pressure valve: volatile, visceral, and teetering on the edge of blowing the lid clean off the BBC Introducing tent.

Lambrini Girls delivered a potent cocktail of anarchic activism, guaranteed to leave you breathless, bruised, and eyeing up the nearest establishment rampart to scale. This gloriously angry trio weren’t here to chill. Fronthowler Phoebe turned both stage and crowd into her personal riot (grrrl) zone, blurring the line between performer and punter in a set that never so much performed at the crowd as with them.

This exciting, visceral trio are rewriting the Punk Rock template, one scream, one stomp, one snarl at a time. Forget empowerment anthems. This was no TED Talk with a bassline, it was a full-blown riot. A sweat-soaked, unapologetic celebration of rebellion, rage, and raw, unfiltered truth.

Vive la revolution, mines a Lambrini.

Who Let The Dogs Out by Lambrini Girls

4. ALT BLK ERA - BBC Introducing

Friday’s final knockout came courtesy of Alt Blk Era the ferocious sister duo I’ve been featuring on the blog for over 3 years (features here, here, here, here and yes — here again). After missing their 2023 set thanks to one of those blasted festival clashes, finally seeing them live felt like righting a Glasto wrong.

Holy hell, did they deliver. Better live than
streaming, because nothing compresses their crackling, electric dual vocals and kinetic stage moves. This wasn’t just a gig; it was a sonic soundwave, that rewired the air, short-circuited expectations, and left the large crowd fizzing like shaken coke cans. For this Devil, it was one of this year's best performances, and it's up against some genuinely incredble contenders. This was flawless, thrilling, absolutely fabulous and unapologetically fierce.

Picking a highlight in a set packed with so many bangers feels downright churlish, but if forced to choose one it would have to be My Drummer’s Girlfriend, a razor-sharp diamond buried in a box of perfectly cut gems. What's that sound? It's the sound of these girls on the march to plant their flag on the Pyramid Stage's 2027 schedule.

And the cherry on this gloriously unhinged Glasto cake? A limited-edition, hand-made Alt Blk Era bracelet, gifted by the duo themselves after the set to some lucky members of the crowd.

A memento forged in punk, sweat, and sisterhood. Eat your heart out, VIP lanyards.

Friday Lowlights (Part 2)

1. THE TBA THAT SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN

Alt Blk Era had just melted our minds and scorched the stage, so who on earth could follow that? Who was the mysterious TBA scheduled to “headline” the BBC Introducing Stage on Friday night? Surely someone massive? It had to be. You don’t just hand out secret set status like discounted wristbands unless it’s someone worthy of the hush-hush hype.

C-Mat’s name was floating around. But beyond that? No-one had the faimtest inkling, there'd been barely a whisper.

And then came a mysterious clue. On the stage up front and centre a drum with some cryptic writing on it.

"It's Okay Not To Be Okay", a South Korean romantic comedy drama TV series, doesn't solve the mystery.
"If you can read this you're too close." If that's meant to be helpful it's too cryptic for my feeble brain.
@floorthomas99, now we're getting somewhere, Floorthomas99 on Instagram has two followers @Olifoxmusic and @Itsgoodscott both from Good Neighbours.

Hey call me Columbo mystery solved! And sure enough it's not long before the introduction of tonight's headliners, "Give a,warm BBC Introducing Welcome to Good Neighbours."

While it was fun to try to solve the mystery it was somewhat of a surprise. No disrespect, yes they’re rising stars, their undeniably catchy song, Won’t You Take Me Home (take a listen below if you've not heard it) is in the latest Tesco ad, and they were appearing in The Other Stage the following day. But let’s be honest: they’re not exactly the second coming of Foo Fighters, Pulp, or even Haim, at least not yet.

The issue wasn’t the band, it was the baffling decision to wrap a more than decent-but-still-developing act in layers of mystery glitter. The crowd was thin, the photograph pit largely empty, and the atmosphere lacking any sense of anticipation. The only buzz was the low whine of disappointed punters and misfiring expectations. Truth is, if BBC Introducing had just announced Good Neighbours from the off, they probably would’ve pulled a much bigger crowd.

Now, Good Neighbours may end up one day headlining a major stage and I can say I was there, but TBH I'm getting fed up of the proliferation of TBAs. I'm tired of the smoke-and-mirrors hype.

Maybe there's a lesson for BBC Introducing here, sometimes honesty is the best policy and can help draw a bigger crowd than a secret squirrel.

Tune in tomorrow for Glasto 25 : Saturday.

Glastonbury 2025 Retrospective - Friday 27 June 2025 : Part 1

2025-07-02T17:00:00.004+01:00

LORDE HELP ME!

Day two of Glastonbury 2025 dawned like a darling diva, radiant, overdressed and demanding sunglasses and a glass of something sparkly before noon. Glorious sunshine bulldozed the remnants of Thursday morning's rainclouds as the main stages, those hallowed cathedrals of dissonance, dance and decibels, flung open their doors (well had the barriers removed by security) and roared to life.

Where Thursday had been all languid vibes and slow sips, Friday came fizzing. The atmosphere crackling with enough juice to reanimate a vintage Casio keyboard and teach it to swear. You could feel it bubbling under your boots, a seismic rumble of anticipation thick enough to (vegan) butter your humus salad wrap. On offer today, a kaleidoscopic buffet for the bold, the brave, and the beautifully hungover.

On today’s tasting platter in no particular order:

Battle-scarred Britpop veterans serenading the fields like prophets in battered Harringtons.

Scottish Britpop revivalists delivering chest-thumping, pint-spilling anthems that’ll leave your throat hoarser than a chain-smoking banshee.

A soulful siren dropping the temperature from barbecue burn to chilled chardonnay.

Post-punk minimalists whispering poetry between the notes like existential baristas.

Punk agitators stirring the mosh pit into a glorious teeth-rattling frenzy.

Genre-defying rock-rap chameleons bending the rules ‘til they squeal.

Eclectic, damn right. When has the Devil ever gone à la carte?

So buckle up and tune in, for today's dispatches from the frontlines of sound. It's time for part one of the Devil's take on day two of Glastonbury 2025.

