FESTIVAL REVIEW + PHOTOS: 2000trees Festival 2024 – Thursday

Want more 2000trees? Check out our full review and galleries of Friday and Saturday.

As always, you step onto the 2000trees site and the vibes are immaculate. Not just because of the good weather; not just because spirits are high from England’s win against The Netherlands the night before, broadcast to a filled-out Axiom tent. No, it’s just baked into the place, this little idyll in the middle of the Cotswolds prided for its friendliness and wealth of great music every single year. So much so, there doesn’t even seem to be that much of a knock when Cherym’s main stage opening set is bumped back by an hour to accommodate a last-minute no-show from SNAYX. It’s certainly true of the band themselves, who play with no slack or fluff whatsoever in dishing out the consummate set of bangers accumulated from their debut earlier in the year. Taking Up Sports is the big one, the perfect confluence of indie-rock, pop-punk, Hannah Richardson’s sharp, strident voice and the kind of chorus that goes back for miles. Rarely is there a dip, though; for the first band on, you can’t ask for much more. Even a bout of aggressive therapy led by drummer Alannagh Doherty sticks totally to the idea of Cherym making big, open stages like this their norm.

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Despite being down their guitarist, The Oozes remain both visually striking and determined in their punk to take on their main stage set unscathed.

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It’s a little wild to see Meryl Streek here at all, let alone with a crowd this big. His isn’t the sort of vision you’d implant on an aerated festival stage; this spoken, offhanded rendition of punk played entirely to a backing track feels more attuned to dingy basements. But with Meryl Streek alone onstage, stalking the boards and left to define his own artery-severing intensity, it’d be a shame if this couldn’t get further out there. This has the aura of DIY to the nth degree—the grind gets amplified and bloody-minded attrition is the weapon of choice for the unassuming figure of its performer. And that’s exactly what makes this so compelling, where sparseness is a limitation only in the sense that there’s more stage for Meryl Streek himself to fill. As a proponent of some of the most explosive takes on the punk ethos going at the moment, ‘limitations’ don’t mean a whole lot.

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At the latest stop in their neverending string of dates that’s handily disproven the connotations of their own name, Dead Pony find themselves making their second 2000trees appearance in as many days. Not even 24 hours ago, this exact set was given a whirl on the Forest Stage, though to call that a ‘warm-up’ feels more than a bit disingenuous. Not just because that, too, was indicative of a band on blazing form, but because Dead Pony have effortlessness to burn by now. Among the newer breed of alt-rock, no one even scratches them in terms of confidence, with a superstar frontwoman in Anna Shields and the rock know-how to flaunt that status. Lather than onto a hefty collection of head-cavers like MK Nothing and RAINBOWS, and Dead Pony’s inescapability makes all the sense in the world. Powerful, mid-ascent, and at a level where they can drop a snippet of Smells Like Teen Spirit as a crowd pickup without even the fear of overshadowing their own work, ‘dead’ is the furthest thing from what this band is.

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“If you stand still, you are a fucking dickhead,” declares Olli Appleyard, addressing a crowd that’s notably light on fucking dickheads. With how Static Dress can work a crowd, it’s the expected outcome, even with a platform that may otherwise require more grandeur than they’re used to. Granted, touring arenas with Bring Me The Horizon is a hell of a workout, and as such, there’s a profile perfectly aligned with that of a main stage act. Appleyard, in his cropped vest and metalcore hero posture, is instantly magnetic, which is no mean feat when there’s a guy in a cloak and skull mask perched next to him on guitar. With all the neck-snap movements and 2000s screamo tones wrapped in barbed wire, the crackle of electricity of the main stage’s most oppressive band of the day is palpable. All the while, the deluge of crowd-surfers soundtracked by Courtney, Just Relax and sweet. feels like the only appropriate sight for yet more conquered ground by the current superstars of post-hardcore demolition.

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If you couldn’t tell from the cries of “set your pussy free-hee” and the actual set of bongos onstage, NOBRO are meant to be one of the fun ones of the extended indie-punk family. That’s hard to dispute with the party-hardy energy of Let’s Do Drugs, or the looser fundamentals of punk interwoven with a healthy classic rock streak. Call it ‘traditional’ in its rowdiness if you want, but there’s not many in their current circles who feel as refreshed as NOBRO do. Even without the bells to ring and whistles to blow—a mandatory concession to make in the close quarters of the NEU Stage—cranking up the entertainment value to these levels can still get you about as far.

