Wychwood Music Festival 2026 - The Review

Wychwood confounds all expectations

By David Vass | Published: Yesterday, 07:17pm

Wychwood Festival 2026

Friday 29th to Sunday 31st May 2026
Cheltenham Racecourse, Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, GL50 4SH, England MAP
tier 3 £149.50

Daily capacity: 7,500

Did that really happen in late May? The punishing heat would suggest otherwise, even if the cruelly freezing nights were a reminder that Wychwood is one of the first festivals of the season. It's not a festival I'd previously considered attending, largely because it always clashes with an alternative so close to home it almost felt embarrassing that I camped. Sadly, suddenly and unexpectedly, Red Rooster went the way of so many festivals, cancelled only weeks before. Leaving me poking about for something to attend on the rebound.

I say this only to put in context that Wychwood does itself no favours by giving Cheltenham Racecourse as its location. With Aintree, York and Newmarket all offering corporate style racing and music combos, it would be easy to tar Wychwood with the same brush. It certainly gave me pause for thought. Nothing, however, could be further from the truth. Upon entering the racecourse entrance, meandering past signs for the Hall of Fame and Members Enclosure, there's little to put your mind at rest, but those signs, and the racecourse itself, is quickly seen only in the rear-view mirror, as you come out the other side. The actual festival site, particularly the arena, is a delight that brought to mind the drama of the backdrop to Green Man. They may not have the scale of Wales's Black Mountains, but the Cotswold Hills are still a thing of beauty.

hilly backdrop

Parking up on Thursday couldn't be easier, as smiling stewards wave you on. This is the first year the festival opened on Thursday and turning up required punters to pay extra, so the low numbers may mean it was an unfair test, but I can't recall turning up so late in the day so painlessly. It's a fair walk to the campsite, all the more challenging for being on undulating ground and in blistering heat. On the flipside, put the effort in and you can camp a couple of minutes' walk from the arena. Factor in stewards that search bags thoroughly, yet quickly and cheerfully, and the campsite becomes part of your festival, rather than a place you leave in the morning. Why even bother with a bag, when you can nip back and forth so easily?

Sadly, due to the heat - did I mention the heat - it took me an age to set up camp, so with apologies to Freya Dalgarno and The Standard, it was Dr & the Medics that kicked things off for me. The perfect act to get the party started - I can remember them occupying the same slot at Bearded Theory nearly twenty years ago - they rattled through a set that, of course, finished on the wonder that is their one hit. The eccentric blend of jazz, ska and straightforward rock offered by Tankus followed, after which Dutty Moonshine pushed things up a notch. Their drum and bass roots overlaid with brass and dual vocals ensured the happy few crowding out the anachronistically named Garden stage - the only venue operating - left more than satisfied. I do wonder, though, should Thursday become more of a thing, whether more will need to be laid on if the extra charge is to be justified.

Given Thursday was an option taken up by only a minority, most of the weekenders were still setting up when South African Tan Sholto took to the main stage and that was a pity for both her and them. As her poignant, soulful vocals drifted over a largely empty arena seeking out appreciative ears, I was struck by the quality of the sound system. Her delicate, introspective vocals needed fine reproduction to do it justice, and as would happen time and again, the PA, and whoever operated it, delivered.

Wychwood is about more than the music, however. For many attending it's arguably not mainly about the music. The lovely mum that I failed to supply with a tin opener was on her third year, and yet in all that time had seen only a handful of bands. That's because she comes for her kids and the entertainment laid on for them. It's the difference between a family-friendly festival, where feral ten-year-olds are tolerated, and a proper family festival, where tiny tots are given things to do. At Wychwood, the Village Green has three separate venues, which aside from the odd yoga session, are packed with circus skills, silly science, sea shanties and trapeze workshops.

Darryl Carrington put in an entertaining shift juggling and balancing with the assistance of two dads, after which I was treated to "an epic Indian adventure" billed as a riot for the senses. This was a tad overselling of a puppet show, but sweet nonetheless and indicative the range of entertainment on offer. Tailoring comedy that is child friendly proved more problematic. Howard Read farted a lot, Jonny Awsum sang about bananas, and Joe Wells focused on bogies. It's a nice idea having comedy start the day off, but the comics involved clearly struggled with a restricted remit.

