TWISTERELLA FESTIVAL 2025 // MIDDLESBROUGH
Fresh Blood and Big Energy: Twisterella 2025 Keeps It Real
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 5/5
SWIM SCHOOL AT TWISTERELLA FESTIVAL 2025
PHOTOCREDIT: JOHN HAYHURST
I’ve now had two big days in Teeside for music, The Gathering Sounds lit up Stockton a couple of weeks ago, and today it’s the turn of Twisterella in Middlesbrough. The all-dayer once again took over 3 venues in the Teesside University Students Union and 1 in the Town Hall Crypt — about half a mile’s walk apart — filling both with the sound of next-big-things and fresh discoveries. It’s a festival that thrives on energy and surprise, and this year’s lineup didn’t waste a second.
Kicking things off in the Students’ Union terrace, Middle Management came out swinging. Their sharp, sarcastic art-pop had bite from the start, with the anti–big tech chant of Influencer Influenza setting the tone. “F*** big tech,” they announced, and for once people actually seemed to put their phones away to get down with a band who were part Talking Heads, part Pulp. The band’s clever wordplay and jangly guitars were a perfect way to blow the cobwebs off a hangover from the previous night.
Upstairs in the main room, Swim School were on unusually early and they filled the Union Hub with lush, loud precision. Alice Johnson’s vocals soared through the haze of guitars and feedback, balancing dreaminess with muscle. It was an early masterclass and one that many who followed didn’t quite equalise. They were down as a headliner so I hope late arrivers got the memo to be there early.
The walls of The Crypt tremble as ‘Dossers’, led by frontman Matthew Baxter, erupt into their set — a snarling surge of Teesside punk energy. Baxter spits every lyric like a challenge, railing against ignorance, bigotry, and the small-mindedness that still lingers in the corners of society. Between songs, he nods to the crowd with a grin, talking about being proud to be from Teesside — from the graft, the grime, and the humour that make it home. The guitars howl with a grunge edge, the rhythm section pounds with factory-floor precision, and the room becomes a storm of voices.
Back at the Student Union downstairs, Brodie Milner brought dry humour and quiet charisma. His voice carried a mix of fragility and wit, and he didn’t shy from self-mockery: “Is it a mouthful? Yeah. Am I pretentious? Absolutely,” he grinned while introducing Drinking Martinis in the Olive Gardens of Gethsemane. It landed perfectly — part joke, part confession, all charm. In the small room Parissa Zarifi charmed with the most perfect voice and guitar, although we could hear Hungry soundchecking upstairs during her set.
Hungry were just feral. Frontman Jacob Peck was pure chaos in human form — shouting, leaping, gurning, and yelling “Do You Like DOGS!!” before every song for reasons nobody will ever understand. His energy was infectious, his presence unavoidable, and frequently found himself in the audience rather than on stage. It was messy, loud, and brilliant. I’d seen them about 2 years ago in Leeds but this performance was a transformation of greatness since Live at Leeds (In The City).
Nature Kids slowed the pulse afterwards, a gentle reminder that not every song has to rattle your ribcage. Before Close followed in the Lounge with lilting folk harmonies that felt like a well-earned breather — a small, intimate reset before the next sprint.
Then came another walk to the Town Hall Crypt — the festival’s moody, atmospheric outpost. Primitive made the trip worth it though. The eight-piece merged rap, brass, guitar and samples into a hypnotic mix that hit like organized chaos. Formed from the ashes of ‘Avalanche Party’ Jordan Bell held it all together with a calm, magnetic focus — proof that confidence doesn’t need to shout. There were a couple of brass players in the shadows, but the lighting was minimal to say the least, that said the music was nothing short of majestic. Ones to watch!
Back at the SU Terrace ‘Legss’ let fly with some indie rock early Radiohead would be proud of and ‘Teethin’ upstairs were a formidable rock/rap crossover band - Originally from the Welsh Valleys and fronted by James Minas they were a blur of stuttering guitar and synth stabs. No matter where you went there was quality on show at Twisterella this year.