Friday Highlights (Part 1)

1. Meeting Old Friends

First highlight of a day already bursting at the seams with potential bangers? That's an easy one. Catching up with my great friends and fellow Emerging Talent judges the maestro of melodic musings Tony Hardy (Fifty3 Musings On Music) and talent spotter extraordinaire (and Fantasy Football fanatic) Joe Lepper from the excellent Neon Filler. After catching up on the events since we last compared notes in 2024 the three amigos eschewed (yes, my friends actually eschewing this early in proceedings) the shimmering siren call of Lorde at Woodsies (still the John Peel Stage for this oldie) and instead headed off to see the first act on the Park Stage.

While pop royalty may draw the crowds, it’s often the early sets in the overlooked corners that end up tattooing themselves on your brain. And frankly, we came to dig, not drift.

Stay tuned for what was unearthed...

2. Horsegirl - The Park Stage

First up on today’s tasting menu: a delicate, dream-drenched hors d'œuvre courtesy of Chicago’s finest, Horsegirl. While the rest of the day promised to rattle bones and dislodge fillings, this was a gentler opening gambit—mellow, wistful, and quietly glorious.

As the three amigos pitched up at the Park Stage,
having swerved the sparkly pull of Lorde over at Woodsies (sorry, Your Royal Melodramaness), we were met with a crowd that felt more early Glasto acid pastoral than Friday main-stage frenzy. It had that vintage flavour, the kind of audience high on joie de vivre (and maybe an illicit substance or two), swaying in shared reverie.

Horsegirl were never going to bounce around the stage or shout “Hellooo Glastonbury!” in faux-British accents. That’s not their game. No cheesy banter. No flash glitter strewn outfits. Just mesmerising lo-fi minimalism, steeped in the shimmering shadows of their second album, Phonetics On and On, a beautifully slow-burn of minimalism, insistent melodies and murmurcore (is that a genre? It is now!).

What they may have lacked in stage presence, they more than made up for with sound. Hypnotic soundscapes, whispered melodies that burrowed in sideways, and a subtle force that pulled you under like a blue velvet riptide. Devil's favourite of the set, Frontrunner without a doubt, an early morning Glastonbury delight.

An understated triumph—and a gentle reminder that sometimes, it’s not the volume but the vibe that wins the crowd.

Stay tuned for the next course—things are about to get a lot louder…

Phonetics On and On by Horsegirl

3. Supergrass - Pyramid Stage

Feeling thoroughly chilled, and a tad foot-weary after the Park Stage pilgrimage, we three, the tenacious trio, summoned what remained of our leg power and trooped down to the Pyramid Stage to catch a slice of Supergrass. Sadly, my festival-weary limbs (and it's only day two!!) weren’t quite up to Olympic sprinting, so we missed the early crowd-pleasers; Caught By The Fuzz, Mansize Rooster, and the forever-youthful Britpop anthem Alright echoing across the fields without us.

But all was not lost.

We arrived in time to catch most of the set including the final flourish, a double-barrelled Britpop blowout of Sun Hits The Sky and Pumping On Your Stereo that turned the Pyramid field into one massive, retro-soaked karaoke session. It was loud. It was legendary, and it was a gloriously rowdy contrast to Horsegirl’s earlier lo-fi hush. Like switching from artisanal herbal tea to triple-shot espresso with grit in it.

They may have a few more grey hairs (don’t we all?), but Supergrass still know exactly how to hit the gas when it counts. A Pyramid-sized sing-along, and a timely reminder that some choruses are built to last forever even if my knees aren’t.

4. Nectar Woode - BBC Introducing Stage

Nectar Woode first appeared on the blog earlier this year as one of the Emerging Talent Competition picks of one-third of the three amigos Joe (Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition 2025 Longlist #7). So I was obviously excited to get to see her perform live and she didnt disappoint.

As I said in my review back in April with a name like Nectar, you might expect something sweet, and she certainly didnt disappoint on that score. But this wasn’t empty calories; there was soul, there was power, their was joy, and a voice, oh that voice stops time in its tracks. Nectar didn't serve up a meagre spoonful of sugar-coated soul; she poured out a whole family sized jar of rich, full-bodied honey that lingers on the tongue and leaves you chasing the taste long after the jar’s run dry.

This was raw, layered, and stubbornly memorable, the kind of sound that sticks to your brain like it's your new best friend and doesn’t let go. With talent to spare it feels less like Nectar's an emerging talent and more like she's planning a music industry takeover. Don’t be surprised when she’s no longer on BBC Introducing stages but the one making the sun set behind West Holts, and maybe, just maybe, casting a shadow on the Pyramid Stage.

Friday Lowlights (Part 1)

1. Missing Chalk at BBC Introducing

If there’s one thing Glastonbury beats into your festival-soaked brain, it’s this: never underestimate how far you’ll trek, and how quickly your legs will send in a formal resignation. Always build in recovery time and always add at least fifteen minutes more than you think you need between stages, because crowds slow you down like an army of box-fresh wellies, and don’t even get me started on getting lost in the labyrinthine dust lanes.

With this hard-won wisdom in hand, the lowlight of Day Two was a cruel reminder: I missed Chalk at BBC Introducing. Why you ask? An overambitious trek to the Park Stage, followed by the grind back to the Pyramid, which left my legs screaming enough and my energy tanks perilously close to empty.

I heard some of their set drifting towards me as I finally made my way to the BBC Introducing Stage, but by the time I arrived, they were already heading backstage. Judging by the buzz and the crowd’s reaction, I’d missed one of those elusive, can’t-miss, career-defining performances that stick with you long after your wristband is consigned to a dark dingy cupboard.

Fingers crossed I’ll catch Chalk live next time around (2027 !!). Until then, lesson learnt: pacing isn’t just a strategy, it’s essential. Here's a reminder of what I missed which doesnt make me feel any better to be honest 😒.

Conditions III by Chalk

Tune in tomorrow for Glasto 25 : Friday Part Two.

Glastonbury 2025 Retrospective - Thursday 26 June 2025

2025-07-01T17:00:00.028+01:00

LET'S GET THE PARTY STARTED!

Thursday at Glastonbury – the weird hinterland between camping horde tentpocalypse and main stage bedlam. For most, it’s a day of wandering through the healing fields, sipping overpriced kale potions and pretending they had deliberately found themselves in Theatre and Circus field and weren't lost. But not for this little Lucifer. No chance. While the Pyramid slumbers and the big hitters sit tight, I'm dedicated to sniffing out the sonic truffles hiding in the undergrowth.

