Rocker (feedbot)
Gold Member
Saturday morning arrives with all the grace of a brick through a window. The campsite looks like a bomb’s gone off – there are at least three gazebos in trees that definitely weren’t there yesterday, someone’s managed to lose both shoes AND their dignity, and everyone’s moving like they’re operating underwater. The porta-loos are already reaching critical mass, and there’s that familiar sound of someone being violently sick behind the Strongbow tent at 10am. But this is Reading on a Saturday, and despite the collective hangover that could power a small village, there’s that unmistakable buzz in the air. Today’s lineup is absolutely mental, and deep down, everyone knows they’re about to witness something special.
Lambrini Girls’ punk-fuelled chaos cuts through the afternoon heat like they’re personally offended by the concept of daytime performances. The crowd’s still finding its feet – half are wearing sunglasses that probably cost more than most people’s tents, while the other half look like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. But there’s something properly infectious about Lambrini Girls’ complete lack of filter that gets people paying attention despite themselves. They tear through their set with the kind of unhinged energy that suggests they’ve been mainlining caffeine since Thursday morning, with their snarling vocals and guitars sounding like they’ve been stored in a shed for six months. A lad near the barrier shouts “this is proper mental!” before attempting what can generously be described as dancing. Their whole performance feels like controlled chaos, with the emphasis very much on the chaos bit. By the time they’re done, Saturday’s got its pulse back and people are starting to remember why they’re here.
Mouth Culture slides in next with that indie-electronic blend that’s fast becoming their signature, and it’s exactly what everyone needs after whatever just happened to their eardrums. Their sound hits that perfect festival sweet spot between accessible and interesting – getting heads nodding without requiring anyone to fully engage their brain just yet. The crowd’s building nicely now, that familiar festival momentum starting to kick in as people shake off their morning demons and remember that yes, they did actually come here to see live music rather than just drink overpriced lager in a field. There’s something almost therapeutic about Mouth Culture’s performance, like musical paracetamol for the collective headache that is Saturday afternoon at Reading. A group of mates near the mixing desk attempt some sort of coordinated dance that looks like interpretive semaphore, and somehow it works perfectly with the music.
Oversize brings the energy up another proper level, and this is where Saturday actually starts feeling like Saturday. Their set’s got that perfect festival combination of tunes you might know and ones you absolutely should, building crowd participation without exhausting the collective energies of the crowd (need to save that for Limp Bizzy and BMTH later). The pit opens up properly for the first time today – nothing too serious yet, just enough movement to get blood flowing and remind everyone that their bodies still function after last night’s carnage. It’s the kind of performance that bridges the gap between “struggling to exist” and “ready to lose my mind”, and they nail it perfectly. A girl near the sound desk is attempting some sort of interpretive dance that looks like she’s directing traffic, but somehow it works with the music.
Enter Shikari bound onto the stage in the early evening and instantly remind everyone why they’ve been festival royalty for nearly two decades. The crowd response is immediate and massive – this isn’t just watching a band; this is celebrating with old mates who happen to be really good at making noise. Rou Reynolds and the boys open with “The Dreamer’s Hotel” and the field transforms into something approaching religious experience. The moment everyone’s been waiting for arrives when they launch into “Sorry You’re Not a Winner” – everyone absolutely loses their minds, the pit becomes a living, breathing thing, all controlled chaos and shared euphoria that spreads like wildfire through the crowd. You can practically feel the ground shaking under thousands of pairs of feet as bodies fly in all directions with the precision that only comes from years of Shikari worship. The surprise comes mid-set – a live remix of “Sssnakepit” that sends the electronic kids absolutely mental, all glitchy beats and unexpected drops that somehow work perfectly in a festival setting. But the real moment comes when Rou delivers a moving speech about Palestine, calling for a ceasefire with the kind of genuine passion that cuts through all the festival chaos and reminds everyone that music can actually matter. The crowd’s response is immediate and heartfelt – this is why Shikari have always been more than just a band. They close with “A Kiss for the Whole World”, and the resulting singalong feels like 50,000 people actually believing in something together. Some of us might be blinking back a few tears.