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The blazing sunshine doesn’t feel like the most conducive environment to see Cassyette in. Or, it wouldn’t, if she hadn’t have graduated from the darker, (often superficially) edgier world of nu-gen to become its mainstream rep. In terms of what that brings, it’s a more assimilated performance, relying primarily on nu-metal revivalism that’s big and appealing to where it doesn’t have to break the skin. Admittedly, it can be a little ho-hum at times from that (see the broad, convivial pop-rock of Friends In Low Places), though Cassyette herself is always one to rescue it outright mediocrity or distracting predictability. She’s got a great, huskier voice and commanding presence, both vocally and physically. Even better are her screams, in some stunningly good technique, and as the locus for visceral thrills in a sound that mightn’t be overflowing with them anymore. For a set that averages out to be as uniformly solid as this generation of acts can muster, at least the performer at the centre is what kicks it into gear.

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Kinda fitting that Spanish Love Songs’ walk-on music is Chappell Roan’s HOT TO GO! when the Axiom is as much of sweatbox as it is. That’s just the pulling power of alt-punk’s top brass, though—huge moments have been thin on the ground as of late, but a stalwart status is permanent. So when Lifers kicks off, sounding phenomenally crisp and clear in its synth glaze, business as usual is afoot. Between Dylan Slocum’s tremble being on top form and the revving pace of a set faultlessly curated—Losers; Kick; Haunted; Clean-Up Crew; the other usual suspects—you can’t really complain about a band placing their own reliability this high. Reams upon reams of brilliant, life-affirming songs that time has only appreciated will do that.

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In just a couple of months’ time, Kids In Glass Houses will officially be off the reunion cycle and into ‘proper, active band’ mode again. It’s about time, too; nostalgia and Smart Casual anniversary shows can only sustain the appetite for so long. Though, that’s not say there isn’t room for one more helping, if only to see how some of Britrock’s favourite sons to hold onto that title a decade-plus later. Chiefly, there’s enough reverence for that classic material to keep these Grown Men In Glass Houses riding high. The cheer for the opening lick of Give Me What I Want speaks volumes alone, as does the nuclear closing salvo of Saturday and Matters At All. Sure, the vocal mixing can be a little spotty, and Aled Phillips dropping lines for the crowd to fill in doesn’t help, but in the grand scheme of a Kids In Glass Houses set in 2024 with the fun of the old days intact, it hardly matters, does it? Even the new one Theme From Pink Flamingo takes life outside of obvious ‘80s throwbackdom by simply adding to the pile of Kids In Glass Houses’ immense enjoyability. Fingers crossed for more of that to come; they’ve still got it in ‘em.

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In a set marred and stalled out by technical difficulties, the opportunities for Boston Manor to wow are cut back, but they’re still capable of hitting like nobody’s business when the time comes.

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As one of the golden geese of 2000trees—always yearned for despite feeling just out of reach—there’s an expected reaction when it comes to Manchester Orchestra. This is a band who, in a sub-headlining position at the majority of outdoor festivals, would feel like an almost comical overreach. Here, though, held aloft through crowd support and the dedication towards an extensive back catalogue with no obvious hits, it’s like a group of heroes coming home. And there is knowledge within that, that if you aren’t among that crowd, this sort of loud emo churn—and even the more tart aspects of Andy Hull’s voice—might not land at all. But there’s also clear artistry to appreciate, in how a sound this enormous and space-filling can leave every nuance intact, and how there’s a richness that’s fully taken advantage of. Anyone can dish out spin-kicks and mosh calls, but the weight of Manchester Orchestra’s presence feels exclusively theirs. And for a crowd who are eating every second of it up—especially when The Gaslight Anthem’s Brian Fallon shows up to sing on The Gold—it’s difficult to mistake this for anything but firing on all cylinders.

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Maybe coming onstage to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun sets The Gaslight Anthem up for something they can’t meet. It shouldn’t, given their place as a band for whom a rock-solid core of performance vastly supersedes anything grander. Likewise, there’s always a place for these ‘functions over fashion’ headliners at 2000trees, especially ones as sought after as The Gaslight Anthem have been. And like Manchester Orchestra directly before them—where Andy Hull returns Brian Fallon’s favour by guesting on “45”—you get the most from the experience by keeping that in mind. It really is a set tailored to the diehards, made up of fan-favourites and heartland-rock stompers built up to reinforce how strong a unit The Gaslight Anthem is. They do sound great as the guitars chug and chime as necessary with exceptional clarity, and Fallon’s voice chips away its crags in all the right places. For the fans who’ve been begging and manifesting this headline performance to come, it’s hard to imagine any of them would leave disappointed. Outside of the cover of Mother Love Bone’s Chloe Dancer that’s digging a bit deep even for this, a from-the-ground-up, fan-centric set more comprehensive than this would be hard to find. On the metric of that being exactly what was wanted, it’s unquestionably a success.

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Words by Luke Nuttall

Photos by Faye Roberts (Instagram)