You make us break out! Hardcore mega-fest Outbreak does the double in Manchester and London for a weekend of noise with Knocked Loose, Turnstile, Speed, Pest Control, Denzel Curry and more…
Having already grown to one of the biggest hardcore fests in the world, Outbreak 2025 has truly gone one louder this year. Alongside the usual two-day extravaganza at Manchester's Bowlers Exhibition Centre, Friday night also saw it making its debut in London as part of LIDO Festival, topped by Turnstile playing their biggest UK show to date.
In all this, it remains a hardcore show, just bigger – barrier-averse, ego free, and with more stage-tourism in the wings than any other fest in the UK. Here's what happened when Outbreak went supernova…
Doors have been open five minutes, meaning Mudi Sama kicks off the festival to an almost empty field. This doesn’t stop him starting the day with pure fire. With songs like Jealous Type, his brand of indie-meets-shoegaze fuzz is almost immaculate, and those gathering by the Main Stage are clearly digging it. His raw emotion and stage presence makes this feel like a much later billing, rather than an opening throw – one to watch, not warm up. An explosive start to the fest. (JH)
“London! You can fucking move more than that,” yells Drug Chuch frontman Patrick Kindlon. Unlikely as it seems, given what's already going on, they can. It’s still early doors, but the New Yorkers' feral brand of hardcore gets bodies moving fast, with a quick-fire delivery of Fun’s Over and Slide 2 Me that sees early punters giving security a headache. “Up and over, up and over,” demands the singer, as a sea of fans get acquainted with the top of the barrier. Weed Pin ends proceedings with Patrick joining the crowd, losing his mic and completing a set that leaves maximum impact. (JH)
Australia’s hottest hardcore export Speed do not fuck about. Lead singer Jem Siow bowls onstage like a rabid pitbull, demanding and presiding over ultimate carnage. From the chime of stomping beats of DON’T NEED, to the whirlwind sounds of Not That Nice, they are on devastating form. “I want to see 5,000 fucking bodies in the air,” commands Jem, as the tent becomes an inferno under the London sunshine. It’s a demonstration of hardcore served at lighting speed, and Speed leave with reputation bolstered after whipping up some of the biggest pits of the day. (JH)
Superheaven bring a different pace to the Second Stage, with a set of shoegazy heaviness amongst the hardcore chaos. The thunderous Leach proves the Philly bruisers have lost none of their bite, while Long Gone drips with murky nostalgia. What you get with this band is no gimmicks, no filler, just crushing riffs and searing honesty. In a scene that’s always shifting, Superheaven remain a monolith of grunge-powered grit that fits in perfectly with what Outbreak has to offer, and they infatuate the crowd with their wall of fuzz. (JH)
Experimental hip-hop stalwart Danny Brown highlights how wide a spread of alternative music Outbreak embraces. Firing out the unhinged chaos of Dip, he has the crowd bouncing like it's 3am in Detroit. Monopoly hits with razor-sharp menace, while Ain’t It Funny is a full-throttle freakout, with manic energy and a rapper invigorated by the wild response. Danny’s presence is pure punk in spirit: raucous, fearless and totally unpredictable. In a fest full of heavy riffs, he proves that the most dangerous weapon onstage might just be a mic. (JH)
Post hardcore legends Glassjaw have always been a surprise package live, and today is no different. Even 30 years into their career, Daryl Palumbo and co. can still leave you guessing with how they’re going to sound. On a good day they’re unbeatable, but when it’s not going their way, it can be quite grating. Sadly, we get both iterations of the band today. The first half of their set sees Tip Your Bartender sound like TV static, but when they later drop Cosmopolitan Blood Loss and Harlem we see what they're like when they're firing on all cylinders and, actually, sounding the best they have in years. (JH)
Turnstile and Outbreak were already made for each other. But as both fest and band hit new heights with their latest version of themselves, it's a phenomenon. With new tracks from their 5/5-rated album NEVER ENOUGH, it’s no surprise that they deliver a set made for nights like tonight.