The morning flirted briefly with drizzle—just enough to raise an eyebrow—but soon backed off like a scolded weather intern. Sunshine swept in with all the subtlety of a glitter cannon at a toddler rave. Once again, the fabled Devil Wellies (gifted by Mrs Devil back in 2022, she knows my cloven feet need to stay dry) never made it out the box. I’m starting to think they’re charmed, or cursed in the best way. None of the dreaded muddy puddles in sight. No need to wade through Glasto’s infamous gloop or worry about acquiring a fungal ecosystem between the toes.

Instead, I glide across the cracked, dust-scorched turf like a festival lizard in a Factor 50 exosuit. I’m basically a walking warning label for sunstroke prevention, luminous enough to redirect aircraft. Yes, even the Devil knows better than to tango with UV. While others queue for overpriced falafel, sup on lukewarm beer or search for a Wi-Fi signal stronger than their willpower, I’ve got my ears to the underground. Stay tuned, the little stages are about to blow the lid off Thursday.

Let Glastonbury 2025 begin.

Thursday Highlights

1. The Creature Appeal - Mandala Stage

The Devil's opening act of 2025 was a surprise, I didn't have quintet The Creature Appeal on my carefully inked dance card. Not even pencilled in the margins. They were recommended to me by a friend about an hour or so before they were due to play. So, with 60 minutes to spare before my first appontment with musical delight I thought why not check them out who knows they might be next year's headliners.

Well, kudos to my friend because The Creature Appeal, a band who formed in "the primordial ooze that was the late 2010’s Birmingham indie landscape" but somehow missed my keen ear, were a revelation. Their infectious blend vulnerability, theatricality, and soaring choruses deserve to be heard on one of the bigger stages, could easily see them wowing a Woodsies.

They drew a crowd of clearly already devoted
fans and after their performance that's grown by more than just this little Devil. They launched my Glastonbury 25 with a bang, a pop and more than a dose of joy de vivre. This Devil's favourites were Girls In Bands which, frustratingly, doesn't appear to be on Youtube or Soundcloud, Demi Moore and their new single (again I can't find it online) Something Embarrassing (also not available on line unless my googling skills aren't what they were).

2. Rizzy & The Gents - Bread And Roses

After warming my hooves with an unexpected delight, it was time for something that had been etched into my dance card in black eyeliner months ago, Rizzy & The Gents. A band I’ve had circled, highlighted, and spiritually bookmarked ever since I first clapped ears on Faggy, a strut-pop anthem where Ziggy Stardust collides with Lady Gaga in a glitter-drenched back alley.

And oh, my friends, they did not disappoint. This wasn’t just a set, it was a full-throttle, rhinestone-wrecking, feather-boa-flinging event. Think queer punk cabaret meets glam rock exorcism, with enough eyeliner and emotional transparency to make even Marc Bolan blush.

Hitting the Bread & Roses stage like a spilled cocktail of charisma and chaos, Rizzy served up a side of sass with a martini glass of gay politics on the rocks, shaken not stirred. Her Gents? Tight as a sequinned drum. Together, they tore through a set of confessional rockers with the subtlety of a glitter bomb in a library. There were more wardrobe malfunctions than a vintage Janet Jackson show but Rizzy just carried in being glamorous and (semi) professional.

Fresh from supporting Supergrass, Rizzy prowled the stage like it owed her rent. Camp? Obviously. Whimsical? Like a queer fairy godmother with a grudge. But also armed with razor-sharp honesty that cut through the glitter like a confetti-coated scalpel. This wasn’t just a performance—it was a reclamation, a riot, a reckoning in platform boots.

3. The Cheap Thrills - Bread & Roses

How do you follow that? Enter stage left, Liverpool’s finest four-piece (yes including that
Liverpool band your grandparents told you about), The Cheap Thrills. The Devil’s been preaching about the lovable Liverpool legends since 2017, when they first swaggered into the blog’s baptismal font (Fresh Sounds - 15th January 2017 ) and have returned like prodigiously prodigal sons ever since. I even bought their debut single on cassette (Snozzberry Purple if you're asking, so I'm not afraid to put my money where my mouth is.

Handed a hospital pass from Rizzy & The Gents so cruel it could’ve come stitched in barbed wire, the local lads didn’t flinch. Instead, they turned the Bread & Roses into Glasto en Mersey, a 45-minute riot of riffs, sweat, and broken strings. Two guitars gave their lives for the cause. It was worth it. The crowd? Crammed tighter than a hip flask in a festival kilt with breathing room only. Outside? Ten deep at least all aching to squeeze in. Inside? Bouncing like a rubberised space hopper on speed. They said they came to start the party—what they did was ignite it.

Set highlights? Easy. Devil’s long-standing fave Reborn and Codependence, both delivered with the conviction of a band that know that this is surely their time. If anyone from Glastonbury is reading (you never know) get them on one of the main stage in 2027, you won’t regret it. Cheap? In name only. Thrills? In heaving, glorious abundance.

4. Silver Hippo Tennis

Glastonbury isn’t just about the music. It’s also about losing your mates, finding new mates then losing them too, your voice, and occasionally your sense of time and space. You could easily spend four days at Worthy Farm and not hear a single note and still feel like you’ve lived three lifetimes and developed a spiritual bond with a vegan burger vendor called Francine.

But among the many unhinged delights and accidental rituals, perhaps the most bafflingly compulsive of 2025 was this: hurling a tennis ball into the gaping maw of a giant silver hippo perched like a god of absurdity on its plinth. A challenge for the ages, or at least the mildly inebriated. I didn’t see a single ball hit its mark, trajectories arced wildly like hopes at 3am, but I'm sure somewhere out there, someone nailed it. And they’re probably on a coach home right now with a sunburned nose proud that they have a story to tell their grandkids.

Did I have a go? Of course not I'm a Homer Simpson devotee "trying is the first step to failure' But I did boot a rogue ball towards a bloke who looked like he’d won an Olympic medal in shotput for TeamGB. Let the arm of destiny decide.

