Outcider is a very special little festival. I almost don’t want to write about it because I’m afraid that if it gets any bigger, it might lose the charm that makes it so unique.
Put on by the wonderful people at Fueled By Cider, and located on Fernhill Farm near Bristol—also home to the much larger ArcTanGent—Outcider succeeds because of its focus and specialisation. Even more so than FBC’s other festival, the family-friendly Cursus, Outcider makes clever use of its rural environment, shunning elaborate decorations and instead embracing the fact that it takes place on a farm, made up of a collection of sheep fields and agricultural buildings.
Stacked against the inside walls of the two barns, which serve as the festival’s stages, are big bags full of wool. Covered by roofing and soft as anything, these giant sofas are quite possibly the best festival seating I’ve ever encountered.
The facilities are equally wholesome and hearty—the toilets were genuinely nice and never seemed particularly busy. While it is a small festival, there were various food options, including Caribbean BBQ, pizza, and pasties, in addition to a café that served home-cooked-style meals. Have you ever had a Sunday roast at a festival? It’s a truly life-changing experience.
Featuring a brilliant lineup in an incredible setting, without any kind of administrative screw-ups, Outcider could be considered a perfect festival—if you like what they’re doing. The thing is, it’s incredibly committed to its area of focus. The organisers almost certainly knew that two of their headliners would be The Dreadnoughts and The Skimmity Hitchers. By knowing these headliners, Fueled By Cider could program the rest of the festival to fit the tastes of people who were fans of both bands, and damn, they didn’t drop the ball once.
After a hassle-free arrival on Thursday, my festival started with Jolly Roger. They were an enjoyable pirate rock band with a fair sense of silliness, featuring some trad songs and an electric guitar duelling a ukulele. Very much a rock band, all the guitarists had great stage presence, as did the ukulele player.
Then came The Imprints—a fiddle-led folk act that, despite their bright clothes, had an almost goth feel to them. Pulsing and energetic, the violin added to the enjoyable melodrama of their show.Once The Imprints completed their act, it was time for the headliner of the night—and arguably the whole festival.
Now, with half a million monthly Spotify listeners, The Dreadnoughts are honestly maybe a bit too big for Outcider nowadays. I’ve seen smaller bands absolutely blow up much bigger stages, but that’s just a blessing for everyone who was there on Thursday because, hot damn, The Dreadnoughts are possibly the best live band touring right now.
Yeah, I’m biased. I adore punk, polka, sea shanties, and English trad, and I like seeing them all done properly. But still. Best live band. Period.
Their music is amazing: brilliantly complex folk from an unbelievable variety of sources, performed without a single misplaced note. Incredibly evocative lyrics that can transport you to Bristol, Glastonbury, or the Northwest Passage. A beat that grabs you by the collar and gets your feet marching. A tone that feels like sharp, strong scrumpy running down your throat.
But that’s only half of it. The on-stage energy, the power, the diversity of audience interaction—polka pits, crowd surfing, taking the drummer to get a pint, walls of death—it’s such an impressive stage show that you forget there are only six of them; it feels more like all 28 of the Old Time Sailors performing at once.
Starting with “Antarctica” and delivering a set of mostly their classic original material plus a few of the legendary sea shanties they’re known for, the highlight had to be their covers of the Surfin Turnips songs, “Turbo Island” and “Cider,” with an actual Surfin Turnip. Given the festival’s proximity to Bristol, it was no surprise they got the whole crowd flying along for these.
If I could choose one band to see right now, it would be The Dreadnoughts, and that answer hasn’t changed for the last two years. In fact, the only complaints I heard about Outcider were from people who got confused, arrived on Friday, and found they’d missed The Dreadnoughts. If that were me, I’d fully buy a ticket to wherever they were playing next and accept the sunk cost, but I don’t think anyone did that.
Waking up on Friday, I felt a little bit shipwrecked. Cider and massive energy expenditure had taken their toll, but there were bands to see, so to the barn I hurried, just in time for Battery Acid. Thankfully, Battery Acid, despite their name, were very listenable, with the frontwoman carrying a certain Björkish charm. Relatively gentle for punk without being pop-punk, their guitar tone was great and had a rock feel without sounding generic.
After them, I saw the Autumn Saints—a sort of proggy, post-rocky, country-esque band. While they were probably the least Outcider band on the bill the whole weekend, their relatively chilled-out show was probably what I needed so early in the day.
What came next, however, was anything but chilled out.
Bridget is THE Rock Frontwoman.
Absurdly energetic. Absurdly powerful. Absurdly charismatic. I’m deeply shocked that I’ve never encountered this woman before because it’s clear she puts in more effort than any other human on the planet, and I’m surprised she isn’t at every festival under the sun. She works so hard, and it all pays off because her show is absolutely bloody amazing—grabbing your attention and not letting it go. Point of example: She managed to get the mostly older, not-yet-fully-hyped or fully drunk Outcider crowd to do a wall of death before 7 p.m. That is immensely impressive. If I hadn’t lost my hat, I would tip it to her.
