We kick off 2025’s Slam Dunk festivities with Lake Malice, who at no point give off the impression of being ‘mere openers’. That would imply a shakier step, maybe with promise to be built upon but where it’s tentative. Lake Malice, meanwhile, roll out a troupe of backing dancers during their very first song. Yeah, nothing about that says ‘tentative’, does it? Truth be told, the duo have felt fully-formed since day dot and it’s not changed a lick since. As far as modernity in post-hardcore goes, there’s yet to be a major flaw found in their combination of digital, cutting-edge sharpness and more ‘traditional’ wallop. To top it off, Alice Guala remains the most terrific fronting presence, not just visually magnetic but capable of screaming and soaring without even a cursory danger of overexertion. It’s all a good sign for when they slip into full Debut Album Mode a bit later this year, when morning shifts like this for Lake Malice become but a distant memory. • LN
Although it’s still morning, the promise of Greywind’s dramatic emo has already filled the Key Club tent. There’s no lack of effort throughout this set—red roses brandished, nurse hats worn and relentless crowd participation ploys—but there’s a tonal disconnect, often jumping between coquettish serial murderer and kids’ TV presenter. Frontwoman Steph O’Sullivan often opts to shout the final word of her vocal lines (presumably in an attempt to rouse an already into-it crowd) and it detracts from the point of this early set: to showcase Greywind’s music. Crowd members who’ve never heard these songs before can’t get melodies stuck in their heads if they’re only being half-sung, tracks like the excellent Swing And Sway and Antidote feeling robbed of the reception they deserve. There’s certainly potential here, but Greywind need to let their songs breathe more in a live setting. • GJ
In the grand Slam Dunk tradition of putting forth pop-punk’s best and brightest, Winona Fighter have just spent the last week penetrating the UK market for the first time, and it couldn’t have gone better. Ergo, they’ve wound up on a stage substantively bigger than on their run of micro-venues, which spring-loaded frontwoman Coco Kinnon clearly delights in. From the jump, she’s bouncing around and ricocheting off her bandmates, guitar in hands or no. It’s the spirit that pop-punk has felt segregated from for a while now, and the fact that Winona Fighter’s whole catalogue lands likes a collection of years-old genre staples only reinforces how wonderful it is to have it back. You’d think starting with the brain-boring earworm You Look Like A Drunk Phoebe Bridgers would be peaking early, but nope—Winona Fighter already have a banger-on-banger flow on lock. With the almighty strength of what they’ve got, a cover of the Beastie Boys’ Sabotage—prefaced by Kinnon’s admission “I believe in a show where everyone can sing at least once”—should already be facing obsolescence. • LN
It feels right seeing Dream State take to Main Stage East (the one for the heavy bands) today, but the warm fuzzies quickly turn to nervous obedience thanks to drill sergeant-esque bellows from guitarist Aled Evans. Their post-hardcore sounds huge today (particularly new single Bittersweet Scars Of My Past), plus there’s a completely new appreciation for Jessie Powell’s vocals in the live arena; Slam Dunk’s notoriously patchy Main Stage sound is no match for her insanely guttural screams. Her cleans are admirable too, veering into semi-operatic territory at points, but the band’s hefty instrumentation can sometimes drown them out instead of providing solid backing. That said, Dream State are very much firing on all cylinders today, and by the time a storming Primrose kicks in, this crowd are very much warmed up for the rest of their festival day. • GJ
One of the best things about Slam Dunk is seeing bands in otherwise niche genres get a hero’s welcome, and that’s exactly what Knuckle Puck, playing their 2015 album Copacetic in full, get on Main Stage West today. The sun’s out (kind of), there’s a throng of the usual pop-punk pointers in the front section of the crowd, plus a sea of punters all the way up the hill overlooking the stage. Though only Pretense, Disdain and Untitled have really been setlist staples for their past few tours, the reception to almost every song is rapturous, the band hardly pausing for breath between them. There’s no getting sidetracked by emotion or celebrating this set’s novelty—frontman Joe Taylor simply thanks the crowd for listening when they did and sticking around towards the set’s end. The final “everything is copacetic” singalongs are triumphant (one particular crowd member’s one-man show in the gangway post-crowdsurf really adds to the joy), this past 40 minutes a textbook example of what Slam Dunk does best. • GJ
A dishearteningly patchy crowd heralds what’s to come from Kid Bookie’s set. Technical issues abound from the very start, with attention drawn to them but worked out pretty seamlessly. Later on, though, when a song’s intro is scuppered twice by gremlins and is a repeat of problems from yesterday’s show down south, it doesn’t get as flippantly brushed off. And it’s not wrong for Bookie to be unhappy; he’s got boundless passion for what he’s doing, and when the wheels are spinning, there’s some good stuff. Both the metal and hip-hop elements to his music are realised incredibly solidly, with Bookie himself being a gifted performer in both spaces. Musically, this isn’t a surgical strike or anything, but it stacks high as the product of sheer verve (so much so that both guitarist and drummer learned the entire set in just two days). Compared to so many other alt-multihyphenates, Bookie and his accomplices simply wear that so much more convincingly at their best. It’s just a shame that opportunities to show that get so fragmented. Couldn’t have happened to someone less deserving, honestly. • LN
Yellowcard aren’t on this year, so let’s welcome another violinist to the Slam Dunk circuit—Imminence bring their sweeping, sophisticated metalcore over to the Main Stage East.