Devil Does Glastonbury- Friday 27th June

2025-06-26T19:00:00.003+01:00

GLASTONBURY 2025 PREVIEW

FRIDAY 27th JUNE

Here Come The Clashes…

Alright, listen up, you beautiful, soon-to-be-blistered reprobates. Day Two. Tomorrow. That’s when the real meat hits the meatgrinder.

No more charming warm-ups. The main stages are swinging wide their infernal gates, ready to chew up your schedules and spit out your sanity like a wasp in a lager can.

This ain’t no picnic, mud-lovers. This is where the serious festival business kicks in. We’re talking stage-hopping, soul-pounding soundchecks, and feet so sore they’ll scream like evicted demons.

And most annoyingly—we’re talking CLASH AFTER UNHOLY CLASH.

It’s the ultimate rock 'n' roll Sophie's Choice: Who gets your devotion? Who do you sacrifice? And who, in the name of Lucifer himself, do you dare to miss?

It’s a devil's conundrum. A gloriously agonizing, warm beer-stained puzzle. And just to rub salt in the wounds of indecision, these brutal choices kick off the second the sun decides to grace us with its malevolent glow.

So steel yourselves, sinners. Hydrate, calibrate, and prepare to dance like you’re dodging fire.

Because first up—we’ve got...

Horsegirl

The Park : 🕓 11:30 – 12:10

Right, let's get down to those danmed choices. Forget the whispered temptations of the TBA at Woodsies (and yes, I have an inkling but can't be breaking any confidences, I'm not as evil as I appear). And as for Supergrass at the Pyramid Stage? Look, I've got nothing but a well-earned nod for those veterans. They're Britpop legends, alright. But this isn't about playing it safe.

The Devil's pick to truly launch this year's festival good and proper is the glorious, discordant racket of Chicago trio Horsegirl We first dragged these sonic sorcerers onto the blog back in 2022 (New Music To Delight Your Ears - Horsegirl for those keeping score, or, more likely, losing their minds). They even had a second baptism in the holy water of our Sunday Service in March (The Devil's Sunday Service - 16th March 2025). So yeah, me and my fellow demons at Devil's Towers are invested.

What better way to dive headfirst into the main stage odyssey than getting absolutely throttled by an edgy, raw bundle of post-punk perfection? We're talking hypnotic, stabbing guitars that wound, militaristic drums that march straight into your skull and fluid basslines that coil around your heart like a happy snake.

It's not just a band, you see. It's like rejecting lukewarm festival beer and instead bathing in a glorious, corrosive cocktail of all your favourite 80s post-punkers: Gang of Four, The Au Pairs, The Raincoats, Joy Division. And just when you think you've found your footing, they hit you with a My Bloody Valentine chaser to knock you off balance.

But that was their last album, the new album Phonetics On and Off, finds Horsegirl exploring their softer side, post punk pah what's that, their latest, produced by Cate Le Bon, sounds like the entire roster of Sarah Records recording the follow-up to Juno. So expect contrasts, beautiful, flavoured contrasts.

So, saddle up, buttercups, because Horsegirl are hitting the Glastonbury course, and this Devil's got a feeling they're not just running – they're going to stay the distance.

(And if I manage to defy the laws of physics, age and festival fatigue by bolting like a possessed cheetah right after Horsegirl finishes, I might just catch the tail end of Supergrass’ set. Might.)

Phonetics On and On by Horsegirl

Then it's BBC Introducing and The Hive for the rest of the afternoon

Chalk

BBC Introducing - 🕓 13:30 – 14:00.

Photo : Sienna Lillie Munn

First up on BBC Introducing are Chalk, the Irish noisemongers who don’t play gigs so much as exorcisms. You don’t hear them. You get repossessed. We first dragged these sonic terrorists onto the blog back in ’22. I raved about their debut, Them, like it was scorched scripture, and it was (New Music To Delight Your Ears - Chalk). Picture Fontaines D.C. if they’d been locked in a meat freezer with The Birthday Party and taught to scream in Morse code. A musical panic attack with feedback teeth.

By their next appearance (New Music To Delight Your Ears 10th April 23 - Chalk), they’d grafted in the brutality of Gilla Band and the industrial DNA of Einstürzende Neubauten. That’s not a band—that’s an ancestral scream. They don’t descend from influences. They detonate them.

So what do the BBC Introducing Stage do? They unleash Chalk before lunchtime. That’s not programming—it’s rolling a grenade under the gazebo. There's a 50% chance they blow your cortex open and a 50% chance there’s nothing left after their performance just smouldering cables and a noise complaint from God.

It's a quick hop step n jump to the Hive to catch alt pop wizard Harvey Jay Dodgson (first featured back in 2023, Glasto Build-Up - 14 days To Go) and then back to BBC Introducing for one of my good friend Joe at Neon Filler pick for this year's Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition Nectar Woode (read more about Nectar and his other picks here, Master Peace, Edie Bens and Nectar Woode make Glastonbury Emerging Talent longlist)

Then I'll be veering left onto the Left Field for...

The Meffs

Left Field - 🕓 16:30 – 17:05.

Energetic Punk duo The Meffs first featured on the blog in 2023 as part of our tour around the Colchester musical underground, Going Underground #70 - Colchester. They're playing the Left Field stage and will be serving up their own brand of righteous (surely that should be lefteous) anger and a three chord thrash ear battering to the faithful, faithless and anyone on between (maybe even the odd centrist dad who wandered in by mistake.) Prepare for a sonic sandblasting and rabble rousing ear-bashing that'll leave your tympanic membranes ringing like a cash register on Black Friday.

This clued-up twosome won't just be playing songs, they won't just be "performing" they'll be detonating tightly packed bundles of pure anger. If you've got a grievance, they're the soundtrack. If you've got a drum to bang, they're the hammer. Go on, get in there and let The Meffs convince you to join the revolution.

WHAT A LIFE by The Meffs

And that leaves just enough time to catch some of Franz Ferdinand over on the Other Stage before heading back to BBC Introducing for Friday's final hurrah.

Lambrini Girls

BBC Introducing - 🕓 18:30 – 19:00.

I was fortunate to be at the Greenpeace stage last year for the Lambrini Girls incendiary performance (Glastonbury 2024 Retrospective - Thursday 27th June 2024) and I'm expecting even more fireworks this year from a duo who are rewriting the punk rock rebellion rulebook.

