FESTIVAL REVIEW: 2000trees Festival 2026 – Saturday

Want more 2000trees? Check out our full reviews of Thursday and Friday.

Credit to 2000trees as always for continuing to support new names, but it wouldn’t hurt to let some of them have a bit more time in the oven. thistle. are another one with a busy schedule in the coming months, hopefully picking up the experience they don’t really display today. Right now, they’re just an archetypal ‘early doors’ band, right down to the grunge and garage-rock palette that they’re not doing much of their own with. Frontman Cameron Godfrey also rings as a bit stiff up here, as if bound by so many telegraphered influences he’s yet to shake off. It’s not bad, but you’re also not confusing thistle. with anyone else just yet, either.

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It’s no secret that alternative communities have been going gaga for Frozemode lately, likely because they’ve not had the chance to feel any different. They’ve been the subject of enormous hype everywhere they’ve touched down, now on the ‘trees main stage for one of two sets this weekend. And while the ever-building ambivalence to 2020s alt-soup is a roadblock, the love for Frozemode isn’t coming from nowhere. The three-rapper dynamic opens up plenty of stage-filling possibilities that they fully make use of. Additionally, the crossover beats they co-opt are still fresh enough to matter, from the jumpy indie-rap of Stick Dat,to the darker hip-hop of Vermin, to the rap-rock churn of Dirty Man. The kinship with this festival in particular lifts the mood considerably, too, and gives the trio’s streetwise jostle its zing. Ultimately, there’s an energy and adaptability to Frozemode that defines their best, and it’s a good thing that comes around rather often.

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Without even a welcome or a wave to the crowd, East Exchange get going. It’s not out of character for yet another group of grunge upstarts, for whom the meat and potatoes of rock music are all the sustenance they need. But whether it’s in the slightly Pearl Jam-esque feel or how songs like Torn and Four prove deceptive little earworms, East Exchange have a place among the rising crop of grunge revivalists. It’s nothing revolutionary, though the fact they’re already capable of avoiding samey malaise is a good start. With a good voice on Sonny Kenyon and a more forlorn tone that does captivate, the pieces for East Exchange to do something cool are all in place.

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For all the grassroots branding that ‘trees likes to pride itself on (i.e. a name literally invoking nature itself), it’s okay to get a bit silly sometimes. Enter Battlesnake, then, whose set begins with frontman Sam Frank reading a sermon in his best Arthur Brown voice, before the rest of this wizard-costumed crew make their entrance. There’s a vibe going about that just ties this all together, likely from the sun and dust being very appropriate for an Australian band with a Mad Max-flavoured approach to metal (the birds of prey circling overhead are perfect garnish). The music is definitely good—oil-powered riffs, grinding and gurgling inside fat trad-metal cuts like The Battlesnake—but the theatre of the piece is the main takeaway. For instance, keytarist Billy O’Key (yes, really) dons a pair of flags on his back, makes his way into The Key Of Solomon’s circle pit, where all that can be seen above the parapet are said flags, and a tossed-around cutout of young Stalin. Perhaps this year’s fancy dress theme of 2000 Memes opens up these possibilities further. Whatever it is, Battlesnake are grabbing on with both hands and chugging along for absolute miles.

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The audible apprehension among the crowd when Bodyweb introduce a song called Incest does not go unnoticed. It might be the most novel thing about them, but boasting alumni of Higher Power, Pest Control and Empire State Bastard speaks for itself, at the end of the day. Sonically, Bodyweb traffic in hardcore with a trench-deep bass tone, a significant nu-metal bent, and a good ear for getting the most out of both. Frontman Louis Hardy’s constant goading for extra energy and forward movement is very on-brand; this is a band who thrives in a mean, chaotic landscape. On a bill jammed with great, new heavy bands, Bodyweb are admittedly among those fighting for oxygen, but they’re far from a wash. The combination of being steady hardcore risers and deadly nu-metal revivalists is still a good one.

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Even though everyone loves the Forest Stage, it can make the perception of some sets a bit too charitable. High Regard benefit from the best qualities amplified by the picturesque glade (namely their buckets of enthusiasm), but when all is said and done, they’re just another face in the pop-rock crowd. The As December Falls-ness of them (in super-concentrated quantities, at that) defines their ceiling rather starkly, down to the exact kind of vocalist that Georgia Casey is. An appearance from As Everything Unfolds’ Charlie Rolfe is something; maybe the only thing. Otherwise, there’s still a fair way to go to leave a mark.

