Each year, No Play Festival just seems to get bigger and bigger. It genuinely feels like an established brand now, especially among the metro-festival calendar catering to the heavier, more grassroots names within the scene. And while 2026 marks its biggest year yet, without question, its soul is as steadfast as ever. For one, its usual home of Liverpoolâs Ropewalks remains the perfect fit for hardcoreâs risers. Some of the real sweatboxes are sitting this year out, but itâs at no detriment to the vibe. Quite the opposite, actually, now that the Arts Clubâs barriers have been removed entirely and replaced with diving platforms Ă la Outbreak Festival. The coinage of âScousebreakâ has wonderfully followed, which in itself is like the next step up. Thereâs scope now, more ample than ever, for No Play to evolve further, into what resembles the UKâs most venerated hardcore event.
That certainly rings true this year in its lineup. Hardcore is remains at the heart of the thing, but just as Outbreak has branched out far and wide (even past adjacent styles and genres), the seed of that with No Play are also beginning to sprout. Even when a bone has always been thrown to emo and alt-rock, a lineup stacked with higher-profile names is doing a lot here. Mid-afternoon come Dry Socket, who still meet the criteria of hungry underground upstarts, but a fantastic album this year in Self Defense Techniques elevates them that much further. They sound great, tooâcrushing, heavy punk that perfectly frames vocalist Dani Allen stalking and loping across the stageâs head. Thereâs a bravado to all of this, to where youâd expect that Dry Socket would never want to break out of rooms like the Arts Clubâs loft, because theyâre just too at home. With a strong bit between their teeth to boot (âBe angry now because everything is fuckedâŠYou donât want to be where the US is now and youâre rapidly heading thereâ), itâs as uncompromising as you could imagine.
Move down the road to Rough Trade, though, and a much clearer glimpse of No Playâs bigger future ahead is revealed. Love Rarely are already among the whoâs-who of rising alternative wonders, and although itâs not strictly correct to say theyâre a legitimising presence on their own, the excitement they build speaks for itself. The taut, twisting bass sounds excellent pitted among the textures of old emo and math-rock. Then comes CJ Levitt who effortlessly soars and shrieks without a single joule of energy wasted. Itâs all wrapped up in an unmistakable verve, almost across the board. Thereâs something so tight and precise here, yet brimming with heat thatâs almost sweating to hold itself in place. Just another commonplace display of Love Rarely at their absolute pinnacle, then.
Though if thereâs one band today capable of pipping them to the post, it really is Roman Candle. Theyâre the band within screamo right now, and not once do they present as anything different. The hard red lights and omnipresent frays prove paramount to the image, while Piper Ferrari delivers a blinding fronting performance (the occasional mic blip notwithstanding). Sheâs got the most commandeering skulk of anyone up to now, flanked by a sound that never loses its brawn or insidious coating. A slight chip in the facade comes when she pauses to take a hit of her inhaler before Fire In The Night Sky Forever (met with a shout of âFuck yeah, asthma!â); otherwise, itâs as feral and flesh-ripping as you like. Not only that, but it brings about a great representation of the No Play environment offstage. The Arts Club isnât rammed or anything, but with two-steppers and windmillers taking their moment on the floor, you could never say itâs empty. And when all of that lasts the duration of Roman Candleâs 25 minutes, without missing a beat? Yeah, thereâs something special here.
Itâs a tough act to follow, to be sure, and one that Pest Control arenât quite on the same level of. By no means is that a slight, however; they still utterly wreck. Theyâre another one of those where the ongoing prickle of hype contributes a lot, as the room fills more and the band seem determined to make the most of it. Itâs always great to hear their death metal side come out so easily, particularly in Ben Jonesâ double-time drums and their skull-rupturing tone. Leah Massey-Hayâs energy is probably where their hardcore side is most concentrated, though thereâs never any disconnect. Pest Control are about the viciousness and bloodthirstiness, exemplified by more stage-divers than ever and a thrill level that canât seem to stop climbing.
Sadly, that canât last forever, and itâs even more of a shame that Dream State are the ones to break the streak. This evening, they might simultaneously be the biggest beneficiaries and casualties of the expanding No Play rubric. A stage headlining set in Rough Trade is right for a band whoâve been chugging by as long as they have, but the bitty crowd would suggest that interest levels donât quite match. And they do try their best; thereâs density and explosiveness when itâs needed, and Tom Connolly carries a pretty hefty drum tone with him. But at the same time, thereâs Jessie Powellâs plastered-on snarls and faux-operatic showiness that cuts the power away at the knees. It makes this so difficult to love, especially when Dream State are capable of great things. At their best, thereâs a powerful, emotive, soaring strain of post-hardcore that theyâre well equipped to deliver. It just doesnât come out in the best way sometimes.
Fortunately, things end on a much higher note with Stick To Your Guns. Conceptually, thereâs more hereâa band whoâve been around for over two decades with a well-maintained reputation in hardcore. Furthermore, theyâre easy to picture in closer quarters like this, while also having it as a bit of a rarity to play a barrierless show nowadays. Theyâre fully game for it, though. The sound is heavy and bloody, forgoing the restraints that a lack of a wow factor on record places on them. The regular swarms of punters around Jesse Barnett, too, is a sight to behold. Youâd so seldom picture Stick To Your Guns as the epicentre of electricity like this in 2026, and yet, here it is, roaring and ripping into life as if they were the most exciting band in the world. Honestly, itâs the most alive and powerful that Stick To Your Guns have felt in ages, true for all of them. Chris Rawson and Josh Jamesâ guitars are granite-hard, while bassist Andrew Rose seems particularly dedicated to throwing himself among the reforged chaos. Amid the ferocity, crucially, thereâs a scope with genuine power to it, leveraged to a T. It could even be the blueprint for No Play headliners going forwardâbig, heavy, impactful, and above all, exciting.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Niamh McManus (Dry Socket), Soph Ditchfield (Love Rarely) and Will Robinson (Roman Candle, Dream State, Pest Control, Stick To Your Guns)
