FESTIVAL REVIEW + PHOTOS: No Play Festival 2025

The retooling of No Play Festival has been such a boon for it. In hindsight, its first year in 2023 struggled to set it apart from the cavalcade of alternative all-dayers up and down the UK. So in consolidating all focus on its basement-dwelling heavier side (widely seen as the best part of that initial event), you’ve got a really solid little hardcore bill across Liverpool’s independent venues, with some decent pulling power behind it to boot. The community aspect of hardcore has really been centralised in that way. Bouncing between venues, you’ll see a lot of the same faces, often interacting with the acts and enjoying a camaraderie bubbling and sparking all down Seel Street. Plus, there’s the fact that most of these are dingy, sweatbox venues with no barriers with just enough room for these greebs to spin-kick and swing their arms around like hyperactive toddlers. Truly a special time for the right crowd.

Even with a good deal of ‘what you see is what you get’ to No Play’s hardcore offerings, there’s strong stuff all the way down. Lure In are first up and are already trying to engineer an ‘event’ set with a full airing of their album We Are All Going To Hell. Across those 18 minutes, a wall of pulverising, post-punk- and noise-rock-inspired hardcore is thrown about, sculpted by frontman Cameron Wilson’s skulking down the front to embody the immense bulk in motion. Over in the Jacaranda, Ómoia dole out a well-hewn post-hardcore sound with a bit of emo murk, screamo intensity, and Cerys Simmons who’s already an all-rounder singer, screamer and two-stepping visual locus. Detriment are significantly more inflexible by comparison, but a thundering low-end and moustachioed frontman Reuben Sharp’s outrageous bellow ensure some macho-man slam that leaves an impression, physical or otherwise.

However, the first big draw of the day ends up being demeanour, and you can kind of see why. They’re opening up the main stage in the Arts Club, with vocalist Izabel Lavin, having a noticeably jubilant, playful…well, demeanour as contrast with their heavy hardcore assault. The nerves are there, for sure, but so is the energy and brawn. It fully crystallises in a snarl when Lavin speaks out on trans rights and ableism before Scyther, aided by a well-mixed sound and a go-for-broke attitude that should hopefully carry demeanour far. Lavin is quick to return to the stage, as (after a brief interlude from Canada’s Rust and their ten-ton bruisers backed by some frankly insane rhythm work), they’re back just a few doors down at EBGB’s with rozemary. This is more of a 2000s metalcore affair, dipping into screamo to pierce its dense rumble, and showing off how transferable Lavin’s chops as a frontperson really are. An often two-steppable cover of Killswitch Engage’s My Curse is the fan-service icing atop this rich, weighty cake.

After that, Lavin does call it a day, but their words about politics and hardcore being so intrinsically linked still reverberate. xapothecaryx frontman Jordan dedicates another set of beatdown-laden punishment to the people of Gaza, on top of his unashamed extolling of the vegan straight-edge ethos: “If there’s one thing I hate more than a Zionist, it’s a meat-eater.” By comparison, Forager’s own dedication to “the people at No Play Festival” doesn’t quite feel as pertinent, though their distance from the more radical, mobilised end of the hardcore spectrum probably explains it. With a sound indebted further to alt-rock and nu-metal, they’d likely be more at home on a ‘normal’ festival stage than in a record shop’s loft at an all-dayer where spin-kicks and windmills are mandatory practice. Still, the finesse is appreciated; big grooves, quicker tempos and Oli Lindop’s more defined showmanship will inevitably carry Forager to whichever heights they desire.

Still, a more standard serving of hardcore is the feed of choice here, and Perp Walk are here to lodge things back into place. Unfortunately, Paul Collier is saddled with some truly woeful vocal mixing, enough to let out of hell of a roar, but not to make anything else sound even the remotest bit intelligible. Perseverance is at a premium, though, and as Collier flops over the barrier to carry out his work prowling to and fro at the front, Perp Walk provide something memorable all the same. In much better overall stead, however, are Going Off, drafted in as last-minute replacements and serendipitously keeping up their streak of appearing at every No Play thus far. It’s not at all hard to see why they’re such firm faves, either. Jake Huxley convulses, bends backwards and screams till he’s red in the face, the visual representation of the caustic bursts set off by his band. Some tremendous drumming especially stands out, but in general, Going Off epitomise the no-nonsense hardcore hiding with the best of them.

