The first day of Leeds Festival began in the rarest way possible: under a clear blue sky, with the grass dry and the paths firm beneath my boots.

Review and Photos by John Hayhurst

No mud. Not a single slick puddle to navigate. Just the crunch of dust rising where crowds drifted between the food stalls and the stages, pint glasses glinting in the afternoon light. It felt almost wrong to be at Bramham Park without cursing the mud, but no one was complaining.

Teenagers, fresh out of their GCSEs and A-Levels results, were buzzing with a mix of freedom and nerves, while older regulars wandered about in band tees, their faces set into the relaxed grin of people who’d done this year after year. Everywhere, the smell of food hung heavy—Gyros, stacked burgers, pizza slices as wide as your head. Twelve quid a food portion, eight quid a pint of beer. I heard a group of lads behind me laughing about how they’d spent nearly thirty quid before they’d even seen a band, but they didn’t sound like they regretted it.

My first stop was the BBC Introducing Stage, where Cliffords were making their Leeds Festival debut. The space was half full when I approached it, but within minutes, people were pulling friends closer, curious about the beautiful noise spilling out from the stage. Cliffords hit it hard from the start—crisp guitar riffs and thumping bass, Iona Lynch has sublime vocals that snapped with the kind of urgency you only get from a young band with something to prove. They slip somewhere between Wolf Alice and The Cranberries, that Irish lilt in Lynch’s vocals will grab you straight away. When they break into the chorus of Bittersweet, the kind of song that instantly feels familiar, the crowd was right there with them. At one point Lynch grinned out at us like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing—dozens of teenagers already chanting the words back. By the end of their set, the place is rammed, that’s the third time this year I’ve seen Cliffords do that, another of those performances they will be talking about in years to come, “I saw them before they blew up.”

Over on the Main Stage, Waterparks had already drawn a sea of colour—neon hair, painted faces, kids clutching handmade signs. The band wasted no time in turning the field into their playground, bounding across the stage with their usual hyperactive energy. The mix of pop-punk hooks and electronic gloss went down perfectly with a crowd who wanted nothing more than to sing until their voices broke.

When they hit Stupid For You the chorus roared back at them so loudly that even people drifting past on their way to food stalls stopped and joined in. There was a giddy looseness in the air—bubbles drifting up from the pit, teenagers screaming every word while bouncing off each other, and frontman Awsten Knight grinning like he was in on the secret that this set might just be the highlight of their summer.

Not long after, Sea Girls took their turn on the Main Stage, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Where Waterparks had been chaos and confetti, Sea Girls brought something steadier and anthemic, the kind of indie rock built to echo across a field like Bramham Park. Henry Camamile (vocals, guitar) worked the stage with ease, encouraging chants and singalongs, and when they launched into Call Me Out the response was electric. Whole groups of friends threw their arms around each other, jumping in unison as the chorus rang out. I could feel the sound pressing against my chest, and the sight of thousands of voices moving as one felt like one of those moments where Leeds Festival shows just how big it can feel.

Later in the day, Suki Waterhouse took to the Main Stage with a presence that was both glamorous and grounded, the kind of star who carries her many roles—singer, model, actress—without fuss. She was joined by her touring band: drummer Emilia Paige driving the pulse, bassist Myqle “Motorcycle” Sanford locking in the groove, and guitarist Jane (previously Raj Jain, also known as Jane Holiday) adding rich texture around her vocals. If you’ve followed Waterhouse’s career, you’ll know the imagery—wind machines tossing her hair as she spins into Stevie-Nicks-esque twirls, her arms tracing shapes in the air like she’s conjuring the songs themselves. That ethereal side was on full display during Good Looking, Moves, and To Love with the crowd swaying, pint cups raised, caught in the dreaminess of it all.

But what surprised me most was the other side of her performance—the sharp, punk-tinged energy that sliced through the haze. She prowled the stage with grit, letting a rocker snarl creep into her delivery, and the field responded instantly. Tracks from her new record The Memoir of a Sparklemuffin (named after the poisonous Australian spider) hit especially hard. Supersad thumped with darker drama, while Blackout Drunk saw her lean into the chaos, every line spat with swagger. The duality of airy mystic and fierce punk felt electric, and it was in those moments that her versatility became undeniable. I found myself grinning at the shift, and judging by the roars around me, I wasn’t the only one who felt like we were seeing multiple sides of an artist fully stepping into her own.

But if Suki’s set had a bit of haze, Amyl & the Sniffers were the complete opposite—pure fire, no warning, no restraint. From the second Amy Taylor stormed the stage, the energy detonated. She spat lyrics with the kind of feral snarl that makes you stand back even as you’re pulled forward, fists tight, heart pounding. When they ripped into Got You the field erupted. Circles opened in the crowd and kids—most of them not old enough to drink—threw themselves into sweaty, chaotic pits, their screams blending with the guitars. Dust rose in clouds, turning the sky behind the stage into a golden storm. Around me, older festival vets grinned at each other, shaking their heads as if to say, “This is the good stuff.” By the time the band left the stage, I felt wrung out just from watching, and the cheer that followed them was a roar that rolled across the park like thunder.

With other bands on the main stage that weren’t really my cup of tea, I declared Amyl and Sniffers my headliner of the day and went in search of a moment to calm down.

I found myself back in the Festival Republic tent for Nieve Ella. Her fans crammed into the tent and were spilling out the sides. Wasting no time, she and her band launched straight into Anything from her 2024 EP Watch It Ache and Bleed—a burst of energy that had the whole place moving instantly. The connection between her and the crowd was obvious, a loop of energy bouncing back as voices rose to meet hers. The Things We Say greeted like an old friend, before the pace stayed high with Car Park and Sweet Nothings the atmosphere turning euphoric as each chorus landed. What struck me most was how deep her relationship with her fans already runs. When she played Good Grace the tent erupted—not in surprise, but in recognition, hundreds of people belting out every word as though it had been theirs for years – the track was only released in July.

By the time the final notes faded across Bramham Park, the mood was still electric. Cliffords had proved themselves as ones to watch, Waterparks and Sea Girls had commanded the Main Stage with singalongs built for fields this size, Suki Waterhouse dazzled with both ethereal grace and punk grit, Amyl & the Sniffers tore through with feral intensity, and Nieve Ella left her tent echoing with voices that knew every word. It felt like the first day had given us a full spectrum of what Leeds is about: discovery, chaos, beauty, and sweat-soaked release.

Walking back through the food stalls and campsite chatter, there was already a hum of excitement for what’s next. Tomorrow promises the glitzy spectacle of Chappell Roan, the visceral punch of Soft Play, and the bratty punk anthems of The Chats. If today was about settling into the sunshine and being surprised, tomorrow feels like it’s set to push things louder, weirder, and wilder. Leeds 2025 has only just begun.