As a first-timer at Wide Awake, I can hand on heart say: it didn’t disappoint. Making the long journey south of the river last Friday afternoon, I was buzzing with anticipation for my first festival of the season—hopeful it would live up to the hype. And from the moment we reached the outskirts of Brockwell Park, guided by the thump of distant basslines, I knew we were in for something special.
The festival gates opened to an atmosphere thick with excitement. The girlies were out in their finest fits, and the Radio 6 dads had dusted off their best festival tees—it was clear the crowd came prepared. We dove in headfirst, letting the pulse of techno lead us straight to the Dazed Club stage, where Marie Davidson had already cast her spell. Under a wash of strobes and smoke, she held the crowd in a hypnotic grip, her beats dictating every movement. We surrendered to the rhythm, dancing in the dense heat of the tent until fresh air called us back out for a wander.
That aimless roaming paid off. Cutting through the buzz came the siren-like vocals of Marisa Dabice, pulling us towards the Bad Vibrations Stage and the irresistible chaos of Mannequin Pussy. Whispering “Hi Wide Awake” into the mic with seductive ease, Dabice commanded the crowd. Their punky-pop energy was raw, captivating—unfiltered emotion delivered with spit and glitter. I wanted to be her. I think we all did.
With no time to waste, we floated over to the main stage for English Teacher, arriving just in time to catch their poetic set unfold. We bumped into friends just before CMAT hit the stage, and the timing couldn’t have been better. If anyone knows how to bring a crowd together, it’s CMAT—and her very sexy band. I’d seen her before, so I knew she’d bring the vibes, but somehow this felt even more euphoric. Pink cowboy hats sailed through the air as thousands joined in to sing, “I wanna be a cowboy, baby!” It was pure, collective joy.
As CMAT’s set came to a close, a shift in energy swept through the festival. More people filtered in, the crowd thickened, and the sense of anticipation became electric. With time to kill before the headliner, we ducked into another tent and found ourselves in the ecstatic world of Cobrah—a fierce burst of feminine power. We watched through a sea of raised hands, caught in her magnetic force.
Finally, it was time. The main stage dimmed. The crowd hushed. A hush charged with tension and unity. With news breaking just days before that Mo Chara had been charged, Kneecap’s set came loaded with deeper resonance. Palestinian flags flew proudly overhead. Chants of “Free, free Palestine” echoed into the night. And then—lights up, screen on. Kneecap stormed the stage, unleashing an electric performance charged with politics, protest, and pure energy.
They joked between songs, poked fun at their own situation, and threw themselves fully into a set that felt less like a gig and more like a moment. A movement. The mosh pits surged with righteous joy. The crowd felt alive with something bigger. History felt close. And as their final track rang out and the lights dimmed once more, it was clear—this was more than a festival. It was a reckoning, a celebration, and a damn good party.
Wide Awake, you’ve got me hooked.