Let’s talk about Tramlines 2026
Words & Photos: Rhys Hardman
★★★★☆
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We experienced Tramlines Festival, Sheffield’s biggest party, which took place over three days towards the end of July. With headliners like Fat Boy Slim, Courteeners and Wolf Alice, we’re here to break down how it went for us!
Photo: Rhys Hardman / Wolf Alice
After hours of exhilaratingly exhausting sun-soaked performances from countless acts across Hillsborough Park there was only one worthwhile act left to see... unless you like The Enemy, then that's two... But there's no way The Enemy could convince yours truly to stand up a performance from Wolf Alice.
Each second of the changeover felt like a sentence to death by boredom. Iconic bangers became white noise in comparison to the agonising anticipation. Thousands of conversations dissipated into a low hum punctuated by the cheers each time a stagehand would stumble across the stage, and every applause extended the tension. The sun had begun to set, softening its glare, dispersing a golden haze across the crowd, only to be pierced by the occasional vibrant hue of red or blue from the spotlight. The house lights began to dim, the low hum became a cathartic roar that rolled across the audience, silhouettes appeared through the haze, one by one, as Ellie Rowsell stepped out, whose presence commanded attention. Offering only a glance across the park before grasping the microphone with a calm assurance that only one of Britain's most acclaimed live bands would possess.
For 90 minutes, Wolf Alice had transformed Tramlines festival into something much more intimate than such a vast venue would suggest, just with the addition of giant confetti cannons.
Of course, Ellie manoeuvred effortlessly between delicate stripped back confessionals into an eruptive vocal release with a personal favourite 'Bloom Baby Bloom'. Wolf Alice's appeal lies in the testament that no individual member carries the band, whether it's the arrangement of balanced precision and aggression wielded by the band's drummer, Joel Amey or Theo Ellis introducing basslines that offered an infectious sense of momentum.
Joff Oddie is a core part of the performance as the lead guitarist. I hate to perpetuate the idea of the energetic lead guitarist, but it really does apply to him. Joff captivated the audience with his erratic, energetic mannerisms, interacting with the audience while unleashing abrasive riffs. A highlight of their set had to be a ferocious rendition of Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit', rather than being treated as an act of tokenism, a novelty, it appeared to be treated as a distinctive formative influence of the bands. Rowsell's vocals pierced like a bullet, ricocheting back to the stage with conviction from every member of the audience.
This cover was a defining move by Wolf Alice, embodying one of the most distinctive values of Tramlines Festival by forming a bridge between generations of alternative rock fans.
Now, as much as I would love to spend this entire article discussing my love for Wolf Alice, I think it's time we spotlight some underrated performances of the festival. You know, looking back a fortnight later, who still stands out after the post-festival hype has faded.
Two bands that seem to always come as a pair since going on tour together are Keo and Bleech 9:3. Both deserve an ample amount of recognition for their art of live performance. Trust me, to have a true experience of either of them, you've got to buy a ticket. They are a pair of Alt-Rock bands who are leading the charge for demand for live music, through the performance of almost entirely unreleased tracks.
Keo haunts any stage they’re placed on. Hours before their performance, you'll hear abrupt chants from the crowd, “Keo Keo Keo”. The struggle of being in a crowd for Keo is that if you're a short king like me, then you'll need to follow the herd by getting on your mates' shoulders. No need to feel embarrassed; it's basically status quo in that crowd every time I've seen them. You'll catch a couple of human totem poles.
Bleech 9:3 performances have this hypnotising conviction with each member intensively hurling themselves across the stage. Barry Quinlan, the microphone acted as a malevolent instrument delivering antagonistically exposing lyricisms with tracks like ceiling. They have paved a path between aggression and vulnerability by unveiling some of their deepest, darkest thoughts while in recovery from addiction.
That's something that the band has been open about since day one. If you don't enjoy the music, then you've got to respect how they’re opening a space to normalise discussing addiction in public media without shame and without judgement.