After Bridget, I’d have thought the energy would drop again, but no. Somehow, the next band, Lobster, managed to keep it up. Playing fun, bouncy ska punk, this smaller band with only one horn managed to make it feel like more. A particular highlight was their Black Sabbath cover. Including the odd metal cover in your set is a trend I’m noticing among more and more festival bands, and I like it.
Gen and the Degenerates took to the stage next and attacked the audience with their rock-and-roll take on punk. Quiet, loud, then quiet, then loud—Gen and the band are masters of the build-up, with a surprisingly grungy sound, funny lyrics, and often interesting, clever structure to their tracks.
Ska-hip-hop fusion legends Sonic Boom Six headlined on Friday, and while one might have initially thought they’d fit in slightly better somewhere like Maui Festival or at the Fools Leap in Oldtown, it turns out they were absolutely an Outcider band. The unexpected dance energy was perfect for a big party night, and the only negative comment I heard was that maybe it could have done with more horns for such a wild party!
On Saturday, the music started with Kier: a three-piece country—or rather, Americana—band from Yorkshire. They just had their sound right. Something jangly, warm, and jumpy—they were just… correct. Playing in the agri-barn specifically, the Americana jangles created a wonderful sense of nostalgia for a place I’ve never been to and probably never existed.
Next up was Chiman 101. Changing things up a bit from the flow of bands throughout the festival, he delivered a performance of conscious hip-hop, which, despite missing his DJ, was musically solid. He had a great connection with the crowd, and his insightful and emotional verses fit well on the farm.
After Chiman 101, we had the pleasure of seeing the Kahunas. With only a bass drum, a guitar, and a violin, they weaved a soundscape thicker than most full bands. Combining serious neo-folk with incredibly tight musicianship and very strong male vocals, they also had a silly side, with jokey songs about youngsters dancing around on too many mind-altering substances on top of their more serious fare.
Made up of members of Nasty Fishmonger and a bunch of the most hardcore Fueled By Cider fans, Admiral Backbar, Saturday’s secret set, was an absolute highlight of the festival. Essentially campfire sea shanties brought onto the main stage, plus a couple of delicious Nasty Fishmonger songs—my fingernails still haven’t recovered from jamming out in the folk pit on my washboard without any thimbles.
The day went on bangingly, with Dr Splink offering a wild blast of drunk ska energy, while Dana Immanuel and the Stolen Band once again delivered the barnstorming Americana energy they’re known for. However, the highlight of Saturday was still to come.
8kalacas are ska punk elevated to heights no one has ever quite taken it to. Almost metal in its level of heaviness, while integrating intriguing, psychedelic Latin American rhythmic influences, with amazing drum and horn sounds. A wild pit formed up front and persisted practically throughout the show. I feel very blessed to have seen 8kalacas on this tour of the UK before they get a reputation here and start selling out venues.
Samantics, as a single dude with some loop pedals, clearly couldn’t follow that. Could he? Well, by doing something completely different, he almost managed it. Funny, not too serious, and technically very skilled, I’m surprised Sam hasn’t been compared to Ren more. I expect fans of the Hi-Ren star would love Samantics’ stuff.
The night was headlined by The Allergies. Performing funky, live disco-inspired tunes, on any other night, they would have made a fantastic headliner. However, this Saturday, they were simply overshadowed by the sheer power of 8kalacas.
Now, it’s not that The Allergies aren’t good—they’re a brilliant band, and most nights I’d absolutely love to boogie down to them. It’s simply that the type of music they play is just too gentle to compete against the essentially dance metal that came before them. You can’t go super heavy and then go back—not once we’ve all got super hyped up. First Light Festival in Lowestoft made the same mistake with Queen Dogs and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams—funky bands just sound weedy when they follow heavy ones.
Closing out the night with an acoustic guitar was Captain Hotknives. Offering a realistic depiction of what living in Bradford is like—from getting hash for his nanna and being beaten up by his da for smoking it, to the hit song about the joys of sniffing glue—Captain Hotknives was extremely funny! However, he could have done with being amplified as, at a couple of points, the poor guy had to yell pretty loud to be heard over the crowd.
Now, throughout this, you may be asking, “Tim, where is this focus you’ve been talking about?” Yes, there has been a bit of variety in the programming—a little hip-hop, rock, and disco among the ska, folk, and punk—but I’d argue that it was pretty much all in the same vein. On Sunday, that variety dropped away, and the focus became laser sharp.