Here we are—the semi-regular half-hour at a festival for Mouth Culture to show off how far they’ve come, and how far their path is projected to stretch for. The last year-and-a-half of them being tipped among Britrock’s current top tier has only seen them tighten, without fully sheering off their edges. This is the newest pinnacle of that, where the alt-rock anthems sprinkled with flecks of grunge are at their most prime-time ready. While it’s the closer Ratbag that feels destined to be the one that’ll fully push them over the parapet, Mouth Culture’s sauce is by no means in short supply. They’re pulling bigger crowds than ever; Jack Voss is quickly becoming something of a scene star in his own right (there’s a clear and audible scream from somewhere when he takes his t-shirt off; could be unrelated, but you never know); and the death knell of no-frills material with an absence of zeal doesn’t apply at all. No complaints, basically. • LN
I See Stars have long been a polarising band in metal circles, their electronicore catnip to some and a…erm, full litter tray to others. None of the super gaudy stuff is aired at the Kerrang! Stage today, everything that is is thankfully beefed up—whether it’s a choice on the part of the band or Slam Dunk’s sound system making choices for them, the blaring electronics and vocal effects being much less prominent is the best thing that could happen to an I See Stars set. Though Devin Oliver’s singing sometimes sounds impossibly clean and sterile with the effects that do poke through, his star power is undeniable, standing at the edge of the stage like a glitter-mesh-clad superhero with the special skill of starting pits. A lot of these songs aren’t necessarily ones to rush back and listen to once the festival’s over, but Drift’s marriage of stuttering, percussive synths, garage beat and rap-like vocals is an interesting concoction, Connor Allen’s drums often being a highlight too. It isn’t a life-changing set by any means, but any I See Stars haters won’t have any fire to fuel here. • GJ
Heart Attack Man will never be the supernova must-see act on any festival bill, but that doesn’t mean you should just skip over them. For a fix of rough-and-tumble emo willing to indulge in some punk and hardcore side-orders, you can’t really go wrong. In the case of the latter, it’s squarely on Eric Egan’s shoulders to deliver, though as the frontman channels his inner bruiser on Spit, or embarks on several bouts of bicycle kicks and hardcore dancing elsewhere, it’s just the right balance. After all, pumping up the tuneful, gritted-teeth-and-clenched-fists might of Heart Attack Man is the way to go, dashed with sky-high hooks on Like A Kennedy and Freak Of Nature to send it all racing. Who really needs flash and fireworks when you’re this strong, anyway? • LN
Another ‘classics all the way’ set at Main Stage West next, The Starting Line playing not just Slam Dunk, but the UK for the first time in nine years. There’s an instantly loveable balance of grit and earnestness in these songs, it seemingly the most anticipated set of the day for many people in the crowd. There are a few references to some behind-the-scenes things the crowd aren’t privy to; frontman Kenny Vasoli declares “the set starts now” after apparent technical issues during opener Almost There, Going Nowhere, while the second half of the set is marred by multiple declarations of “we need to keep this moving” and “we’re running out of time”, even rushing through a birthday singalong for drummer Tom Gryskiewicz’ wife. Otherwise, it’s good vibes all round, Island sounding positively glorious in the newly-emerged sunshine and Leaving getting the crowd jumping like their lives depend on it. Of course, closer The Best Of Me gets the biggest singalong of the festival so far—after this, surely The Starting Line can’t leave UK fans hanging for another nine years. • GJ