Okay, I know I said underrated performances and The Royston Club receive a lot of high praise at the moment, but genuinely, I feel like they still aren't praised enough.
The Royston Club's crowd stretched well beyond the tent, leaving me no choice but to manoeuvre myself through each gap. I am ashamed that I entered the other stage out of pessimistic spite as a desperate attempt to silence every influencer that dared to interrupt my nightly ritualistic doomscroll, going on about how “the sky is the ceiling for The Royston Club.” It's 2am; I'm here for brain rot, not music recommendations. And now here I stand with my white flag raised - I surrender. I share Ben Mathaiss's affliction; my junkie fingers can't help but scroll me back to that performance searching for glimpses of the emotional catharsis that is 'Cariad'. You see what I did there? No... go listen to 'Cariad', and I think you'll catch on pretty quick.
There was no need for between-song banter or quips. Each song spoke for itself, being greeted with a symphony of fans echoing every lyric back. The performance was built on sharp songwriting, chemistry and an audience that was completely content with not even being able to see the band, still just to “see” the set. In such a stacked lineup, they demonstrated exactly why my algorithm won't release me from this Royston Club-themed prison.
I have been waiting months for the opportunity to confess my love for the Irish indie pop-rock outfit Florence Road. They have managed to form a contemporary take on the iconic nostalgia of the 2000s with just the right amount of teenage angst, acting as the perfect soundtrack to any young adult coming of age.
After receiving the opportunity to support Olivia Rodrigo on her ‘Guts’ World Tour dates and BST Hyde Park, all I'm saying is if Olivia Rodrigo is obsessed with a band, then they're truly something special.
The four-piece found themselves to be one of the most anticipated acts of the weekend, drawing a huge crowd to The Leadmill Stage, silencing any lingering doubts that they were just another TikTok trend. Lily Aron possessed the poise of much more than just a band breaking through into the mainstream, but she wielded her talent as a star. How did they even come up with a setlist? Their catalogue is stacked! I don't know how to pick a favourite but... they did bless us like the angels they are with a performance of their brand-new song '7563' that they unveiled on BBC Radio 1 a fortnight before release. Exploring themes of dissociation from your own identity, losing the ability to distinguish who you are anymore. But rather than wallowing in a pit of self-pity, your “fight or flight” instincts kick in right at the end of the chorus. With this revelation that you don't need anyone to help you pick yourself up, you can do it.
If you read into the lyricism, it's a little bit trippy, but also a banger. On the release day, I streamed it a minimum of 25 times. I don't have a problem; you do, if you aren't that committed to a band.
It's funny because I began this article with the intention to champion artists who were “underrated”, but I have failed to bring forward a proper grassroots artist.
So let me introduce you to Saint Clair. A band that I initially used as a placeholder to pass the time left me engrossed. A band who are like a diamond in the rough, who possess almost 150k monthly listeners with only a 4-track EP in their discography on Spotify. Their music balances the emotive lyricisms of an artist like Jeff Buckley when it comes down to slower ballads like 'Gretchen', where the stripped back instrumental complements the raw roughness of Toby Bardsley’s vocals.
Saint Clair recalls the emotional weight of Radiohead while blending in the abrasive edge of a band like Wunderhorse, without ever sounding derivative. Toby Bardsley’s (lead singer) presence was nothing but magnetic with a soft intensity to each verse. Each lyric was layered upon one another flawlessly - I'm talking the same satisfaction that comes with sliding a Tetris block perfectly into place.
Lawrence Bordean's intricate guitar work shattered delicate textured riffs into a crushing distortion strung together by Adam Anderson's bass and Beth Diana's precise drumming provided a powerful rhythmic backbone to the set. At a festival whose core foundation is built on balancing established acts with future stars, with emotionally charged performances, they delivered. It's safe to say in a couple of years you'll be catching up with Saint Clair on the mainstage.