Bilmuri arrives with the kind of metalcore energy that sorts the committed from the casual in about thirty seconds flat. Their blend of crushing breakdowns and unexpectedly catchy hooks creates this beautiful chaos in the crowd – half are trying to start proper circle pits while the other half are desperately attempting to sing along to choruses they’ve never heard before but somehow feel like they should know. It’s controlled mayhem with just enough melody to keep everyone on board, the kind of performance that makes you immediately want to go home and explore their entire back catalogue. A bloke in a bucket hat keeps shouting “this is class!” at increasingly inappropriate moments, becoming an unofficial hype man that the band clearly appreciates. By the time they’re done, even the confused have been converted, and the field has properly warmed up for what’s coming next.
Fred Durst and co. arrive just before 8pm, and they pull one of the biggest crowds of the weekend. The field transforms into something approaching religious fervour. The genius stroke comes before they even appear – “Roll with It” blasts out while the screens show an AI-generated picture of Oasis smiling with thumbs up, captioned “Oasis when they hear Limp Bizkit”. The crowd has got the giggles before Fred Durst even shows up. Throughout the set, the screens continue the theme of AI-generated images of various celebs giving approving reactions, including Billie Eilish, Harry Styles, Travis Scott with Justin Bieber; even Oli Sykes looks chuffed. It’s utterly stupid and ridiculous, and the crowd’s eating it up. When Fred finally emerges like a prophet of nu-metal resurrection, they launch straight into “Break Stuff” and the response is seismic. The pit becomes an ocean of bodies, while the back of the field turns into the world’s largest karaoke session. Mid-set magic happens when they bring fan Brooke on stage for “Full Nelson”, and she absolutely kills it – a proper goosebump moment when someone who’s clearly been dreaming of this gets to live it in front of 50,000 people. “My Way” gets the full singalong treatment that could probably be heard in Slough, while “My Generation” proves that some songs are just built for festival fields. This is Limp Bizkit at their absolute peak powers, combining nostalgia with genuine innovation in the most brilliantly stupid way possible.
Back in the day, a metal band headlining at Reading & Leeds was nothing out of the ordinary. In 2025, having three back-to-back metal acts closing out the main stage on Saturday feels really quite special. BMTH close the night with the kind of production that makes everything else look like a school assembly. The Sheffield quintet deliver a mind-blowing spectacular that justifies every headline slot they’ve ever been given. The whole thing starts with video-game style clips on the massive screens, building anticipation like a movie trailer, before a virtual Cortana-esque assistant appears to scan the audience – real dystopian sci-fi vibes that gets everyone buzzing before a note’s even been played. When they finally launch into “Darkside”, the stage erupts in flames and pyrotechnics, and the crowd response suggests this was always inevitable. “Happy Song” follows immediately, and the irony of 50,000 people screaming about depression with massive grins on their faces isn’t lost on anyone. The pit becomes a sea of bodies during the heavier moments, while the back of the field turns into one giant therapy session disguised as a singalong. Woven in between songs are impressive on-screen interactive graphics that flit between the crowd and the band (they have a BUDGET for this) and a couple of chat breaks – a memorable example of this being Oli Sykes berating the “pits at Limp Bizkit” for being “fucking wank”, and instructing us to “PUSH IT BAAAAAACK”.
The set covers their entire evolution perfectly – “Kingslayer” showcases their more recent electronic direction, getting the whole field bouncing with its massive hooks and crushing breakdowns. “Can You Feel My Heart” creates one of those perfect festival moments where strangers become temporary family, with arms around shoulders and voices hoarse but determined. Whilst they don’t play anything older than a couple of tracks from 2013’s Sempiternal, which makes sense given the direction they’re going in – they’re hardly going to whip out “Pray For Plagues” (if only…) – the tracklist still spans over 12 years of musical evolution. There really is something for (almost, bar the teenagers leaving the main stage as soon as they realised that this was, at least once, a metal band) everyone here. The encore arrives with “Throne”, and Palestinian flags fly from the stage in a moment of solidarity that mirrors Shikari’s earlier statement, proving that this festival is about more than just music. The whole field sings every word back with the kind of passion and atmosphere that is difficult to put into words. They close with fireworks, confetti, enough pyro to make those close to the front fear for the safety of their eyebrows, and the kind of euphoric chaos that makes people immediately start planning their return next year, having delivered a headline performance that perfectly balances spectacle with genuine emotion.
Saturday night winds down with that perfect festival exhaustion, the kind where your whole body aches but your brain won’t stop replaying the best moments. From early afternoon punk chaos to BMTH’s closing spectacular, the day proved that Reading’s still got the blueprint for how festivals should work. Tomorrow’s going to hurt, but tonight was worth every aching muscle and every penny spent on overpriced pints. The walk back to the campsite is a parade of weary festival-goers, all buzzing with that post-gig high that makes everything feel possible.