The core edict of Stray From The Path is not one of tremendous variety or innovation, but of punch that could knock a head clean off its shoulders. At time of writing, they’re about to be 11 albums deep off that exact cue, as well as countless live shows in a career close to spanning a quarter of a century. Well, let’s add another one to that tally, as the Main Stage East welcomes some vintage Stray From The Path. From Drew York’s unceasaingly snarling, ravaging vocal performance to the calamitous weight of the rapcore backing him up, this is metal designed to maximise the bludgeon. There’s an admirable efficiency and consistency in that, too; Stray From The Path’s one note rings like a nuclear bomb going off, time and time again. And clearly it connects, when Chest Cavity is quick to get York’s requested three simultaneous circle pits going, and Kubrick Stare easily meets its 100-crowdsurfer quota (or thereabouts). By the time they start throwing copies of their new album into the crowd, it’s clear that Stray From The Path haven’t let the allure of big stages and the open air change them. Above all else, they’re still scrappy, ground-level hellions with rawness and rage intact. • LN
“Have you got your fill so far of people singing pretty?” yells Hot Mulligan’s Nathan Sanville in that voice that his band have become foremost intrinsically linked to. Evidently, plenty have. This is yet another occasion where Hot Mulligan have pulled a shockingly big crowd, and where said shock is quickly dispelled as soon as they let loose. It’s the exact throughline of ‘pop-punk in the sun’, only transposed to a hoarser, mathier context with little lost. It’s a bit unreal how tightly hooks and melodies are packed into the tightest of corners, while leaving room for additional guitar noodles as an even greater concentration of colour and vibrancy. Sure, there’s something about Sanville also making his between-song persona a screeching whackadoo that can be taken or left, but you’re not really focusing on that at the best of times, are you? More often, it’s the conspicuousness with which Hot Mulligan have exploded squarely through great music that grabs the hardest. Today, you’d be putting up one hell of a fight before it lets go. • LN
Wanna know some good ways to chronicle a band’s fallen stock? Well, in the context of a festival, having them once as a guaranteed main-stager slip back to mid-bill side-attraction is a good start. You also might notice the material isn’t hitting the same, or there just isn’t as fervent an interest. Or in the case of Twin Atlantic, spending too long pottering about in middling, flavourless alt-rock has infected their catalogue to where they might even be out of nostalgia points to cash in. They try and pull something back, loading their set with those earlier favourites that do find themselves more warmly welcomed, but it’s hard to miss how workmanlike this feels. It’s even worse with the newer stuff, any aura being minimal and good will from an already-generous crowd getting flushed away. What’s left is the husk of the band that Twin Atlantic used to be, not even rescued by the bit of fun that comes from singing along in an over-egged Scottish accent. At Brothers & Sisters’ “Are you still with me, friends?”, it’s hard to think that’s not Sam McTrusty’s own plea to an audience who mostly…aren’t. • LN
New Found Glory are no strangers to the Slam Dunk Main Stage, the biggest crowd of the day so far flocking to West to see the legendary pop-punkers do what they do best. And even though they self-deprecatingly open with All Downhill From Here, it is the best of the best, the setlist focusing heavily on the band’s golden years—their self-titled record, Sticks And Stones and Catalyst. They’re such a well-oiled machine that pure, unbridled joy is able to take centre stage, infecting the crowd so much so that a Part Of Your World cover (an example of the band’s self-proclaimed retirement plan of wedding / bar mitzvah gigging) just keeps spirits high instead of drowning them in cheese. Speed and heft are never compromised either, the band actually storming through their catalogue at such a rate that they have time for an extra song towards the end. A sweet tribute to absent guitarist Chad Gilbert (who is recovering from cancer treatment) and thanks to Dan O’Connor of Four Year Strong and Zach Comtois of Motion City Soundtrack for filling in provide a sentimental end to proceedings, before a huge My Friends Over You caps off an exemplary hour for one of Slam Dunk’s ultimate ol’ reliables. • GJ
