When you cover over ten festivals a year, some of them sort of blur into a hazy memory. Writing about them helps, but some events, despite their quality, fade a little or a lot over time. I haven’t even left the site yet, and I know for sure that Vylanfest, the festival formerly known as 2000 Trees, will not be one of those events. This isn’t just for its lineup, although the highlights were incredibly high.
My entire experience arriving at the festival was caked in drama. On Tuesday, before I was due to depart, I came down with the worst case of man flu in the history of men or flu. I failed to organise anywhere to stay, and had to blag my way into guest accommodations or anywhere with vans and people, not a car park. I had to manage my noisily gang remotely, and there were problems, which led to poor Joe camping in a car park for the night at Noisily instead! I broke, mentally, but worse mechanically—my clutch decided that this was just the right moment to explode.
But then, I met the man, the myth, the legend, James Scarlett, and his “sidekick” for the Thursday, the legendary Gav McInally of Damnation fame. I found I was set up next to the wonderful beer providers for the festival—Arbor from Bristol. And finally, I recovered from my cold enough to understand the wonder that is Vylanfest.
Now, and this is actually to my detriment, Vylanfest is the best-organised festival in the UK. I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but I want a little more chaos. This is purely for crewband exploiting antics and being sneaky beaky purposes really, right, so they’re entirely legit in keeping things tight but at the same time, lower-down artists and crew members were slightly irritated. However, the festival is also organised where it matters. There are enough bins, enough toilets, the toilets are always clean, water is accessible, potable, and even tasty.
The campsites are well laid out, everything is close together, traffic is well managed, the stewards know what’s going on, there’s an infinite variety of delicious foods (none of which cause anyone to get sick), the sound is great, there are no crowd crushes, every stage has great views. Look, it’s perfect. It’s completely perfect. Flawless. Better, from an organisational point of view, than any of the two dozen plus UK festivals I’ve attended. Even you, Noisily, and you’re jaw-droppingly good at this.
If the lineup meshes perfectly with you, Vylanfest, the festival formerly known as 2000 Trees, is a 10/10. But that’s the thing. For me, at least lower down the bill, it just didn’t. Usually, at this kind of festival, I make lots of cool discoveries during the daytime, but at Vylanfest/Trees, everything at the bottom of the bill just sounds like it’s trying desperately hard to be what the stuff at the top of the bill is. And that’s the point. It’s a rock festival. I don’t complain about this at Download, but Download isn’t this good—not nearly. At Download, I’m looking for the nice bits of a hard experience; at Vylanfest, just being here is a blessing.
But my minor nitpick, if I am allowed one, is this. There is too much rock music at this rock festival. boo hiss boo feck off, you poser. Everything else is perfect. I just want a little something different. Dance? Jazz? Afrobeat? Reggae? Yes, please! Just something that isn’t three to six people with guitars and a drumkit. I love rock music. I really do. I’ve listened to more than a thousand hours of Frank Turner, I’ve attended four Downloads, I dive into pits like they’re a swimming pool. But at Vylanfest, it’s all you’ve got.
Take the “hosts,” Bob Vylan and their comrades in Nova Twins. They are the closest the festival gets to dance music, and they were packed. I’m not saying a commercial dance music cheese stage is the way forward. That would be, and I quote the bossman here, “completely shit.” What I want is weird, experimental, not rock, confined to one stage only, so chart music can’t take over and turn this place into another Reading.
Wednesday, I arrived, broke down, and watched the footie. England wins, fuck yeah, but I felt like complete shit, so I wasn’t able to catch any music. Sadj.
Thursday, I woke up still feeling like shit. Ah well, I need to go see music. I’m here for a job. I caught half of The Knives, who were some crazy Jazz Punk outfit that made some great overwhelming noise walls, and The Menstrual Cramps, a rapidly climbing female-fronted punk band whose aggressive attitude to people’s idols, particularly Iggy Pop, was pretty funny.
