Festival Review: The Great Escape // Brighton // May 2025
Every May, a surreal combination of 6 Music Dads, mullet-boasting Brightonians, and champagne-swilling industry types converge in Brighton for 4 days of musical exploration. Yes, it could only be The Great Escape, back with another stellar lineup of emerging talent. We headed down to the seaside haven to experience the stars of tomorrow, today.
Basking in the warm glow of golden hour, it feels only right to kick things off with a visit to Brighton’s very own beachside stage, the aptly named Deep End. As that delicious first cider on the pebbles sinks in, so does the feeling that a wonderful weekend of discovery is finally upon us. And though we didn’t know it at the time, we were about to witness some of the very best music that The Great Escape 2025 had to offer, right off the bat. Post-funk rockers Warmdushcer - whose German name translates to Warm Showerer - were tasked with hyping everyone up for a certain Peter Doherty, and to say they rose to the challenge would be a gross understatement. Launching straight into the synth-punk swagger of ‘Staying Alive’, the London six-piece immediately announce themselves as a thrillingly unique proposition, with their addictive blend of electro-funk, post-punk and synth-pop simply demanding attention.
Raised in Cape Cod, American frontman Clams Baker Jr brings a frenetic energy to proceedings. Dressed in a striking black & white t-shirt which uses teeth graphics to spell out ‘Smile’, his memorable look is completed by a baseball cap and on-again, off-again sunglasses. Fizzing round the stage as witty and pointed spoken-word verses tumble out of his mouth, Clams commands the crowd with an easy confidence which seems, somewhat contradictorily, to be powered by a nervy restlessness that the rest of the band also tap into, to varying degrees. Guitarist Adam J. Harmer, who splits his time between Warmdushcer and Fat White Family, plays with a complexity and intensity reminiscent of Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood, while bassist Benjamin Romas-Hopcraft brings a calming coolness to the mix, providing hypnotic basslines, as well the lion's share of backing vocals (though almost every member contributes vocally at some stage).
It’s Hopcraft’s strong vocal presence which makes the second song, the shimmering pseudo-ballad ‘Pure at the Heart’, stand out as a highlight in a set positively packed with them, his soaring voice a perfect fit for the song’s uber melodic chorus, and brilliantly contrasted with Baker’s abrasive brand of talk-singing. Add into the mix the disco-beats and crashing rock fills of drummer Bleu Ottis, the spacey, whirling synth breaks of keyboard master Marley Mackey (son of late Pulp bassist Steve), and the very occasional backing vocals of Quinn Whalley, who hilariously spends most of the set stood very still, vibing out at the back in his aviators like some sort of anti-Bez, and you have some idea of how gloriously eccentric their performance really was. An exceptional live band who have masterfully updated the synth-pop of Gary Numan and new wave of XTC, Warmdushcer may well be the finest band on Doherty’s independent label Strap Originals, and are certainly the perfect way to start the sprawling, multi-day party that is The Great Escape.
Closing the night is perhaps the coolest person ever to head up a record label, current Libertine, former Babyshamble, and iconic modern troubadour Peter Doherty. Popping onstage to huge cheers before leaving, only to briefly return with daughter Billie Mae in his arms, Doherty lets the tent fill to capacity before officially revealing himself. Dressed in a grey suit, complete with his signature hat and added cane, he riles up the already rowdy crowd with expressive swishes of said cane, casually timed with former Smiths drummer Mike Joyce’s anticipation-building snare hits, before the full band plough into Babyshambles favourite ‘Kilimanjaro’, sparking an immediate frenzy in the audience.
Backed by wife Katia de Vidas on keys, alongside a guitarist with a noticeable - albeit youthful - likeness to creative partner Carl Barât, Doherty feels right at home as a solo headliner, his compelling phrasing and charismatic presence taking centre stage, even as his accomplished band bring a rollicking sensibility to his lyrically rich vignettes. Of the selection of songs from Doherty’s most recent solo album ‘Felt Better Alive’, the likeable title track is a clear standout, as is the kooky, off-kilter reworking of last year’s Libertines album track ‘The Baron’s Claw’, given alternate lyrics, single status, and a new title: ‘The Day the Baron Died’. Drenched in green lighting, Doherty wrings every drop of intrigue out of the song’s jazzy atmosphere, much to the audience’s delight. It’s the old classics which really set the place alight, though. A hushed ‘Albion’ gives longtime fans goosebumps, ‘Last of the English Roses’ raises arms and voices, with a partial ‘How Soon Is Now?’ cover incorporated into its gleefully chaotic outro, while an anthemic ‘Fuck Forever’ provides the cathartic singalong that ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ usually covers at Libertines gigs. Closing with a full cover of The Smiths’ ‘Panic’, Doherty looks as though he’s having the time of his life, and honestly, so are we. It’s not every day you get to see Mike Joyce smashing out one of his former band’s most beloved anthems, and as Doherty’s dog Gladys joins the bow to rapturous applause, it’s clear that Wednesday evening will be hard to beat.