Last year they stole the entire weekend with a performance for the ages and I'm expecting another jaw troubling, punk whirlwind that will have Wizard bothering authors quaking in their Terf covered boots. I've not doubt the disabled kicking Prime Minister will also come in for some well deserved vitriol. This year I'm hoping my notes are a little more helpful than last year's single, scrawled word: "Wow."

And to cap what primises to be an amazing day...

Alt Blk Era

BBC Introducing - 🕓 19:30 – 20:00

Another band first featured on the blog back 2022 (those words are becoming prophetic my brethren) Alt Blk Era's first outing on the blog was as one of the Devil's Fresh Sounds in April of that year (Fresh Sounds - 23rd April 2022) and they have been regular visitors to these pages ever since, featuring another four times (search for Alt Blk Era on the blog and their appearances will magically appear). Any more features and they may need to take out a restraining order!.

After missing their Shangri-La detonation in 2023, a wound that still festers to this day, it's going to be nothing short of glorious to finally witness their exciting and explosive fusion live. We're talking rap, we're talking rock, we're talking metal, all thrown into a sonic blender and served up with a snarl.

And there's still two days left!!!

Devil Does Glastonbury - Thursday 26th June

2025-06-25T19:00:00.010+01:00

GLASTONBURY 2025 PREVIEW

THURSDAY 26th JUNE

The calm before the bassstorm…

Day one and the Devil will be easing in gently — no moshpit bruises, no cider-soaked epiphanies on Worthy Farm’s outer limits.

Tomorrow's game plan? Keep it cosy. Keep it curious.

So I'll be collecting my wristband and pitching my horns at the Bread and Roses stage, for some musical magic and mayhem...

First up...

Rizzy & The Gents

🕓 16:00 – 16:45

If Wes Anderson formed a punk band in a Dalston laundrette, it might sound just a little like London's worst kept secret Rizzy & The Gents.

Camp? Absolutely full on theatrical, glamorously gritty. Whimsical? Like a glitter cannon at a wake.

Brutally honest? Rizzy doesn’t sing lyrics they confess them through a smirk and a snarled lipstick kiss-off like the love child of Ian Dury and Lady Gaga.

Fresh from supporting Supergrass (and as close to upstaging them as you can ever get), Rizzy struts like a glam Poly Styrene after payday.

The Gents? Think Talking Heads in charity shop suits, held together by gaffer tape and genius.

I call it new (blow) wave, you should start calling it your next obsession.

Mark my words, this band won’t be “emerging” much longer. Catch them now before they’re on the Pyramid Stage glitter bombing the whole festival.

Rizzy & The Gents · Faggy (Demo)

Next up...

The Cheap Thrills

🕓 16:00 – 16:45

Ah, The Cheap Thrills, a Liverpool band regular readers of this infernal blog will recognise as repeat visitors.

They first burst into our ears back in 2017, yes that's five Prime Ministers and multiple social platforms ago. (Fresh Sounds – January 2017)

Since then, they’ve dropped back in a couple of times like a favourite cousin who only ever turns up with good records and better gossip; most recently on Liverpool Rises (2023), where they reminded us all that Scouseadelica isn’t just a genre, it’s a state of mind.

The Cheap Thrills serve up life affirming doses of alt-rock with the swagger of The La’s, the snap of early Arctic Monkeys, and the sun-kissed hooks of a Mersey breeze with a hangover and a harmoniser pedal.

So tomorrow, shake off your Worthy Farm wooziness and get your arse to Bread and Roses for a set that'll tang like river salt, sound like serotonin, and taste like the best pint you’ll have all festival.

See you all there, mines a pint of Appletiser.

Blind Among The Flowers

2025-04-26T16:00:00.000+01:00

Staithe
From: Newcastle Upon Tyne, England

Gather round, my devoted disciples, for I’m about to take you deep into the garden of Flowers—the latest enchanting album from the hauntingly gifted Bridie Jackson in her new form as half of the duo Staithe with the equally talented Nick Pierce.

Immersive

Regular readers will know how highly the Devil rates Bridie from her days with the Arbour. So it won't come as too much of a surprise that I'm bowled over by Flowers. This is more than just another album, another collection of light-hearted ditties for you to hum as you shuffle through your daily chores. It's is an immersive trip into Bridie's soul, a tear stained love letter inked in melancholy, hope, and the kind of quiet resilience that only comes from heartache and loss.

Divine

The album opens, aptly, with We Begin—an acapella tour de force that feels like a breath of fresh, icy air cutting through a fog of confusion. It’s pure, unadulterated beauty, a showcase for Bridie’s incredible voice. It’s the kind of voice that makes the hairs on the back of your neck salute. Each note sounds like a soft whisper from some divine force, a voice so pure, so untainted, it should wear a halo. No instruments, no distractions—just Bridie holding you captive in a space where time seems to stretch and bend around it.

Vulnerability

It’s an introduction that feels like stepping into a world where the rules are different, where vulnerability is strength, and every word carries the weight of untold stories. We Begin doesn’t just open the album—it opens you as well, pulling you into the raw emotional landscape that Staithe create with nothing but Bridie's voice and your tear ducts.

Hypnotic

Staithe doesn’t just fuse genres; they bend them, warp them into their own ethereal creation, as if they're summoning up folk music from the very bowels of history itself. Flowers is a maze of classical elegance, raw emotion, and minimalist instrumentation that pulses with a quiet, hypnotic intensity. Every note feels like it’s been extracted from the marrow of Bridie's bones, a sound world that wraps itself around you like a velvet shroud, pulling you deeper and deeper into her intimate, confessional space.

Beautiful

This is the kind of album that doesn’t just ask for attention, it drinks your stillness and pulls at the seams of your soul. The title track, Flowers, a trad folk-lit letter to her younger self, burns slow with the hush of survival, soft, but certain. For a breathless moment, you forget your name, your skin, until only the truth of Staithe's music remains—bleeding, beautiful, human and emotionally real.

Velvet

In an album full of heart rending highlights one track stands out, Do You Think of Me?, a song that defines the album. Bridie’s voice is like liquid velvet soaked in sorrow, contempt, and a deeply personal quiet seething anger that she carries in her chest like a shackle. It’s not singing. It’s an exhale—a whisper of regret transmitted straight into your soul, burrowing deep into your heart.