The first thing I saw was not a musical act as such, but instead the utterly insane Ciderobics. Wearing outlandish outfits and moving far too vigorously at the front of the Agri Barn, three crazy Westcountry oldheads led us through a nutty aerobics routine that involved first going to a festival and then smashing at balls with the names of dictators and capitalists on them.
After this, the first band of the day—cider punk legends The Surfin Turnips—came out to rapturous applause. Look, I’ll be honest: I love the Turnips, but my expectations were not that high. I’ve listened to their recorded stuff, and while it has spirit beyond most music on Spotify, its execution leaves a little to be desired. I was joyously surprised, then, when it turned out that they were a good band—like, playing in time with each other and everything.
I shouldn’t forget, they wrote “Turbo Island,” and it is an incredibly good song. The Turnips’ performance of it was, if anything, more fun than The Dreadnoughts’ version!
Also known as Best Dressed Day—or formerly Ladies’ Day—the Sunday at Outcider has a tradition where all the men put on dresses, and let me tell you, they all looked fabulous. Honestly, this almost mandatory approach to it was amazing, as it got participation from dudes who otherwise would not have become involved, and for the most part, they absolutely loved it. An on-site charity shop, supporting the Easton Cowboys, helped gentlemen who were not informed about this get involved and even offered rentals to those who were struggling financially.
The next act I saw perform were the Wilswood Boys. Playing folky, lovely stuff with chill vocals and dueling guitars, they were a good break from the apple-fueled insanity of the Turnips and Ciderobics.
Now, We Punch Tigers are by far the worst musicians to ever even think about performing live, let alone do so, and are even worse people. How dare they expose the poor public to their “tunes”? I don’t understand. Below drivel, We Punch Tigers is music to make an insurance broker smash his head into the desk from boredom, yet it sounds so unnaturally cacophonous that even the most hardcore djent fan would be sent crying upon hearing it. Playing “hits” including the bloody Home and Away theme, by the end of the set I was so disgusted that I had been a little sick in my mouth. AVOID AT ALL COSTS.
The Accrustic Badger Band, on the other hand, are good. Like, a lot better than I was expecting—like really good. This was a theme of all the extremely West Country bands I saw all Sunday. Occasionally (always) silly they may be, but there’s good musicianship and lyricism there. Believe it or not, Scrumpy and Western is a genre worth being taken seriously beyond just the Wurzels.
Now, certainly for the first time in my life, and probably for the first time in theirs, the Menstrual Cramps provided a bit of a return to normality. While their Bristolian charms allowed me to keep myself in my lovely cider bubble, they’re really a “proper” punk band with (somewhat) serious political and feminist themes. I mean, serious for Sunday at Outcider. Honestly, it must have been nice for them. With their bright makeup and piss-take attitude, they were for sure the most traditionally cool people on site.
FFTP is a band that goes by many names—some of them rather too rude for this family-friendly review. Freedom for the Traveling People is one I can publish, so I’ll go with that because bloody hell, they were good. Big on the reels and big on the feels, they performed songs with a traditional vibe while still being, well, punk. Dancy and energetic, with a bit of Celtic energy, FFTP are an incredible live folk experience.
Warming up the crowds before the headliners were West Country hip-hop act Monkey Bizzle, scratching and rapping their way through a banging set. Deploying more metaphors than Boomtown sees bucket hats, for a countryside rap act, you can’t do better than Monkey Bizzle.
Headlining the night though—and the whole festival, really—were The Skimmity Hitchers. Now, if it were not for the Wurzels somehow still being an extant band, the Skimmities would be the leading light of Scrumpy and Western. Delivering a heroic headline set of adapted hit songs given a West Country charm, we were treated to dark stories told about Weymouth to the tune of “Bad Moon Rising,” sent tripping on moonshine to the sound of Katrina and the Waves, and enjoyed singing about the big badger man to the music of The Specials.
Another band that surprised me, I knew the Skimmities were good, but this was a banging set, well worthy of the headline spot. I don’t know if I wasn’t paying attention the last time I saw them, or if they were just in absolute top form at Outcider, but honestly, they’ve climbed up my recommendations list from “catch if you can” to “almost unmissable.”
So, Outcider. Look, I’ll admit—it is a bit niche. If you don’t want to go and listen to mostly ska punk and drink the best traditionally made cider around, it might not be for you. If you can’t stand music that, when you get down to it, sounds like the Wurzels but angry, it definitely isn’t for you.
Beyond the lineup, the location, and the facilities, though, Outcider has something many festivals lack. The crowd, the audience, the artists—they’re all friends, they’re all interesting, and they’re all lovely.
If you are part of the admittedly limited audience that Outcider is trying to cultivate, well then, I don’t think I could recommend a better festival. For you, for your very specific, wonderful, scrumpy-and-western niche, it is perfect
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