As the opening notes of the title-track reverberate around Victoria Park, vocalist Brendan Yates takes centre stage with an almost studio sounding delivery, and as the song drops it's met with pure ferocity from a band really taking full advantage of the moment they have so deservedly created for themselves…
Read the full report: Live review: Turnstile, Outbreak Fest London
Up first in Manchester, They Are Gutting A Body Of Water find it difficult to make their heavy, hazy grooves connect with the audience. It doesn’t help that the band play facing each other, at a festival where crowd participation is a cornerstone. Meanwhile, leader Douglas Dulgarian’s ’90s dance beats between songs may get some feet moving, but they feel inessential and quickly discarded when the rest of the band kick in. They find their groove when they put some welly and distortion into their tunes, but this mostly feels like a missed opportunity. (JM)
Momma’s nostalgic alt.rock sets the tone for the Main Stage, headlined today by a softer caste of Slowdive and Alex G. The distorted yet sugary guitars and sunny melodies that permeate I Want You (Fever) and Tall Home ooze bittersweet ’90s guitar rock. Yet the New York transplants feel like anything but a throwback, bashing out huge, bucking riffs on Rodeo. Digging in to their cover of Narrow Head’s Sunday feels like a shrewd move for this crowd looking for a little heaviness with their moody alt.rock. (JM)
Anyone expecting small things from a band called Feeble Little Horse are soon put in their place as big, saturated riffs and blood-red lighting soak the Indoor Stage and the band launch into Freak. It’s a fitting beginning for a band who love to subvert expectations, twisting from danceable club beats one moment to Sonic Youth-esque guitar brutality the next. “You know, they call our hometown, Pittsburgh, the Manchester of the USA,” announces singer/bassist Lydia Slocum. True or not, they’re certainly welcomed with open arms – and flailing limbs – by the local crowd as Down closes their set on a raucous banger. (JM)
If anyone is having a better time today than Miltarie Gun’s Ian Shelton, then we’ve yet to see them. The man’s buoyant energy is contagious as he leads his band and the huge Main Stage crowd through the huge Britpop-meets-punk vibes of Ain’t No Flowers. Soon, we find out why. “We’re about to put out a new record,” beams Ian, and the crowd are along for the new material. The chorus of a yet unreleased song – ‘If I kicked you in the face, I’m sorry, but I would do it again’ – even has the makings of an Outbreak T-shirt. Yet it’s the closing, joyous sing-along of Do It Faster that truly lifts spirits sky-high. (JM)
Fleshwater didn’t come here to make friends. In fact, from the moment guitarist Antony DiDio roars “Let’s fucking go!” the Massachusetts crew seem hellbent on audience domination. This crowd are ready for it, though. What Was Really Said turns the front of the stage into a slip’n’slide of flailing bodies, while a twisted cover of Björk’s Enjoy is an exercise in brutality and ingenuity. Not that it’s all brilliant. The band’s mulchy, bass-heavy sound does detract from the atmospheric, hazy passages and the energy sags when they indulge in pure feedback. But when they do lock in it’s hard to resist Closet’s glorious display of sonic violence. (JM)
Julie are a Trojan horse of noise pop. While the scrawny power trio speak quietly and don’t seem much onstage, when they launch into catalogue they’re like a rocket powered Slint. The energy of tracks like very little effort pinballs all over the place, as band members careen off down weird individual tangents, powered by drummer Dillon Lee’s propulsive grooves before locking back together into a raucous riff with full firepower. It’s a strange telepathy they share, that is nowhere more evident than on lochness’ explosive finale. Unpredictable. Undeniable. (JM)