The Used’s set today is a textbook cautionary tale about full-album playthroughs at festivals. They’re celebrating their self-titled debut with a full airing today, an album that features their signature song The Taste Of Ink as its second track and enjoying that brief prickle of jubilation before promptly flatlining again. It’s a nice idea for bands to do, but time and time again, it’d be more suited to their own headline show where the risk of casual fans ambling over and feeling completely alienated is mitigated. Notably, you feel that mirrored in The Used themselves, an onstage energy that’s simmering rather than ablaze. They aren’t spring chickens anymore and Bert McCracken’s voice has taken a bit of a beating over the years (even if the unmistakability is still there), but for such a seminal band within emo and post-hardcore of the 2000s, it’s all just a little…uneventful. It says mountains when The Blackout’s Sean Smith makes a surprise cameo for A Box Full Of Sharp Objects, and in his screaming, writhing, elasticated energy, blows everyone else out of the water. Also—and this isn’t the band’s fault, but it bears bringing up—it’s one of the worst instances of sound from other stages bleeding out and effectively silencing what’s around them. This might as well be a Graphic Nature or As It Is review, because unless you’re dead front and centre, that’s who you’re hearing! For those people, who’ve likely been dedicated enough to get that barrier spot, it’s probably the day’s highlight; for everyone else, it’s more attractive to think of what could’ve been. • LN
Earlier this afternoon, South Arcade played at BBC Radio 1’s Big Weekend in Liverpool (hmm, wonder where there’s some cool photo coverage of that?), and now they’re here. To some, it might seem like an awkward step, going from the most mainstream of mainstream spaces to a festival that’s predominantly catering to independent niche interests. It’s true, then, that South Arcade are arguably the most clean-cut, groomed band on this bill, to the point where their pat crowd interactions almost read like they came off a list of pre-approved quotes. That’s literally the worst thing they’ve got going for them, though. Within their sturdy, groove-heavy pop-rock, they have the unequivocal profile of a big band, and it’s really well worn in how much Harmony Cavelle throws herself into the punchy rockstar archetype. It’s in service to a set of exclusively cultivated bangers, even at this early point of their career. By the time they’re throwing out water pistols on How 2 Get Away With Murder, South Arcade’s fate as pop-rock’s newest crossover smash seems all but sealed. • LN
Has any band on this lineup had the rags-to-riches journey Electric Callboy have had? From less than favourable album reviews in some of the country’s biggest music publications to a packed-out headline slot on Slam Dunk’s Main Stage East, they’ve become the go-to good-time band in these parts, this time pulling out every single stop they can think of. Extravagance is the name of the game from the off, with pyro, reams of confetti and so many fireworks that security look openly scared punctuating opener Elevator Operator. What follows is a slew of rave-metal Eurovision hits for all the family (seriously, there are actual children in this audience)—Spaceman, Pump It (complete with iconic ‘80s wigs and jackets)and MC Thunder II (Dancing Like A Ninja) all get the giggles going as well as the pits and crowdsurfers.