A brief glimpse at ‘Elaine Palmer’ who was countrying up a storm in the quiet zone and then another trek to The Crypt for ‘Smith & Liddle’. I’d previously been wowed by Elizabeth Liddle’s voice at one of her solo shows, but with her partner in crime Billy Smith it all felt a little watered down and soft Fleetwood Mac, with the little looks between the two of them - it just felt too sugary and nice, they are already very Radio2 friendly and probably the most ‘professional’ outfit of the day, but I didn’t come to Twisterella for that.
Back in the Union, Roller Disco Death Party picked up where the adrenaline left off. Just a drummer and a guy in a beanie hat on synths, but the duo made a noise big enough for ten. Second time seeing Loren Heat in 2 weeks, a similar performance - she kept things grounded having returned to the SU she attended only a few years ago. Her stage presence is refreshingly unforced. She sang like she was half in conversation with herself, never trying too hard to be the pop star despite the catchy danceable hooks in her music. Her debut single Curiosity, which started as a Teesside Uni project, marked her out as one to watch.
Across in the quiet zone of the lounge ‘Mezanmi’ aka Fran O’Hanlon was making some wonderous sounds, fusing samples and keys with folk guitars, amazed there weren’t more people in the room to witness it.
Then came the disclaimer: “It’s going to be loud.” It was. ‘PISS’ delivered the day’s most brutal, unforgettable half hour — a raw, guttural howl that left the terrace visibly shaken. They come from Vancouver, Tay Zantingh screamed like the world was ending and meant every syllable. “How can I make you understand?!” she shrieked, and you couldn’t look away. Harrowing, cathartic, and utterly gripping — the kind of performance that lives in your head long after it ends.
From that madness to Marty Longstaff aka The Lake Poets and my stand out moment of the day. I haven’t seen him play for around 6 years and it’s heartwarming to see that he hasn’t lost his ability to bring big tough guys to tears with his songs about his grandparents or the love of the North East (particularly Sunderland). Sure enough when ‘Shipyards’ is played the tears fell, and all that from just a guy still wearing his coat and playing a guitar - magic.
‘Scrounge’ were up next, a duo with enough bad luck to derail anyone else — food poisoning, broken gear, the works — but they powered through with gritty determination. Drummer Luke Cartledge and vocalist Lucy Alexander turned disaster into triumph, their raw, PJ Harvey–esque sound hitting all the right nerves.
‘Irked’ hit the stage like they’ve been waiting for this moment all year — confident, buzzing, and completely unbothered by any festival pressure. They might not tear their throats quite as ferociously as PISS, but the bite’s still there, and the message lands just as hard. Their mix of snarling punk and social bite feels both feral and finely tuned, the kind of energy that belongs as much in a cramped basement as on a festival main stage. Their take on Dan Sartain’s “Fuck Friday” and their own “Backstreets”, was a breath of fresh air. Irked’s brand of agit-punk — think the speed and sneer of Amyl and the Sniffers with a Northern grit.
Zander brought the sunshine back with buoyant, well-crafted pop, before Y pulled things into slightly darker, twitchier territory with riffs, synths and a sax line that cut straight through.
On the terrace, Punchbag were a burst of pure serotonin. Singer Clara Bach was unstoppable — all joy and movement — while her brother on guitar played like his life depended on it. You Used To Be So Sexy was the kind of hook-filled pop perfection that festivals are built for.
The day wrapped with Leeds’ Adult DVD, who fused rock swagger and electronic pulse in a way that felt effortlessly cool. Frontman Harry Hanson barely moved, but didn’t need to — Dogs in the Sun and Doomsday Prepper were massive, the kind of songs that could level a much bigger stage.
By the end, the streets around Teesside were humming with happy exhaustion. Ears ringing, feet aching, smiles everywhere. Twisterella once again proved what it does best — finding the bands you’ll be bragging about seeing “before they blew up.” Middlesbrough, take a bow.
REVIEW + PHOTOS BY: JOHN HAYHURST