Tender

Each note feels like a raw echo of lost love, a kiss from heartbreak that lands with the weight of a thousand unspoken words. It’s a voice that doesn’t just speak—it cuts through you like shattered glass, tender and piercing all at once. Every breath she takes, every note she croons, feels like it’s being pulled from the very deepest recesses of her soul.

Intimate

Bridie doesn’t just sing these lyrics. She becomes them. You’ll swear you can feel her breath hot and heavy in your ear, the weight of her sorrow pressing against you. There’s something intimate in it, something dangerous, like she’s inviting you into a dark secret—one that’s been locked away in her ribs, yearning to be told. Every syllable is soaked with something real, something raw.

Lingering

It’s like Bridie's channeling the spirits of all the lost loves she’s ever known, summoning them into her voice, giving them life, making them live again through her. And as those notes unfurl, you’ll feel it, too. It’s the kind of voice that doesn’t just demand attention—it owns you. It stops time, rewrites the moment, makes everything fade into the background until all that remains is her voice, lingering in the space between breaths.

Aching

Flowers is an invitation into a world where vulnerability and strength coalesce, where heartache becomes art, and where Staithe’s voice becomes the very thing that makes you feel alive—raw, aching, and irrevocably human. This isn’t just an album. It’s a journey. And if you’re brave enough to walk it, know that once you’ve heard Bridie’s voice, you’ll never be the same.

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Staithe · Flowers

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There Will Be Blood

2025-04-18T17:00:00.014+01:00

Casual Blood Service
From: Liverpool, England

Some songs wear leather jackets and stomp cigarette butts into the pavement, today's featured track, Out In The Snow by Liverpool based elusive lo-fi conjuror Casual Blood Service, does none of that. This one shows up barefoot, trailing frost, with sea salt in its lungs and a Super 8 camera whirring in its chest.

Ghost-walk

At 1 minute and 43 seconds, it doesn’t outstay its welcome—it ghost-walks through your skull, breathes fog on the windowpane of your heart, then vanishes before you can ask its name. Think Marine Girls sipping sleepy tea with Young Marble Giants while an off-brand Walkman gently steams in the corner.

Spectral Sketches

Guitars? They're barely there—spectral sketches drawn in condensation. The beat? A polite tap on a snow-dusted window. The vocals? A paper-cut whisper dipped in melancholy and cassette hiss. This is C86 with a sinus infection and a thousand-yard stare. Summer caught mid-sneeze. A forgotten postcard from someone who never existed. It’s lo-fi not as a genre but as a philosophy—less "do it yourself" and more "let the tape recorder dream."

Shared Hallucination

I'm not even convinced that it's real, it's like the soundtrack to a shared hallucination of a bedsit full of moths, listening to Galaxie 500 through the static of a dying radio.

And Finally...

Out In The Snow is like holding hands with a memory of a melting snowman you vaguely remember building. It's glacial yet warm, the sound of a sunny day in December.

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Casual Blood Service - Linktree : Website : Instagram

Ch ch ch Changeling

2025-04-17T17:00:00.001+01:00

Emily Magpie
From: London, England

Photo Courtesy of Milly Rustom

Changeling, the new single from the wonderful Bristol singer/songwriter Emily Magpie (first featured on the blog back on 2016, See Emily Play), transcends musical genres. It’s more than a mere song, it's a murmuration in slow motion—a shapeshift caught mid-blur.

Gossamer

Emily has cracked open the ribcage of pastoral folk and let in the static ghosts of old radios and low-orbit satellites. Imagine a gossamer clad spirit gathering herbs in the rain while an analog synth dreams in the background. That’s the vibe of Changeling.

Conjured

It begins like a breeze that knows everyone of your secrets—light, but laced with consequence. Emily’s voice isn’t merely sung—it’s conjured. A breath made half of words, half of misty weather. There’s a rhythm, sure, but it’s the rhythm of water dripping through moss or a memory playing backwards.

Shimmer

Emily’s blip-strewn, folky psychedelia doesn’t swagger, it shimmers. The track feels like it's been strained through a tie-dyed gauze—soft, kaleidoscopic, and mythical. Somewhere, a harp tries to remember it's a theremin. Somewhere else, the trees lean in closer.

Elemental

It’s folktronica cast sideways—glitchy witch pop with a blood sugar drop. If Joanna Newsom whispered sweet nothings into the circuitry of an old Casio keyboard, you’d get something close. It's the sound of Gazelle Twin if she grew up near Stonehenge. Grouper if she started leaving breadcrumb loops in her tracks. And yet, Changeling isn’t derivative—it’s elemental.

And Finally...

By the end of Changeling, you’re not sure if you listened to a song or wandered into a dream mid-incantation. Either way, you're altered, a different version of yourself. Magpie’s spellcraft is real. Proceed with ears open and salt in your pocket. Ch ch ch Changeling turn and face the strange.

Listen

Emily Magpie · The Changeling

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Emily Magpie - Linktree : Facebook : Twitter : Instagram

Milly Rustom - Instagram

Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition 2025 Longlist #9

2025-04-06T17:00:00.006+01:00

Check your seatbelts, you insatiable gang of tune-hungry thrill-seekers—the Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition longlist ride’s not over yet. There’s still more sonic treasure to drop like confetti at a riotous wedding, and the Devil’s got his dancing shoes on tight. Sure, there’s only one more batch of nervous upstarts to encounter after this, and the shortlist’s publication (more on that another day) has dulled the suspense, but we’ve still got a few miles to burn before we hit the final stop.

And today’s plate? A sizzling feast of sonic rebels, hand-picked by the tastemaker gods themselves. Who’s serving up today’s adrenaline shot? You’ve got the whip-smart, fresh-to-the-ETC judging scene Tara Kumar, the trendsetting maestros at The Face, the sonic sleuths at The House of Coxhead, and the ever-reliable treasure hunters at Line of Best Fit. Four obsessives so deep in the rhythm, they might as well be part of the damn pulse.

So settle in, crank the volume knob ‘til it feels like it's gonna snap, and let the Devil whisper some sweet, spicy somethings into your ear. The headliners of tomorrow could be right here, primed to hijack your playlists. And hey, don’t forget who tipped you off—wise to keep the Devil on your side.