As Thursday begins, and the first of many hangovers start to recede, it’s off to catch rising star SOFY at the characterful gay bar Charles Street Tap. Sauntering on in a white and blue Pirelli football shirt to a packed-out room (no small feat, given it’s only 1:30pm), she wastes no time in establishing her cheeky personality. “Hello, you networkers”, she grins as her bandmates ready themselves for the gig, kicking things off with a subtle, sparkling slice of indie-pop which appears to subvert expectations. The laid-back charm persists for the next few songs, but in between, SOFY and band do battle with a relentless rogue click track which keeps interrupting. A less experienced artist might crumble under such extended silences, but SOFY uses the technical difficulties to her advantage. “Anyone got any jokes?”, she smiles knowingly, before conducting large cheers when the issue is finally resolved. Rather than put a spanner in her set, the delay adds relatability to SOFY’s strong sense of cool, making her even more likeable and getting everyone on side, if they weren’t already.
With her football attire and slightly Mod-ish haircut, SOFY probably would’ve been labelled a ladette in the 90s, but it’s not until the mid-set highlight ‘Wet Paint’ that this really comes across musically. Built around a swaggering riff reminiscent of Arctic Monkeys’ ‘AM’, the song is stuffed with brilliantly witty lyricism, as SOFY recounts her protagonist's increasingly desperate attempts to seduce the man she believes she’s perfect for - without his seemingly omnipresent girlfriend finding out. “Whoops I did it again, left my keys in your car so you’d come round at ten/ Accidently slipped, opened a beer and Dorritos and dip”, she winks in the authentically British, talk-sing style that Lily Allen popularised in the 2000s. Upping the ante with a gloriously catchy chorus before deploying one of the best bridges in recent memory (“I’m not usually like this, existential crisis/ Got a lump in my throat, like it’s tonsilitis”), it becomes wonderfully clear why SOFY was asked to join Liam Gallagher’s Malta Weekender last September. She has the same effortlessly stylish, salt of the earth charisma that made stars of the Gallaghers, Jarvis Cocker and co. at the height of Britpop, and later propelled the likes of Amy Winehouse and The Libertines to stardom.
And it’s not just Liam’s management who have tapped into her smart update of early 00’s pop culture: FIFA included her song ‘Big Talk’ in its 2023 soundtrack, which, SOFY explains with a smile, means “people keep asking us to come to Brazil”. As the set wraps up with another typically humorous couplet - “Don’t know what you’re doing to me/ Now my life’s a Richard Curtis movie” - and a bright, guitar-driven finale, it seems entirely plausible that SOFY’s ‘Messy’ moment is but a year or two away. It was only three years ago that the relatively unknown Lola Young wowed industry heads at The Great Escape, after all. SOFY shares Young’s knack for relatable lyrics wrapped in earworm melodies, and with Charles Street Tap filled to the brim, it’s safe to assume that a decent number of industry movers & shakers have witnessed her set. All things considered, it’d be deeply unwise to bet against her.Talented, funny, and almost unfathomably cool, SOFY is a star in ascendance.
Up next are Glasgow punks SOAPBOX, which means a walk along the pier to Horatio's, the end-of-pier bar which has been transformed into a stomping ground for Scottish Music Showcase. It takes a little longer than expected, and we walk in to find frontman Tom Rowan quite literally swinging from the ceiling. Pints purchased, we make our way into the crowd as Rowan dispatches of his white vest, to the sound of the raw, increasingly fast ‘Private Public Transport’. He bemoans waiting for the bus in his thick Scottish accent as his bandmates bristle behind him, leaving the crowd equal parts bemused and delighted. With a slew of full-throttle anthems including ‘Good Guys’ and ‘Yer Da’ launched like hand grenades, it’s not long before SOAPBOX have earned the complete adoration of the audience, who cheer and whoop as guitarist Angus Husbands enters the pit for a manic solo, spinning round on the floor, legs flailing as he nails every note. Not one to be outdone, Rowan ends the set hanging from the ceiling once more, looking like Tarzan's second cousin as he smashes his head against a nearby lightbulb (yes, really). It’s a visceral end to an exhilarating set, cementing SOAPBOX’s place in the today’s thriving punk scene.