After that, I caught the Glaswegian band Dead Pony on the Main Stage. Post Rock sorta stuff—clearly very talented and the crowd started to bounce around a bit, but not really my thing—too produced. Having just listened to rock all morning and feeling unwell,
I wasn’t so down to go find another band, so instead wandered over to the Two Promoters’ One Podcast Live Episode in the Word Tent. Chatting about their earlier exploration of, what at that point was still the Trees site and taking questions from the crowd, the pod turned into a bit of a piss-taking opportunity when James Scarlett’s Mum got the mic and asked him why he didn’t talk about his youthful enjoyment of Bros or Chris de Burgh on the show.
Feeling pretty tired and not super excited about the rest of thursday’s lineup, I decided to go back to my stricken van to have a nap, only to meet the podcast’s famous sponsor, hot sauce magnate Lou’s Brews in the campsite. While this was an enourmous distraction, after resting, gathering myself, and regrouping my mind for a couple of hours, I headed down to see Los Campesinos! in the forest.
Now, this was my first proper experience of the forest, and unless you’re trying to take photos from the crowd, it is one of my favourite venues ever. Los Campesinos! was great—a thick blanket of surprisingly heavy music which still retained something of a polished indie vibe.
The next morning, I headed straight to the Rumjacks on the main stage. Playing twice, a fun thing lots of bands do for Vylanfest, the Rumjacks are a Celtic punk band that very much sticks to the Dropkicks mould of that genre—all mock Boston accents (they’re Australian FFS) and heavy guitars paired with folk rhythms and original lyrics. Lots of fun, and “A Fistful of Roses” is a certified banger.
After they finished, the modern punk which would dominate the day started to take hold. The Nova Twins were amazing—punk, with slight hyperpop elements, delivered by two frontwomen who utterly ooze charisma. Fast and frenetic, at the time I described it as panic music, and I feel that is accurate.
Following the Nova Twins came the band with many names, and even more opinions. The band that some (they) say is the most important in Britain. The heroes of last week’s Rising Festival, The Infamous Slam Dunk Hooligans, Bob Fucking Vylan.
Now, I wrote about Big Bob and Little Bob last week, but I don’t think I’ve really done this pair justice. Coming on stage and immediately renaming the whole festival after himself, Big Bob was very consciously the ultimate demonstration of self-worth and ego. With a confidence that only comes from being as, as the album title implies, as humble as the sun, the man dominated the crowd, forcing his antiracist, anticapitalist message right into ten thousand minds.
However, while howling away on stage Big Bob may be a true titan of a man, but playing to essentially a home crowd, he decided to show a little of his human side. Tiniest Bob, his daughter, was hanging out on stage, and when invited up to speak, used her one swear word for the day to get the trees crowd fucking wild. Seeing a kid who grew up dirt poor less than 20 miles from me, surrounded by a bunch of shitty fucking people I recognise all too well, showing off his ten thousand-strong crowd to his little girl and letting her say whatever she wanted to them, now that hit me in a way I didn’t expect.
Big up the legends that are Bob Fucking Vylan. Long Live Vylanfest.
Despite their brilliance, Bob, Bob, and Bob were still only a warmup act for the true main attraction. Imported straight from deepest Bogan-land, the Chats deliver punk cut down to its simplest, most critical components. Short, repeated phrases—powerful aggressive riffs, and really simple instrumentation. Who needs a big flash fancy car, when you have a 6-litre GTR, and who doesn’t agree really, that all they want, and all they need is infact a good pub feed? Often, I’m kinda ambivalent about good musicians releasing new stuff as it means old favourites will inevitably fade away, but with the Chats, I’m just so excited to hear what they come up with that damn, I don’t care if we even lose our favourites.
After the Chats, I headed out to a place I’d heard of, but yet to visit. Rumours were swirling around the site that Frank Turner was performing a secret set at Camp Turner under the name “Sam Tucker.” I, however, knew this was untrue, having met Sam earlier in the day, when he asked to go along to his gig.
Camp Turner, while an amazing idea, proved a bit more popular than I think the organisers expected. A designated place in the middle of the campsite for acoustic music after the big bands finish, it was essentially a single prefab stage panel, with a Herris fence backing, and no amplification of any kind. That meant, to work, it relied on performers being loud, and everyone else being quiet—a big challenge at a drinking festival like Vylanfest.