Tara Kumar

1. AKA KELZZ – Mango

From the very first note, Mango radiates warmth. Drawing me in with a sparse but captivating layers of haromines. As the song progresses Aka Kelzz voice pulls me in with her rich tone it’s and perfectly suited to the soulful essense of this song. I love the way it feels like a comforting embrace. From the production to the smooth vocal layering this song is gorgeously inviting on every note.

2. Splitting Edges – Maybe

There’s something truly infectious about Splitting Edges. Their authenticity isn’t just evident it’s magnetic, pulling you in and making you feel like you’re part of the band. I love the energy to their track ‘Maybe’ a shimmering-late night summer anthem with a Bossa-nova twist just shows their versatility as writers. There is no denying these guys are full of passion.

3. Spyres – Money

Glasgow quartet Spyres make another appearance on the Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition longlist having made it in 2023 as the pick of Under The Radar (Glastonbury Emerging Talent 2023 - Longlist #6). This time they've impressed Tara as well as this little Devil with their submission, Money.

Swagger

Spyres don’t want your money—they want your attention, your speakers, and possibly your immortal soul, and they’ve got the swagger to claim all three before you even notice they've arrived. Money doesn’t creep in; it kicks the door off its hinges like a debt collector with anger management problems. The bassline thuds like a hangover in platform heels while the synth stabs are sharp enough to make your Wi-Fi flinch.

Sparkly

But it's the dual vocals that are the real gold here—trading lines like duelling indie cherubs in sparkly denim fighting over the aux cable. One minute you’re nodding along, the next you’re halfway to starting a band. It’s got that sticky, sweet-glazed hook that clings to your brain like leftover glitter after a night out you definitely weren’t dressed for.

Catchy

Catchy without being clingy, bold without hogging the spotlight—Money is the kind of track that doesn’t just linger, it loiters. Long after the final note fades, it’s probably rifling through your pockets for spare change while humming its own hook.

And Finally...

Put simply: Spyres didn’t just drop a tune—they dropped a statement, with confetti on its boots and bass in its bloodstream. They might not be this year’s Emerging Talent chosen ones, missing out on a spot in the final eight, but hopefully they can console themselves with the knowledge they’ve earned a lifelong Devilish devotee.

The Face

1. Julia-Sophie – Telephone

The first pick from the tastemakers at The Face, Telephone by ex-Little Fish and Candy Says singer Julia-Sophie, unfolds like a dreamy drift through a cloud. A hazy slice of synthy dream pop goodness, it lingers long after the clouds have dispersed.

Soothing

Telephone starts like you're overhearing a private conversation, a soft murmur from the next table in a restaurant. Then the synths sweep in, and Julia-Sophie’s soothing, understated vocals hit like a cup of Xanax-laced cocoa—warm, calming, and quietly addictive.

Delicate

Telephone is an experience, a slow, swirling
dance through the hazy, delicate fog of heartbreak. It draws you in from the start, its breathless opening notes like an invitation to step into a world that’s both fragile and intoxicating. Julia-Sophie’s vocals float effortlessly over a thick bed of rich synthesizers, crafting a soundscape that feels like trying to walk through a dream—soft, unsure, yet irresistibly magnetic. The vulnerability is almost tactile, as though you could reach out and touch the ache in every note.

Emotional

The rhythm pulses underneath it all, a slow, steady heartbeat that keeps you grounded even as you float away on the song’s emotional currents. The urgency of Telephone isn’t loud—it doesn’t shout; it whispers, but with the kind of whisper that lingers in your ear long after the conversation’s over. Each layer builds, each moment digs deeper, pulling you into that familiar ache of wanting something you can’t quite have. It’s the sound of longing, of wanting to reach out but knowing that sometimes, the distance between you and another person is more than just miles—it’s emotional, it’s insurmountable.

Dreamy

Telephone doesn’t just speak to your ears—it crawls under your skin, wraps itself around your soul, and leaves you with that bittersweet taste of desire and loss, all wrapped in a dreamy package of synths and serene vocals. Julia-Sophie has turned vulnerability into hypnotic art, and Telephone is the call you won’t be able to hang up on.

And Finally..

Even though Julia-Sophie didn’t make the final shortlist for this year’s Emerging Talent Competition, Telephone is a track that sticks with you—one that’ll keep calling you back, no matter how many times you hit ‘end.’ I know it won't be any consolation but the Devil loved it.

2. Alx Romance – Where We Begin

Vocally, Alx’ style feels very contemporary – I hear elements of emo-included rappers such as Lil Uzi Vert and Post Malone. But rather than choosing a trap beat, Alx skillfully rides through this twinkling electronica production, which feels fresh and hard to define.

3. Che3kz – Seven sizzling sausages

Rap isnt renowned for it's humour so the third choice from The Face, Seven Sizzling Sausages by Manchester rapper Che3kz, stands out from the crowd like a mixed grill in a salad bar.

Scathing

Seven Sizzling Sausages hits with the force of a
cast iron frying pan to the chops and the finesse of a secret midnight snack raid. Remember Ffsytho, a previous Emerging Talent finalist (put forward by yours truly)? Well if you dialled down the scathing aggression and amped up the humour this is exactly what you'd get.

Dexterous

It's a bubbling, twitchy concoction of dexterous rap, wit sharper than a butcher's knife, and a flow slicker than a kebab stand on a Friday night. Che3kz spits bars like cold meat thrown into a hot pan, like a stand-up comedian in a rap battle—punchlines landing with the precision of a Michelin chef moonlighting in greasy spoon cafe.

Riot

There’s no brooding here, no angst—just an MC having an absolute riot with her craft, tossing out lines with the confidence of someone who knows she’s three steps ahead and already planning the next punch.

Attitude

Seven Sizzling Sausages doesn’t just fill the room with energy—it fills it with attitude. There’s a playfulness here that’s almost rebellious, like it’s daring you to keep up. The rhythm snaps like a crisp bite of a toasted bun, and each verse feels like Che3kz is showing off, playing with the form, and having a bloody great time while doing it.

Sass

Don’t expect any deep, soul-searching reflections, though. This track is a snack, not a four-course meal. But in its bite-sized glory, it delivers exactly what you need—humour, charisma, and just the right amount of sauce. It's a post club appetite pleaser served with a huge side of sass. It may not be the next big thing, but it’s putting it's name down for a spot at the fringe.