From the darkened stage as Maruja gear up into The Invisible Man’s simmering groove, it is clear that we’re entering a different realm. Joe Carroll’s saxophone swells build tension, while guitarist Harry Wilkinson waves his arms like a shaman, bewitching the crowd with his motor-mouthed depiction of declining mental health. The audience ebbs and flows as the Manchester band build a cacophony that conveys the horror of Harry’s tirades, decrying war, poverty and prejudice. It’s certainly the heaviest set this weekend to feature a tambourine, which Joe wields during the climax of Kakistocracy as he flings himself into the crowd. Devastating and thrilling in equal measure. (JM)
“This is our first time here in 15 years, and I really don’t understand why,” says Sunny Day Real Estate’s Jeremy Enigk, marvelling at the way the crowd today sings every word of Song About An Angel back. It’s very simple, really. Apart from the fact that you couldn’t write a history of emo without mentioning the Seattle veterans, it’s also because the moody Pillars and twinkling melodies of Seven feel just as suited to festival crowds as they do through headphones in Midwestern bedrooms. Even the recently unearthed Novum Vetus is met with big emotions from folks here. Don’t leave it so long next time, eh? (JM)
A brutal clash with Have A Nice Life’s first appearance at a UK festival today means Witch Fever face a sparse crowd. Not that the Mancunian coven let it stop them from raising hell. They lay into new banger Dead To Me! with diabolical force, before singer Amy Walpole lays down the gauntlet. “I want to see a pit, not this shit!” she goads before jumping into the crowd, making it her personal duty to get people moving. Naturally, the Outbreak faithful oblige, jumping into Bloodlust’s galloping grooves. By the time the furious closing combo of I See It and 12 come around, Witch Fever have successfully conjured a writhing, sweaty pit of their own satisfaction. (JM)
As much as Slowdive’s high billing speaks to Outbreak’s ambition to move genre goalposts, anyone standing within the blast radius of Slowdive’s pedal-driven guitarmageddon will tell you it makes sense. Beyond shoegaze’s influence on modern metal, these scene leaders create a cosmic caterwaul with Avalyn. Singer Rachel Goswell seems genuinely amused by the cartwheeling bodies before her as Catch The Breeze enters overdrive, while folks crowdsurfing over Sugar For The Pill’s gentle, echoing melody seem more like space voyagers than stage-divers. As the rapturous When The Sun Hits reaches its peak, the wall of sound entering the evening air is beautiful, and blasts away any lingering preconceptions of heaviness. (JM)
Foxing have been steadily putting out increasingly ambitious and intricate records for over a decade now, so it’s heartening to see the screamo vets get such a big turnout. Conor Murphy contorts himself into each falsetto croon of Secret History, while the band seem hellbent on increasing tension to the point of breaking. Fortunately, they never do, unleashing waves of emotion in the crowd as Hell 99 and Nearer My God reach their peak. It’s the set-closing crescendo of Rory, with the mournful cry of Conor’s trumpet, that rings longest in the memory. (JM)
Gouge Away may be one of the most underrated bands in punk rock. That’s certainly the impression you’re left with as the Florida natives lay out one of the most incendiary sets of the weekend. Stuck In A Dream is a furious cry of disaffection, while Subtle Thrill mutates from a crowd punishing wrecking ball into a simmering, danceable bass groove. And while vocalist Christina Michelle wastes no time between songs to call out ICE and oppression in Palestine, it’s clear from the grin on her face as punters take turns to snatch the mic during Ghost that she’s having a riot. Same time next year? (JM)
Every hardcore kid has a soft side, and however improbably Alexander Giannascoli has become the soothing, introverted voice of choice for many. Headlining the Main Stage tonight, the bedroom pop balladry of Gretel and Kicker are a comforting emo-tinged salve for those nursing first or second day bruises. Yet what might not be expected is how much Alex and his four-piece band lean into their heavy, weirder side. An “original song dedicated to Manchester” consists of Alex singing the city’s name over and over again before a speaker-blowing, psych wig out. It’s head-scratching stuff, and at his freakiest the heavy jams of Taking even resemble the “ear-bleeding country” of Dinosaur Jr. Some of the crowd move on, but those who stick around lend their voices to Forgive, ending the night as a victory. (JM)
