Sunday 27th July 2025
There’s nothing worse than waking up in an unexpected place. As I reluctantly opened my eyes on the Sunday morning of Tramlines 2025, I was dismayed to find that I was, in fact, still in Sheffield and not safely tucked in bed at home. As I had nothing with me, this necessitated a painful trip back to Doncaster, before returning to Sheffield for midday. An inauspicious start. I did walk my mate’s dog before I left though (this weirdly feels like a euphemism, but it isn’t), and that did wonders for my mindfulness…
The day begins with London-based comedian Tom Ward at the T’Other Stage. He combines comedic songs, fake adverts and observational humour to good effect, before finishing on a very funny bit about the famously traumatic episode of Thomas the Tank Engine where the Fat Controller has Henry (a very naughty engine) bricked up in a tunnel for all eternity. Lovely stuff. Russell Howard is up next and while most of the sizable crowd seem to be enjoying it, I find his humour to be competent, but fairly bland and generic. He does some nice stuff about Sheffield apparently being home to the biggest amount of sexual deviants in England (although Jarvis Cocker pretty much covered this on the Friday night when Pulp played ‘Sheffield: Sex City’), but the rest of his act fails to make an impression.
Then we go from one uninspiring, forgettable act to another in the shape of Scouting for Girls. While I love ‘This Ain’t a Love Song’ and ‘Elvis Ain’t Dead’ is pretty good too, the rest of their set varies from inoffensive background music to just plain bad. Again, though… the crowd love it, so what the hell do I know? Things don’t improve much with the arrival of The Sherlocks either. I don’t know what it is about these lads. All the separate components that make up the band are perfectly acceptable. They are good musicians, there is no doubt about that. But none of their music leaves any kind of mark on the mostly disinterested crowd until they get to set closer ‘Chasing Shadows’ which is, to be fair, a banger.
Things pick up on the Leadmill Stage with the arrival of Cliffords. The Cork five-piece rip through a barnstorming 30 minute aural attack with frontwoman Iona Lynch an arresting presence and the band sounding great. Cliffords have yet to release an album proper yet, but tracks like ‘Favourite Monster’ and ‘Sleeping with Ghosts’ ensure that they surely have a bright future ahead of them.
Next up is The Lathums – an always dependable live act who now have three very solid albums to draw from. Latest record, Matter Does Not Define, is the most represented here with four tracks with ‘Stellar Cast’ from that record is probably the set highlight. ‘Fight On’ and ‘Sad Face Baby’ make for a top notch pair of set closers also, although my attention has wavered a little by this point as I’ve managed to become embroiled in a misguided conversation about Margaret Thatcher. Probably best to move on…
The Last Dinner Party look the part and have an ethereal, arresting stage presence, but an hour set is possibly a little too long for a band with only one album to draw from. That being said, ‘Sinner’ and ‘The Feminine Urge’ both sound incredible with lead singer Abigail Morris on fine form, before producing a truly heart-stopping rendition of ‘Nothing Matters’ – a song that is, for my money, one of the best of the last five years.
Now, this is where things become hazy. It’s around this time that the many pints of Jaipur (shout out to Thornbridge Brewery) and lack of food begin to catch up with me. As a burrito was the only solid to pass my lips in 24 hours, something was bound to give somewhere. I make it back to the Leadmill Stage for The Royston Club, who immediately win over the packed circus tent with a top notch performance of ‘The Patch Where Nothing Grows’, but as the set rolls on, it is clear that the end is nigh for yours truly. ‘Mrs Narcisistic’ arrives midway through the set, sounds great, and is my last clear memory of the evening.
During the first three songs of Kasabian (which sound fine), I find myself staring at the inside of a portaloo and strongly considering my life choices. Sometimes, you just have to accept that it is time to go home. So, that’s what I did. Not quite the conclusion that I wanted, but Tramlines 2025 serves as a reminder of everything that makes Sheffield so great. Roll on 2026.