Words: Kathryn Edwards // Photos: Abbi Draper-Scott
Lambrini Girls
Lambrini Girls’ punk-fuelled chaos cuts through the afternoon heat like they’re personally offended by the concept of daytime performances. The crowd’s still finding its feet – half are wearing sunglasses that probably cost more than most people’s tents, while the other half look like they’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. But there’s something properly infectious about Lambrini Girls’ complete lack of filter that gets people paying attention despite themselves. They tear through their set with the kind of unhinged energy that suggests they’ve been mainlining caffeine since Thursday morning, with their snarling vocals and guitars sounding like they’ve been stored in a shed for six months. A lad near the barrier shouts “this is proper mental!” before attempting what can generously be described as dancing. Their whole performance feels like controlled chaos, with the emphasis very much on the chaos bit. By the time they’re done, Saturday’s got its pulse back and people are starting to remember why they’re here.
Mouth Culture
Mouth Culture slides in next with that indie-electronic blend that’s fast becoming their signature, and it’s exactly what everyone needs after whatever just happened to their eardrums. Their sound hits that perfect festival sweet spot between accessible and interesting – getting heads nodding without requiring anyone to fully engage their brain just yet. The crowd’s building nicely now, that familiar festival momentum starting to kick in as people shake off their morning demons and remember that yes, they did actually come here to see live music rather than just drink overpriced lager in a field. There’s something almost therapeutic about Mouth Culture’s performance, like musical paracetamol for the collective headache that is Saturday afternoon at Reading. A group of mates near the mixing desk attempt some sort of coordinated dance that looks like interpretive semaphore, and somehow it works perfectly with the music.
Oversize
Oversize brings the energy up another proper level, and this is where Saturday actually starts feeling like Saturday. Their set’s got that perfect festival combination of tunes you might know and ones you absolutely should, building crowd participation without exhausting the collective energies of the crowd (need to save that for Limp Bizzy and BMTH later). The pit opens up properly for the first time today – nothing too serious yet, just enough movement to get blood flowing and remind everyone that their bodies still function after last night’s carnage. It’s the kind of performance that bridges the gap between “struggling to exist” and “ready to lose my mind”, and they nail it perfectly. A girl near the sound desk is attempting some sort of interpretive dance that looks like she’s directing traffic, but somehow it works with the music.
Enter Shikari
Enter Shikari bound onto the stage in the early evening and instantly remind everyone why they’ve been festival royalty for nearly two decades. The crowd response is immediate and massive – this isn’t just watching a band; this is celebrating with old mates who happen to be really good at making noise. Rou Reynolds and the boys open with “The Dreamer’s Hotel” and the field transforms into something approaching religious experience. The moment everyone’s been waiting for arrives when they launch into “Sorry You’re Not a Winner” – everyone absolutely loses their minds, the pit becomes a living, breathing thing, all controlled chaos and shared euphoria that spreads like wildfire through the crowd. You can practically feel the ground shaking under thousands of pairs of feet as bodies fly in all directions with the precision that only comes from years of Shikari worship. The surprise comes mid-set – a live remix of “Sssnakepit” that sends the electronic kids absolutely mental, all glitchy beats and unexpected drops that somehow work perfectly in a festival setting. But the real moment comes when Rou delivers a moving speech about Palestine, calling for a ceasefire with the kind of genuine passion that cuts through all the festival chaos and reminds everyone that music can actually matter. The crowd’s response is immediate and heartfelt – this is why Shikari have always been more than just a band. They close with “A Kiss for the Whole World”, and the resulting singalong feels like 50,000 people actually believing in something together. Some of us might be blinking back a few tears.
Bilmuri
Bilmuri arrives with the kind of metalcore energy that sorts the committed from the casual in about thirty seconds flat. Their blend of crushing breakdowns and unexpectedly catchy hooks creates this beautiful chaos in the crowd – half are trying to start proper circle pits while the other half are desperately attempting to sing along to choruses they’ve never heard before but somehow feel like they should know. It’s controlled mayhem with just enough melody to keep everyone on board, the kind of performance that makes you immediately want to go home and explore their entire back catalogue. A bloke in a bucket hat keeps shouting “this is class!” at increasingly inappropriate moments, becoming an unofficial hype man that the band clearly appreciates. By the time they’re done, even the confused have been converted, and the field has properly warmed up for what’s coming next.