After trying and failing to see soul star Nectar Woode at the limited capacity Fabrica's, we find ourselves in the relatively new Dust, a grassroots venue situated near iconic nightclub Chalk. The assuring presence of Radio 1 DJ Nels Hylton convinces us to stick around, and sure enough, Belfast band Esmeralda Road deliver. The musicianship on display is impressive, though all eyes are on magnetic frontman Charlie Magill, his expressive arm gestures recalling Talking Heads’ David Bryne, while his deep, dramatic voice resembles that of Fontaine's DC frontman Grian Chatten, with aspects of Bowie and Alex Turner also creeping in. The set is pulsating and nervy, only occasionally slowing down for jazz chords and trumpets, before hurtling back into the kinetic post-punk which could well see them become successors to Fontaines’ success. The night ends with a superb set from Hastings’ punks Murderers Are Optimists at the Freemasons in Hove, as part of the unofficial alternative escape. Joined by Kid Kapichi frontman Jack Wilson while SOAPBOX run up the bar, it’s a gloriously DIY way to finish the day, and as we lose ourselves in the punkish late night antics, anticipation for Friday grows.
We begin Friday by seeing off the dregs of last night’s wine (hair of the dog, as they say), before heading to Charles Street Tap again for to catch Tasim Stevens, better known by their stage name TTSSFU. Stepping out to a buzzy crowd in a black dress with a crucifix round their neck, they proceed to serve up a pulsating selection of brooding basslines and powerful vocals, relishing in their dark, driving take on dreamy alt-pop. The last song especially is spectacular, TTSSFU’s voice reaching raspy, Robert Plant-like levels of might, serving as a sensational finale to a supremely enjoyable set. Similarly smoky is Luvcat, whose set we manage to catch the tail end of. Commanding a rammed Chalk in a pale pink dress, she oozes sensual confidence and swagger, recalling Amy Winehouse as she sings about the trials of romance with a voice dripping in drama. Like TSSFU before her, she ends with a truly awesome track, a wonderfully schmaltzy and nostalgically old-school number that gives her music a genuine sense of timelessness. It’s off to the beach next, where Welly soundtrack a delicious pebble-side burrito with their brand of quirky, Blur-esque indie, before hyperpop rockers Courting return to the festival after three years away, wowing the Deep End tent with their boundless energy and sharp, anthemic tracks.
There’s no time to waste as we race back up to Chalk, but boy, is it worth it. From the moment HotWax step foot on stage to the second they leave, we’re treated to a sprawling cacophony of noise that could go up against any of the greats. The Hastings-via-Brighton trio have been relentlessly touring for the past two years, and it shows. Every single song is a hooky, bone-crunching banger, and it’s impossible not to get swept up in their powerhouse alt-rock sound, all filthy riffs and fuzzy basslines. Lead singer Tallulah Sim-Savage shifts effortlessly from hushed understatement to shreddy screams, drummer Alife Sayers keeps things moving at breakneck speed, and bassist Lola Sam nails intricate, beefy bass fills, all the while looking like quite possibly the coolest person to ever walk this earth.
Everyone’s impressed, even the sort of middle-aged men that might ordinarily be sceptical of girls with guitars, which is how you know you’re witnessing something special. HotWax may only have one album to their name, but it’s a hell of a record, and translates even better live. Like a female-led Queens of the Stone Age, they deliver a blistering, bone-crunching performance which simply refuses to let up. Every member is at the peak of their powers, time whizzing by as their rip-roaring brand of rock ‘n’ roll cements the fact that HotWax are one of rock’s most thrilling, enthralling new bands.