Nonetheless, through patience, one could get close enough to hear the acts on stage, and when one did it was really worth it. Sam Tucker? was “headlining” the camp, with two acts, The Sweet Chunks Band and Burn the Ladder on before him, and honestly, each of these guys was more memorable than any of the bands I saw on Thursday.
The Sweet Chunks Band are a purported three-piece, with two present members, who sing silly original ditties—one in particular which caught me was “Independent Nuclear Deterrent” in which bassist Ash is sent out to buy a new van, and returns with the recently decommissioned HMS Vengeance—a fully operational nuclear submarine, which he draws eyes on the front and names Mr Bubbles. These guys are hillarious, and I hope to bump into them late at night somewhere slightly less intense than 2000 Trees.
Burn the Ladder, on the other hand, is very explicitly political—to the point of being barred from some open mics before on the concern they might cause trouble. Openly hating the Tories, Starmer’s Labour, and the capitalist world in general, they delivered folk-punk in quite possibly its purest form.
Sam, when he came on, was an absolute blast. Knowing some people were hoping for Frank Turner, he mollified their disappointment by straight away launching into a bloody amazing cover of “Recovery,” one of the famed Wessex troubadour’s singalong hits. Sprinkling a few interesting originals into his set, alongside a few rock night classics, his Sheffield charms rendered him the best Frank Turner impersonator I’ve ever seen.
Day 4, Saturday, and the reign of the Bobs had and the festival was dominated, at least for me, by one man and one man only: Francis Edward Turner. A bit of a personal musical hero, Frank Turner has been linked with Trees basically since it started, when James tried and failed to book Million Dead for the first edition. Recently completing the world record number of gigs in 24 hours, Turner was not attempting to repeat that, and was instead billed to play twice, once in the forest, and once on the main stage.
The day started with Andi’s Chamber and Affection to Rent in the Forest—I had met both earlier in the festival, and agreed to head down despite them playing at 10 and 10:30 respectively. Andi’s Chamber is an interesting emo-inspired singer-songwritery thing which incorporates some interesting post-rock elements, while Affection to Rent are more of a goth rock band, which again incorporates a bunch of post-rock, post-punk elements. Both acts were worth catching, with some great ideas and musicianship on display.
Next I saw The Meffs, a band Frank Turner produces, on the main stage. Wild, simple, aggressive punk with political lyrics, and simple, easy-to-learn singalong choruses, the Meffs were a little bit of a flashback to the previous night, reminiscent of Vylan, the Nova Twins, and the Chats rather than what was to come.
After the Meffs, it was time for Frank’s first set—a Q and A with podcaster Mark and Me in the forest. Starting off funny and entertaining, the experience became special quite suddenly, when Frank played “Smiling at Strangers on Trains,” an old Million Dead song, and a classic Frank track, which is now a rarity in his rotation. Another incredible piece was one from his new album, “Something In Between.” Striking like an arrow into my heart, I’m not sure if Frank Turner is a universally skilled songwriter, capable of appealing to the core of the human condition, or if I just so happen to share his exact problems, worries and concern.
Post the first Turner set, I headed over to see House of Women. An all-female group, they played a haunting set with the feel of a jazz lounge, occasionally throwing their proverbial heavy metal weight around. The powerful vocals seemed like they dominated at times, but opportunities still presented themselves for the instrumentalists to show off their skill. Honestly, I feel they could do with abandoning the traditional rock gig approach and rolling into their jazz feel, letting people sit and relax rather than push to the front and pogo.
Onto Amigo the Devil. I’ve been keeping an eye on this dude and his band for a while, and I’m very glad they followed Frank back after supporting him on his US tour. Offering lovely country-blues-rock instrumentals paired with dark, delectable vocals ripped through with dark themes of cannibalism, murder, and yet a sweetness of heart, I’m certain they got a lot of new fans at Vylanfest this year.