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As they arrive onstage to Cyrus’ monologue from The Warriors, you get the impression that Mouth Culture are looking to cultivate something. Main stage readiness has been on the books for a while; this is looking to go even bigger. They’re the kind of band that, should a new Britrock renaissance kick off, they’ll be leading the charge. You feel that in how magnetic of a frontman Jack Voss can be, and how songs like Sharkbait and No Shame aren’t afraid to be a little gritty as well as melodic to a fault. Some meatier basslines from Todd Groome underscore this fuller alt-rock experience that Mouth Culture are so tapped into right now. It’s well-rounded, too; 15 Missed Calls gets a bit pensive and moodier, and they still nail it. Even if Mouth Culture aren’t flipping alt-rock on its head, their blend is flavourful and addictive enough to sit up and take notice of every single time. Can you dig it? Absolutely.

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The clamour for Marmozets’ return has been loud, fierce and omnipresent, and their comeback has seen them reciprocate all three of those things. 2026 has been a year to make up for lost time in earnest, the next stop on the run being Upcote Farm for as strong a reassembly as you’re likely to get. Forget a couple of spotty albums; live, Marmozets fully channel the electricity of their best, with pinpoint precision. The set itself is curated to reflect that, comprised primarily of sweaty face-rippers like Move Shake Hide and Is It Horrible, both of which still wreck over a decade removed. Slowdowns do occur, but (after factoring out the lumpier, incohesive Flowerz) Closer To You is sun-dappled festival fare, and Captivate You remains the alt-rock monster that took Marmozets to new heights, and keeps them there to this day.

Really, though, all eyes are on Becca Bottomley, perennial superstar that she is. Currently pregnant and having spent the best part of the last decade in domesticity, it’s far from the traditional rockstar eminence. And yet, an early one-two of A Kiss From A Mother and Play—the latter sporting one hell of an extended howl—puts paid to any notion of losing it. With thrusting riffs and an ever-devilish rhythm section in accompaniment, it’s almost a uniquely excellent position that Marmozets find themselves in. The warmest of welcomes is one thing; coming across as though they’ve never been better in the wake of it? Yeah, that’s something else. A final blitz through Major System Error only solidifies that one of the UK’s true alt-rock forces is anything but spent.

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Anyone else finding glassjaw to be a little…whatever? It’s the risk you run with a legacy set like this, particularly of the niche, ‘fans only’ sort that ‘trees likes to dabble in. Objectively, it does seem good, if only because Motel Of The White Locust is very wishy-washy in its vocal mix, and Daryl Palumbo’s efforts are clear to see when rectified. There are clearly plenty enjoying themselves, too. glassjaw are post-hardcore legends that don’t come around all that often; given the opportunity, why wouldn’t you want to bask in this? Well, Cosmopolitan Bloodloss and Ape Dos Mil are the natural standouts, and the angles and rolling riffs of Siberian Kiss are fun when they hit. But maybe it’s how aloof Palumbo can feel, to the point where him strolling to and fro, screams bleeding out effortlessly, almost rings as nonplussed. There’s just a distance to all of this that can feel a bit lacking, and for what was billed with such momentousness, that’s disappointing.

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There’s a big screen that’s been installed to the side of the main stage, ready to broadcast the second half of England’s World Cup match against Norway the moment tonight’s headline set is finished. Neck Deep are therefore left to contend with a few bouts of clock-watching, but not too many. It’s not like a band this genuinely popular will ever be starving for attention, especially not with the form they currently find themselves on. Can’t Kick Up The Roots starts, as bright and chunky as you like, and the tone is immediately set. Neck Deep aren’t splashing out on the fanciest production, but a career-spanning set of pop-punk bangers with more than enough to fill an hour and a half? They could pull that in their sleep at this point. Even just the next handful solidify that—Where Do We Go When We Go; Motion Sickness; Dumbstruck Dumbfuck. Digging further into the chest, there’s Crushing Grief (No Remedy), and Kali Ma, and a rare, new airing of A Part Of Me, sweetened up with a full-band performance.

It’s not profound, but it is big, and that’s the entire point. Ben Barlow plays his frontman role with hyperactive glee, acknowledging their last ‘trees appearance 10 years ago with how much extra room to play with they’ve got now. It brings out a gleam in You Should See Me Now that’s built for festival headline sets, and a buoyant boyishness coursing through Take Me With You. Flecks of seriousness are incredibly broad but pertinent; We Need More Bricks is sandwiched between a statement on unity and a shout of “free Palestine, fuck Nigel Farage.” (The ‘punk’ part of their genre isn’t getting the most intense workout, but it hasn’t fully atrophied, either.) Mostly, though, it all feels like a testament to how much of a well-oiled machine Neck Deep are. It’s no turn-up for the books, but a sharper, more efficient batch of homegrown pop-punk, you’ll find nowhere else. Even the football can’t distract from that.

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Words by Luke Nuttall

Photos by Magda Campagne, Jez Pennington and Gareth Bull