The real magic happens wandering between stages like Woodsies, Avalon, Park, and Avalon, catching those raw, unscripted moments where you stumble on a band that grabs your guts or blows your mind — acts off the radar of the main broadcast. And when the sun dips, the after-hours chaos of Shangri-La and Arcadia keeps the adrenaline pumping long after the headliners have packed up.

Oh, and this year was scorchingly dry and dusty — wellies stayed home, replaced by dust masks and plenty of sunscreen. The fields were cracked and baked, adding a gritty edge to the usual Glasto charm.

FRIDAY: Woodsies Mayhem and Avalon’s Rock Revival

Woodsies is my Glasto sanctuary — a tented haven of shade and sonic gems. Lorde kicked things off with a surprise set, but the crowd was so packed it felt impossible to get close. Luckily, the real rock carnage came soon after.

Fat Dog tore through a set of riotous, sweaty rock anthems, frontman Joe Love diving into the crowd like a livewire. If you haven’t seen them live, get ready for a mayhem-fueled rollercoaster of punk-infused energy that cements their status as one of the UK’s most electric live acts.

This band doesn’t do “performances.” They do possessions. Frontman Joe Love hurled himself into the crowd like a human firework, igniting mass euphoria. Think punk-rock-church with dancing. If you haven’t seen Fat Dog live yet, what are you doing with your life?

Next up was Shed Seven, returning to Glasto with loud, defiant sing-alongs that filled the tent with nostalgia and raw emotion. Their setlist, packed with classics like Chasing Rainbows and Going For Gold, echoed across the festival, reminding us why they’re still rock royalty.

Then came Lola Young, a furious breath of fresh air with a bite of rebellion reminiscent of ’90s grunge angst — a fiery young voice screaming for a generation, closing her set with Messy, leaving the crowd hungry for more.

After Lola Young’s set, Blossoms took the Woodsies stage, delivering their polished indie rock with highlights like Your Girlfriend, I Can’t Stand It, and Honey Sweet. Their evolving sound and Tom Ogden’s magnetic stage presence make them a band to watch as potential headliners when Glastonbury returns in 2027 (fallow year 2026).

I shuffled over to Avalon, where The Magic Numbers celebrated 20 years of melodic goodness, with classics like Forever Lost and Love Me Like You Do, filling the air with timeless indie rock vibes. Their harmonies are still tighter than your jeans on day three. Avalon Fields swayed with happy faces — some wearing dust masks like they were at a post-apocalyptic folk rave. Honestly, not far off.

Then things got rowdy.

Avalon’s evening was a double-header of pure rock energy: Terrorvision brought back ’90s anthems like Discoteque Wreck and Tequila with infectiously energetic performances, no nostalgia filters needed here.

And just when you thought things couldn’t get more delightfully unhinged, The Fratellis arrived. They started an alternative rock party, igniting Avalon with hits like Chelsea Dagger, throwing in the mix a heartfelt tribute to firefighters who saved frontman Jon Fratelli’s flat during a fire. The personal story added weight before closing with their version of Runaround Sue, turning the stage into one big celebration of survival and rock ‘n’ roll spirit.

SATURDAY: Woodsies Deep Cuts and Electrifying Energy

Saturday afternoon, Woodsies was a crush of bodies eager for Father John Misty. Josh Tillman’s theatrical set focused on his album Mahashmashana and felt like a poetic rebellion channelling the spirit of Jim Morrison himself — a poetic shaman in rock’s shadow. Mental Health hit like a jolt through the packed tent.

Next up, Tom Odell slowed things down with soulful piano ballads and intimate vocals. His tribute to The Beach Boys was a tender highlight — a brief, emotional pause in a day full of noise. Unfortunately, many chatting festival-goers missed this nuance, waiting for the evening headliners.

However — and it’s a big however — the area was closed off due to overcrowding. The problem? They did it without giving access to toilets. In 30°C heat. Festivalgoers were left with two choices: hold it and hope, or… innovate. Glastonbury, we love you, but please: don’t kettle people without loos.

SUNDAY: Punk Power, Provocative Rock, and Epic Finales

Sunday kicked off with Gurriers at Woodsies — a punk band from Dublin who managed to wake up a sunburnt, dehydrated crowd at 12:30pm. Not an easy feat. Think Idles meets Fontaines D.C. with a bit of bloody-minded punk righteousness. Definitely a band to watch if you’re into fierce, no-frills punk.

SPRINTS and Black Country, New Road followed, using their sets not only to deliver crushing rock but also to advocate passionately for Palestinian liberation. SPRINTS unleashed a hard punk punch while Black Country, New Road layered in unique, earthy textures that felt fresh and urgent.

Then came St Vincent, rocking Woodsies with a sensuous, emotionally charged set. Dressed in black and commanding the stage with electric guitars, Annie Clark’s performance was as provocative as it was powerful. Highlights included Broken Man, Fear the Future, and Cheerleader — a potent reminder that rock can seduce and subvert all at once.

Afterwards, I raced across the site (no easy feat) to catch Future Islands at the Park Stage. I first discovered these guys in 2015, and frontman Samuel T. Herring’s electrifying stage moves and unique voice still captivate. Tracks like Seasons (Waiting On You) had the crowd hooked.

And then — the moment I’d been waiting for — The Maccabees closing the Park stage. Reunited after eight years and absolutely crushing it. Their set was packed with anthems like Pelican, Feel to Follow, and Marks to Prove It, turning the evening into a communal singalong full of smiles and raised hands — a perfect send-off for the stage and the festival’s rock lovers.

Or… was it?

Because my night wasn’t done.

I raced (well, limped) back across Worthy Farm for one final act: The Prodigy. I was nearly turned away as they locked the area down due to overcrowding, but somehow — by sheer force of will and dust tolerance — I got in. It was deafening. It was cathartic. It was emotional. This was the stage I was meant to see them on in 2019, before Keith Flint passed. They paid tribute. We screamed. The dust flew. And it felt like the closing of a circle.

Until Next Time (And It’s Gonna Be A While)

No Glasto next year — 2026 is a fallow year, and the fields will rest. So until 2027, Worthy Farm…
may your crowds stay kind,
your dust stay bearable,
and your glitter stay banned (for good reason).

Words and photography for Metal Planet Music – Edyta Krzesak