There are few bands more wholesome to end your night with than Pennsylvania’s Tigers Jaw. Wherever they go, their emo sing-alongs feel like a close-knit house show where the audience are extended members of the band. Tonight is no exception, as Ben Walsh and Brianna Collins lead the crowd through I Won’t Care How You Remember Me and Hum. Brianna takes lead on Never Saw It Coming, the chorus 'woah-ohs' tugging heartstrings into Bowlers’ rafters, before a ragged sing-along of I Saw Water sends weary souls limping off into the night. (JM)
If you thought you could afford to gently ease into Sunday in Manchester, Jivebomb have got another thing coming. “Pick it up, pick it up!” bellows Kat Madeira like an intimidating gym instructor leading early doors two-steppers through a fucked-up aerobics class. Of course, the Baltimore crew’s neck-loosening, high-intensity set is the perfect soundtrack. Seraphim is a tangled lesson in hardcore ferocity, while Survival Ain’t Taught boasts face-curling sludgy grooves that sees the admittedly small pit kick up plenty of dust into the early afternoon air. Consider yourself Jivebombed, punk. (JM)
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but 2025 is the Year Of The Pest,” grins Leah Massey, teasing the title of Pest Control’s excellent EP from, erm, last year. Word has got around, though. As one of the few UK bands on the Main Stage this weekend, the crowd turns out to represent. Buggin’ Out is a thrashy whirlwind of windmilling limbs and whammy bar abuse from guitarist Joe Kerry. By P.M.C. Leah is practically line-fishing moshers like piranhas with her mic that you half expect her forearm to come back picked clean to the bone. Year Of The Pest? They may just be right. (JM)
Pain Of Truth also have considerable buzz around them. People are packed in, with side of stage mobbed with admirers like Knocked Loose, everyone vying for a glimpse of the Fresh Princes of New York hardcore. Like the bastard sons of Madball and Trapped Under Ice, their uncompromising beatdowns set off the primed pit from the moment Shattered Past lights the fuse. It’s the pneumatic blastbeats and attack chopper sounds of Blood On Your Hands that drives this knuckle sandwich home, though, just in case you needed further convincing. (JM)
Billed as a secret set, the unveiling of Loathe on the Main Stage is met with not only anticipation, but genuine, roaring affection. Buoyed up by victory at Download, the Liverpudlian metal dreamers launch into Aggressive Evolution, thunderous grooves and Kadeem Frances’ glass-shattering vocals pierce the afternoon air. The crowd resembles a human blender as the circle pit intensifies when Static Dress’ Olli Appleyard joins the band to send Heavy Is The Head That Falls With The Weight Of A Thousand Thoughts into the stratosphere. And as towering new single Gifted Every Strength shows exactly how Loathe can bend a huge crowd to their will, with any justice they won’t stay UK metal’s underdogs for long. (JM)
Right, enough of the floaty, post-hardcore niceties, because Sunami are packing the smackdowns. As a band that started as a joke about tough guy hardcore (Weak Die First, anyone?), the line between parody and seriousness blurs as the Bay Area sluggers launch into Doubt and Fence Walker with both feet. Even pit trolls that ran into the fray early on are soon sent packing as Gate Crasher’s threshing drum beat rolls through Bowlers like a combine harvester. A big dumb wave of mutilation, indeed. (JM)
As vocal advocates for “positive aggression” go, Terror’s Scott Vogel is a master. The Buffalo bruisers may have the unenviable task of mopping up limping participants from Speed and Sunami’s sets, but the hardcore vets have plenty to show the young upstarts with Keep Your Mouth Shut still stupidly fun. “It’s good to be alive,” cackles Scott as he maniacally leads the crowd through walls of death, while bassist Chris Linkovich is a whirling dervish during Overcome. Their meat-and-potatoes brand of hardcore may not turn heads, but it still raises plenty of loose-toothed grins. (JM)
