Black Country, New Road, Squid, and Sorry shine at 2025’s ever-eclectic End Of The Road

Getdown Services inaugurate the festival’s nineteenth edition. It’s Thursday night, and while happy campers bed down, the queue to enter the Folly stage tent is already bigger than its capacity. Inside, two moustached Bristolians rip into their energetic dad rock with the jovial resolve of the Chuckle Brothers on speed. The duo are clearly taken aback by the reception: “we’re out of our depth… for now”, Josh Law remarks, before ‘Caesar’ plunges the tent into a heaving moshpit.

Over the weekend, Man/Woman/Chainsaw pull a huge crowd to the Big Top, their rotating vocalists, beefy synths and electric violin as delightful as their charity shop chic. The Orchestra (For Now) are cut from similar cloth but err on the shoutier side over on the Garden stage - think Mark E Smith doing ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’. Snapped up by Rough Trade recently, L.A. scamps The Sophs make a rousing first impression at their second ever gig away from home, Ethan Ramon embodying Gerard Way on snarling lead vocals. Meanwhile, enigmatic London outfit RIP Magic look and sound like a Britpop band left in vinegar overnight, their bucket-hatted frontman Marco Pini singing and swaggering like a young Tom Meighan over choppy, sample-spliced electro-rock.

If End of the Road is a cult - and the possibility hasn’t been ruled out - then Brighton troupe The New Eves ought to be the house band, their folk-horror aesthetic and pagan post-punk arrangements recalling PJ Harvey as much as The Wicker Man. On Sunday, Melbourne gang Floodlights stake a claim as one of Australia’s surest ones to watch; they’re due to open for Amyl and the Sniffers later this year, and cuts from their latest effort ‘Underneath’ are as jagged and dark as they are uproariously anthemic. Despite inclement showers, they have their mainstage audience firmly on side.

Later, Miso Extra delivers a much needed sugar injection, flitting between English and Japanese across her slick rap-infused sophisti-pop. And then there’s Limerick five-piece Theatre, next to take the baton in the wave of emerging Irish talent if this universe has any justice. Their early arvo Folly slot isn’t packed, but it deserves to be: as singer Maeve O’Shea, arms outstretched, recalls Dolores O'Riordan in a stunning and evocative performance, the rest of the band churn out punchy gothic shoegaze that drips with chorus and begs to be danced to. With a name like Theatre, you’ve got to be bloody good - and they are. It’s the most fully-formed set of the weekend from an emerging act; check back next year when they’re surely much higher up the bill.

Come nightfall, an array of gnarly headliners come to play. Brooklyn shoegazers DIIV shine under the cover of darkness, the Big Top so stifling it feels more like a kiln than a tent. Silhouetted by video montage of ‘soul-net’ clickbait, absurdist AI brainrot, and acidic VCR footage that brings last year’s ‘Frog In Boiling Water’ vividly to life, they’re an enthralling unit to behold. At one point ‘AMERICA IS THE GREAT SATAN’ is emblazoned across the backdrop - a brave move in current times, but contrary to feeling trite, it imbues the performance with anxious depth that’s easy to miss from their recordings.

Elsewhere in the politically uncompromising camp, Swedish punks Viagra Boys announce they’re donating their appearance fee to Doctors Without Borders, and dedicate ‘Troglodyte’ to “fascist world leaders” for inaction over Palestine. It’s one of several rousing climaxes in their Garden headline that melds their invigorating punk madness with nonsense ad libs from Sebastian Murphy, top off and tats out as ever as he waxes on “mutant humans grown in laboratories” and “doing weird sex stuff in your basement when no one’s watching”. This crowd are more the chin-scratchers than mosh-pitters, but the odd crowdsurfer can be spotted from the rear of the amphitheatre; and, when Murphy roars “dance motherfuckers!” during ‘Dirty Boyz’, the atmosphere jumps up a notch.

The weekend’s real big hitters are the success stories of what was labelled, until recently, the South London scene. Now, the canon of British alt-rock can be experienced in an evening in their rightful spots atop the schedule.

For starters, Sorry are at the top of their game. Beguiling as ever but grittier, their flirtations with trip-hop have become a full blown love affair with Marco (of RIP Magic) on decks dropping snippets of Jason Derulo and Don McLean, curious non-sequiturs to make dark tracks like ‘As the Sun Sets’ and ‘Echoes’ feel even darker. Asha Lorenz, meanwhile, is one of the coolest band leaders of her generation, reminiscent of Beth Gibbons in petite stature and restrained yet menacing voice. She’s hypnotic as she screams, spits, and slurs through the stream of consciousness ‘Starstruck’, then violently fragile on the yearning, throbbing ‘Waxwing’.

Squid also get their crowning moment - and it's testament to EOTR’s edge that such an experimental outfit can be second up on the main stage, on their fourth appearance at Larmer Tree Gardens. As they careen into the squealing ‘G.S.K.’ a gorgeous sunset emerges and a nearby toddler bounces joyously on a parent’s shoulders - possibly the most EOTR vista there is to see. “We’ve grown up coming here”, Ollie Judge proclaims, aptly. “Now we’re grown ups!” The classics slap - ‘The Cleaner’ goes off with all the vigour of Oasis at Wembley for dads who wear Gore-Tex, not Adidas - but it’s 2021’s ‘Bright Green Field’ that gives the set its oomph, ‘Pamphlets’ providing a frenzied, riotous close, a chance to blow of some celebratory steam now the downpour has stopped.

Under a clear, starry sky, Father John Misty closes proceedings on the main stage, but the Garden is where DIY lands for Black Country, New Road, whose showcase of 2025’s ‘Forever Howlong’ is one of the weekend’s most poignant highlights. The ensemble’s first LP proper since Isaac Wood’s departure three years ago finds Georgia Ellery, May Kershaw, and Tyler Hyde at the helm of a melodramatic performance with an almost rock opera consistency, or a school play directed by Wes Anderson, per the bushels of leaves that droop round the stagefront (which Hyde calls “one of the best stages in the world”). Ellery gets the first note in with ‘Two Horses’ before the trio segue between album cuts, effortless, like mates kicking a ball around. 

‘Besties’ is where the set really finds its legs, but Kershaw’s turns are really the most arresting; ‘Turbines/Pigs’ is the only older material aired, as climactic and tear-jerking as ever. Some awkward pauses emerge, and Mr. Tillman bleeds through in more than one softer moment, but the crowd stand in silence and the peaks feel even more elevated for it. ‘Nancy Tries to Take the Night’ is the jewel in the sextet’s crown, a veritable thrill ride that emphasises how BCNR are individually exceptional, and collectively more than the sum of their parts. Ending on the title track, all five members besides Kershaw pull out comically large matching recorders while she serenades softly, tweaking the very closing lyrics to “thank you End of the Road” - the perfect delightful surprise to finish such a delightful festival.

Tags: Black Country, New Road, Sorry, Squid, End of the Road, Festivals, Reviews, Live Reviews