One final treat awaits in the form of Brazilian born, Hastings-based (there must be something in those waters) hellraiser Karen Dió, who has attracted quite the crowd at small, sweaty nightclub Volks. Usually known for club nights of Jungle, DnB and Techno, Volks has been transformed into a showcase stage for artists playing Download festival this June, including Dió. Starting 15 minutes later than scheduled, she eventually arrives to big cheers from a bustling crowd which stretches right to the back of the venue. Launching straight into the singalong pop-punk of ‘My World’, her infectious energy quickly gets everyone moving, or at the very least nodding along and smiling, which can’t be said for every artist. With husband Matt Bigland - also known as the frontman of Dinosaur Pile-Up - on lead guitar alongside Dió on rhythm and Adam Breeze on drums, the sound is loud and dirty, a perfect fit for both the sticky floors of Volks, and Dio’s zesty, full-throttle anthems. ‘Stupid’ keeps the liveliness levels way up, ‘So Funny’ provides the catchiest chorus of the entire festival, and ‘Sick Ride’ ends the set with a bang, prompting a pit for the brave, and a serious bout of headbanging for everyone else. Drenched in red light and audience adoration, Dió thanks everyone for coming before speaking to each and every person who wants to talk to her, keenly aware that the huge turnout isn’t just a triumph for her, but for everyone who loves to lose themselves in heavy riffs and cathartic choruses.
Saturday sees most of our anticipated acts starting later in the day, so we treat ourselves to a little lie-in before heading down to seaside bar Daltons for the inimitable Jodie Langford. Hailing from Hull, Langford has a distinctive accent which helps imbue characterful warmth into her situational songs, made all the more memorable by the presence of masked producer Endoflevelbaddie, who backs up Langford’s passionate talk-chant delivery with deep electro-grooves. Daltons is absolutely rammed, with people making finger guns, bobbing up and down, swaying side to side, wearing sunglasses indoors, you name it - it feels like the closest thing to a mid-afternoon rave you'll ever get, especially in a bar typically associated with rock, and that is down to the freewheeling sense of fun that Langford builds the set around. The 6 Music Dads are out in full force and loving the Prodigy vibes, something Langford acknowledges with a laugh, encouraging everyone to “get the shots in!”. The last song might get a little repetitive, but the crowd are having too good a time to care. Clearly, Langford has mastered the (seemingly) simple art of having great fun, bringing verve and vitality to
Brighton just as the lineup had started to sag slightly, setting us up nicely for one last day of discovery.
A short walk up to Volks finds red-haired punk queen Bex riding high, extending the fantastic energy established by Langford with her riotous, bass-heavy take on power-punk. Insisting that the extensive audience “split this place in fucking two” before orchestrating a swirling circle pit, it’s clear that Bex knows how to work a crowd. While her stylised screech gets a little grating eventually, the music itself is fast-paced and punchy, keeping everyone moving for the remainder of the set, until she climbs up onto a speaker that is, informing punters that she’s about to attempt a stage dive, and that they better catch her. They pass with flying colours, of course, and though she does sometimes verge on Minnie Mouse territory, her unwavering commitment to putting on a great show has to be commended.
It’s off to Brighton’s biggest gay club Revenge next, to catch the end of London four-piece Sulk, who initially seem to deal in slow, grungy post-punk, before revealing that they’re actually just building up to what was possibly the most explosive crescendo of the entire festival. For the climax of the penultimate song, and the entirety of the last, every member plays with such fiery, unrelenting, earth-shaking passion that it’s genuinely impossible to capture with words, completely flooring the crowd with their seamless switch-ups and awe-inspiring energy. Singer and guitarist Lily Noble frequently falls to her knees, howling and shredding with complete and utter abandon, while drummer Flipp Krisan smashes his skins like he’s been possessed by the spirit of Keith Moon. Truly, this is something to behold. Don’t be fooled by first impressions - once Sulk are firing on all cylinders, they transform into one of the most extraordinarily formidable live bands currently performing.
The same thing can be said of the next band Vower, except that they waste no time getting down to disgustingly heavy business. We’re back in Volks for an eagerly anticipated set from the fast-rising five-piece, who proceed to put on a show of biblical proportions. Mixing melodic metal with a vicious sense of hardcore, their set is essentially one long breakdown, and quite astonishing for it. Singer Josh McKeown rises above his faltering mic with an impassioned vocal performance, moving effortlessly from clean catchiness to blood-curdling screams, while his bandmates throw themselves into some of the filthiest riffs known to man.
The set flies by, and it’s only in an attempt to come down from the crazy, Vower-induced high that we end up in Three Wise Cats, for what will turn out to be the final show of the festival. Vodka lemonades in hand, we settle in for Northern Irish three-piece Jock, who provide a fittingly eclectic close to this year’s edition of The Great Escape, their SPRINTS-esque brand of post-punk capping off another revelatory voyage of musical discovery.
We're looking forward to next year's 20th anniversary edition already, with the festival sure to serve up another fresh batch of future stars. As for this year's diverse array of talent - it's safe to say that they're just getting started.
Words by Ben Left