Over in EBGB’s, Knives produce what’s far and away No Play’s most unique noise. With seven of them bundled on the minuscule stage and two saxophonists amongst their ranks, you might expect something of the sort. Visual chaos can be just as effective a shorthand; it’s the only thing that really unites the disparate players in Knives, anyway. Of course, that’s meant as the highest compliment. When the technical issues that burrow their way in at the start are ironed out, this is a brilliant sound that Knives have got—ratty, explosive post-punk with a heated, unhinged edge, though not so much that it isn’t deeply melodic as well. Jay Schottlander’s unconventional yelps are a layer of wackiness all unto themselves, though in context of the full piece, they’re just one of the deeply fascinating, magnetising facets that go into Knives. Honestly, great stuff.

However, if you want chaos that’s the complete opposite of being natural and cool, look no further than Pintglass and their gimmick of…wearing high-vis jackets and performing as stereotypical ‘geezers’. The put-on Pub Landlord voices and call-and-response chants of “Geezer! Geezer!” are more hokey than endearing, and not the kind of performativity you’d expect from a band at No Play of all places. Still, the abundance of Pintglass-brand high-vises would suggest some popularity, and it’s not as if they’re stuck in the gimmick-band quagmire to the same degree as others. Perhaps it’s just the logical next step of swaggering, sweaty hardcore force, fuelled by some impeccable chemistry and charisma from Barney Warner and Ben Mason, a great set of screams from the pair, and an instrumental palette that’s scorched from its own brutality. Even if the pageantry aspect doesn’t land, even that doesn’t preclude Pintglass from having anything good going for them.

At this point in the day, you begin to notice the Arts Club filling up a bit more, presumably as the day’s vaunted headline slot encroaches. It does mean, though, that others see something of a knock, even if they really don’t deserve it. Case in point—Love is noise, already sequestered in the all-too-small-for-them EBGB’s, presented with a crowd that could charitably be described as ‘spotty’. Thankfully, the energy given would suggest anything but, where there’s still a perfect blend between swooning Deftones-isms on Boutique, and a drop into chasm-deep heaviness when required. For the real heaviness, however, it’s back to the Arts Club, where God Complex are obscured by clouds of smoke to make their deathcore seem all the more apocalyptic. Not that they need help with that; Harry Rule is a stalwart presence who unloads death-growls with incredible proficiency, doubling over as if to wrench out more bile and fuel his roars further. Sure, it’s just deathcore, at the end of the day, but from that, God Complex are arguably the most adept at blunt, no-frills savagery of anyone on this bill.

For the most anticipated name, though…well, it’s only fitting that they’re right at the end of the day, right? Indeed, the difference in the air is severe between pre-kicked-off-due-to-allegations ZULU and their replacements, Guilt Trip. With the former, they could’ve been something cool; the latter, meanwhile, has actually generated some palpable furore. It gets to a point where a late start means that said anticipation hangs as heavily in the air as a day’s worth of condensated sweat, but when it gets going? It feels like the most storied culmination of what today’s hardcore spread has offered—heavy, street-level, and importantly, within reach. Guilt Trip are certainly the pinnacle of this bill size-wise, but it’s within an attainable degree. The finesse and stature of their Malevolencing remains rooted in the love of the game that’s characterised every single name on this bill, the model of what No Play represents in its current state. Anyone here could spark a floor-filling pit as seen on a thundering Eyes Wide Shut, or build a bass tone that quakes among a universally formidable mix. Guilt Trip do it today and they excel at it, but in hardcore more than most, adulation like this is up for grabs. That’s what No Play brings to the festival circuit above all else, and it’s so incredibly worth it.

Words by Luke Nuttall

Photos by Will Robinson (Instagram)