Anyone expecting Deafheaven to take their cues from Slowdive’s dreamy set yesterday are wrong. Dead wrong. From the opening furious guitar drills of Doberman, their set is a relentless restatement of their black metal credentials which inspires cultish devotion. Goodbye to the cocooning shoegaze melodies of 2021’s Infinite Granite; hello to the blitzkrieg of Magnolia. Throughout, George Clarke is a messianic lightning rod of energy, pushing and pulling the baying crowd through the blastbeats and purging screams of Brought To The Water from 2015’s New Bermuda. It is a captivating display of shock and awe which leaves guitarist Kerry McCoy drenched in sweat. At the ecstatic crescendo of Dream House, George embraces one stage invader and is soon held aloft by the crowd like a sacrificial offering. (JM)
Delays of nearly half an hour to Denzel Curry’s set means that the crowd is a powder keg of suspense. So the moment the Floridian rapper bounds on – a ball of magnetic charisma, elastic flow and boundless energy – they rush the stage to bounce through Ricky with him. It’s clear that Denzel is in his element as he executes complex rhymes with hitman precision. Walkin’s soulful vocal acrobatics? No problem. Getting the masses bouncing to Ultimate’s rapid-fire proclamations? Dispatched without missing a beat. But even as Clout Cobain sends the crowd off, Denzel isn’t going to rest on his laurels. “I rarely do this, but this is Outbreak,” he grins as he launches into Bulls On Parade. A grand slam. (JM)
Good luck getting in to see Splitknuckle if you arrived late. The Third Stage’s hanger is packed like a sardine tin waiting for the rising UK death metallers to wade in. And they don’t come more disgusting than the brutal chug of Fuck Your Whole Life, the crowd slam dancing through Joey Drake’s misanthropic pig squeals. Mates in Pest Control take the stage for We Share Blood (Not Love), with Leah Massey lending her roars along with the crowd to its huge chorus. “This shit is about to get dark,” promises Joey as they slow Breathing Through The Wound to a death crawl. Oh, it’s dark. But it’s about to get a whole lot darker… (JM)
A giant LED cross looms overstage. The sounds of rustling leaves whisper through the speakers. As Oldham County’s finest take stage without a word, Bryan Garris eyeballs the crowd. then lets out a guttural scream that launches Knocked Loose into a blinding and deafening assault of Blind Faith. Make no mistake: you have never seen Knocked Loose like this before.
Don’t Reach For Me kicks off brutality in the pit, but evidently Bryan isn’t satisfied satisfaction. “Manchester, are you awake?” he goads. “I don’t think you are!” As the ferocious chug of Mistakes Like Fractures and distended groove of Bellview inspire fresh energy in the flagging crowd, it’s clear the Kentucky crew came for total annihilation. It’s a mission for which they’ve roped in a few friends.
Speed’s Jem Siow hops onstage to stomp through Deadringer, joining Bryan and guitarist Isaac Gale in roaring, ‘Don’t touch me motherfucker!’ as the hammer comes down. Not vicious enough? How about Deafheaven’s George Clarke appearing for a sparring exchange of gutturals and screams with Bryan during God Knows’ heretical thrash? Kadeem France of Loathe two-steps and screams through Billy No Mates, while Suffocate is bolstered by Pest Control’s Leah Massey.
Not that the Kentucky sluggers need the assistance. The 50-second relentless death crawl of Moss Covers All is pure creeping menace that has pits forming all the way to the kebab vans. And the punishing one-two of Willow and Everything Is Quiet Now wrings every last drop of sweat and probably blood from the crowd to close Outbreak.
Knocked Loose are grabbing their moment with two bloody fists, that much is clear. But what their guest star littered set also drives home is that Outbreak is quickly growing into the Olympics of hardcore, a global gathering of the best in punk, metal and rap to prove their grit. Reputations are made. New alliances with fans formed. Put simply, this is the kind of clashing of alternative worlds that you just won’t find anywhere else. Until Outbreak 2026, that is. (NR)