And Finally...

Seven Sizzling Sausages is short, sharp, and utterly snackable—just don’t be surprised if you find yourself going back for seconds or thirds. Che3kz has got this Devil licking his lips and aim vegetarian.

The House of Coxhead

1. Claudia Kane – Under My Skin

Claudia is an exciting artist, who I have followed for some time. She’s versatlie in her sound and is a great songwriter. She’s also a really strong live performer.

2. Hutch – Sorry

Quite raw, but what a talent. Love his vocal tone and feel like he’s got a very bright future ahead. One to watch.

3. Simon a. – The Mantra

Love everything about what he’s doing. The style, the flow & the thought-provoking lyrics. Feels like one of the classic backpack rappers.

THE LINE OF BEST FIT (L)

1. Rosie Miles – On Solitude

Fluttering and fluid, crisp and effortless, Rosie Miles’ voice is uncannily reminiscent of the Laurel Canyon greats. As for the sophisticated songwriting, well I had to triple check it wasn’t a cover from that era. ‘On Solitude’ is a warm trip through the sun-dappled nostalgia of that Californian valley in the 1970s carried by the gentlest of guitar breezes and I could listen to it all my life.

2. Ari Tsugi – November

The number of moods contained within this 8-minute opus is staggering and does that oh so important job of keeping you hooked until the end. The rich, smooth jazz vocals lure you in while the ensuing wonderful French alliterative wordplay sparks nothing but joy. Embracing psychedelic tendencies and living for the experimental, there is no telling where Ari Tsugi will go next.

3. Matilda Grace – Not your ex yet

Somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of the Glastonbury Emerging Talent judging bunker, a mischievous gremlin must have unplugged the speakers. That’s surely the only plausible explanation for Not Your Ex Yet from London singer Matilda Grace—the third, and in this Devil's view, best pick from the mysterious L of Line of Best Fit—not making the final 8. Frankly, the Devil’s horns are twitching in disbelief..

Sparkle

Astonishingly, this is Matilda’s debut single (they don’t come much more Emerging than that), and it isn’t just a bop—it’s a flaming Catherine wheel of sass and sparkle, spun straight out of the glittery handbag of pop’s unruliest offspring. It’s Lily Allen on her third espresso, slinging stilettos at an ex’s voicemail. It’s a cockney Olivia Rodrigo having a barney with her boyfriend on the night bus home. Catchy, angry, cheeky, and smart—and short enough to make you hit play again before the smoke’s cleared.

Punchy

There are more hooks here than a merch stand at a fishing industry conference. It’s got zip, zap, and zing by the bucketload—bite-sized but bold enough to leave teeth marks. Cheeky, chirpy, and crackling with teenage mutiny, Not Your Ex Yet is the sonic equivalent of flipping someone the bird while stealing their lighter.

Glitter

Matilda’s voice? Pure smirk and swagger—like she’s rolling her eyes while penning the kiss-off of the year. The production? Polished but scrappy, like glitter ground into a pair of Doc Martens. And the lyrics? Sharp enough to slice through the tension at a family dinner.

And Finally...

Not Your Ex Yet is pure pop dynamite—a pint-sized riot, a fizzy alt-pop middle finger, and proof that joy should come with teeth. Keep your eye on Matilda Grace. She’s not your ex yet—but she might be your next obsession. Keep your eye on this one because she's only just getting started.

Tune-In For Tomorrow’s Final Transmission From The Devil's Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition longlist Deep Dive

Pack your bags, fellow sonic explorers, because we’re about to hit the final leg of our trek through the Glastonbury Emerging Talent longlist undergrowth. Tomorrow, we land at the last stop, and trust me—if you thought it couldn’t get wilder, you're in for a jolt.

Have we saved the best till last? Tune in tomorrow for the grand reveal at Devil Towers, where we’ve got picks from the mysterious P of The Line of Best Fit, new ETC judging blood and spotter of talent, Tom Critten, the evergreen enthusiasts at Too Many Blogs and the uniquely sharp and perceptive folks over at Under The Radar. Four tastemakers who share the Devil's ear for new musical magnificence.

Same time, same place tomorrow, for the grand finale of tracks—pure, unfiltered ear-candy that'll slap you awake faster than a cold shower on a hangover morning. Get ready, this ride’s about to go from zero to chaos and back home in three seconds flat.

The Devil Has The Best Tuna

Praise on Sunday

Q052From: Gesgapegiag, Quebec, Canada

Unfiltered

Raw Throated

And Finally...

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Blind Among The Flowers - BenChango

BenChangoFrom: London, England

Angsty

Angular

Growls

Prowls

And Finally...

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Office Politics

Hadda BeFrom: London, England

Mischievous

Urgent

Nonchalant

Lingering

And Finally...

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Trust Fund

Eloise FabbriFrom: Birmingham, England via Guernsey

Torment

Unravelling

Fragile

Unpredictable

And Finally...

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Face The Music

TV FaceFrom: Lancaster, England

Serotonin

Tectonic

Revolution

Unhinged

And Finally...

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Staithe With Me Till Dawn

StaitheFrom: Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, England

Lyrical

Hearts Breaking

Etched

And Finally...

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Wild Thing

Aster Baby and the Wild RabbitsFrom: Los Angeles, United States

Spectral Lullaby

Bittersweet Shimmer

And Finally...

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Larlin Black Label

LarlinFrom: Brighton, England

Awkward

Honesty

Break-Up

And Finally...

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Baby Love

Yossari BabyFrom: Manchester, England

Incantations

Gate-crashing

And Finally...

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Life's What You Make It

My Life As A MothFrom: London via Sweden

Growl

Breakdown

Fevered

Jagged

Q052
From: Gesgapegiag, Quebec, Canada

BenChango
From: London, England

Hadda Be
From: London, England

Eloise Fabbri
From: Birmingham, England via Guernsey

TV Face
From: Lancaster, England

Staithe
From: Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, England

Aster Baby and the Wild Rabbits
From: Los Angeles, United States

Larlin
From: Brighton, England

Yossari Baby
From: Manchester, England

My Life As A Moth
From: London via Sweden

PHWOAR
From: Birmingham, England

Polly
From: The Past and The Future

Oli Harris
From: Cambridge, England