I struggled to enjoy 3 Daft Monkeys, stalwarts of the festival scene for as long as I can remember. They should be the ideal choice for an outdoor stage in glorious sunshine and the crowd gave it a go, but perhaps it was simply too hot to jig about with enthusiasm.

Far better to stand and admire the vocal harmonies on Boney M. down on the must-see list, albeit as a guilty pleasure, they proved to be the highlight of the day. Maizie Williams is the only original member of Boney M, and even she was largely a stage presence, often miming on telly to the vocals of session singers. So this was nothing more than decent performers singing to backing tracks - it really shouldn't have worked. Nevertheless, ask yourself how many Boney M songs you know and the right answer turns out to be all of them, and by the time we got to Rivers of Babylon everyone was singing along.

Boney M

Backing tracks featured heavily in the next performance, after Shaun Williamson's promotion to the main stage. This was necessitated by Craig David's last-minute absence. The reason for his absence is swirled around the site and continues on the internet. I shan't be adding to them here. Suffice to say Barrioke attracted one of the largest crowds of the weekend, singing along with Shaun and a couple of volunteers on stage. I didn't get it, but harmless fun, I suppose.

The bigger shame was promoting Sophie Ellis-Bextor to headliner. Her set of lukewarm disco-inflected pop would have been the perfect warm-up for a grand-standing finish, but as a final act she underwhelmed. To my mind, she simply doesn't have the back catalogue to bring a festival audience together. While the odd hit - Murder on the Dance Floor and Groovejet won crowd recognition - there was a lot of anodyne filler in-between, only partly mitigated by costume changes.

Friday had been a funny old day - when Boney M is the highlight you're entitled to wonder if charm and eccentricity is going to be enough. Unfortunately, Saturday got off to a shaky start as well, with a lack of water in the campsite. No showers is one thing, but no drinking water is on another level. Facilities in general were basic but clean - playing toilet roulette I was only occasionally confronted with the horrors of the previous performance. Somewhere to wash up pots and pans would have been nice, as would the means to wash hands. But it was the failure of the water supply that really counted, compounded by what seemed like a tardy response to fixing it.

Fixed though it was, and in time to catch James B and his Primary School Bangers. I didn't enjoy hymns at school so found this a bewildering throwback to something best forgotten, but he got a good crowd for such an early slot. Thankfully, many stayed on for Drinking with Lucy. Part of Wychwood’s emerging local talent showcase, this local band won over the crowd with their retro 90s sound that leaned heavily on melody and riffs, somewhere between the Vaccines and the Kooks.

Drinking with Lucy

Card Ninja solved the conundrum of serving up family friendly comedy by avoiding cracking jokes (something he proved quite capable of later in the day). Instead, he showcased an extraordinary ability to throw playing cards a long way. If you're wondering how he made an act out of that, or why he would ever think to develop the skill, I can only say I wondered the same at the time, but he was hugely entertaining, even if I'm not sure why.

What followed was a bewildering variety of acts on the two main stages, leaving punters with some hard choices. On the main stage, a smorgasbord of noughties music included The South running through their impressive back catalogue with a modest grace. Potty-mouthed Twang commanding the stage with indie swagger. The shouty Pigeon Detectives seemed to have a fine old time, connecting with their many fans in the crowd, while the rest of us looked on, appreciating, but perhaps not engaging with their energy. Best of all was Feeder, who delivered a tight, emotionally charged, guitar-heavy performance that built from steady intensity into a big, anthemic crescendo.

Meanwhile, in my view far greater rewards, especially if you were looking to be pleasantly surprised, were over at the smaller Garden Stage, a venue I'd not paid nearly enough attention to. Pale Blue Eyes from Totnes were outstanding, offering up a captivating mix of emphatic rhythmic beats, synth-driven atmospherics and restrained vocals. Imagine a Manic Street Preachers song covered by Spiritualized and you'd be getting close. They were followed by just-as-good Adult DVD, blasting out a retro electronic sound surely influenced by Holy Fuck, with the bonus of a Jason Williamson sound-alike on vocals.