Limp Bizkit
Fred Durst and co. arrive just before 8pm, and they pull one of the biggest crowds of the weekend. The field transforms into something approaching religious fervour. The genius stroke comes before they even appear – “Roll with It” blasts out while the screens show an AI-generated picture of Oasis smiling with thumbs up, captioned “Oasis when they hear Limp Bizkit”. The crowd has got the giggles before Fred Durst even shows up. Throughout the set, the screens continue the theme of AI-generated images of various celebs giving approving reactions, including Billie Eilish, Harry Styles, Travis Scott with Justin Bieber; even Oli Sykes looks chuffed. It’s utterly stupid and ridiculous, and the crowd’s eating it up. When Fred finally emerges like a prophet of nu-metal resurrection, they launch straight into “Break Stuff” and the response is seismic. The pit becomes an ocean of bodies, while the back of the field turns into the world’s largest karaoke session. Mid-set magic happens when they bring fan Brooke on stage for “Full Nelson”, and she absolutely kills it – a proper goosebump moment when someone who’s clearly been dreaming of this gets to live it in front of 50,000 people. “My Way” gets the full singalong treatment that could probably be heard in Slough, while “My Generation” proves that some songs are just built for festival fields. This is Limp Bizkit at their absolute peak powers, combining nostalgia with genuine innovation in the most brilliantly stupid way possible.
Bring Me The Horizon
Back in the day, a metal band headlining at Reading & Leeds was nothing out of the ordinary. In 2025, having three back-to-back metal acts closing out the main stage on Saturday feels really quite special. BMTH close the night with the kind of production that makes everything else look like a school assembly. The Sheffield quintet deliver a mind-blowing spectacular that justifies every headline slot they’ve ever been given. The whole thing starts with video-game style clips on the massive screens, building anticipation like a movie trailer, before a virtual Cortana-esque assistant appears to scan the audience – real dystopian sci-fi vibes that gets everyone buzzing before a note’s even been played. When they finally launch into “Darkside”, the stage erupts in flames and pyrotechnics, and the crowd response suggests this was always inevitable. “Happy Song” follows immediately, and the irony of 50,000 people screaming about depression with massive grins on their faces isn’t lost on anyone. The pit becomes a sea of bodies during the heavier moments, while the back of the field turns into one giant therapy session disguised as a singalong. Woven in between songs are impressive on-screen interactive graphics that flit between the crowd and the band (they have a BUDGET for this) and a couple of chat breaks – a memorable example of this being Oli Sykes berating the “pits at Limp Bizkit” for being “fucking wank”, and instructing us to “PUSH IT BAAAAAACK”.
The set covers their entire evolution perfectly – “Kingslayer” showcases their more recent electronic direction, getting the whole field bouncing with its massive hooks and crushing breakdowns. “Can You Feel My Heart” creates one of those perfect festival moments where strangers become temporary family, with arms around shoulders and voices hoarse but determined. Whilst they don’t play anything older than a couple of tracks from 2013’s Sempiternal, which makes sense given the direction they’re going in – they’re hardly going to whip out “Pray For Plagues” (if only…) – the tracklist still spans over 12 years of musical evolution. There really is something for (almost, bar the teenagers leaving the main stage as soon as they realised that this was, at least once, a metal band) everyone here. The encore arrives with “Throne”, and Palestinian flags fly from the stage in a moment of solidarity that mirrors Shikari’s earlier statement, proving that this festival is about more than just music. The whole field sings every word back with the kind of passion and atmosphere that is difficult to put into words. They close with fireworks, confetti, enough pyro to make those close to the front fear for the safety of their eyebrows, and the kind of euphoric chaos that makes people immediately start planning their return next year, having delivered a headline performance that perfectly balances spectacle with genuine emotion.
Saturday night winds down with that perfect festival exhaustion, the kind where your whole body aches but your brain won’t stop replaying the best moments. From early afternoon punk chaos to BMTH’s closing spectacular, the day proved that Reading’s still got the blueprint for how festivals should work. Tomorrow’s going to hurt, but tonight was worth every aching muscle and every penny spent on overpriced pints. The walk back to the campsite is a parade of weary festival-goers, all buzzing with that post-gig high that makes everything feel possible.