Something Electric Callboy seem to use as a crutch is a good old cover. A cover of Sum 41’s Still Waiting (with actual ex-Sum 41 drummer Frank Zummo) hits, Everytime We Touch is fine, but the acoustic duo (complete with onstage campfire) grinds the set’s momentum to a halt. Yes, folks love singing along to Linkin Park and the Backstreet Boys, but this and the excessive meandering chat afterwards just scream “we’re trying to fill time”. Luckily, MC Thunder (post-medical issue in the crowd) and Hypa Hypa eventually get us back on track, both the perfect balance of hard, party-starting and completely and utterly stupid. By the time We Got The Moves is wrapping up, the festival’s confetti budget has been completely spent, the crowd is giddy like they’ve just done 15 shots each, and Electric Callboy have cemented themselves as Slam Dunk’s favourite party boys. • GJ
The curious case of Scowl’s Key Club Stage headlining set is less so when you realise they’re pitted against Electric Callboy, a band orders of magnitude more popular, but also the complete sonic opposite. Scowl’s brand of fun is incalculably more loose and unkempt, the natural output of a punk band. Even with the shock of indie-rock that’s become their calling card, Kat Moss’ two-stepping and the flooring surge of intensity that radiates from her bandmates is absolutely, unmistakably punk. Moreover, it’s so exciting to watch how Scowl pull it off. Moss is a total superstar, distinct through her Monster Energy-green hair and how seamlessly she rolls with every beat thrown at her. Shot Down flips from straight-up hardcore to melodic punk without a single missed step; next, Psychic Dance Routine shows off a darker, more grinding layer that, yet again, goes off without a hitch. It’s an altogether wonderful display of one of the best bands the scene currently has, full stop. If this lot did Hypa Hypa, Electric Callboy wouldn’t stand a chance. • LN
Is it getting predictable to heap praise onto Hot Milk for utterly smashing every turn they take? Well, yeah, but, like…what else can you say? They’ve ascended up the UK’s rock pile this quickly, and when Insubordinate Ingerland opens and already feels snug amongst their canonised belters, things aren’t changing anytime soon. The Hot Milk Machine is just that efficient now, levelling the ground with pop-rock monsters that are as consistently weighty and imposing as they are screamable. The singular caveat is that the new material hasn’t broken the containment of its cycle yet in the way that Zoned Out or Over Your Dead Body have, but that’s not a complaint worth entertaining when we’re still in Corporation P.O.P.’s pre-release days. The important thing is that Hot Milk are on blistering, beguiling form as always. Apparently, Han Mee gets quippier in closer proximity t’ north, now that she’s rolling out soundbites like “If you know the words, I wanna hear it in my ventricles.” It’s all meant to contribute to the larger-than-life enterprise that Hot Milk has become, furthered by some duelling guitars between Mee and Jim Shaw on I Just Wanna Know What Happens When I’m Dead, and towering nature of literally every sound emerging from this stage. That’s Hot Milk for ya, after all—standardly difficult to fault. • LN
When A Day To Remember were announced to headline this year’s Slam Dunk, reactions were mostly excited. But the metaphorical raincloud of their recent questionable album streak loomed over the slot—just how much focus would be placed on their last few records? The set’s opening run is the stuff of dreams—the “duh-duh-duh”s of The Downfall Of Us All, the ‘ahem’ of I’m Made Of Wax, Larry, What Are You Made Of?, the ferocity of 2nd Sucks and pop-punk perfection of Right Back At It Again all in the first 15 minutes? Ridiculous. But before long, it’s Big Ole Album time, and though only a handful songs here feel outwardly terrible, the gulf in quality between new and old material is extremely noticeable. Further into the set a tug of war between iconic A Day To Remember moments and ones that are, well, less good begins. A speed round starts strong with You Be Tails, I’ll Be Sonic and Mr. Highway’s Thinking About The End (“DISRESPECT YOUR SURROUNDINGS” of course a necessary moment in any ADTR highlight reel), but immediately launching into the soulless Resentment and the ‘please don’t hate our albums’ double of Lebron and Feedback gives huge whiplash.
Thankfully though, the majority of this set is very much focused on quality. Have Faith In Me during golden hour feels genuinely special, Sometimes You’re The Hammer, Sometimes You’re The Nail and the aforementioned You Be Tails, I’ll Be Sonic feel somewhat surprising to hear, but like seeing old friends again. Their Since U Been Gone cover (preceded by a mini-jam of Pantera’s Walk) is some welcome fun too. The minimal stage production (a simple banner and two platforms that stick out towards the crowd) allow camaraderie to shine, the audience’s pure joy when the band toss out beach balls or urge them to partake in the classic ‘crowdsurf on a crowdsurfer’ stunt (much to the dismay of security) heartwarming. The nostalgia and hugging-your-friends quality these songs have absolutely add to the atmosphere, a final All Signs Point To Lauderdale not only a celebration of this band, but an anthem that completely sums up what Slam Dunk Festival is all about. • GJ
Words by Luke Nuttall (LN) and Georgia Jackson (GJ)
Photos by Faye Roberts (Instagram)