The day closed, bar an incongruous comedy set from Henning Wehn close to midnight, with a genuine festival highlight, as all other stages closed in deference to the Kaiser Chiefs. They've been touring their first album in its entirety, and fun though that was for those of us that bought Employment, unshackled from this self-imposed format, the Wychwood set was a much broader canvas. All the classic hits were present and correct, but it was nice to hear music spanning their whole career. And has there ever been a better festival song than Oh My God?

I'm not a great fan of Taylor Swift, though neither, in fairness, am I that familiar with her back catalogue, but I was assured by a fan that Lauren's Version was spot on. Swifties in the crowd certainly seemed to think so. Opting to go for a wander instead, I stuck my snout into the Village Green, now heaving under weight of clay figures, crayon drawings, cartoon animals, Japanese bracelets and DIY party hats. Nestled in the centre was a busker stage I hadn't previously spotted, and setting were X and Y, a duo that would prove a highlight of weekend.

Alex and Carey trade under the name The X & Y, a duo that combined winning personalities, multi-instrumental prowess and an eclectic songbook to produce a hugely entertaining set, all the more enjoyable as I fell across it by accident. If I say they performed a marvellous version of Portishead's Glory Box it gives you an idea of their playfulness, but that shouldn't diminish the genuine musicality that culminated (even though I voted for Trance) with a climactic Drum and Bass showstopper.

An entirely different Alex graced the main stage next. In the spirit of Wychwood’s unapologetic eccentricity Taskmaster's little Alex Horne entertained the crowd with some very silly comedy business, loosely draped over his band, the Horne Section. Definitely one to divide opinion, I thought it charmingly amusing, though other opinions are available. No such equivocation necessary when it comes to the excellent Dub Pistols, the hardy perennials of festivals, they seem to have been around for a lot longer than their mid-nineties formation. Much fun was to be had watching Barry Ashworth squirming with the effort of not swearing. Alison Wheeler had also bowdlerised her lyrics the day before in deference to the festival policy of child-friendly performances, so it was a surprise that it was Chesney Hawkes, of all people, that dropped the F-bomb.

Chesney Hawkes

Hawkes was the one and only (see what I did there) misfire, filling out his set with ballast from Nik Kershaw, Wheatus and the Killers. He's quite self-deprecating about his singular success, but it is a clue as to why he bolsters his setlist with other people's music. Sad though I was not to tick off his one hit wonder, I nipped over to the village to witness the charming closing parade of costumed tots, helpful mums and mortified dads.

Fortunately, back on the main stage, Maximo Park and Everything Everything were on hand to deliver a double bill of intelligent, distinctive music from the North East of England. With yet another handbrake turn by the programming team, here were two indie rock bands from the noughties that demonstrated critical success can, in the long run, mean more than transient hit records.

It's not the sort of music to draw huge crowds, but the penny by now had dropped that audiences had dropped too. It's nice to be able to wander up to the front of the stage when the fancy takes you, but can't be good for the festival’s sustainability. Saturday was heavily loaded by front-runners with a clear intention to seduce day sales. The cost of doing that - less folk inclined to stay all weekend - has the hallmarks of a vicious circle. Even The Subways, who only had to fill the Garden Stage, only just managed to do so. They were marvellous though, Charlotte Cooper charging around the stage, hair flying everywhere as Billy Lunn belted out his vocals. The club-like atmosphere of the tented venue suited their fast, energetic, riff-driven rock but they deserved a bigger stage and wider audience.

Levellers

That wider audience were outside, filling up the arena for the first time, enjoying The Levellers. I've never quite got them before, so perhaps it was the heady euphoria of a fabulous sun-kissed weekend, but they certainly put on a great show. Their unique mix of folk, punk, rock and traditional music seemed an entirely fitting close to a festival that resists easy classification, confounds what you thought you knew about it, seduces you with overwhelming friendliness and ultimately saddens you that it's over for another year

review by: David Vass

photos by: Ian Bunker