The main event on Thursday, at least for most people, however, was Frank Turner and The Sleeping Souls‘ full band set on the main stage. Smashing through a parade of his hits, with a bit of a focus on his newer, heavier songs, the audience went mental. At the front, you were constantly ducking, grabbing and holding on, as dozens of crowd surfers passed over. The pits extended dozens of meters deep, with the intentionally formed circle pit the diameter of the Great Shai Hulud’s Mouth. I kept wanting to retreat and kept finding myself drawn back in by another unmissable track that I would not be separated from my sweaty brethren for. Clearly demonstrating why Frank has had such sustained success over the last two decades writing and performing music, his performance was a masterclass in crowd control, energy, and witty banter, with him making you feel like he’s been your best friend for years, despite the fact you have never spoken to him. This isn’t just a Vylanfest thing either, practically every show I’ve seen him perform has been like this. Turner is a man who has being a frontman worked out down to such an absolutely fine art that he can bring out the bag every single time.
After Turner, I intended to catch Wargasm, but various distractions kept me from them until it was time for Skinny Lister. Now, Skinny are about as much of a Turnerverse band as possible. They supported him on tour about eight years ago when I first saw him live, and have since done a joint tour with Beans on Toast. If you don’t know them, the Skinny Lister Family Band are a riot of folk dance energy, a perfect drinking and dancing band, and a very good festival headliner in their own right.
Bringing their A-game to Vylanfest, team Lister delivered banger after banger in the forest, turning a space I was confident could not support a mosh pit into a wild frenzy of dancers, moshers, and crowd surfers through the tactical deployment of a brief burst of Party George. While it was nearly impossible to get a good picture while I was there, it was one of the most fun, homely gigs I’ve ever attended, with the feeling that the crowd genuinely were my friends, despite the fact I’d only known the few I’d met for a few hours.
Just before the end of Lister, however, I needed to sneak off. Someone had let the cat out of the bag about the Frank Turner Secret Set, and I knew I needed to be there well beforehand to see the big man for the third time in one day. Arriving 20 minutes before the set, I already found a crowd, albeit a small one. I was glad, as I made my way in—I’d probably be able to hear. Even five minutes later, I was enormously vindicated, as what must have been a thousand people crowded around the Tiny Camp Turner Stage. The crowds got bigger and bigger, and anticipation rose, before Frank Turner took to the stage, yelling out his greetings unamplified to the way-too-big crowd. Raised up maybe three feet, visibility was poor and hearing anything was almost impossible—at the same time, for me, four rows of people away from the front, able to pick Frank’s voice out from the singalong crowd—that was truly, truly amazing.
So yeah. That was Vylanfest—The festival formerly known as 2000 Trees. And I think, for some people, it could have been a perfect festival. If the lineup is 100% your thing, and you want to listen to all rock all the time, it is perfect. No changes are needed at all. I, however, am not that person. I have three things I’d like to change about Vylanfest/2000 Trees. Firstly, it is simply over-organised. I’ve never thought this about a festival before, and I’m unlikely to ever think this again, but it is run too well for what it is, and by loosening up just a teeny weensy bit, especially with crew and artists lower down the bill, they could generate themselves quite a lot of goodwill.
Second, and much more importantly—to me it seemed the entire bottom half of the lineup was missing. The smallest act at the festival, Andi’s Chamber, still seemed to have their shit together in a way people on the main stage at a lot of events do, and this is, well, not only unnecessary but also kinda harmful to the scene. There were a few places to see tiny, completely unknown bands, like the aforementioned Camp Turner, but for the most part, every stage was a big professional affair. This is simply not necessary when putting on a band with twelve fans who are playing for tickets. More small, cheap, volunteer-staffed stages could make 2000 Trees pop and further support grassroots music.
Finally, and tying in with this—I think Vylanfest/2000 Trees could benefit from being a little broader. I’m not saying turn it into Reading, where chart pop now dominates, and rock fans are left with scraps, but a little bit of any other music, especially on the lower end, could add to the festival. I don’t want the headliner, or even any of the big stages changed at all; I just want a few more stages of random festival hippy bullshit, and I think, given how well acts like Bob Vylan and Skinny Lister did, branching out a little further would go down so well!
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